Teacup of the Stars
I've been experimenting with Poetry Soup's "Shape Poem Generator." This is my first attempt
Someone
left a blue teacup on the porch rail— silver around
the rim, a little chipped on one side like it’s lived
a life. The night leans over it, not gracefully, more
like a tired guest trying to pour stars without
spilling too many. A few miss the cup entirely,
skittering across the wood like bright
crumbs. The moon watches, not
offering advice, just hanging there with
its usual half-smile. By the time the cup
is full, the sky looks lighter— as if
giving away a handful of its
brightness wasn’t such a big deal. You
could lift the cup, if you wanted, and sip
whatever the night tastes like today.
Probably something quiet. Probably
something true.
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