For those healing in silence.
Maybe it’s the sunlight,
dotting playfully through the blinds—
a quiet reminder
that the world still holds light.
Maybe it’s the steam rising
from morning Earl Grey,
a scone with melted butter
—a moment of normal
in a day that’s anything but.
Perhaps it’s the slow turn of a page,
the way strangers drift past
your window—
Perhaps it’s in imagining
their thoughts,
their stories,
or even
inviting one in for tea.
To sit.
To speak.
Or just be.
There’s comfort in letting time pass
without needing to fill it.
No pressure to be productive,
only permission
to feel,
to breathe,
to rest.
Perhaps living fully
isn’t about doing more—
but about honoring
what brings peace.
And maybe, just maybe,
in that hush—
the day lifts a corner of its mouth.
Tea Time
Let’s each have a cup of Earl Grey
Maybe a hot scone with butter
Newly met, we have much to say
Our first time together goes well
Perhaps there will be more tea times
Come and climb these
Broad bony branches and
Have tea on this tree
with me,
Let's talk our hearts out
Into the poems unsung.
Sleep silently singing in my sizzly eyes,
Sleep might snap with some pumpkin chai,
The sun is seeping in my sulky bones,
Soon the milky moon will mysteriously be alone,
Here, have some squishy scone
While the sun is setting sleekly,
I reckon we should have tea weekly.
Sandalwoody sultry summer,
Hyacinth, hibiscus and hummers,
Poppies, primroses and periwinkles,
The night in esoteric eyes twinkle,
Starling singing on a starless night,
No gloom, a moon , no light,
In this sordid slumber silence,
I can hear your eyes speak.
Let's tell each other
All our hearts hanker
To say,
Drink tea and recite
The poems and make
No delay,
I'll have chamomile tea,
I'm not Mrs. Bennet
But it'll calm my nerves,
You like your tea with herbs,
Spearmint, rosemary and thyme,
And make sure the poem rhymes.
Jam First then cream,
Scone not scone
Fulfill that elusive dream.
“Its not ideal” I often scream
But its something that people often moan
Jam first then cream
And yet to the heaven as they careen
To hear the folk who often drone
Fulfill that elusive dream
How people with their teas preen
And how the others should atone
Jam first then cream.
Surrender your Englishness become clean
You’ll never feel again alone
Fulfill that elusive dream.
You are perfect do whatever you mean
Scone not scone
Fulfill that elusive dream
But please remember, Jam first then cream.
Breakfast done, lunch so far away.
It's never too early or late for Elevenses!
Perhaps a seed-cake, sweet fragrant and so very proper.
Or a steaming currant bun, warm, light and spicy.
Oh perhaps the splendor of a freshly baked scone with jam and cream.
Or delicate petite fours scattered with remnants of a dream perchance?
Who stole the plate the strawberry tarts, red, tangy and sweet?
Or the short-bread creams rich in flour and butter, filled with icing?
All swerved with steaming tea, brewed in a pot, warmed in a knitted cosy!
It's ten past ten, how can we wait any longer?
For the clock to strike - Elevenses!
under the sun
with a buttered bun
a butterfly
flies by
now I'm alone
but a ginger scone
and ginger tea
and me
now tea and scone
are gone
all done
and I'm alone
under the sun
Merlin's wand brushes the sky,
As the sun rises with a groan.
The caw of crows are harbingers
Of brightening days tomorrow.
Full rightly is the special one
Seated upon the Stone of Scone.
Prayers bring full circle ancestors,
Whose Book of Charms they borrow.
In four more days is Christmas Tide.
Here Nature waits.
The tree alive.
These words are shunned
By Rome's contrive.
This good day gives each a gift
To the person by his side.
Sealed now with song of return,
May Earth, in wealth, be well-supplied.
In four more days is Christmas Tide.
Pic's of friend's grandkids,
my son, his girlfriend
A wooden mallard
A wooden mustang
My grandpa's paintings
My game keyboard
December chill
An itchy back
A cold, wet nose
Neighbor's chat
Creaking walls
Toasty dryer
Hot tea
ginger
Scone
A Shepherd's Day by Suzanne Alexander (SA)
Wee, from East then West!
Seen one side then Next.
Feel a beautiful day, start is laid
Sjoe, from sting of Ray.This said,
Baa, from Ewe - distinct face!
Moor from one side at annex she graze,
Aye mi smeel yummy scone buttered.
Lighe nam lips whilst I muttered.
Shoo, splish-splash rain came unforseen
raining stairs of rods clearly seen
soil exposed with heathered bole
the red pigment irks the soul.
Ewe, come, sinn cùm sàbhailte!
to the huge bole hole, wee time, to shed.
Close jist ower the way so near,
baa, from rascal Mule , mi clu from ear.
C' mon ye little mule so blue
Safe its here by bole used as hue.
The noo! Mule. He came then settled.
Jack Snipe seen in marsh nestled.
Far in the distance a thunderclap
Meat today with pap.
With money earned just a little.
and hands brittle.
As the rain drops snipes my face,
Content I am to run , this race
Yet a sadness for unfair wage
But joyful not being in a cage.
Day, from graft then came night
Hame my manor is in sight.
Safe the ewe and mule I put,
aye, that'll dae. Day in tear and joy shut.
Sitting all alone,
sipping tea, munching a scone;
elderly woman
in a quiet coffeehouse
looking for conversation.
"That was delicious",
she says to the young server
seemingly busy.
She tries to make eye contact;
the young one averts her gaze.
It's like that most days...
staring at windows and walls.
Human connection:
a rarer commodity
for those who so need it most.
This morn I woke to a gloomy dawn; a cold rainy day
Off to the kitchen to find comfort in a cuppy Earl Grey
An anytime drink that warmly soothes the inside of me.
To calm anxiety, I often enjoy relaxing chamomile tea.
I smile at the aroma of Orange-Pekoe's rising steam,
with a hint of citrus zest, and a dollop of sweet cream.
Sometimes, I use raw honey instead of both of those,
if I brew tea made from fresh or dried hips of a rose.
Appealing is the amber liquid of Jasmine tea to taste.
Not a single drop of treasured tea ever goes to waste.
If the rain stops, I'll have another cup this afternoon,
in the shade of my garden since it's the month of June.
I don't dunk anything with crumbs into my teacup.
I prefer sipping Hibiscus tea in complete tranquility.
Perhaps, a biscuit or a scone if it's served on the side,
for having things float in my Chai... I cannot abide.
Sand dollars covers the crusted sandy shores
after the tides roll in and back the sea turtles
scurry across tiny crabs while sea urchins lie
on their backs herons scratch their long legs
sleeping wood storks perch alongside drift wood
while the pecking egrets whistle tiny hints
of sullen chatter cunning pelicans quickly dive
for their lunch while pink flamingos wildly dances
as the colorful peacocks shows off their new hats
the shelling begins with bronzed star fish nesting
upon the calm edges of tomorrow carving deep
sand dunes watching crawling sea horses gallop
while the sun peeks in around noon sun showers
sprinkles giant rain drops creating tiny hues of private
rainbows my bicycle bell chimes nearby the boat house
calling to Joe's crab shack in time for Izzy's to serve
fresh stuffed flounder to go with the blue berry scone
from Pete's Ice cream shop while craving clam chowder
I began to whisper lyrical tropical tunes with such ease
while simply embracing this sensual soft Caribbean breeze
Her rainbow hair is so ugly! Her mother said to me on the phone.
I was only half listening now, reaching for a second scone.
They were blueberry and chocolate and yummy with caramel.
“I am sure it is not that awful,” I told my daughter, ShellMel.
I had also had my hair dyed that week into rainbow colors true.
I especially liked the reds, the pinks, the purples and the blue.
My granddaughter came into my house on Christmas day and began to smile.
Her hair was not half as colorful as mine. ShellMel was not happy for awhile.
Each day I find life gets more upsetting
because too often I keep forgetting
the names of loved ones I should remember.
They shouldn't fade like a dying ember,
so I talk to them instead of fretting.
Sometimes I offer them a pot of tea
to show I'm grateful for their company.
"Would you like a scone?" I asked my friend, Kay.
"Yes, Mary. You've outdone yourself today."
Times passes quickly when she's here with me.
I know they're all gone, my used-to-be friends.
Doing all the talking has dividends...
I never have to say, 'good night" or "bye."
No tears as they're leaving to make me cry.
You see, our conversation never ends.
In the daylight, at the window I sit,
passing time with yarn and needles, I knit.
I pretend my old friends are with me here,
letting me bend their interested ear.
I'm not senile; but I have a keen wit.
Relaxing in my garden chair blessedly alone,
with my cup of soothing chai and Scottish scone.
No TV, computer, iPod, kith or kin,
my crossword puzzle I shall now begin.
So, an eight-word name for a Mayan sink?
A quika--I didn't even have to think!
As the sun clears the rolling hills afar
I'm done, a crossword superstar!
My Corgi Hal licks my face in congratulations,
as the sun-lit moor beckons her invitation.
Such a simple, sweet, tranquil pleasure,
Sunday morning crosswords, my priceless treasure.
2/14/23
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