the baby blackbird sits bewildered
in a teacup trimmed with gold,
soft roses gathered around its small, shaken body.
a silver spoon lies in the leaves,
as if some trembling kindness wandered through
and let a frightened scrap of sky drop into porcelain~
a moment so slight, the world almost forgot
how fragile mercy can be.
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.
Every day I refused to conform,
causing conflict, but what is the norm,
who's to say and anyway,
in a teacup no more than a storm,
but why should they hold sway?
Every time I was so inclined
to step out of line, they'd remind,
hoping to prevail,
altho' I was not resigned,
someone would assail.
(Good luck with that, but keep it under your hat)
On rare occasions, the subject broached,
I was appreciated and approached,
for what I did by being me,
and yet, who else was I supposed to be?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fragile porcelain,
once steaming with jasmine dreams~
now sits cold, chipped edge
catching morning light like
a confession no one hears.
In anticipation of a major
Cleaning of our floors,
I’ve begun to whittle down my stuff,
The toughest of the chores.
I thought I tossed a lot of things
And worked with true devotion
But my husband says it’s like I took
A teacup to the ocean.
If he took charge, there would be
Nothing sentimental left
And yes, it would look better
But would leave me quite bereft.
He’ll have to wait until I die
And, if I predecease,
He can empty our apartment
And live emptily in peace.
i keep
a teacup with a cracked rim—
it doesn’t hold warmth for long
but i drink from it anyway.
the hallway light flickers
like it’s unsure
if it wants to stay on.
some nights,
i understand.
there’s a coat in the closet
that no one wears,
but i leave it hanging.
the walls don’t echo
when i speak softly.
so i don’t.
not anymore.
i fold myself into
the quiet corners of things—
pillows, playlists,
people who ask how i’m doing
but not why.
Like a storm in a teacup, You turned nothing
into something blown up, from a small thing.
Everywhere's your ground to pick up a fight.
You should know war is not won by might
But by great strategy and clear planning
not just by being pretty and enchanting.
Stop just being a mere trouble maker.
Rather, try being an active parttaker
Who is ready for a positive change.
Even when done in ways strange.
Your real worth still no way lost.
Nothing much will be the cost,
Still, no day pass you don't doubt yourself.
Yet you've all it takes, there on your shelf.
My late mother got it from a thrift shop 40 years ago -
a fine China teacup and saucer,
it might be worth something,
you never know with fine China teacups.
It could be an antique or just some cheap copy
of an actual fine China teacup.
There's only one cup and saucer
so, what the heck.
I've no idea why it either follows me
on my travels or waits until I settle somewhere
only to reappear -
a cogent yet trivial observation
about my late mother's tendency to prowl.
Amazingly, it's not been broken or cracked yet.
If I were the sort of person
who drank tea from a fine China teacup,
there would be a lot more to these musings,
but seeing as I'm not broken or cracked yet,
there ain't.
A man all for function, not form,
Went to get done a nose-based norm,
The doc to his job rose
And fixed a doggy nose
That breathed full and felt nicely warm.
Yet, mad with his big mouth,
He cursed it and looked south,
In teacup was wasted his storm!
______________________
Tongue-in-cheek | 12.01.2016 | humour
son streams yesterdays
lady of those years keeps nigh~
clinking fetch astir
son owns two faint eyes
lady kept years eyes her son~
silver teaspoon rests
son eyes lady's room
stopped ~ curio stand lights up
son lost eyes to stand
silver teaspoon stirs
son holds Prince Albert's teacup~
soul sips into tears
I found my little teacup I hold as a memory
My little new cup its going to be full of fresh cream with tea
A little biscuit maybe
A little sip I will take
So, pleasing as one can see
My little red tea cup
I’ve had for eight years
Such a delightful memory
I’ll relive again
Where is teacup planet? I asked, interested in it of course.
An alternative sky galaxy, in a cosmos shaped like a horse.
What kind of things are there? I asked the traveler, Morse.
Things I do not dare talk about, they are secret of course.
I am in love with a blue teacup monkey, I am
I cannot help but sing it said Kimberly Irene McFam
He is darling, he is cute, he has big bug eyes!
He orders me McDonald’s and he brings me fries
But why does he live in a teacup? I asked Kimmy-Irene.
He loves it there, it makes him feel safe and serene.
Plus I can keep him high up in my room on a shelf.
With my gnomes, faeries, witches, and arrogant elf.
But last week didn’t you love arrogant elf? I queried.
She suddenly looked a teensy bit worried.
Can you take arrogant elf home? I am done with him.
That is the danger of falling in love with our fickle Kim.
within a teacup of time
the smooth ripples
of a shallow pond
break apart
some fright or tremor
has disturbed
the movement of the water
a gloom hangs
upon a heavier air
the skimming swallows
have darted away
the willow trees rattle
did time blink
perhaps
eyes mistook a sparrow
for a vulture
the pond shivers
then the dark moment
forgets itself
once more
the willows long green tendrils
gently brush
the face of the water
teapots and teacups,
the aroma of coffee,
and the day's hustle.
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