Teacups Poems | Examples

every sorrow

~
i dreamt of a background
my thoughts could erase,
when laughter and teardrops
fell lost in this place,
and teacups from Denver
held soft drinks instead,
while words that you shouted
still ring in my head,
will anyone notice
that truth is a pawn,
to whisper a farewell
the day I am gone,
for promises shattered
are all they can be,
when every sorrow
is best friends with me
~

Wormhole Wonderland

She followed a rabbit
stitched from stardust,
leaping between planets
like lily pads of light.

A comet brushed her cheek
a whisper,
a secret,
a scent of home long gone.

Her dress,
woven from constellations,
twirled in zero gravity,
threads unraveling into galaxies.

The wormhole found her.
Not a door,
but a pulse,
a soft tear in the silence. She stepped in.

Light bent like memory.
Time folded into origami.
She became
a thought,
a chord,
a gasp inside the cosmos.

When she landed,
a planet blinked.
Rings spun like teacups.
A queen in a glass crown said:
“Wonderland was never down.
It was always above.”

And Alice
floating,
smiling,
rewrote the stars
with her finger.

Meet the Staff I

MysticMisfits™ Staff Directory

Staff Spotlight:The WanderPoet
Position: Ephemeral Verse Consultant
Clock-in Time: Unknown
Clock-out Time: Immediately After You Notice Him

You won’t see him arrive.
You might catch a glimpse--
a flicker of velvet,
a whisper that sounds like unfinished poetry.

He drifts between aisles,
scribbling stanzas on the backs of receipts,
leaving notes folded in teacups,
and misquoting love spells near the lip balm display.

He never applied for the job.
He just appears
right before a storm,
drops a single verse,
and vanishes before the ink dries.

We tried giving him a name tag once.
It wrote itself into a sonnet
and dissolved in moonlight.

Check back often. New employees arrive whenever the veil thins… or HR sneezes.

Daes Eage

Nothing can brighten my day 
more than a simple bouquet.

Roses with a scent so strong
are not the ones for which I long.

Tulips welcome in the Spring
but do not make my heart sing.

I need delicate petals of white
that close up each and every night.

A yellow center, pretty, round, sweet
and if you wish, could be chosen to eat.

Petals that are perfect to pull and see
does he or does he not love me.

A flower that can grow wherever it wishes
can also be found on teacups and dishes.

So simple a flower some may find me crazy
because my favorite flower is the daisy.

A significantly Pointless Teacup

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.

As little Richie rages

There's was a wager..' caused his raging.) Richie is jumping
On his stagings..Running round corridors of twitching
Curtains and talking walls.' He's madness knows no
Cageing..Wait..! till his kippers arn't poached?? Just rightly..! 
There'll be' an anger most unseemly..!! Just to put it
Keenly.' Emerging; emergency perspective of this little Ritchie; to me.!

Marvelling in the Pink afternoon

Marvelling in the pink afternoon, pretending
to crochet a drawstring. I’ve done it before,
at least once before, followed the pattern. Closed
the purse. I can’t nearly begin
to learn that not all things are meant
to bring pleasure to me…they are oft’ meant
to gift, to love, to let go
of. Don’t
pull too hard…enclose a piece of your heart
on a little toy ship…let the paper sailboat
head toward the pond-swan. Even
mom’s precious teacups sunk
to the glass bottom, broke
in pieces. Her words stay,
meaningful & meaningless.
She meant us siblings to cheek-kiss.
Dad’s eyes see through the glass bottom -
either smiling bright or sad if we fight,
so we mustn’t fight. Marvelling
in the pink afternoon, pretending
to pour tea. Laying linen
on familial laps. Kind cubes
of sugar, kerplunk, splash
about with leafy-hugs. the drawstring closes
over promising memories. Marvelling
in the pink afternoon, letting go of…

Inside mint leaves

I am sitting in a black, hard plastic
Chair which has a leg and one more
And fire in its heart. And then the grass
Was screeching at the top of their lungs
For the witches spell had put the flame 
Out. Plums were hanging on the branches of
Old Sir Willow but they dropped and drooped.
Who? Let’s take a journey down the rabbit
Hole, no, the goblin and it’s neighbouring
Hobbit. We go down or north but yes, it is 
Going towards the smell of fading emerald
Crystals and Water and Teacups. One more
Tourist spot with a flag on it, which I’m really
Looking forward to - do you know the small
Spirits which sing in silent pitches and do you
Hear them hiding inside the mint leaves?

QUAFF OR SIP

QUAFF OR SIP

In days of old one drank from a flagon
Some were even embossed with a dragon

Yet more recently, mugs then emerged
And demand for matching items surged

Whether in tin, porcelain, or plain china
Some potteries’ items could not be finer

Later, tea drinkers in the Victorian era
Affected, bought cups that were dearer

Like doll house items, cups got quite small
And they offered hardly a mouthful at all

We know small teacups are not the same
So perhaps a cuplet is a far better name

Fog On The River

The hulls of small boats
drop down into the morning fog
then return like rising seagulls.
The moored
slip in and out of the mist
then return painted
by a deep diving sky.

Sinking or flying, the small craft
slip through our vision
like leaking ghosts.

They roll upon an obscure air
shipping cloudy waves,
a swell last seen
in shipwrecked teacups.

I remember

I Remember 

I remember a time
When all was so bright
With bustling crowds 
And neon lit nights

Covered wagon caterpillars 
And bunnies of blue
Teacups that spun
You sat in them too

I remember the days
When scooters could fly
Pinball was king
And everything thrived

I remember the smells
Of hot dogs & beer
I remember it all
And wish it still there

Bill MacEachern
05/02/2022

The Unique Antique Shoppe

The curiosity shoppe
Was the place to stop,
For something unique 
... A rare antique

With floors that creak
A treasure in itself,
Amongst the keepsakes 
Lining each and every shelf

Under layers of dust
Upon layers of rust,
Hoping to snare
... A buyer's stare

Leather-bound books stand
With their titles erect,
Rifled through by many a hand
Now showing signs of neglect 

A belted steamer trunk
From a ship that sunk,
A top hat for the gentlemen 
An inkwell, a fountain pen

Here and there, a lamp
Was always dimly lit,
By an old rocking chair
Where someone used to sit

A delicate China doll
With a painted smile,
Next to dainty teacups
Stacked in a pile

Open for business 
With an eclectic mix,
The Unique Antique Shoppe 
... Closes at six.

Perspective of My Pa

perspective
  of my pa
    different
      than my own
eye to eye
  we deviate
still
  he educates
i don’t learn
  anything
except
  to listen
    to love
    to hear
his heartbeat
  to joy
always
  there’s olives
    in his glass
i can hear
   the daily
     missives
        of his martini
          speaking
            in gentle
              low tones
even
  his feistiness
    is controlled
grief
  brought us
    together
his goblet
  of tears
his plea
  “Tell me
  she’s somewhere…”
two butterflies
  their wing-sets
    flapping
      as he retrieved
        his mail
broken glass
  like a
    broken heart
      on his birthday
        their birthdays
a solid shelf
  fell
    shattering
      James Kent
        teacups
    signs all here
perspective
  of my pa
    different
      than my own
eye to eye
  we deviate

3/28/2023
Sponsor: Brian Strand

A Simple Story

A Simple Story 

Little child finds upon a heap of rubbish
Favored threadbare rabbit of tawny velveteen
One eye missing
Cloth rubbed to shiny by little hands.

Beloved bunny, 
Shopworn keepsake from babyhood,
Languishing in forgotten jungles of junk,
Broken teacups and outgrown sweaters.

Heartbroken child, with faithful love,
Cradles one last time this life companion
To kiss goodbye this forever friend 
In a eulogy of tears and turns to leave.

Love works miracles 
From the rubbish arises a living bunny
Bulging stuffing and missing eye repaired
Now hugged again in arms of delight.

Golden bunny of dappled coat
Lives in colorful clusters of carrots
Straight radish rows and leafy greens
Planted by the small child’s hands that

Remember…

3-21-23
Contest: A Simple Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless

Based on the children’s book – The Velveteen Rabbit

From the Hidden Windows

From the infinity of the hidden windows the cuckoo cooing ushering the morning through the darkness

Feroz has just set fire to the oven, and his brief body cloth he stretches to cover his ears and face

There is still a chill in the wind. Baby leaves are yet to deck up the bare skin of Neem trees

The oven is lending heat to the two street children
The birds' chorus seems never-ending

Flames glisten in the elliptical eyes of the children
In the cotton trees, the flowers have just begun reddening

The glow of the flame tinges the sharp face of Feroz
In the two eyes sits the expanse of struggle

From a distance, wafts a smell of rose
Sounds of sips from the teacups in a circle

Suddenly there was a commotion a few houses away
Ambulance
The quiet of the morning has gone haywire

Profuse tears and loud screaming, a flea in the tea
Nadir or zenith, you are beside me
___________________________________________

24 February 2023

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