perhaps rain today
the sky beyond the window offers uncertain light
the sun appearing beneath a gauzy haze
obdurate indeterminacy a hallmark now
but always tea
Category: tea
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Afternoon At Knossos (Poem)
tea led us into the labyrinth
where we followed different threads
into complex conversations
he is passionate about a desert
and the burning man
an inventor who likes to juggle ideas
with multiple spheres in the air
spinning them with dazzling speed
transparent yet opaque
he used the word magic so often
this clearly was a need
and somehow reminded me of a faraway friend
who quotes with mournful mien
the world is too much with us
I’ve never sought magic and as for the world
I find curiosity and kindness to be enough
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This Morning (Poem)
the chant of refuge
the ring of the bell
the water hitting the cup
the leaves in the water
I cannot make tea
I cannot break silence
both rest in themselves
breathe
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No Surface Ripple (Poem)
I sit beside myself, an absence waiting
not to be filled nor emptied
just there as another way to be
I watch as I lift a cup
seeing thoughts drift here and there
attended to only as the weather
no distraction from the tea
fragrant and green with a vegetal edge
perfect in this moment
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Tea and Moon (Poem)
on the surface of the tea, a moon
tilt the cup, pour it into your hand
gently gently hold it there
resting in silent contemplation
fold it into your heart
it has always been there
shining unseen on a hidden shelf
behind the little stones we gather
to throw in all directions but mostly back at ourselves
not realizing these conceal such light
don’t forget to finish the tea
wash the cup and put it away
who knows what the next time will bring
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The Celadon Cup (Poem)
crackled with beautiful threads
webbed by years passing well, each line a story
whispered lives of master farmers
distant rocky terraces and trees older than human span
infused with craft and love
hands that hold it now, my hands
likewise display patterns of time, historied wrinkles thinning skin
etched by so many memories, moments beyond recall
always, always there is tea
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Stillness Within Movement (Poem)
rain pummels hard the roof
wind throws branches against the walls
creek rushes down the street
darkness hits with an audible thud
leaves aged for nineteen years
rest inside a celadon cup
a swirl of hot water poured and then
in a few moments, tea
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The Moment Before Tea (Poem)
some afternoons hover on the edge
a rough pottery cup falls from my hand
spilling dreams across the kitchen table
their brilliance saturates the wooden surface
as it turns live with colors previously unknown
rain drops transform into birds with glassine feathers
that fly through the smazy windows
in a dazzling glitter of reflected phantasmical hue
all vanishes as I retrieve the cup
tea is ready
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Home. Tea. (Poem)
until I am home, there is tea.
since I have no home, I have tea.
anywhere I dwell is temporary.
cups also; they break, are given away, or simply disappear.
tea remains,
each sip lasting as long as one breath.
that is enough. that is all.
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The Dreitch (Poem)
caught outside in beginning pour
trying to run between drops
fleeing inside confused wet
shaking water off hands feet
rain falling harder
roof jumping with noise
curl up in bed hiding
eventually emerge for tea