Hallway to Nowhere

Tag: tea

  • 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

  • This Is One Way (Poem)

    the thickening fug of uncertain outcomes

    the digital unsteadiness of everyday life

    outside the window a bird arcs

    dirty feathered wings against the gray grimed sky

    a woman sits reading in the rooftop garden

    the pages of the book stark white amidst the buildings

    I walk down the street for a cup of tea

    from a shop where they know my name

    our brief greeting warms the weak morning sun

  • 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

  • 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

  • Heart Sutra Tea (Poem)

    I awaken and rise to make tea.

    I take my first sip and then.

    Immediately afterwards that moment expands,

    Stretched apart by unseen hands.

    I step into the opening as I swallow the tea.

    Darkness which is not darkness enfolds me.

    The taste of puer pulls the earth inside.

    We rest in knowledge of primordial ground.

    No beginning; no end; no self; no other.

    I take a second sip and smile.

  • Origination Tea Cup (Poem)

    steam rises from the tea. consider these things

    how did this cup come to be?

    a skilled artisan learned from skilled potters who learned from their teachers and so on

    a ceramic with multiple sources, and also the celadon glaze

    a kiln in which it was fired; wood that provided heat

    a building itself that housed this all

    thus it is with the tea

    tea farmers, masters all, helped by family and community and so on

    (Only a village produces fine tea.)

    trees dependent upon rain, earth, and light

    countless different elements interconnected

    change one, and the whole transforms

    each lift of the cup and sip of the tea,

    the entire world is joined

  • Reality Tea Cup (Poem)

    Steam rises from the tea.

    Consider these things.

    When I lift the tea cup, I do so with wonder.

    I do not think, “oh, if only I had a different vessel!”

    When I sip the tea, I do so with appreciation.

    I do not think, “oh, if only this were a different drink!”

    This is the cup; this is the tea.

    Right here; right now; where I am in this moment.

    I drink with gratitude and enjoyment.

  • She Wanted My Heart (Poem)

    Once, long ago, she wanted my heart.

    I gave her a cup of tea and a poem.

    She tied a cord of red thread around my wrist

    And wept before she left.

    What did that mean?

  • What Is/A Cup Of Tea (Poem)

    steam rises from the cup. consider these things

    the cup shatters and the world explodes

    celadon shards and tea float in the midst of primal debris.

    chaos and noise and confusion

    breathe, and then:

    sit in silence,

    sipping the usual cup of tea.

  • Drinking Tea As A Young Child (Poem)

    I rose before dawn in the late summer.

    I sat on the porch outside my room.

    The air was still and redolent with the salty musky scent of the bayou.

    The bull frogs were still croaking from the night,

    The crickets were chirping,

    And a few birds had begun their morning calls.

    I drank my usual Gunpowder Green in a hand-thrown mug

    And realized I must make a trip to New Orleans soon.

    I needed more tea.