Tea and Poetry Tuesday

Today’s Tea Tidbit:
“Ecstasy is a glass full of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.”
— Alexander Puskin

Character Driven

by Kelly F. Barr

They introduce themselves to my mind–
Men, women, children.
We need you to tell our stories.
Their histories, backgrounds, and circumstances unwind.
Notes spill from my pen and a story begins
As my fingers tap, tap upon my laptop keys.
Sentences, paragraphs, pages, and chapters flow;
A plot of conflict and romance weaves.
Nearing the end, and someone new arrives
Upending circumstances, challenging romances.
I thought I knew where this was going; now unsure–
My mind spins as this new person drives.
As the climax hits and the story begins to dive;
A gradual grade descending;
One broken–healed; One rejected–accepted; One lost–redeemed,
Bringing it all to a satisfying ending.

Tea and Poetry Tuesday

Today’s Tea Tidbit:

“I like the pause that tea allows.” — Waris Ahluwalia

Blackberrying

 by SYLVIA PLATH

Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
A blackberry alley, going down in hooks, and a sea
Somewhere at the end of it, heaving. Blackberries
Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes
Ebon in the hedges, fat
With blue-red juices. These they squander on my fingers.
I had not asked for such a blood sisterhood; they must love me.
They accommodate themselves to my milkbottle, flattening their sides.
Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks—
Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting.
I do not think the sea will appear at all.
The high, green meadows are glowing, as if lit from within.
I come to one bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of flies,
Hanging their bluegreen bellies and their wing panes in a Chinese screen.
The honey-feast of the berries has stunned them; they believe in heaven.
One more hook, and the berries and bushes end.
The only thing to come now is the sea.
From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me,
Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.
These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills’ northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal

Tea and Poetry Tuesday

Today’s Tea Tidbit”

“My hour for tea is half past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.”
– Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White

To Write a Story
by Kelly F. Barr

My pen bleeds
As my words flow.
Characters born
To live and grow.

His story must be told
Or my brain shall burst.
Her love must be found.
But which should come first?

Their whispers fill my ear
And I write faster
Caught up in their lives,
They become my masters.

Until their journey’s end
To my desk I am chained,
Til their love has blossomed
Through struggles overcame.

Tea and Poetry Tuesday

Today’s Tea Tidbit:
I am in no way interested in immortality,
but only in the taste of tea.

Lu Tung

Riders
by Robert Frost

The surest thing there is is we are riders,
And though none too successful at it, guiders,
Through everything presented, land and tide
And now the very air, of what we ride.

What is this talked-of mystery of birth
But being mounted bareback on the earth?
We can just see the infant up astride,
His small fist buried in the bushy hide.

There is our wildest mount–a headless horse.
But though it runs unbridled off its course,
And all our blandishments would seem defied,
We have ideas yet that we haven’t tried.