Tea and Poetry Tuesday

Today’s Tea Tidbit: “You are less likely to get a caffeine crash” when you drink tea as opposed to soda and coffee, due to the high levels of antioxidants in tea, which slow the absorption of caffeine giving a gentler increase of caffeine in your system and a longer period of alertness, with no crash at the end.”

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Tea and Poetry Tuesday

Today’s Tea Tidbit:

Tea began as a medicine and morphed into a beverage of choice!

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way.
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed-and gazed-but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

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.