I know this is not
A subjective analysis,
In my view,
No beverage
Compares in enjoyment
To a dark,
Moldy cup
Of Pu Erh Tea.
I know St. Patricks day is coming up,
And lots of people will be drinking
A lot of beer,
But I'll never find any beer
Or any other alcoholic beverage
That I can enjoy as much
As this earthy,
Mysterious brew.
Will you join me for a nice cup of tea?
Mom's china cups from the special shelf.
A tea for two beneath the cherry tree.

Faded linen tablecloth so pretty,
Set with cream and sugar in blue delft.
Will you join me for a nice cup of tea?

Shortbread cookies baked by my friend Lily.
A little twist of lemon for good health.
A tea for two beneath the cherry tree.

The Primula pattern appeals to me.
Victoriana rose mug for yourself.
Will you join me for a nice cup of tea?

Bone china cups rattle pleasantly.
Sweet simple pleasure to share such wealth.
A tea for two beneath the cherry tree.

Let's stay awhile and read poetry.
Fragile cups tell a story themself.
Will you join me for a nice cup of tea?
A tea for two beneath the cherry tree.

© 2012 Verlie Burroughs
I have an older friend (Lily in this poem) who lays out a memorable tea quite effortlessly on a moment's notice. It is always a lovely treat to sit at her table. The cloth, always something crisp and colourful and vintage, the cups, works of art, and the cookies to die for. I've not been there once in the hmm (indiscernible mumbling) years I've known her that this has not been the case. Tuesday is always ironing day, she's very organized and still hangs her wash on the clothesline, so things get that natural fresh air smell that you cannot buy in a can. Anyway she, and my Mother's beautiful china cups inspired this.
Mari 4d
what i want
right now
is not coffee.
I want
a cup of tea
as big as me.
in a mug
of warmth
from the dive
like a map
I made when
I was a kid
and the mug
I needed
so big.

I'm in Spain
and tea
just ain't
the same
here and
everyone is
walking so
slowly and
I have work
get back to
and a headache
and feelings
to forget
A soul, a skip, a time, a page.
Twill and twine, butter me up.
Bowler hat, dapper gray.
Tea and twist, slap it away.
Hatpins stab and teamice snore.
A soul, a skip, a time no more.
The rhythm got stuck in my head for days and wouldn't leave me alone until I have written it out.
What you need
Might be a nice
Strong drink,
Or perhaps a
Tea party for two.
A strange suggestion
To hear; I’m sure,
But the soothing
Cadences of formality
With simmering emotion
Would make for a heady brew.
I honestly may have gone off on a theme of Alice in Wonderland for a number of poems, tea, tea parties, madness, but damned if they didn't come out well
Danielle Mar 9
In deciding what to have for tea
I let a few choices overwhelm me.

It started with Curiosity,
a subtle blend mixed with righteousness,  
a little guilt, a pinch of sadness, and
perhaps most important desire.

The aroma filled my head,  
as the tin lid slid to the counter.
But before it made its way into my cup,
I spied my jar of Anger.

As tempting as the frightening,
confusing, and fiery blend was;
I needed something a touch more satisfying.

So I pondered and wondered.
Glanced at Shame in its blue jar.
Regret crossed my mind,
a bitter brew indeed.

I heard a cough and turned to see
my apparent madness looking at me.
He made a face, wondrously bored
“I’ll take the mint melody.”
Prompted from a thought about how emotions can't be controlled like in the SyFy movie Alice. What would it be like to pick and choose your emotions like we do tea?
It may be grey and gloomy,
out on the moors,
but we have our cozy world,
inside of doors!
Our world is secret and snug
and looks out on plaintive air;
a sprawling country field with
blowing mists thither and who knows where.
We'll have our tea and our stories
and our expectant silences.
We'll let the bleak backdrop of time ebb
and flow, while we admire a vase of Irises.
Ours is a curious cradle of contentment --
just two friends living
a shared imagination against
a mad world, rife with resentment!
We'll spend the hours and stay our journey for
we have peered through the looking glass
and finally come to know:
our trip is spontaneous and
it doesn't matter which way we go!
Steaming waters kiss
Dry and fragile leaves unfurl
Peace and solace blossom
Cody Penn Feb 24
Like a cup of peppermint tea,
Like a cup of peppermint tea,
Like several more cups of peppermint tea,

[Bathroom break]

Like a cup of peppermint tea,
Would you earnestly drink me?
Slowly, steadily, with an average life expectancy,
Farther than the eye can see,
(Of about 78 years currently)
Maybe we could grow oldly?
I was asleep that day when Death knocked
on my door
just wanting to pass the time-as you do.
he left a message,
nicely written it was
full of lovely words.

After reading I put it in my drawer
for safe keeping
determined to be out when he called again.

I don't mind Death,
I'm not prejudiced,
but once is enough-
and I'd rather he kept it at that.

Its was years before he returned,
this time when he knocked I opened the door and invited
him in. I had tea and biscuits ready,
a jam sandwich or two.
I let him sit on my most comfortable chair
and turned on the TV.

I watched him die. It was a good death.
I threw his bones into a black bag and left it
the following morning by my dustbin,
said a prayer over his remains
and walked slowly towards eternity.
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