"oolong" poems
She says she is lesbian
I fix a cup of Oolong tea
I just needed someone to talk to
She is looking straight through me
She says her heart is broken
I see the pieces all around
I just can't be alone now
Your the only one I've found
So the night made up a midnight
And the music made up songs
And she built up her castles
Before they came tumbling down
And she looked just like an angel
One without her feathered wings
And I wanted to kiss her
But she collected only Queens
The night turned into daylight
She said she had to go
But she wanted to thank me
Most people would've said no
And then she hugged me
like a big brother to me you are
Then in another second
She was driving off in her car
And she looked just like an angel
One without her feathered wings
Still she flew on without me
An angel without any rings
And my heart was breaking
Fool you can't be this way I say
Still she was an angel
Without a halo to display
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
The Mill sits comfortably among the sea of red.
Unwavering, unyielding, and thriving.
Cafe Espresso and oolong tea.
The booths are occupied with
reminiscence of the glory days,
contentment between mothers and daughters and sons and fathers,
appreciation of music and art and literature.
All the while sunlight illuminated
the scarf and the starfish
of the girl across from me
as our minds were slowly revealed to one another.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 11:02 PM UTC
Lapsang Souchong
two sugars n me,
are owft on a charabang
jaunt to the sea,
with pickled egg Mary-
her three pekinese,
who are hairy quite scary
n chopped owft at the knees,
we are bringing darjeeling
and Oolong along
to twiddle their tootsies
and fire up their ****
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;
You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;
You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.
You're awful cold and ***** and a-cursin' of your lot;
You scoff the blushin' 'alf of it, so rich and rippin' 'ot;
It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:
God bless the man that first discovered Tea!
Since I came out to fight in France, which ain't the other day,
I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;
All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,
To *** they serves you out before a charge.
In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;
I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin' dam;
But 'struth! they all ain't in it with the vintage of Assam:
God bless the man that first invented Tea!
I think them lazy lumps o' gods wot kips on asphodel
Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;
I only wish them sons o' guns a-grillin' down in 'ell
Could 'ave their daily ration of Suchong.
Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is 'ell and 'eaven too;
And if I don't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,
To-night, by Fritz's campfire, won't I 'ave a gorgeous brew
(For fightin' mustn't interfere with Tea).
To-night we'll all be tellin' of the Boches that we slew,
As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.
2.2k
pour some words into my ear
make a nice stout aural darjeeling
no need to sweeten
i like mine hot and strong
in turn, i'll steep your cochlea
Senno Rikyu at your service
master of libidinous liquids
ceremonial titillated ears
then we'll make oolong to each other
i'll brew your longing leaves
ferment your black dragon lips
sip the liquor from your *****
write it up for the society page
tea today at four and Thea pours
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
Tea is, in essence, ******* ******* amazing**.
Black, Green, White, Herbal, Oolong, Pu-erh; in blends or pure, **** it don't matter!
Each type has it's time and place, and all of it is ******* incredible.
**Optional, but Highly recommended:**
Apprehend a badass cup and fill that **** with yo' favorite motherfuckin' Tea
then spill a healthy dose of your favorite Whiskey/Brandy in that ****
and squeeze the **** out of some Lemon above that ****
and, if desired, stir up some swank-ass Honey in that ****
then finally sip yo' ******** to a higher state of being, motherfuckas!
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
the sun prowls around
its rocky master
and you
a shadow in its breath
your eyes closed
your hair blowing
like a brushfire
bleeding oolong
the brazen claps of
sunlight thunder
down upon your shoulders
a freckle appears
then another
then another
your sea of blank skin
now crushed
tiny islands
cooling you in
sun-drenched picture
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 2:29 PM UTC
The smell of oolong still speaks your name. In the tea and spice shop I drift among leaves and peppercorns, petals and sugar, I want to fade into the muted tones of flavorful hulls, curl into the scent of cinnamon and cardamom. Pulling down the iron goddess of mercy, I realize the veneer of curled baroque leaves rest on a sandbag. Shadowed abundance, a pretty lie, hollow, futile. Too much like us. The Cheshire glimmers of what we could have been. What I always wanted you to be, and what you sometimes were. A small edge, tiny supply to fill my cup, flavor fading too quickly. Replacing the jar, I realize there must have been a last day I named you mine. The last time I called you boyfriend, partner—by our last talk, it was already finished, the last note in a fading song, off tune. I cannot recall the shape of my lips, the weight of your name, the tenor of my voice, the bend of my tongue, much less the listener. I still hear you, through the broken measures of a desperate song. You say you still love me, but perhaps I never told you, dear, I prefer coffee to tea.
Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 9:58 AM UTC
Anguished lavish
laureates has driven
me slightly mad
tangerine lemon rounds
Erudites of oolong parties
flying on the wreckages
of forgotten sideral castles
ice cubes crushed in the psychadelia
Nuances of never tomorrows,
slicky dew drops
glistening
jadded wells of deep thoughts
callin'
green algae lakes
emerging
Pale planes oozing
silvery Neptune forks
n'waves flyin'from above
witchery wands in love with wondrous comets
Thou sparkling dispersive
master machine mind
feedin' on
oak wooden spoons
tightly, tenderly
sippin'
magnified tinder
from thy glances
daemons of thy unconsciousness breathing
me *******
flow and ebb
thou chest ebb
and flows
bonvivants bountyful beams
The inflamable black
powder burnin'
to take off
like a swift rocket
like a swell day's
endless delight
*The gold
The pink
The brave new horizons*
Openin' grunges and volcanic
desires
pinnin' lovers, gluein' them to-
gether in a desperate gloom
of unforgiven erotica
And The Poems
who make you tremble
as a luscious cream on the top
of Thou Vicious Beauty
fenderstrater jaguars silent roar
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
I just want you to understand
that although you are
trying to forget me,
we share a year's worth of
memories, habits, secrets.
We adjusted our singular pattern
to coincide with each other.
I cannot remember what it
feels like to sleep on the
left side of my bed. Or the
middle.
I do not know how to stop making
one cup of
homemade Black Cherry Acai Berry Oolong tea and one mug of
stark black coffee. I do not know how to remember last year without remembering
you.
I do not know how to stop
remember you.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
Brewing.
Steeping.
The leaves of the crunchy,
Dry,
Oolong tea.
He wanted the girl to love it.
As much as he did.
The chocolatey aroma.
Taste.
Smell.
All to be enjoyed by the girl.
He was excited for her to savor it.
Auburn orange.
Amber yellow.
How these colors swirl within the tea cup.
Dipping a spoon in to twirl it.
Left.
Right.
Counterclockwise.
At last, the tea was ready.
Cool.
Not too hot.
Not too cold.
Just right, like porridge.
Ready to be tasted by the girl.
He presented it to her.
She took the tea cup.
In her delicate hands.
Tipped it to her chapped lips.
The warm liquid
Glided.
Smoothly.
In her mouth.
Down her throat.
Her tongue, wanting more.
She smiled at the boy.
Before continuing to
Ravish her tea.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:22 AM UTC
that
--should you leave the world for a while
there are people who remember the smell
of your clothes
of your skin after being in the sun
your hair after the rain
that there are people who know your favorite color
your favorite author
who would bring you flowers
in mason jars
{irises and ivy and daffodils and gardenias and honeysuckle and sage}
to cheer you when spring rain
carries away your joy
that there are people who know your favorite sound
that there are people who remember what your eyes look like
in the sun
or care about mundane tales from your childhood
like how you got a scar on your palm
or why you’re afraid of to-go boxes and the wind
that there are people who would make you
rhubarb jam
or oolong or english breakfast in early morning hours
who would read your poetry
or make you earrings
or hold your hand when the wind blows too hard
and empty stomachs cry too loud
and sometimes it’s nice to have friends
who think you are pretty
and think of you when they smell lavender
instead of wondering
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
I've never collected trading cards
Though I once collected stamps
Until one day
The catalogue stopped
Sending them
I never followed the
Dewey Decimal System
In any place other than
The library
Where I spent my
Childhood days
Falsely convinced that the building
Was at least a block
Big
I've never been patient
For anything but a doctor
Though I once waited
Ten minutes
For the bus
And only got up to pace
Twice
But with her, I find myself
Collecting memories
Of snapshots I've taken
In my mind
Of her fingers
Tracing my face
And holding my hand
Gently
Because I'm never sure
How confident I should be
When holding her hand
Of her lips
As she talks
About things that
Excite her
And I watch them
Hearing her excitement
And wanting to kiss her
Of her teeth
As they are revealed
When she smiles
When she speaks
And as they bite me
I want to make her smile
When the world goes
Boom
Of her eyes
So beautiful
Framed by glasses
Or frameless
And looking
Up, around, at me
Displaying her emotions
And other
Evasive thoughts
And I can't help wondering
What runs through her mind
But it could be
The same that runs through mine:
Unfiltered bliss
Of her hair
The way it tangles so
Easily
The way it reflects
Her and matches her
And how the first time
We went bowling
I used it as a blindfold
So she would be surprised
When I
Kissed her
But with her, I find myself organizing
These memories
These thoughts
This unbridled energy
That is the happiness
She brings
The organization reminds me
Of a library
Or the TARDIS
Because in here with the memories
It seems bigger
And I might be a madman
"But it just may be a lunatic
You're looking for"
But with her, I find myself patient
I can wait
Steeping in happiness
Like oolong in a clay ***
Getting stronger and stronger
The longer away I am
I can grab my
Bag of memory
And every moment with her
Builds my supply
Like nothing could get me down
Not now
Not for the predicted future
And sure Chaos
Is hard to predict
But **** patterns, I'm making a beeline
For her
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC
Brewing.
Steeping.
The leaves of the crunchy,
Dry,
Oolong tea.
The chocolatey aroma…
So intoxicating
Like a psychedelic dream.
Auburn orange.
Amber yellow.
How these colors swirl within the tea cup.
Dipping a spoon in to twirl it.
Left.
Right.
Counterclockwise.
At last, the tea was ready.
Cool.
Not too hot.
Not too cold.
Just right, like porridge.
The girl was ready
To savor the
Lovely drink.
She took the tea cup.
In her delicate hands.
Tipped it to her chapped lips.
The warm liquid
Glided.
Smoothly.
In her mouth.
Down her throat.
Her tongue wanting more.
She smiled,
Before continuing to
Finish
Her ravishing tea.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
I like milk tea
like I like my men
Oolong—
deeply rooted in
his beliefs, strong,
slightly bitter— rarely
compromising
Milk and sugar—
delicate, able to bend
rules without losing
integrity, sweet yet
lasting, like the
aftertaste I’ve
grown to love
Cold—
ice cold, only to
complement the
warmth I’ve been
saving for a lone soul
Pearls—
sinkers to my tea,
unflavored yet unyielding.
the anchor of any man
willing to stay with me—
this I have yet to see.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
The thermos stands like a torpedo
on its end.
A gift from my grandparents,
a reminder of family forgotten,
gathers dust.
It's still full of green tea.
Unwashed and ignored,
It's lost all it had to say.
But maybe I should wash
the stagnant thermos.
Fresh, iced Oolong is best
in the summer heat.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
He smells like parchment
And dried, oolong tea.
He looks like a wolf.
But not really a wolf.
His smiling face,
Always smiling.
The Gods are his people.
He is in love with one.
Before him, is bright light.
He stares at it with much curiosity
And love.
His hands, cold.
After being exposed, all day long.
He never talks about his father,
But his grandmother lives far away.
He finds solace in sketching.
Adding many little details.
But what is his name?
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC
There's tea brewing in the kitchen
that may or may not be ready.
I haven't heard that proverbial whistle
yet.
You introduced me to Oolong tea
a few years ago at that cafe downtown.
You drew me a picture of a sad boy
in a collared shirt and unkempt hair.
You said it was me.
I drew you a picture of a butterfly
with a beautiful wing pattern
I said it was you.
You never noticed one of the wings were torn.
You never really knew why I did that,
didn't you?
Well, words are fleeting now, and-
Oh. My tea is ready.
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
Your alluring face
figurant and immured,
yet all those things
that made you proud
Oolong tea,
laddered nylon tights
coltsfoot by the river
mattered more.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC
i am the canary
in the binary
singing bars hard
distal phalanges
tap the app
till these trills mean something
the oolong tea leaves
in the bottom of the witch's teacup
told me doom and bloom
was nigh
as ****
her words quavered
like dead grass clippings falling up
into the discerning violet scry
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
We drank a cup of Oolong tea,
its forlorn fragrance wafts;
atmosphere awkward with silence-
ineloquent like writers first draft,
this tea taste of grievance.
Stumbling lips, we finally talk.
Woeful, you asked me why
I choose to leave and walk-
bidding you with heartless goodbyes.
My eyes fogged by tea’s heat;
tears form like dews of rain,
forehead furrows in sweat-
emotions rich in pain.
We drank a cup of Oolong tea,
This moment I’ve long dread!
Whirls of traumatic emotions
had left me angry red-
your actions were ghastly.
For many years we did not speak.
Bitterness brewed in tea,
memories of the past all bleak,
my self-esteem you’ve malign.
Oolong aftertaste so unkind-
our past painted with hurt!
Will my emotions blurt to
reveal repressed resentment?
We drank a cup of Oolong tea,
my mental assailant,
I shall not fear your chide.
The truth shall be revealed,
no longer my voice shall hide!
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 10:23 AM UTC
the sun was bright that day
leaving freckles in my skin
burning brown grains of sand
stepping a little too far inland
losing sight of the sea
looking for the snake's oolong tea
theft ain't bad if you're taking
from the thief
got nothing to lose, friend,
just like you
you know how it is
oh, hello
i'd never steal from you
just wanted to look around
admire the place
you've got a pretty good setup here
no, i'm not a kiss-ass, i'm being for real
scraping my knees on the rocks near
the shoreline, digging sand into my skin
the reddening streaks on my legs
remind me of the sunset
pain is nothing, i tell myself
kneeling and praying to god
for mercy upon mine soul
but this doesn't get old
face flushed with relief
my pockets full of the snake's
very aromatic oolong tea
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
oolong are
toes in
fudge with
pig square
to total
his worker
with a
syllabus and
acquire diligence
that escape
their tyranny
when the
rings of
destiny are
chatter riot
then wild
the partridg
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 11:02 AM UTC