"teabag" poems
He thwack no metronome to kick oneself
Thwack his **** sucker
With his monolithic flaccid trunk rubber
Me and my Dalek doped
And my excrement unsweetened
Copulate in the open without my jockstrap
You shat encrusted to what you deflowered
So at arm’s length ****** from all that we excreted in the wind’s eye
And I bounce a bedevilled backwash
My incredibles are shafted
I’ll **** **** to Arab
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
I **** **** to myself
I ****** you powerfully
The body beautiful’s not enough to go round
You enjoy spanking and I wallow in *********
And ***** is like a tobacco teabag
And I’m a bijou **** coming the corsets in custody
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab
I **** **** to…
I **** **** to…
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** **** to her
And I **** **** to Arab
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
I saw you swimming
in my teacup
I sipped and tasted
so much bitterness
in this teabag,
Pieces of my heart
crushed and dehydrated
As I hear the raindrops
continue to dance
in the same puddles
they created
Promises that we have broken
I have to add sugar
and a little bit of tear
In my cup of tea,
I saw you floating
I took a teaspoon
and shove you deeper
into a whirlpool
that reminded me
how much
I was a fool
for you,
I have to finish it all
Lined my throat
in bittersweet guilt
Swallowed them all
and ah!
a sigh of relief
I must be dreaming
-Tea, Margaret Austin Go
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
It is positively sublime
watching Democrats eat their own.
i thought they only snacked on
Republicans and social inequalities.
Before you start, stop calling
me a Republican. My God,
man, i have standards.
i love sweet tea, but
the only tea party i endorse
is another Boston Tea Party.
The only contribution i have
for the cause is if i
teabag your mom.
Purely out of respect, you
understand? Because i
care too much...
Delicious anarchy is upon us.
i have brought popcorn,
enough for us all, enjoy
the show!!
The sun will surely rise
tomorrow. Probably.
Most of us will still be here.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
The question has to be asked, “How hard can it be,
for a man to get a decent cup of tea”?
How can people get something so simple so wrong?
A question that has vexed me for ever so long.
Let me be clear, lest there be any confusion
I’m not into tea leaves or these fancy new infusions
Nor herbal or green, earl grey or the rest
A good plain cup of tea is simply the best!
I wonder why it is that people bother to ask
When they will not put any real effort into the task
Yes they are careful to ask how you take your tea
But what you get is something different, entirely
If there is one thing that really gets to me
It is being made a half cup of tea
I always opt for a mug because there’s never enough in a cup
But for some reason they seem incapable of filling it up!
After just two mouthfuls, Surprise! It is all gone!
I hate always having to ask for another one
All the effort they made has gone to waste
The whole experience leaving a very bad taste.
Making tea is a formula, very hard to get wrong
why so often served weak when I always ask for strong?
A small drop of milk please, how hard can it be?
But I often get tea in my milk, not milk in my tea
I do like my sugar and to tell the truth
I do possess an awfully sweet tooth
“three and a bit” I say when they ask
But is stirring it such an impossible task?
How easy can it be? Just move the ****** spoon
You were just standing there, what else were you doing?
And to see all that sugar sitting there at the end
Would drive the most sane person round the bend
Another thing I get really mad about
Is when people do not take the teabag out
And though the cup appears to be full to the top
You take the bag out and watch the level drop
You might think it’s funny but it’s certainly not
What to do with a teabag that is dripping hot?
A cup of tea is supposed to help you relax
Not be the cause of minor heart attacks
And the biggest evil, by far the worst
Is those who serve tea, knowing the teabag has burst
At the end you get a mouthful of leaves and grit
I do love my tea but wonder if it is worth it.
It got to the stage where I considered drinking coffee
But I was bamboozled by the variety available to me
Mocha or latte, perhaps a frappuccino,
Or maybe an espresso or a cappuccino
No, the idea of drinking coffee just left me cold
all I really wanted was a cup of tea truth be told,
Though I have been accused of taking this issue too seriously
There is nothing in the world quite like…. a decent cup of Tea!
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
chocolate fireguard, teapot,
or fender, icecream sofa, dry sea
or wet towel, glass hammer,
waterproof teabag, newspaper
raincoat and umbrella, lead parachute, ashtray on a motorbike,
handbrake on a canoe,
vote in a dictatorship,
loudhailer to a deaf mute,
grief at a wedding,
****** in a monastery.
inflatable dartboard,
spoon in a knife-fight,
screen door on a submarine,
wooden soap, shortbread tires,
knitted light bulb,
bread boat, plasticine wire cutters,
paper hole punch, water hat,
custard floorboards,
ceiling tiles made of gravy,
portrait of a bowl of soup,
a stone cigarette,
syrup knickers, hole in my bucket,
plastic oven, wax truss,
liquorice bridge,
false teeth made of soap,
lemonade roof,
jelly boots,
jam cardigan,
paper bicycle pump,
ice-cream saucepans,
soluble drain pipe,
packet of rubber nails,
see-through mirror,
revolving basement restaurant
roll-on hairspray, rubber pencil,
****** with a hole in it,
limp **** pockets on a lettuce,
**** on a fish, lolly pop van in Hell,
one-legged man in an ****
kicking competition,
meaningless life,
unnecessary death,
forgotten words and deeds,
ignored needs,
this poem.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
**One solitary teabag, not enough for two to share
just one for the teapot, the caddy being quite bare,
no drawing of the water, no mashing of the ***
no teabag for each person... while shopping I forgot,
with saucers on the table, there's no teacup at the lips
for the corner store's not open, to buy more 'PG Tips',
it's tea-less in the cupboard, no tasty leaf to brew
so I will have a coffee... and make tea, just for you.**
... ... ...
'trademark'
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 3:31 AM UTC
Here you sit alone,
You used to froth and foam,
Abuse of women, eh,
Talking to yourself again,
You abused alcohol and drugs,
Now you're a winner with no hugs,
Yes, I guess that makes you a winner
of no privileges, now I'm a grinner,
Who does misogyny make a winner?
Nothing will save your morning teabag,
Fasting is good for you, dear, signed, this old bag,
Now you're thirsty again,
You're the winner of a futile old age,
So, alcohol made you the winner,
Good day for a smile, I'm a grinner,
I'll never be your tea lady again, grinner,
So I guess that makes who a winner!
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:03 AM UTC
Roses are red
Nuts are brown
Skirts go up
Pants go down
Body to body Skin to skin
When its stiff
Stick it in
The Longer its in
The Stronger it gets
It goes in dry And comes out wet
It comes out dripping And starts to sag
Its not what you think......
Its a Teabag
Unknown author, gives me the chucklers
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
Ah the inevitability of it all
Made a cup of tea… teabag broke
toast… burnt it
milk in the cereal was off
shower water went cold
Couldn’t find my jeans…in the wash
Had to wear cords
Missed my train
Late for work
Boss NOT happy
Stella cancelled dinner said she had to work late
Charlie rang to see if I was going to the footy
He said Stella said she was going
When???????????? I asked
Just a minute ago he said
Ah the inevitability of it all
Missed my deadline I was preoccupied
Called and had it out with her
**** off she said
You can **** off too
Missed my train
Home late
Checked mail
Stella sent me a ticket to the footy….
A surprise she said
Ah the inevitability of it all
Married her on a Sunday
Had our first child on a Monday
Divorced on a Tuesday
There’s got to be a better way
Joined online dating scheme
Now I lie with panache
And she sure knows how to tease me
And please me…
Ah the inevitability of it all
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 12:43 PM UTC
Can I ascend a poem allegorical?
Are Tetley's teabags paradoxical?
A teabag is full of strength,
Teabag enters moisture at string's full length,
Radiating vigour and a pick-me-up,
While the tea drinker begins to sup,
There is the lonesome teabag,
Sodden, drained by old hag,
Limp and fatigued,
I ponder, intrigued,
Are teabags signs sent from above?
Are teabags truly true love?
Is this a poem allegorical?
Used teabags--quite paradoxical!!
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
**That cup of tea, remember... the one I made for you
just enough for one to share, but not enough for two,
for while you sipped your cup of tea, your fresh and tasty brew
the one I made through chivalry, was the one that I would rue,
whilst reaching for the coffee beans, their flavour to infuse
that caffeine fix, dark and rich, were low from overuse,
within that roasted coffee jar, I clutched the unforeseen
for held confined, in there to grind... just one solitary bean.**
... ... ...
Apr 10, 2011
Apr 10, 2011 at 3:40 AM UTC
I said...
Ribbons lemon chewing gum
Daisies dandelion
Button teabag souvenir
Cheese cake Uncle Brian
Pepper buses diary
London *** Nantucket
Leaves carrot underwear
Ten piece bargain bucket
Raisins phone apple pie
Sock key Zanzibar
Duvet sausage dinosaur
Peanut bumper car
Mouse banana chicken wing
Fleas vermilion
Elephant soda stream
Stoat pavilion
Moose flower stickleback
Garlic salted butter
Taco dragon paper cut
Poison pizza cutter
Sandwich Batman coffee cake
Vaseline grape snow
Golf ***** haberdashery
Weasels tally-ho
:o)
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
*stardust in a hot cup
moves like wind in water
i drink it like a stupid child
and dream that i die this way*
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
at the end of the day, i stared at the teabag
that i scooped out from the ***
wet and sloshy, its scent faded and sweetened;
it wasn't itself anymore.
without its lingering bitterness
without its verdant hues,
or its unique aromas that they fancied,
it could never be who it was.
the used teabag, now that its purpose was served,
is no longer wanted.
was it fulfilled by the amount of tea it gives,
or was it emptied?
Nov 8, 2022
Nov 8, 2022 at 3:34 PM UTC
Phew, **** what's that smell,
This kitchen soo stinks,
Eww, god, is it the bin?
Or maybe the sink,
Rubber gloves on,
Bleach at the ready,
Approach the bin,
Hold the bleach steady,
Jaysus, what, the hell is that stuff,
It looks like some bread, and a teabag,oo, rough,
A doughnut, all soggy, and out of date jam,
My god im a ****** is that cooked ham?,
Bin is all clean,
But still smell a stench,
I've spotted a stain,
On my breakfast bar bench,
O, ****
That's it,
My baby nephew did it,
His leaky wee *****
Has smeared on my chair,
Face mask at the ready,
And tie back the hair,
Amazing how sticky a baby's poo gets,
That'll teach you to ignore the"do you think the kids wet?"....
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 3:12 AM UTC
Teabag tugboat trashbag t bone tebow
*****
n I don't like him
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 10:41 PM UTC
The outside of the China teacup,
Chipped and cracked but still standing up,
Straight
Vines wrap round the China glass like hands wrap round my throat
Bottom bears coffee stains and teabag remains, like a sad girl who bears her scars
Brim has a special need for a lips touch
like a middle schooler has for lunch
Today,
It holds a special type of poison
The type of poison that hurts before you drink it
The type of poison that isn’t really poison poison
But the type of poison that you pour inside me
and the sad thing is
is that I love your poison
And I’ll drink your poison everyday until you stop giving me poison to drink
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 10:14 PM UTC
The teapot whines.
It has done its job, water now
struggling to escape,
a few lucky molecules joining air-born brethren–
and now it begs for the release
of its agitated contents.
And I am thirsty.
The fire dies.
With a turn of my wrist, the burner
is granted repose,
the contented sigh of the *** speaking for the pair–
happy to be of use
but eager to relax.
And I am ready.
The teabag waits.
Its tail hanging free, it slouches
lazily against ceramic,
the bag of herbs finding home in a mug–
ready for the heat
and its life's fulfillment.
And I am pouring.
The water steeps.
As steam swirls the mug, herbs
release their subtlety,
earth and fruit and the lethargy of chamomile–
a bath of comfort,
the smell of memory.
And I am calmed.
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 10:51 AM UTC
It's September; cold in the copses,
Feverish in the kitchen.
The sink clinks and exorcises
The china like an Italian sonata.
My lips merge into ether
At the sky, a periwinkle parallax
With the pork lard carbon monoxide
Clouds, at drive with suicide.
My Buddha hisses at the window,
Ripping the tentacles off weedy carrots.
The knives are clever & precise
Hiding in their handled shoals
Like luminescent Jackanapes
Out for the thrill of the ****
The **** of the stake of steak,
A 'Cow'ardly act.
I wrap the red & dead
Into a Beef Wellington.
It is not pretty at all;
But neither am I.
I'll drink tea to keep my peace,
Swallow my spirituality like a pain killer.
The teabag sags its straggled string,
Scolding me.
The pillbox is dead on the edge
Of the ornamented kitchen sill
A lot like me; sullen and teasing.
I wanted to roast my head like a potato
If the pudding *** over boiled,
A cauldron of sugar and cream
Fattening me ugly and crazy.
The weather is miserable; I mustn't lie,
It's enough to make any young woman want to die.
Stirring my thoughts with the dishes,
Trashing potato peels like my wishes.
And the stacks and stacks of kill-me pills
Surround like troops in their barricade cupboards.
I have no allies,
Everyone is asleep;
I curl up like a fat snail and weep
Blackening the words of the miracle-working Priest.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
walked across the dunes
to the light house to
clear my thoughts.
the windsailors were
riding the sky,
my son calls them the teabag people.
but to me they are like those seed pods that coast upon the
wind in search of something
beyond.
the grass soughs and if you sit
quietly enough,
you can hear the hungry cry of
the little tern chicks.
hidden in the dunes nearby.
the sand trickles through twining, grasping, tenuous grass roots,
single grains multi-hued,
flow like minature snowboarders down the dunes,
steep slippery slide.
little metallic black ants have the herculean task,
of working this slope for
seeds and other oddments of food.
i watch one stumble,stomp past, sherpa-like, precariously balancing a potato crisp's crumb.
while scaling the acute angle of sliding sand.
the pittering of the sandy ground indicates the presence
of giant skinks, sleek glassine skinned lizards that are at home in the area.
their track patterns, remind me of those old teach yourself
to dance charts seen in black and white films,
you would now find them mostly in antique stores.
the tide is in recess
and the terns are hunting,
mottled little sand *****
in some killer, crazy
game of tig or redrover.
where to lose is to looose!
the windsailor above is surpassed by
the big old seahawk
as he stretches his wings.
it is a comparison of true mastership,
over a poor and gaudy parody.
the hawk with practised disdain, dives,
through the breakers emerging,
with his fish dinner.
as i turn toward home.
i wonder,
was it the fandango the lizards, were trying to master?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
hot water administered directly into a teabag-filled mug.
clear first - but then, morose gray!
curious, and off-putting.
·
the world outside is gray, as looks my immediate future.
I refuse to also ingest this nothingness!
I will only blend in with the depressing surroundings when I so desperately desire to be
coloured
with
inspiration!
·
- wait -
- ah -
a swift tug on the teabag produces an instant blossoming of
cranberry crimson throughout the luridness.
this is the deeply emotional colour I want to infuse myself with.
now I see the shots of brightness throughout my bruised world.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 12:13 PM UTC
I stare at the kettle, I've forgotten to flip the switch on
A teabag lies in the bottom of a cup
I look at the clock and wonder where the time has gone.
I'm in the kitchen, there's something wrong.
I see the sink, the fridge, the oven too
Stop, please, let me think.
I turn back to the cup and it hits me,
There should be two.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
Splashed into boiling water
Swirled on a spoon
Milk makes clouds in brownness
A splodge makes a moon
The spoon stirring causes chaos
Man watches and waits
For the cooling and the stillness
Of this drink of the greats
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC