"tisane" poems
I think love is wonderful.
When I imagine it, I see fingers intertwined.
Cuddles on the couch.
I see two people opening themselves up fully to one another—
and not running away from what they find.
My version of love is everything that should be...
not what I, as a little girl, have seen.
My version of love holds no place for control.
No room for lies dripping in sugar.
In my version of love, you hold each other up.
You make each other better,
and everything feels lighter when you're together.
Because, hey—
nothing says "I don't love you" like screaming words behind closed doors.
Like the emptiness of countless sorries.
Like trying not to set a person off
who is supposed to be your "significant other."
My love is... confusion.
I don't know if I can catch feelings.
My butterfly-catching net is frayed and torn,
so they just keep flying away.
It seems so easy and natural for them...
I just wish I knew for sure.
Could love ever be in the air?
Or is friendship truly where the line ends?
I've been so focused on self-love and self-growth
that I've not been able to see beyond me.
When I try,
there is only emptiness—
and more questions.
What I want to know is this:
Why can't me, myself and I be enough?
Why does everyone I meet
see me as incomplete
without a man or woman on my arm?
I know I love my things,
my music and my art.
Tisane, quiet contemplation,
and poetry.
Maybe the loves I've seen
have left my heart scattered.
Maybe The One is still out there...
but maybe they just aren't.
Kissing is weird.
*** is weird.
It's almost always the last thing on my mind—
it's just not something that I crave.
Let alone trying to get someone
to like me enough
to even want to do those things with me—
seems like so much EFFORT.
...is being alone really so bad?
Maybe I'm not built for romance,
but GODS does it seem wonderful...
I just don't know if that kind of love is for me.
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 7:47 PM UTC
this cup of tea before me is
fragrant grace, in liquid form
moments of thought, betwixt moments of action
the license to gather wool
to ponder questions both big and small
this cup of tea holds
memories, lists, dreams,
to much sugar
the work of may hands
ties that bind, to family
to friends and associates
ribbonroads of love that lead
back to those who have gone before
the drip ends of soggy biscuits
strength to carry on...
the calm within the storm
this simple cup of tea can
make a sad day bearable
a long meeting acceptable
a car ride an adventure
a picnic delightful
a long night, shorter
an awkward conversation easier
a bad cake more palatable
a good cake exquisite
a stolen moment precious
this cup of tea
made from leaf tips,
water and heat
is but a simple tisane
that can help cure
a multitude of ills
this cup of tea
is humble but mighty
this cup of tea
is exactly what
I needed right now...
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
surrounded by silence
only the slowblink
of the blucat eyes
in the stgyian gloom
of the overcast night
sleep eludes, sleep eludes
small smiles on the sleeping
godboys face
slack relaxed exhuastion
from the father, man mountain, hibernating bear.
single sips of chamomile
tisane....sit in silence
no gain in scrapping against
insomnia.. better to succumb
to calm evening solitude
sleep will come, sleep will
come
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
the week end far off
when I sit in sloth
in the meantime I grind
and fast forward the time
when my feet can be up
and slow down with a cup
of tisane like Poirot
at that time I'll know
the meaning of slow
in the meantime I grind
this joe so fine
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC
'free butlers for everybody'
yippee!! hooray!! huzzah!!
i would so love,
somebody to follow me
around all day.
doing the mudane and
boring things,
all that daily guff.
to be at my beck and call,
for just about anything at all.
but then,
if there are 'free butlers for all'
would my, butler,
not have a bulter, of his own
to order about from,
his butler throne
and so on and so forth
and if we all had butlers.
would anything, ever,
really get done?
OR, would we all be,
passing ***** laundry
about in a neverending,
linen chain.
drinking tepid tea from each others ***** tea cups.
polishing silver for some one other than us ...
would i end up,
being a bulter to you.
my god!
this, idea of
'free butlers for every one.'
is spiralling, out of control
this factotumnal conudrum,
is going to drive me insane.
JEEVES ! please, please be so good
as, to bring me a calming tisane.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 7:18 PM UTC
i need your tisane
your tiger milk
your snake oil
your physic
your chicken soup
your therapy
your cure
let me inhale you
and abide in
your officinal
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
spring succeeds chill air
old lindens leaf out and bloom
birdcall and tisane
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 1:21 PM UTC
J'ai Goûté Ta Myrtille,
Ta juteuse brindille
Bleue violacée et sauvage.
J'ai Goûté ta baie obscure
À la peau entre cire et argile.
Je l'ai longuement goûtée.
Elle me toisait, effrontée
Et je me suis imprégnée
Malgré moi dans la lecture avide
De son poivre et de sa solitude.
C'était comme un sirop d'ermite
Qui egrenait en moi
Ses grains de chapelet
Et j'explorais tes saveurs
Et je te dégustais en confiture
Car tu es digestive
En tisane
Car tu es antihémorragique
En eau de vie
Car tu es astringente
En vin
Car tu es antiseptique
En liqueur
Car tu es antiputride
En beignets, en clafoutis, en muffin
Car tu es diurétique
Je me faufilais entre ton sacré et ton profane
Tandis que tu t'insinuais dans ma chair
Et que ta sauce philosophale Parfumait délicatement le gibier poétique
Qui te poursuivait
Dans l'arrière-train
Qui te menait vers notre nuit bengali.
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
Pouvons-nous étouffer le vieux, le long Remords,
Qui vit, s'agite et se tortille,
Et se nourrit de nous comme le ver des morts,
Comme du chêne la chenille ?
Pouvons-nous étouffer l'implacable Remords ?
Dans quel philtre, dans quel vin, dans quelle tisane,
Noierons-nous ce vieil ennemi,
Destructeur et gourmand comme la courtisane,
Patient comme la fourmi ?
Dans quel philtre ? - dans quel vin ? - dans quelle tisane ?
Dis-le, belle sorcière, oh ! dis, si tu le sais,
A cet esprit comblé d'angoisse
Et pareil au mourant qu'écrasent les blessés,
Que le sabot du cheval froisse,
Dis-le, belle sorcière, oh ! dis, si tu le sais,
A cet agonisant que le loup déjà flaire
Et que surveille le corbeau,
A ce soldat brisé ! s'il faut qu'il désespère
D'avoir sa croix et son tombeau ;
Ce pauvre agonisant que déjà le loup flaire !
Peut-on illuminer un ciel bourbeux et noir ?
Peut-on déchirer des ténèbres
Plus denses que la poix, sans matin et sans soir,
Sans astres, sans éclairs funèbres ?
Peut-on illuminer un ciel bourbeux et noir ?
L'Espérance qui brille aux carreaux de l'Auberge
Est soufflée, est morte à jamais !
Sans lune et sans rayons, trouver où l'on héberge
Les martyrs d'un chemin mauvais !
Le Diable a tout éteint aux carreaux de l'Auberge !
Adorable sorcière, aimes-tu les damnés ?
Dis, connais-tu l'irrémissible ?
Connais-tu le Remords, aux traits empoisonnés,
A qui notre coeur sert de cible ?
Adorable sorcière, aimes-tu les damnés ?
L'Irréparable ronge avec sa dent maudite
Notre âme, piteux monument,
Et souvent il attaque, ainsi que le termite,
Par la base le bâtiment.
L'Irréparable ronge avec sa dent maudite !
- J'ai vu parfois, au fond d'un théâtre banal
Qu'enflammait l'orchestre sonore,
Une fée allumer dans un ciel infernal
Une miraculeuse aurore ;
J'ai vu parfois au fond d'un théâtre banal
Un être, qui n'était que lumière, or et gaze,
Terrasser l'énorme Satan ;
Mais mon coeur, que jamais ne visite l'extase,
Est un théâtre où l'on attend
Toujours, toujours en vain, l'Être aux ailes de gaze !
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