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Category: Tea

POEM: Counting


Are there 90 million birds in Essex?
He sets up a folding chair
on the high street and starts to count.
After an hour or so the sun has risen enough
to become somewhat annoying
so he repositions the chair
but as he looks down he notices
the shadow of wings flitting
across the pavement;
he realizes he’s missed some.
I guess we’ll never know, he thinks,
and goes for a cuppa instead.

/ / /

16 April 2023
Charlottesville VA

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haiku: 13 April 2023

the aroma of a nearby fire
fades in the steam
of my morning tea

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13 April 2023
Charlottesville VA

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haiku: 17 January 2023

January seeps in under the door
I pull my mug of tea
closer to my chest

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17 January 2023
State College PA

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haiku: 2 May 2022

daal, naan, chicken makhani
pekoras, masala chai, vindaloo
beat the rain to the office

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2 May 2022
Pittsfield MA

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POEM: A Poem About Tea

A Poem About Tea

There’s an electric kettle at the office,
so I made a cup of green tea.
Nothing special, just a bag.
The kettle has a window in the side
so you can watch the magic happen.
And it is magic.
I didn’t grow up drinking tea.
My parents and grandparents
were coffee people.
It was living in Japan that
introduced me to “the taste
of dried leaves boiled in water.”
As a teetotaler (teatotaler?)
who doesn’t drink coffee either,
tea was my entry into a more adult world.
Tea requires a bit of preparation,
some particular tools,
and ends in a special vessel.
Later I lived behind a tea shop.
The first time I entered I was overwhelmed.
So many colors and flavors and textures!
Tea with little flecks of gold.
Tea that looked like yard clippings.
Tea with hefty price tags.
Later still I studied tea ceremony,
learned the minute details
of offering tea as a sign of respect.
This morning, though, it was just a bag
from a brand that advertises
on baseball games.
Poured from a shared kettle
into a travel mug whose origin
I can’t even dimly recall.
Just a container of tea
on my desk under the fluorescent lights.

/ / /

25 April 2022
Pittsfield MA

(NaPoWriMo Day 25)

The bit in quotation marks is by Douglas Adams.

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