Dead leaves, sea treasure chest, transport,
the story of tea, clipper sail,
rigged vessel of the company;
once caddy locked, Nilgiri hills,
one scoop for each plus ‘one for pot’,
then cosy capped against cool draught,
bone china cup with pinkie crooked,
more likely mug when comfort sought.
Restricted bag with lifting string,
but better loose, then strained with milk,
yet how the study, upturned cup,
those swirling specks in saucer tipped,
for seers and charlatans to treat
such tales of the forgotten herbs.
What is our reading, comfort break,
the past consoled, or future meet,
both sugar, gossip duly mixed?
A ceremony of the heart,
the kitchen table, treatment room.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces curated and published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion. He has, like so many, been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com
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Very evocative poem of the rituals of tea drinking and its social context.
I always look forward to Stephen Kingsnorth’s poems
which are both engrossing and challenging but also draw on experiences we can all relate to – like drinking tea!