Thread: Morning Tea

Only decaf tea bags.
No fresh lemons.
She opens the cupboard to find
the sugar bowl barren
save for one lonesome grain
and realizes there will be
no morning tea.
Not today.


A sigh escapes parched lips,
and a spine riddled with disease
curls just a bit more in resignation.
Gnarled hands yearn
for the comforting warmth
of a ceramic mug
to loosen the restrictive bindings
which accompany
the idleness of night.


A twisted claw slowly
turns off the burner.
The kettle sits upon the stove
in sullen silence,
angry at its abrupt discharge,
unable to sing its shrill song.


Slippered feet
attached to starched legs,
stiffer than any shirt collar,
shuffle back
at a snail's pace,
to the unmade bed.


She had handed him the list
last evening,
"Consider it done"
was his reply.
Either he had forgotten,
or had fallen victim
to the comforting caress
of the couch.
Snores issuing from the living room
suggested the latter.


Resentment at her failing body
blazes, stoking an internal fire.
Unlike the kettle,
her heart boils over,
seething angry steam.
In frustration she shouts,
"It's not much to ask for -
a simple cup of morning tea!"
But sleeping ears
hear no sound.


She struggles back into bed.
Only twenty two hours
till next sunrise.
Listening to a lullaby of snores
echoing ever louder,
she slowly drifts back to sleep
and dreams
of the healthy hands
that once were hers
daintily holding
a delicate china cup
from which she sips
her morning tea.

Consistency separates the pros from the amateurs, and you are always consistent. Every poem is an adventure, this one no different. Thoughts:

Originally Posted by Chester'sDaughter

Only decaf tea bags.
No fresh lemons.
She opens the cupboard to find
the sugar bowl barren
save for one lonesome grain
and realizes there will be
no morning tea.
Not today. No suggestions here. Just a blissful entrance.


A sigh escapes parched lips, I didn't like "parched" at first, but you come back to that sound later which is good. I like it now.
and a spine riddled with disease
curls just a bit more in resignation. Nice internal rhyme.
Gnarled hands yearn Every description of hands in this poem is as juicy as a 12 oz., medium rare steak.
for the comforting warmth
of a ceramic mug
to loosen the restrictive bindings
which accompany
the idleness of night. The last three lines are a bit wordy, in my opinion. Too many big words in such a small space. I have highlighted them to illustrate my point.


A twisted claw slowly Nice
turns off the burner. Great enjambment.
The kettle sits upon the stove
in sullen silence, Your alliteration is always strong.
angry at its abrupt discharge,
unable to sing its shrill song. "Shrill" is such a perfect word to describe the whine of the kettle, but I feel this line is one beat too long. What do you think?


Slippered feet
attached to starched legs,
stiffer than any shirt collar, A great simile.
shuffle back
at a snail's pace, I don't think the comma here is necessary.
to the unmade bed.


She had handed him the list
last evening, Maybe a period here instead of a comma.
"Consider it done"
was his reply.
Either he had forgotten, Unnecessary comma.
or had fallen victim
to the comforting caress
of the couch. Haha, lovely.
Snores issuing from the living room
suggested the latter.


Resentment at her failing body
blazes, stoking an internal fire.
Unlike the kettle,
her heart boils over,
seething angry steam.
In frustration she shouts,
"It's not much to ask for -
a simple cup of morning tea!"
But sleeping ears
hear no sound. Very nice stanza.


She struggles back into bed. Maybe "to" instead of "into"
Only twenty two hours twenty-two
till next sunrise.
Listening to a lullaby of snores
echoing ever louder,
she slowly drifts back to sleep
and dreams I love this enjambment.
of the healthy hands
that once were hers
daintily holding
a delicate china cup
from which she sips
her morning tea. This is a great ending. Circular in motion and lethargic which fits the mood.

A wonderful, if grim, look at old age. I'm getting there myself and can identify. Since you have shared several nits on my poetry I'll offer the only one I had with your poem..

"She opens the cupboard to find
the sugar bowl barren
save for one lonesome grain"

The use of 'barren' in reference to a sugar bowl just seems wrong. 'lonesome grain of sugar is---is---well-- a bit silly for a serious work too. I can't even say why, but the image didn't work for me. The rest of the piece was very strong I agree with the review above that the last two stanzas are the best. Than\ks for sharing, and remember, this is only one man's opinion. Feel free to ignore.

Once again you have brought your considerable talents to bear in the creation of an angst filled eulogy for a failing body...That I love this--I don't even need to say, That this is painful to read--you know it is...And if this situation really existed for you--well who could not be heartbroken for someone who is denied the simple comfort of a cup of hot tea...Peace--Jul

Lisa, a vivid picture of a woman who just asks for a little solace. Only you could make an empty tea cup nearly villanous.

I favored the ending. The alliterative runs smoothly. The reflection is soft and tired. This is what reached me. The tired reverie.

she slowly drifts back to sleep
and dreams
of the healthy hands
that once were hers
daintily holding
a delicate china cup
from which she sips
her morning tea.

Beautifully and bravely done.

Oh Lisa, your brain like a powerhouse generates a lot of great poems. You've lit up this place again. I love the story...though I feel for the old lady with no morning tea. And hey, why did she just have to go back to bed like that!

Slippered feet
attached to starched legs,
stiffer than any shirt collar,
shuffle back
at a snail's pace,
to the unmade bed. - heh, very vivid, great stanza

She had handed him the list - very passive, get rid of the word "had", plus sounds kind of awkward
last evening,
"Consider it done"
was his reply.
Either he had forgotten, - passive, perhaps "he forgot"
or had fallen victim - passive, perhaps "or fell victim", a past tense shift is fine here i think
to the comforting caress
of the couch.
Snores issuing from the living room
suggested the latter.

from which she sips
her morning tea. - the closing lines feel a bit drawn out to me, plus morning has been stated and restated, not sure if you need keep reminding the reader, perhaps "from which she sips tea" or "from which her sips morning tea" if you really want to keep morning in there.

i can relate. let me put it this way - i own a coffee shop, if i can't get coffee in the morning, heads will roll. heh. i really liked this, you always create great images and an easy to follow flow. very well done.

wood

Lisa, you know I always like your work and know enough to know that this comes from a personal place. This piece is very strong in that there's so much bitterness here. And I love the fact that the first stanza opens with the mention of the sugar bowl being barren. That really emphasizes that sense of bitterness that flows throughout the poem. Excellent job there.

I did feel there were a few too many words in this piece. It's already strong. I don't think you need any extra emphasis. Maybe shorten your descriptions a bit. I'm not sure about the tone of this piece either. You stick strongly to passive voice here, which is perfect for the bitter theme, but there are times when it gets a little too detatched. Like here:

Either he had forgotten,
or had fallen victim
to the comforting caress
of the couch.

This part doesn't feel bitter. Feels matter-of-fact because the voice here is so detatched. The impact here doesn't come through. Other places have a similar effect. Maybe less words (like I said above) would also help.

Other than that, I feel this was a great piece. I liked:

Slippered feet
attached to starched legs

Love the idea of "starched legs."

And my favorite lines, although I would cut "the":

and dreams
of the healthy hands

I feel like this would be a better place to end the piece. Really strong. Thank you for posting this. Keep sharing your work with us.

I like this. My thoughts:

Originally Posted by Chester'sDaughter

Only decaf tea bags.
No fresh lemons.
She opens the cupboard to find
the sugar bowl barren
save for one lonesome grain
and realizes there will be
no morning tea.
Not today.

IMO, the barren sugar bowl is a strong enough image on its own.

A sigh escapes parched lips,
and a spine riddled with disease
curls just a bit more in resignation.
Gnarled hands yearn
for the comforting warmth
of a ceramic mug
to loosen the restrictive bindings
which accompany
the idleness of night.

Agreed with SG and Angel that this is a little wordy. Maybe try: "to loosen the bindings that come with idle night." Or something like that.

A twisted claw slowly
turns off the burner.
The kettle sits upon the stove
in sullen silence,
angry at its abrupt discharge,
unable to sing its shrill song.


Slippered feet
attached to starched legs,
stiffer than any shirt collar,
shuffle back
at a snail's pace,
to the unmade bed.

Good, good, all good.

She had handed him the list
last evening,
"Consider it done"
was his reply.
Either he had forgotten,
or had fallen victim
to the comforting caress
of the couch.
Snores issuing from the living room
suggested the latter.

It's not a bad idea at all, but taking out the bit about "comforting caress" keeps things more in line with the bitter tone. Just saying: "Fallen victim to the couch" - now that's bitter.

Resentment at her failing body
blazes, stoking an internal fire.
Unlike the kettle,
her heart boils over,
seething angry steam.

Lovely.

She struggles back into bed.
Only twenty two hours
till next sunrise.
Listening to a lullaby of snores
echoing ever louder,
she slowly drifts back to sleep
and dreams
of the healthy hands
that once were hers
daintily holding
a delicate china cup
from which she sips
her morning tea.

I'm torn. On one hand, I like Angel's suggestion of ending with "healthy hands." On the other, I love the contrast between the last few lines and the tone of the rest of the poem. I guess I'm leaning more towards keeping the last four lines, but you don't need to tell us in the 5th line form the bottom that we're talking about her hands; that's obvious.

This is a great poem, Lisa. Thanks for sharing.

Thank you guys, you've given me exactly what I was hoping for and I will be editing as per your suggestions as soon as time permits. Computer's been down since yesterday and now I'm way behind on all your posts, again, grrr. It amazing what a difference three years makes, this is so old and was my third or fourth attempt at free verse. That said, I wanted to tear it apart before posting but couldn't bring myself to although I knew it needed tightening. You guys did my thinking for me and saved me from agonizing. Your input is very much appreciated. Now off to read I go, but I will be taking a hacksaw to this one soon.

All the best,
Lisa

Hi CD,

This has some nice moments. I would consider what a few other posters have said for revision - active verbs would strengthen this, and make it feel less like prose, eg. the list stanza. I also think you could cut this down considerably for more impact, perhaps axe some of the more explanatory bits. I mean this is quite a crude example, but:

She handed him the list
last evening,
"Consider it done"
was his reply.
Snores issue from the sofa.

It makes the reader read more between the lines and use a bit of initiative, rather than you having to go laboriously through this and that reason.

The link between body and kettle is very nice, the way the body boils over. Also, "and dreams/ of healthy hands" (cut 'the') is such a good line, wish I'd thought of it! Really nice work. I would consider ending on that, as it's such a strong image.

Best,
-R