The title of this blog,
"what a cup of tea" is a line in a poem I wrote (shown below)
inspired by the story of a ranger who burned her lover's letter and started a
catastrophic forest fire. A cup of tea is a lot like life. It can be warm and
comforting, just the thing on a cold winter's morn. When offered a cup of tea
as a gesture of hospitality, one is obligated as an expression of good manners
to accept graciously. And yet, that cup of tea can be cause for dismay, because
it's just one more thing that one didn't expect to be so disappointing. So,
I've styled this blog "what a cup of tea" as a commentary on what
I've encountered in life. Life gets served up, and sometimes I'm delighted and
inspired, uplifted even. And other times, I am in utter dismay. I'd be
interested in reading what you think. Please feel free to comment here.
PLAYING WITH FIRE
Playing one game
after another
she claims to meditate
upon the tiles
which ones to move
to reveal the quadruple play
intellect rationalized
self removed
Sonambulant, she rises
Suburban episodes
strung together
like beads
on a rosary
Pray for love
live for hope
pray for second chances
hope, to live
pray for relief
please
from duty
and the small stuff
all the small stuff
that bind the days
vignettes
like bandages
bleached
hung out to dry
twisting in the wind
into the wind
Lives the smoldering furor
’neath the tall pine trees
lives the little danger
on the forest floor
all the things
that will n’er be
disappointment at dawn
what a cup of tea
the unfolding of a letter
plain words upon plain paper
the unraveling of a lifeline
to stall means to conk out
all the things that will not be
They will not be
Amidst the forest thirsty
rising from branches fallen
smoke and ashes
invite tears
or is it her breaking heart
bending her in agony
that morphs fears to tears
It doesn’t matter
there is no going back
All the things that will not be
They will not be
Up a forest
smoking goes
charred
her heart
her head
their homes
Lost
their dreams
Regrets
too late
Regrets
and hate
The toll of love
all that’s left
to relate
n’er a romance
nor morality play
Only a story
in minor key
contemporary tale
of no escape
Lelanda Lee
April 30, 2004
after another
she claims to meditate
upon the tiles
which ones to move
to reveal the quadruple play
intellect rationalized
self removed
Sonambulant, she rises
Suburban episodes
strung together
like beads
on a rosary
Pray for love
live for hope
pray for second chances
hope, to live
pray for relief
please
from duty
and the small stuff
all the small stuff
that bind the days
vignettes
like bandages
bleached
hung out to dry
twisting in the wind
into the wind
Lives the smoldering furor
’neath the tall pine trees
lives the little danger
on the forest floor
all the things
that will n’er be
disappointment at dawn
what a cup of tea
the unfolding of a letter
plain words upon plain paper
the unraveling of a lifeline
to stall means to conk out
all the things that will not be
They will not be
Amidst the forest thirsty
rising from branches fallen
smoke and ashes
invite tears
or is it her breaking heart
bending her in agony
that morphs fears to tears
It doesn’t matter
there is no going back
All the things that will not be
They will not be
Up a forest
smoking goes
charred
her heart
her head
their homes
Lost
their dreams
Regrets
too late
Regrets
and hate
The toll of love
all that’s left
to relate
n’er a romance
nor morality play
Only a story
in minor key
contemporary tale
of no escape
Lelanda Lee
April 30, 2004
