This is the Open Write, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We gather every month and daily in April — no sign-ups, no fees, no commitments. Come and go as you please. All that we ask is that if you write, you respond to others to mirror to them your readerly experiences — beautiful lines, phrases that resonate, ideas stirred. Enjoy. (Learn more here.)
Our Hosts
Fran Haley is a K–12 literacy educator who coordinates elementary programs centered on a love of books and the joy of reading aloud. She helps young writers find their voices on the page in creative ways. A pastor’s wife, mom, and Franna of two spirited granddaughters, she savors the quiet rhythms of rural life near Raleigh, NC. The pre-dawn hours are Fran’s sacred writing time; you can find her there in the stillness, seated at the kitchen table with a sleeping puppy in her lap. She authors the blog Lit Bits and Pieces: Snippets of Learning and Life.
Kim Johnson is the District Literacy Specialist for her rural school district in Zebulon, Georgia. She grew up a preacher’s kid (P.K.) and is a mom and grandmother who enjoys weekend glamping with her husband and three schnoodles in State Parks. Kim enjoys writing during Open Writes each month and blogs at Common Threads: Patchwork Prose and Verse.
Inspiration
Fran: While searching for ideas, I came across this fun article, 75 Best Tea Quotes and Captions. Something here may call to your poet-heart. I also encountered a phrase I hadn’t heard before: “More tea vicar.” Now, that’s just begging to be in a poem…
Kim: A telephone conversation with my aunt about a family member’s messy breakup over foreseeable differences led her to conclude with this phrase: he wasn’t reading the tea leaves. This has stuck with me for years, and I think often about all the ways we read the world – and how we respond to it.
Process
Pour a cup of tea and write with us today! Let the pen lead you to a poem ~ perhaps it’s a play on words with -tea or tea- or -ity, or maybe it’s a memory of a cup of tea with someone you love. Maybe it’s the clinking of cups on saucers that takes you to a memory of a meal – or a place. Or perhaps it’s a phrase someone has used – More tea, Vicar or reading the tea leaves – that inspires your poem today. Come have tea with us, and steep in the joy of poetry today!
Fran’s Poem
A Spot o’ Tea
“More tea, Vicar?” asked Mrs. Krupp,
tipping her pot o’er his empty cup.
He’d barely sipped when she leaned in with glee:
“Now, dear Vicar, go on…spill the tea!”
Deacon Blythe…and Mrs. Montague?!
Rumors steeped like fresh morning brew,
stirred in pews of St. Tempest-by-the-Sea—
ah, the unholy communion of sipping hot tea!
Kim’s Poem
-tea party
such vitriolic, hateful glares
when toxic dreams become nightmares
when tearful wake-up calls come clear
about those whom we hold so dear
who are these people in disguise
who scorn us with deceiving eyes
whose poison stench of mockery
reeks truth of trust’s reali-ty?
they’re mother, father, sibling, friend~
relationships we nurture, tend
whose revelations, suddenly,
cast doubt on rooted certain-ty
and so it goes with politics
religion and its heretics
that peace we seek, that uni-ty
is really up to us, we see
we can agree to disagree
guard differences with digni-ty
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
Kim and Fran, your poems are both clever takes on the prompt. I loved the story of the vicar gossiping with a cup of tea with Mrs. Krupp. Kim, your -ty words and tea party poem is so insightful. Thank you for hosting us this weekend. It’s been lovely.
I’ve had a busy day of travel. I finally got to sit this evening and look at the link of tea quotes. Since hope is such a favorite word of mine, (and I’m even wearing my hope sweatshirt right now), I was struck with this quote:
“Where there is tea, there is hope.” – Arthur Wing Pinero
Wow, Arthur, that is quite a statement.
You were a white male playwright in England
a hundred years ago. I can just imagine
you in all your stodgy privilege,
enjoying your tea, while having hope.
Hope and tea? I don’t buy it.
I love a good cup of tea. In fact, I’ve
had two today, but I think our world
needs more serious hope. We are
at risk, and we need more than tea
to fight this fascist nonsense.
Denise,
Preach! “We are
at risk, and we need more than tea
to fight this fascist nonsense.” Leave it to a Brit to put all his hopes in a cup of tea. Very clever poem, and I like the clap back.
Denise, “hope” is a favorite word of mine also – love that you have it on a sweatshirt! On Sunday “hope” was the theme of the lesson I taught…I agree wholeheartedly that more tea doesn’t equal hope. “Our world needs more serious hope,” indeed. Thank you for coming here to compose your powerful verse after a long day of travel. “Stodgy” is such a marvelous word choice in your poem!
Denise, I’m with you. I’m all about some hope, but in the context of action, it does need some TEEth – not just some TEA.
Fran and Kim, thank you for this prompt and for hosting!! I appreciate all the time and care you put in and I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did. I started to go in a weird Tea-Rex and Mr. Tea direction til I remembered I do have a tea story or two! Thank you.
Twinnings
in our house, coffee is the motor
and tea is the doctor
to know our tea shelf now
filled with earthy, decaffeinated herbs
is to know what ails us
runny noses, congestion
stress and lack of sleep
sadness, cramps, and age
but there is a box of plain black tea
reserved just for my sister in law
a late afternoon bolt of energy
so she may stay up til midnight
retelling & recommending & laughing
with her Irish twin (my husband)
and that’s a kind of healing, too.
Emily, that sweet last line is just marvelous. I love the tie-in to the first stanzas herbal remedies, and the late night talks with your husband and sister in law, just priceless. “that’s a kind of healing, too.”
Emily,
Tea as a mirror into ailments is a clever approach, and I do love the catharsis that comes from story telling. Wonderful poem.
Emily, I am so glad you went in this direction of the healing and energy-providing power of tea! The old remedies, and the people who know how to use them, completely captivate me. Beautiful ending lines. Reminds us of what is most important in life. Although I do admit that a Tea-Rex poem could be mighty fun to explore…
Emily, I needed that Irish tea last week when I tried to stay up late with family on vacation and couldn’t. Every night, me: “My bedtime’s 9:00.” I believe in the power of tea to heal –I can’t imagine a cold season without Throat Coat and my late mother’s recipe for instant hot Russian tea. Thank you for sharing the medicinal powers of tea today.
Have a Cuppa
By Mo Daley 10/20/25
Amidst the boring seventh-grade demonstration speeches
covering topics as wide-ranging as
“How to make a Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich,”
“How to Tie Your Shoes,” and “How to Make a Paper Airplane,”
came a ray of sunshine.
Neal sauntered into class, a scrawny late bloomer
drowning in a sea of hormones,
and resolutely set down the bone china cup and saucer,
teaspoon, sugar tongs, milk pitcher, and a dainty sugar cube.
The class perked up instantly. What was this?
“How to Make a Perfect Cup of Tea” was on none of our bingo cards that day,
But we watched, enthralled, as the
confidence poured out of this son of Irish immigrants
like Earl Grey from a freshly brewed pot
as Neal explained the importance of steeping the appropriate number of minutes
for each type of tea and cautioned us to remove the bag
so our tea wouldn’t turn bitter.
I wonder if he knows that nearly twenty years later
I still follow his directions.
Mo,
I love this example of how something stuck with you, impacted you. Your poem makes me think about all the times people influence others with small actions or shared wisdom without knowing that they did so.
Mo, I love the ending! “I wonder if he knows that nearly twenty years later / I still follow his directions.” This is great! I love seeing and hearing the impact that Neal and his demonstrative speech had on you. Thank you for crafting and sharing this with us!
Mo, such a refreshing story!
This simile is priceless:
“as the
confidence poured out of this son of Irish immigrants
like Earl Grey from a freshly brewed pot”
Mo,
I love it! That really is the best thing ever when you get your socks knocked off when you are least expecting it and you get to see a student shine in their moment. I love this line: “confidence poured out of this son of Irish immigrants/ like Earl Grey from a freshly brewed pot”
So good!
Mo, I love that you draw us into the story with the typical scene with an unexpected hero- I love how you capture the fun of being a teacher changed by a student in a small and memorable way! We never know our impact.
Ah, Mo, this is so sweet. I love the description of Neal, and his confidence in making the perfect cup of tea is just what I needed tonight. Beautiful retelling of this story from twenty years ago.
Mo – what an incredible poem and memory! I can see that “scrawny” hormone-plagued boy handling the delicate bone china cup and saucer…and my breath catches. A complete juxtaposition of the awkward and refined. Yet…how profound a moment. Had I been there, tears would threatened to come, as they do even now, just reading. No wonder the moment has stuck with you all these years. Your poem will stick with me, a reminder of unexpected wonders we all carry within us,
Mo, what a beautiful description of something suddenly surprising – – the learning of the tea process. I love this part most: Neal sauntered into class, a scrawny late bloomer
drowning in a sea of hormones……wow, just wow! I’m so glad Neal shared, and that the learning sticks for tea making.
Hi Fran and Kim,
Thank you so much for hosting us these three days. I have enjoyed each prompt and your poems. Today I chose an etheree. I’m not a morning tea drinker, but I feel like I should be. Maybe tea will replace coffee in retirement.🫖
I just finished the book, Less is Liberation and it inspired my poem.
Tea Before Dawn
Sipping peppermint tea just before dawn
Before the hubbub of the world steals
the peace and quiet of morning
Gratitude is first each day
Then meditate and pray
Take another sip
Inhale the warmth
Slow exhale
Fill my
Well.
Well
Filling
Practices
Heal the body
Declutter the mind
And restore life’s balance
Gratitude lists and prayers
Hold spaces for liberation
Honoring my self-care boundaries
Sipping peppermint tea just before dawn.
ⓒStacey L. Joy, 10/20/25
You’d never know you aren’t a tea drinker by this poem, Stacey! I love the playfulness this format allows. I can really sense the calm and peacefulness of the morning. This is just how I love to start my day!
Stacey,
This is so beautiful and hopeful. I want to start my day like this! I feel peaceful just reading it. I like how the structure mirrors your message–the first stanza slowing down and the second filling up, both
Stacey, I like how the act of sipping tea becomes a space for rest and well filling. I like the line “hold space for liberation.” So much promise and renewal in the cup of peppermint tea!
Oh, so lovely. This is masterfully woven, Stacey. The repetition of the first and last lines in each stanza holds it together like a sweet package. It sounds like a perfect start to your day!
Stacey, what a beautiful double etheree. It’s a call to healing and an invitation to peace. These are inextricably tied to, and byproducts of, gratitude, the most transformative power on earth, next to love. All your verbs show it – meditate, pray, inhale, exhale, heal, declutter, restore, honoring. I love what you did with “fill my well” followed by “well filling” – masterful! This poem is a much-needed gift, and I am grateful for it. I happen to be reading it before dawn, and it has set the tone for my day. Thank you <3
Stacey, an etheree is perfect for tea – – it seems as ethereal as the steam rising from the cup. I’m interested in the book you’ve been reading…..and I’m glad it inspired the poem. I need to check it out, as I am whittling down to the bare bones of things myself, and I need that word LESS as my OLW is ENOUGH this year. Maybe next year I’ll choose LESS and get more motivated. Love, love your poems and the forms that always fit so well. You have a knack for that.
Thank you, Kim. I just finished the audiobook because her voice was so soothing to me. The author is Christine Platt. The title is Less as Liberation. I think you’ll enjoy it and appreciate the healing that it brings.
Fran and Kim,
Thank you so much for invitation to tea and for all the memories your prompt reconnected me to.
Fran, I am here to read more poems about your Vicar and Mrs. Krupp. I can just picture them enjoying each other’s company as they sneakily spill the tea.
Kim,
thank you for sharing this wisdom.
Thank you both for hosting and prompting!
And thanks to all the poets who’ve joined our cozy tea party this week. See y’all in November!
———————————————————-
Tea
Pour a cup of tea and come write with us
My online poetry group invites
Thoughts of tea brew on my morning walk
During my weight lifting, chores and digital distractions
Memories of Mom pouring from her yellow kettle
Which matched her seventies stovetop
All the times she reheated a mug in the microwave
Then left it forgotten for hours
Focused on cleaning the house
Laughing at herself as she once again reheated her mug
Once home, I carefully lift the tea cup and saucer
From its place of pride
On top of the lawyer’s bookcase in our bedroom
The teacup a gift from my grandmother
Who invited each grandchild to choose one
My brother’s sits on his windowsill
Above the kitchen sink
Where his eyes can settle
As he washes dishes
I wash the thin porcelain
Of a depression era object
One my grandmother saved for
Buying one cup and saucer at a time
From a peddler
I take down from the living room shelf
The small glazed green Japanese tea pot
With the red and black kanji
Which we bought at the trail-top teahouse
On our first trip to San Francisco
Where we decided all hikes should have teahouses
I fill the sleek black electric kettle
Still on the counter
From my husband’s morning pourover ritual
I reach into the back of the pantry
For a brown paper bag of green tea leaves
Loose unlike my mother’s Lipton
Whose tags I folded and refolded endlessly
Along their stapled edge
I smell the leaves
Spoon them into the teapot
I stretch out some soreness
As the tea steeps
I carefully hold the teapot’s lid in place
As the woman who sold it to us instructed
As she wrapped the pot, lid and two cups in brown paper
I sit
I hold my grandmother’s cup and saucer
I sip the hot earthy tea
I stare out the window
Listen to Miles and Coltrane
The flowers on the teacup return me
To my grandmother’s flower gardens
Wild with oranges, pinks and blues
Carefully encircled by rocks
I return to teapots rotated across the table
Atop a lazy susan with so many dumplings and turnip cakes
At dimsum with the whole Chang clan
I return to a city where tea was for warmth in winter
Tea with Deborah, Heike and Yasmin
Fuel for our interminable study sessions
I return to Aunt Rena Mae’s red and brown kitchen
The tea an excuse to eat her thick molasses cookies
Passed to us with another quick hug and a laugh
Happy we were visiting from so far
I return to the kitchen tables
Of my mother
Of my grandmother
Of my Mémère
I register the shift
From objects of beauty
To objects of use
Of ritual
Of connection
———————————————————
Photos of my grandmother’s tea cup and my teapot
Sharon, all along I was feeling the pull of ritual and connection. Think of buying one cup and saucer at a time from a peddler-! My grandfather used to say nobody had in money in those days (even before the Depression, in his neck of the woods) but everyone was happier. I am struck by the floral teacup reminding you of a garden and the “hot earthy tea” – a connection to nature that’s vital to our wellbeing, for we were meant to live closer to the earth than we do. I looked at the photos of the beautiful cup and teapot – thank you for including them, and for sharing the wealth of your thoughts in verse.
Sharon, I felt like I was looking through pages of a photo album as I red your poem filled with such striking images. I love the thought of buying one tea cup at a time.
A universal memory!
Your poem stirs up so much in my heart. I wish I had more of my Mom’s and Nana’s treasures to cherish like you.
Sharon, I wanted more of your stories. These generational connections, memories, kitchen tables are heartwarming.
Love these lines describing a piece of your childhood paradise:
“The flowers on the teacup return me
To my grandmother’s flower gardens
Wild with oranges, pinks and blues
Carefully encircled by rocks.”
Sharon, I can tell that tea is a daily moment of reflection that connects you to all these special people and moments in life. I love the mix of the daily with the special places and times. Thanks for sharing a cup with us!!
Sharon, what an intricate and beautiful description of all these wonderful tea experiences and memories. I loved the meandering through your thoughts. The special tea cups and memories of family are priceless.
Sharon, this grabbed me and held me the whole way: Memories of Mom pouring from her yellow kettle
Which matched her seventies stovetop
Oh, the flood of memories that come rushing back, taking me to my own kitchen of the 70s with mom still there at the corner sink that we all hated with a passion and the cabinet that always interfered with our heads if we were not careful. The return to the kitchen tables of your mother, grandmother, and mamere is stunning and touching and so real. You have found a little time warp to nestle safely in and to share.
Hey Fran and Kim! I’m more of a coffee guy, but I appreciated the prompt and how it jogged my memory to think of my dad as he would sip his tea at the beginning and end of each day. It made me think that maybe things were a little simpler or at least less cluttered with “all the things all at once” like it seems to be these days! (I joined the party late this weekend, but I’m glad to be writing with you!)
Tea Totaller
My dad was a tea totaler,
not as in the capital Tee
for Temperance, believe me,
but, at the end of the night,
and in the morning
Tea bookended his days.
Now,as the day winds down
(plummets, perhaps?),
I need something a bit more-
Medicinal.
Something In a tumbler with an ice cube,
as I grapple with spilled tea,
and low-t which I can combat
with Total-T, to achieve High T,
(not the British kind),
but not too high, or I could end up
On Tea–where they are totally spilling!
And you don’t want to be that tea,
Believe me. So, if you’ll excuse me,
I’m just gonna sit here and sip my
bourbon.
Dave, I’m glad you joined the party and brought a little nip of a more medicinal variety. The thought of tea bookending days is such a perfect metaphor for a sunrise and sunset sip. There are days we all need something a little stronger than the strongest tea. 🙂
We all have our own form of tea, Dave! I love
Dave, your poem evokes memories of my grandparents: She, coffee – Period! He, tea – Period! But your plays on and with words add another poetic level to your poem, and I see why bourbon may be more to the T for you than tea. 🙂 Thanks for sharing.
What a fun play on “teetotaler,” Dave, and all the T words! The ending is priceless and I for one cannot blame you for needing something a bit more “medicinal” after the day “plummets.” True confession: I am much more of a coffee person myself. Glad you’re here today. And you’re right about memories of times past and things feeling less cluttered – they were.
Dave,
Love all your fun wordplay.
And the solidity of this observational line:
Dave,
Fun word play w/ the title and the memory. Because I’ve read many books, my mind sneaked off to testosterone as the embodiment of all those t and T time acknowledgments.
Hey Dave
I’m late responding, but I’m so excited that I didn’t miss your poem. It’s so creative and both reflective and introspective. I didn’t learn to appreciate the warmth of “brown liquor” until about five years ago. I haven’t yet acquired the taste for bourbon, but I think it’ll come soon. Cheers!🥃
Dear Fran and Kim, thank you for hosting Open Write this month. Your prompts and mentor poems were inspiring. While I couldn’t make it on Saturday (we got a puppy!), I thoroughly enjoyed reading and writing yesterday and today. Thank you, Fran, for the link to the tea quotes and captions. I borrowed two:
A cup of tea makes everything better. — Bindi Irwin
Take life one sip at a time.
One Sip at a Time
A cup of tea makes everything better,
Mom used to say, her spoon circling slow,
stirring stories into sugar and steam.
Dad would laugh, having a kettle singing,
and ten of us leaned close,
hands wrapped around chipped cups
that held warmth and hope.
We shared the ache of days gone wrong,
the small victories, unexpected turns,
jokes and teasing that softened our edges.
Tea drew a quiet but distinct line
between what had hurt
and what we hoped to heal.
Now I drink it alone sometimes,
lemon bright, honey soft,
and I can almost hear
their laughter steeping in the air.
Take life one sip at a time,
I whisper into my soothing cup—
and the past tastes sweet again.
P.S.: I will come back to comment on poems later today.
Oh, those lines about the “distinct line” between hurt and heal is so wise and beautiful. And more wisdom in sips at a time. I am trying to do that.
Leilya,
I love the call to “take life one sip at a time” and the imagery in “their laughter steeping in the air” is an evocation of how memories sit in our spaces and dissipate while still being part of the air that we breathe.
…shared the ache of days gone wrong…..oh, how this line speaks to me as I consider all the time I have spent with my brother in recent days doing just this – – despite our best efforts, we couldn’t right the ship with some of our dad’s choices, and those days are filled with regrets that we were powerless to control……and the sharing of the ache is felt solidly here. I know what that means.
I love how you worked the quotes into this personal history poem. I can imagine the sweet and hope-filled memories of family.
Love this sweet reflection of life in earlier times. I adore this line…its images and idea/
The warmth in this poem draws me in completely, Leilya. I see the whole family and those precious chipped cups. I hear the kettle and stories and laughter and I know where your inner strength comes from. Take life one sip at a time is sage advice indeed. Beautiful imagery, beautiful poem!
Leilya,
This is so beautiful and poignant.
I like that our poems have similar themes today–reconnecting with family of the past by drinking tea alone and remembering.
Leilya, i feel as if I just sat at the big table with all of you stirring away the “ache of days gone wrong” and “teasing” to soften the feelings. You describe a family where taking one sip at a time became a mantra for embracing the challenges of life. Inspirational
Leilya,
Such beauty in this evocative poem. The image of a spoon swirling in a cup, the taste of honey and lemon, all so beautiful and haunting.
Leilya,
Ih, what a beautiful poem, bringing us into your spaces from the past to the present. I love the chipped cups, and stirring stories into sugar and steam!! Gorgeous words!
I wrote this while drinking tea yesterday does that count?! Happy to be reading your work again this weekend! Enjoy the fall.
monsters
shadows in the moonlight
made from horrors we perceive;
darkness in the daylight
found in people we believed.
C.O., your poem may have been fueled by tea, but it is deeply “infused” with concerns about people’s behaviors that overtake the day’s sunshine with the horrors of their actions. Powerful and timely.
C.O., every single word counts. Your poem today is impactful; it suggests we shouldn’t fear mythical beasts, but be aware of darker features of human nature. Skillful!
Four lines and I’m feeling like those words just pinned me to the wall with their force…..only four lines. I am hearing your truth that it’s never the monsters, it’s always the people we should worry about. You have a gem of a short poem here, and it roars truth. And, unfortunately, reality.
I was reading a book to my grandson this weekend about deep sea monsters, what was real and what was perceived. Beware of monsters in the daylight.
Yes, it counts, C.O.! Whoa – this is a fantastic little poem. Great rhyme and beat. My grandmother’s home was situated along an old dirt road across from tiny cemetery that frightened me when I was a child. She said, Never fear the dead. Fear the living.” Your poem took me right back to that truth.
💥 BOOM!💥
Fran and Kim, your prompt today speaks to my heart. I have lots of happy memories of and with tea. So, I COULD write about family gatherings for tea or the merits drinking Harney’s African Autumn on a fall day; however, I am going to share messages from four tea bag tags that have been at the back of my junk drawer for all long, long time. I guess you can really call this a “found poem,” but the messages really do serve as anchors for my life.
Do small things with great love.
Those who listen understand.
We remember moments.
Love others so loudly they never forget they are loved.
Anita,
These are profound little messages! And, in the spirit of found poetry, the choices to pull things together and carefully arrange them to carry new meanings is really evident in this lovely poem!
Anita, these messages waited patiently to get into a poem. Poetry around us indeed. Thank you! I did go a family route with my poem.
Anita, I so love those tea bags with the sentiments. You have chosen some beautiful ones for today’s poem. I can’t help thinking that this was always destined to be a poem….lying in the back of a drawer, those four teabags just waiting to speak their minds onto the paper, and the poem has been dormant until today. Then it bloomed in words and water.
I’m happy you found a use for those little message tags. A just right found poem for today!
I LOVE this, Anita! See, we save things for a good reason – to make poems! How perfectly these tea bag quotes work together. It was just waiting to be stirred… lol.
Anita,
Im screenshotting this poem as a reminder. I am so sad today as I watch the tangible destruction of our beloved country.
Anita,
Your poem is a life lesson. I think today I will focus on loving loudly. Thank you for this gift.
Fran and Kim,
Thanks for hosting. I had fun w/ this prompt, despite not being a hot tea drinker. I love the rhyme and playfulness of both poems, as well as the punning in Kim’s poem and the myriad tea lines in Fran’s verse. My poem is an honest reflection on why I don’t drink hot tea and could never develop a taste for it.
Tea-ed Off
I do not drink hot tea, you see,
for it evokes a memory
of my nose-picking other mother.
Thoughts of her make me shudder.
I’ve tried my best to drink that brew
even went to China to learn anew
how to sip from a fancy tea cup
and steep leaves like a proper grownup
But I can’t get past days long ago
and memories that evoke a sad echo,
so go ahead and slurp your hot tea,
and I’ll sip a mug of black coffee.
Preach it !!! Absolutely love this one!!
Glenda, I am a serial tea drinker who never touched coffee until I attempted to work full time outside the house with very young children! These days, I drink too much coffee and too much tea! Your memory, however, might have changed the course of my life as well.
Glenda,
I love the idea of coffee drinking as an act of defiance and resistance!
Glenda, I agree some memories can “tea” you off – a clever title as usual, by the way. I love your second stanza with rhyming as an attempt to change the course. Coffee is my go-to these days too.
Glenda, that’s reason enough to be a coffee drinker for sure. It sounds like that tea really did take root in the memories you’d rather forget, and I sure can’t blame you for that! And it’s not like you didn’t try – – I mean, you went all the way to China and gave it a fair shot of a chance. I’ll pour us a cup of coffee instead!
Such a clever title and just right rhymes! I like my coffee first thing, but I’ll sip on tea in the afternoon.
This is so great, Glenda! I drink tea AND coffee, one of the rare people who like both equally. I love how you use rhyme and tell a funny little story in so few lines.
Wonderful rhyming, Glenda! Your poem is a delight to read, even if I shuddered along with you at the “nose-picking other mother” and felt the sadness of those long ago echoes. Haunting. Confession: I am actually a coffee drinker and rarely have hot tea. Unless you count chai latte, which I love. My mother drank instant black coffee when I was growing up and I thought it was the worst-tasting stuff on earth. Eventually I started drinking a little coffee with my cream and sugar and wouldn’t you know…I now take it black like she did. The image of you trying to develop the taste for tea in that second stanza is humorous but… I know overcoming is hard. The title is just perfect! I raise my cuppa joe to you.
Glenda, the title is perfect! I’m impressed that you really were open to learning to drink tea in China, wow! Memories and associations can be so strong; they really do last a lifetime. “memories that evoke a sad echo” is so poignant. Coffee is a great drink choice.
Kim, I remember fondly having tea with you in Hattiesburg. Thanks for this prompt. Fran’s poem makes me laugh, so clever. Kim, your rhymes are so spot on and delightful to read. This prompt made me remember a special tea time in Glasgow, Scotland on our first day of a whirlwind trip there at the end of August. I made a Canva photo with a picture of the porcelain tea pot.
Hey, Margaret, I can’t enlarge the photo enough to read your poem w/out blur.
Tea tastes better
in a foreign land
after 24 hours
of travel, jet-lagged
in need of comfort.
Hot steaming water
from painted porcelain,
fragrance of mint
hints of lavender.
Pass me your cup.
Margaret,
I like the structure of your poem, the way you give us context in the first stanza and then immerse us in imagery in the second and the lovely invitation in the last line inviting us right into the poem. Well done!
Margaret, you are so right in your memory of a hot cup or two of tea healing, just a bit, the ravages of long travel to foreign lands. I have memories of a morning in Iceland after an all-nighter, a long walk, and an empty stomach. It was like a comforting hug, Great memory.
That tea in Glasgow must have been just the perfect feeling of soothing comfort as you drank in all of the culture of that place you enjoyed in your travels. There is something about tea that marks the spot – – perhaps it is the swirling steam and the deep sigh of settling into its warmth that lets us sit a little longer and notice the things we don’t normally notice. I love that you wrote about a particular tea room too. I remember our tea in Hattiesburg with fond memories!
Your poem reminded me the time when my daughters and I would go somewhere for a few days and then come home (it was back in Crimea). The first thing we would do is to make us some hot black tea. That need of comfort is relatable. Everything else seemed to fall in place right after that.
Margaret, the fragrance of your tea makes me draw a deep breath…here’s my cup! Just lovely.
REINCARTEA
Clear thoughts of spring water,
Born innocent,
In new order.
The grasping and rooting of a newborn,
Crystal clear as the glass I am pouring.
Free from fret, regret, and not yets,
Sparkling crystals,
where the water sets.
The eye steams to heat the pot,
Life begins as tan leaves rot.
Scorching and burning with fear,
To hold the pure water so crystal clear.
And the ease of life begins to burn,
As its purity boils and churns.
Pain, loss, and doubt,
Pop and spew from the spout.
And she ages from the bout,
Innocence she is now, without.
And the leaves are laid in the clear,
As her purity disappears,
Into a callous brown- swirling around,
As her energy gently.. .. .. .
cools down.
Nothing matters anymore,
As she sits patiently, wanting to pour,
Her ailments and anxiety on the floor,
She ponders what her life has been for?
She needs validation for her Soul,
Feeble hands grab the cup to hold.
She adds sugar to sweeten the pain,
A simple fix to the journey she will not tame.
A splash of honey to hide her age,
A complicated fix on her final day.
So, she sips her tea with a final plea,
“Return me to my infancy…..”
As she lay motionless on the floor,
Three knocks came from the door.
Her daughter entered too late,
As her mother had met her fate.
And her husband appears,
With her newborn granddaughter
Full of cheer.
As the pot began to sear,
The burning eye was all they could hear.
They cried and bid Grandma, farewell,
and hot tea was all they could smell.
The Grandchild looks at the cup,
Grasping and rooting – looking up.
Free from fret, regret, and not yets,
Sparkling crystals,
where the teacup sets.
– Boxer
Hi! Thank you for the poem about life’s cycles and the small, luminous moments that anchor us. “Free from fret, regret, and not yets, / Sparkling crystals, / where the teacup sets” sings with quiet clarity and heart. Reading this today, I’m reminded how much our daily gestures—tea, writing, noticing—carry the weight and wonder of our shared lives. HowI long to be FREE in these ways.
Clayton, I read this through 1,2,3…times seeing new images appear as her life unfolds each time. as I read this stanza, “A splash of honey to hide her age, A complicated fix on her final day.” I sighed realizing her attempt to hold on and yet, like the tea leaves, let go. Strong images.
The swirl and movement, the circular cycles of life all blend together even as the family tree of browning leaves comes into focus, old life shuttering its blinds as the new life takes its own firmer root on the branch on the family tree. Perfect!
Boxer, your words rise and curl like steam from a teapot – there’s an ethereal quality to them even without the mystery of the grandmother/grandchild. The use of “eye” furthers the spellbinding tale; I’d forgotten it means “burner.” Those last line are just gorgeous – the rhyming, the whimsy, the poignance – I’m awed!
Fran and Kim, you two have helped us launch National Writing Day with fun and fervor. Today, for me, it is fun! It’s also early. Fervor may come later. Thanks for opening our minds to write.
Drinking any kind of tea
Makes me have to tee-tee.
That’s a factual certain-ty!
That’s why I don’t drink tea before a plane ride.
Who knows who’ll be sitting by my side!
They’d be holding their nose with eyes open wide.
Baby, I’m not tea-sing!
But on the other hand
Sipping hot honey-lemon tea before singing
Clears my throat and them hymns be ringing!
Yes, knowing when, where, and why
What kind to drink and what kind to buy
Are important tea-time certain-ties
And we must consider, too,
With whom we drink our teas.
And, really, I’m not tea-sing!
I absolutely love this!!! So creative and fun!!! 🤩
Thank you for the poem about tea and all its hilarious consequences! “Knowing when, where, and why / What kind to drink and what kind to buy” is pure clever delight—your wit always makes me grin. Reading this, I’m reminded that humor and observation are such gifts in our writing lives.
Anna, this is absolutely fun! I always have that fear of drinking when traveling because I always end up in the middle of sleepers!
Anna, I love the style in the dialect – – them hymns be ringing! That’s one of the most beautiful aspects of poetry ~ all the rules go out the window and the voice comes alive. I can hear the song! And the humor is most delightful here!
What fun wordplay and what a great photo, Anna! Your poem is so much fun to read. The first stanza – yikes! – had me laughing. Considering with whom we drink our teas – love those lines and the truth in them.
This is “write” up my alley, ladies! I love tea – it is my comfort blanket! Thank you both for taking the tea out for tea with us!
Taking Tea
Teacups and fancy plates,
assorted mini sandwiches,
scones, shortbread, fruit cup,
steaming teas and honey.
Tables set with white linen,
flowered napkins, gold cutlery,
blue hydrangeas in the center,
of large round tables.
We enter grinning from ear to ear,
carefully take our seats,
eyes sparkling with excitement,
we wait to be served.
Silver tongs pick up
slippery sandwiches,
hands hovers over
each sweet, delectable treat.
Everyone is served,
we sit in community
smiling, talking, laughing
celebrating the long winter.
Let us all share the joy,
let us sip its warmth,
savor the precious time
of taking tea with friends.
Beautiful imagery here with the gold and blue and the silver tones. I can hear the cutlery clinking on delicate china plates and see the tiered trays of delicious sandwiches, and hear all the ladies chatting. Celebratory days are worth the best of teas. I’m laughing, too, because my wordsmith father who almost never missed a correct pronunciation could never quite get “hydrangea.” For him, it was a “hydrandula.” I never had the heart to correct it. I love that vibrant ever-ph-changing flower color. Gorgeous!
Thank you for the poem about the simple joy of tea with friends! “We enter grinning from ear to ear, / carefully take our seats, / eyes sparkling with excitement” makes me feel right there with you. Your words wrap warmth and community around every line—what a lovely celebration of togetherness.
Joanne,
This evokes the quintessential British tea time straight out of an Oscar Wilde play, Downton Abbey, and The Gilded Age. Wonderful details put us right there at the tea time table.
Yes, tea as a celebration as well as a daily drink of choice for me, as well. During the pandemic, my granddaughter, who was barely 4, and I had high tea with my mother’s china tea cups and sugar cubes. We made tea sandwiches out of crackers and treats out of goldfish crackers with peanut butter drops on top. All but one tea cup was lost in the daily ritual of service by a pre-schooler! I know that was why I had those tea cups!
Joanne, there used to be an Olde English Tea Room in our area, and a bunch of us would go there together to get the sandwiches and little pots of tea and, of course, amazing sweets. Your poem sent me right back there. In those moments all seemed well with the world…didn’t it?
This sounds wonderful! And I love your last stanza: “Let us all share the joy, / let us sip its warmth, / savor the precious time / of taking tea with friends.” Perfect!
for some
sopping up
the spilled,
well-steeped,
sweet tea is
so much
better
than the
tasting
of it
____________________________________________
Fran and Kim, thank you so much for hosting us this month, for caring for us, for giving us space to share and play with words!
Thank you, Scott! I love your alliterative /s/ sounds and the truth of tea feelings.
Scott, so grateful for your poem today and the lovely economy of words like sugar granules falling into a cup of tea. Ah the unexpected pleasures in tea! “For some / sopping up / the spilled, / well-steeped, / sweet tea is / so much better than the / tasting of it” celebrates life’s messy, perfect little joys—such a clever, tender observation.
Scott,
LOL! I’m noticing an anti-tea tone to the poems today. Admittedly, I did skip Kevin’s, so can’t comment on his tea proclivities. 🤣
Your poem is clearly, anti-tea but still wonderful. While I do love tea, I am not a fan of sweet tea and I am not a lover of Lipton’s either! I splurge on the good stuff and cherish gifts of great tea,
In a word – hilarious! In another – TRUE! I know some folks who love them some sweeeeet tea-spilling…and sopping. Gotta love that old-timey word, sopping. When I was little I sopped molasses with my grandfather and have been told, boy, that’s OLD school. Thank you for this today and for the lightheartedness you so frequently offer us – heaven knows we need more of it!
Fran and Kim . . .
what a fun, clever inspiration for us today. Each of you created such unique poems as mentors!
A Bad Glass of Tea
I love a glass of hot tea
with honey,
a glass of iced tea
slightly sweetened.
Just yesterday
at a brunch
at our favorite diner,
I ordered an iced tea half cut
(half sweet, half unsweet).
I took a sip
and apparently scowled
at the taste.
“That’s why I hate tea.
You can’t trust it,”
my husband observes
from across the booth
as he sips his Diet Coke.
Hmm.
~Susan Ahlbrand
20 October 2025
Susan, iced tea half cut is our go-to drink here in Georgia, where the syrupy sweet strength is divided into a manageable level of sugar. It’s funny that your husband hates tea “because he can’t trust it.” I’m laughing at the humor of untrustworthy tea and how it stacks up against Diet Coke. I love the moment you shared here.
Susan,
Your husband is a wise man!
Hello, dear Susan! Thank you for the poem about tea’s little surprises! “’That’s why I hate tea. / You can’t trust it,’ / my husband observes” made me laugh out loud—your humor and eye for everyday moments are wonderful.
Soooo, Susan, you’re saying “mixed drinks” are out! As you noticed in my poem, I, too enjoy honey sweetened tea, especially with lemon before I have to speak or sing. For some reason sipping it both relaxes me, clears my head and my throat. No diet Coke for me! Yuck! But, each to their taste! Thanks for sharing!
Gracious, Susan! I will say I cannot drink unsweet tea and probably can’t drink half unsweet, either. I grew up on tea made with about a half a pitcher full of sugar. At a restaurant I once ordered a tea that tasted just like Herbal Essence shampoo smells – gag! So your husband COULD be right, but… I love the implication at the end of your poem in response to his comment on not trusting tea as he sips his Diet Coke. Just enough to question the trust of THAT drink. I so enjoyed this poem!
Susan,
I love how you create the sense of intimacy between spouses, with what is said and unsaid.
Wow and Wow! Thank you all for wonderful prompts. I haven’t been able to keep up with writing and reading in October. But, these are tucked away in my journal and I hope to have time to noodle around with them.
The tea poems from Fran make me giggle. I mean, St. Tempest by the Sea–ha!
Kim, I’m living your poem. So many of us are. Saturday’s No Kings was fun. The air of fun and community was just the dose of love my soul needed.
In here, there is a richness
given without hard labor.
Shame’s calloused palm
print aching on his cheek,
one black bagged tea in bulk,
one cup of hot water from
the rusty kettle,
any mug among hundreds,
heaps of sugar from the bag:
it’s the kind of wealth that feels
a balm upon bruised egos
until the sooty elixir turns cold.
__________________________
Thanks for this reflective invitation, Fran and Kim. I am a coffee drinker, but tea was our household brew growing up. My poem started here: “A cup of tea is an excuse to share great thoughts with great minds.” – Christina Re. But ended elsewhere as tea poetry likely tends to do — the seeping and all.
Sarah, the best poems happen when the pen leads, as you say and have shown so clearly here. The line “any mug among hundreds” has me envisioning the best kind of tea sipping where all the mugs are mismatched and may have a chip or two, and that last line reminding us that we must partake of the tea while it is hot and soothing – – and that the coldness happens like clockwork. Haunting and real – – and I am there in the shadows.
Sarah,
”sooty elixir” sums up my “tea-tude” pretty well.
I feel the pain in this poem, Sarah. Layers of it. And a poverty. The rusty kettle makes me cringe and I marvel at the sugar making one feel rich until the brew goes cold – “sooty elixir” is both lyrical and indelible.
Thanks for the tea party, Fran and Kim
Kevin
I remember
the time
she told me
I was doing
it all wrong
Not a careful
steeping,
but a mad
rush of hot
water
She took
my hand,
and we let
the kettle
sing its song
then waited
for the tea
to make magic
a little bit
longer
Kevin, the song of the tea kettle brings so many memories back from my childhood. There was, indeed, magic in the preparation. The waiting. Love this image of “She took/my hand.” In my travels so far, there is a hot water electric pitcher in every home. I hear the water bubbling, but there is no whistle payoff. Not the same.
Kevin, I feel the metaphor here – – clever!! The making up after the argument is often the sweetest of times.
A sweet image of learning from our loved ones. It’s in the waiting . . .
I can’t help but think of so much metaphor here – keys being the careful steeping, letting the kettle sing its song, making the magic happen. Yet so literal that I can see it all happening. The poem flows beautifully.
Kevin, I’m with her: you have to trust the process while making tea (and, truly, so much in this life). Thanks for this reminder!