To open the morning
I am not Japanese.
Making my breakfast has become
my Tea Ceremony.
The ritual is performed as follows:
Wake up, stretch, breathe deeply,
walk into the kitchen, and solemnly
one full cup of Alpen "No Sugar Added"
Muesli into a sparkling ceramic bowl,
evenly sprinkling onto those flat
and resting flakes precisely three
quarter-teaspoons of Stevia,
the sweetener, and then from
the bag in the freezer scoop
one cup of frozen wild blueberries,
and pour into it right to the top a shot
of hot tap water then count to three,
and dribble the cold out
between your fingers,
refilling right then with another this time
counting to six, then dribble out the cool
again, placing the blueberries on the flakes,
with cold skim milk enough to cover,
stirring it all together with a shining spoon.
At another time
we will work on eating.
From Facebook: likes...5...Patricia Black, Martin Hayter and 3 others
Stan Burfield The trouble with this poem is it's one of the most vacuous things I've ever written. It's exactly the opposite of the last poem I posted here, a couple days ago. This one goes on and on saying nothing. That one was only four tiny lines, took only a minute to write, but contains all of me and more. Two very different kinds of poetry.
Like · Reply · 4 December at 15:14 · Edited
Stan Burfield Here it is:
I entered my room
from a dream
"wisdom is the sky".