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@katthewriter @libby @evelyn @scribbles @kb-writer @sir-leeds @k-a-grey @evelyn @w-o-holmes

I want to enter this poem in the contest. I need your help–please critique, praise, give advice, anything! I want to know if this is bland, if it means something, or if it’s powerful to you. Say anything that it made you think of or made you feel. Is the pacing good? Is “I” overused? Does the sentence structure need variance? Are the ending stanzas to -winter- and – spring – cheesy?

 

Tea

– winter –

The world is grey:

Old snow clings to the lawn,

the trees are dark and wet,

and the clouds frown.

 

I hold my tea to my chest.

When I finally taste it,

The liquid is cold.

 

A drop spills and trails

down the edge of my mug like a tear.

 

Like the tears that run down my face.

 

I smell the aroma of jasmine,

The crushed flowers

Diffused in my tea.

 

Tomorrow seems

so far away.

 

– spring –

 

I wake up in the darkness

Just before dawn:

The world’s loneliest hours.

 

Staring at the shadowy ceiling,

I can’t fall back asleep.

I don’t want to start a new day,

But after a while, I get out of bed

Like always.

 

I wander onto the back porch,

And for an hour

I pretend that this is all there is:

Absorbing the sky’s colors

Dripping and fading into each other

While the sun rises.

 

I sip my tea,

And savor the warmth that floods my body.

The scents and flavors of lavender and chamomile

Envelope me like an embrace.

 

The wind plays with my tangled hair,

And for a moment, the world is quiet.

 

It isn’t so heavy

When it’s quiet.

 

– summer –

As the sun soaks into my skin,

I peek at the reflection in my drink,

The ice cubes clinking together,

And the sweet tea’s golden filter

Making my reflection cartoonish.

 

My bright lips smile under my sun hat,

And this time the smile reaches my eyes.

 

The dandelions laugh and nod at me.

I take one and blow his fluffy mane over the grass.

 

– fall –

Raindrops make music on the rooftop.

The wind outside my windowpane

whisks red and gold leaves through the air.

 

I bury myself in a blanket,

Curling my toes in my wool socks,

And wrapping my fingers around a mug of hot chai.

 

I cradle my tea;

its fragrance sweeps me

to exotic worlds

As I open a new book.

 

For a few hours,

Reality retreats to a corner

While my eyes grow wide.

 

The raindrops’ steady rhythm slows,

then stops.

 

I look out my window;

The limp leaves are still dripping.

In the after-silence.

 

And I think to myself—

Sometimes when it seems

He has left you to struggle alone,

Is when He is still with you

Healing you in quiet ways.