A Cup of Morning Chai

I’ve decided to try and write a new poem each morning and post it, just to “wet my beak” so to speak, to keep my hand in and make sure that I continue to focus. Some of these daily poems will follow a specific regimen of meter, theme and structure, and some will not – so it is likely to be a grab-bag of varying quality and interest. Ah, well. At least it will be all new work, if the subject line says Poem of the Day, it will be that day’s creation.

the chai boiled over this morning;
and the milk had soured overnight,
leaving me with half-empty cups, unfilled,
and loose leaf tea stains on the stove top.

unfinished chai is an incomplete work,
caffeinatus interruptus, bleak and bitter,
a reminder of other things, undone,
that grow strong and dark on the soul’s cold stove.

like the bipolar nature of any true artist,
its stimulating effects were suffered to wait,
as the mundane and tedious tasks of commerce
cut short its rhythm like an unwanted visitor.

but the waiting builds character, and soon enough
the half-empty cup will be filled;
and, then, in a triumph that staggers the senses
it will waken the slumbering world.

22 Nov 2002

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