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Saturday, April 10, 2021

What Sorrow Has Brewed

—Poetry by Sue Daly, Sacramento, CA
—Photos Courtesy of Sue Daly



LANGUAGE OF THE TEA LEAVES

She sips tea slowly
captures sunshine in her hair
brushes it from her face
sees her tears in the tea leaves

drifting down to the bottom of
the cup arranging themselves
into intricate delicate patterns
as if trying to convey a message

of supreme importance about
her future perhaps an end
to the strange misadventure
threatening to overwhelm her

now as she sinks deeper
oblivious to captured sunshine
and the mysterious
language of tea leaves. 
 
 
 

 
 
On the way to the mailbox

I watch the clouds paint the day gray,
competing with a few rays of sun.

Sidewalk roses beg for affection—
deep reds, pale pinks and peaches.

I breathe in the heady cologne.
Breaking off a hesitant pink

I press the fleshy petals to my face—
crushed velvet explodes on my cheek.

A moment resplendent.


(prev. pub. in
Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/19/20)
 
 
 

 

TRAIN OF LONG AGO

Forgetting and remembering
at the same time—
the train of long ago leaves the station.

Tumbleweeds and thistles fly by
in such a blur I cannot fasten
my understanding to them—
to any part of the past or future,

in the dream or the nightmare—
in the black or white of this world
and possibly the next.

_________________

SUMMON THE POETS

Charlatans are everywhere,
promising this and that in an instant—
anything we might desire.

A magic spell won’t keep me from harm,
an amulet won’t bring unearned blessings—
who can find my fate in a cup of tea?

Better to summon my first love—
I’d rather read Whitman
than tea leaves. 
 
 
 

 
 
MONTEREY

The mist inches inland,
kisses all in its path.

We absorb it by osmosis—
the cypress drink it every spring.

Thirsty roots inhale the moisture—
in peril without it.

When autumn arrives the trees
creak and bend in the wind,

dormant,
dreamless.

___________________

CHASING ETERNITY

Time chases eternity
and like the White Rabbit,
I often arrive late—
for a very important date.

Eternity chases time,
what do I hope to find—
on this round rock
of blue and green?

Maybe a secluded space,
hidden among the trees—
where I fall on my knees,
pray to God my gratitude
for a chance to dance
with uncertainty
with eternity. 
 
 
 

 
 
The stars

are yours now,
you have tamed them—
tied them down around
time warps and cosmic thunders,
they bend their will to yours.

Why not corner the sky?
It lies open before you—
how hopefully you have traveled,
how useless to fight against the night
and all its dreaming.

              (for Josh)
 
 
 

 
 
EVER AFTER

dusk unraveled day
as night approached
steadily
relentlessly
cast shadows of fear
blurred by uncertainty

she did not flee this
witching hour but
bloomed within
its clutches
entered with no
assurance of return

stumbled over seven
faces of darkness
danced through ruins
dreamt of light
laced with laughter
ever after
after all 
 
 
 

 
 
EVEN THE CLOUDS

There is nothing to see here.
Nothing more can be done.

She is so weary of sorrow, even
the clouds offer to hold her tears.

The sky shudders,
rolls up and goes home.

She sleeps but does not dream.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

BITTER HERBS
—Sue Daly

Sorrow
steeps the tea.
Mercy sips it.
Regret looks away,
unable to taste
what Sorrow
has brewed.

____________________

Welcome back, a big thank-you, and congratulations to Sue Daly! These poems are from her new book,
Language of the Tea Leaves, published by Cold River Press, April 2021. The book is available for pre-sale at gf.me/u/zmw9dj on Facebook.

____________________

—Medusa
 
 
 
Cover of Sue’s new book
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



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