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 Page: Profile: Poetry   Total Views: 10,963,689  



Poem Specs

VxPoem ID: 39795

Category:
other

Posted: February 20th. 2011 11:31:14 PM

Views: 662

Vanilla Chai Tea With A Pinch Of Damiana

by Empress Penguin

Age Group: Adult



From our book: Vanilla Chai Tea With A Pinch Of Damiana~

Buy it now on kindle and pre-order the paperback through Hedge-Witchery Books

http://www.hedge-witchery.com/page4.htm

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004M....ASIN=B004MME79W

See author's notes...

The color white usually covers
featureless walls, but when snow
falls and settles on the bough of
trees, it’s a recipe for awakening
that is strangely comforting, like
a white note, slipped subtly beneath
a door, or the creak of a metal door,
opening just a tad, enough to seize
the forces of nature, little bits at a
time.

Today is such a day, subtle. Breakfast
began with some Vanilla Chai Tea,
bottled water, and a few pieces of
chocolate. The smell of pine trees
is still settled inside my nose from the
previous day, when vendors lined busy
streets cashing in on the Christmas
excitement. Trees die for this? I didn’t
want a tree, not this year. But today is
one of those subtle days,

where you remember certain things that
wedge themselves into your soul. One
of the best Christmases I ever had was
when my sister, her roommate, Roberta
and I cut down our own pine in a
Connecticut tree farm. Snow was falling,
not aggressively, but in slow motion,
those large flakes that seem to float on
into eternity before hitting down and
melting.

I scrutinized the snow, how it fell without
any form of hesitation or evidence of
struggle. In the night’s distance, flashlights
from other tree cutters outlined the barks
of individual trees. I followed some footprints
to an opening where a medium sized pine stood,
and said, “This one!” Only a couple of hacks
and it was mine, with no evidence of a real
struggle. I looked up, catching snowflakes
with my tongue as they kissed my face,

and I remembered the story, Snowflakes Only
Melt, They Never Die. Crouching down I
probed the snow settled on the ground with my
bare hands to what lay beneath the surface. Earth!
Alive! Regenerative! Snow is beautiful, a good omen,
like the subtle brushstrokes on a blank canvas. And
Christmas, the true meaning beneath the surface,
has a beautiful subtlety all its own. This year, I
do want a Christmas tree, not a real one, because
memories like mine should be protected, put away,
preserved, but a tree nonetheless, a white one,
already decorated and abandoned in some store

front waiting to be rescued. After all, I like
the subtlety of that symbolism. When he comes
today we will get our tree. When he comes today
I will tell him all about this and he’ll give me that
quizzical frown that I so love that is uniquely his.
When he comes today, we will be absorbed into a
joyous streetscape like two child-like spirits
floating through the amazing wonder of it all,
totally innocent, fortunes spent, elbows touching,
in a journey of subtle silence.

~

Preview: She says

I think I may have cast a spell. I can feel
him close, like never before. He’s smiling,
my twin flame; his legs are crossed, his
face is clean-shaven, and there’s an olive-
wood smell that surrounds him.

He’s wiggling his nose and drinking from
a porcelain cup. I try not to think about
him, but with every bite of Tod Mun,
dipped in sweet, spicy sauce, I extract
his essence,

swallow it as if I can’t get enough. He’s
my appetizer of corn fritters and bay shrimp,
that promises me hunger after digestion,
alive in want, craving more, and in those
first moments,

I’m thrown clear off my feet, space bound,
struggling for breath. There’s an explosion
of heat as blood spasms with life within me.
Bits and pieces of me fall, dispersed among
the cosmos,

like a script that’s fallen from the hands of
God. I watch the second hand of a clock
go round and listen for its click at that crucial
place that keeps me open to the signs; all this
before the noodles and fried rice entrée.

Preview: He Says

The taste of her
lingers,
like the bite
of cinnamon
after a cup
of vanilla chai tea--
a cup made of flesh
yielding
to the pressure
of my tongue,
a spice
too elusive
to describe.
Again and again
I drank,
savoring
its unique flavor,
my tongue
entreating--
just a tip,
as if too hot,
then plunging in
with abandon,
my lips clinging
to the outer rim.
Unlike a real cup,
this one took
what I gave,
then gave back
ten fold,
my thirst for it
just as
bottomless.

What they say together...you'll have to buy the book to find out:)




Author's Notes: From our book: Vanilla Chai Tea With A Pinch Of Damiana~

Buy it now on kindle and pre-order the paperback through Hedge-Witchery Books

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B004M....ASIN=B004MME79W

http://www.hedge-witchery.com/page4.htm


Author's Location: The Dark Side Of The Moon, New York
More Poems: Empress Penguin has posted 13 additional poems- View them?
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