Poem: Jasmine Tea

Jasmine Tea

It's taste is gentler than you remember,
more subtle and complex, as if
with age you can better sense
the layers of taste, better appreciate

it's imperfect gentleness, no longer
needing power or strength
in quite the same way
as you demanded it in the bloom
of exuberant and oblivious youth.

There are flowers in it, white
and shredded, reminding you of dogwoods
and the smell of magnolia in the distant
past.

With the second sip, you are young again,
belying the wrinkled truth of your face, and
your heart, once so tired,

lifts like the dancing steam
drifting upward from the cup,
white and mysterious and always,
always, disappearing.

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And yes, I really have recently rediscovered the subtle delight that is Jasmine tea,

Tom

Poem: Leaving Chicago

Leaving Chicago

Where you live, there are few lights,
and night clouds are lost in the darkness.
Life grows quiet after dusk,
but you will take this with you,

the ceaseless activity, the lights and night clouds,
the activity, people, the energy
that empowers and wears down

endlessly.
Your bag is packed, and you take home
no postcards, no logo laden gifts,
nothing

but the joy that there are such places
and millions who thrive there, and a greater joy
that you can visit, return, and visit yet again,

the tides of energy filling you,
then spreading through the night air
like stars in the Milky way,

always flaming,
yet far enough away that
you do not burn.

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The picture is of the Chicago skyline, taken about 10 at night. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom