Dear tea

dear tea,
I drink of your dark liquid and drink
by inference of mother russia,
even though you came from east india,
were born in china, civilized in father england.
I drink of your black sea, and
by implication the spicy roses of
the middle east, that were the beds of the emperor,
the love potions of a medieval girl,
who would later marry a crusty old trader anyway,
a trader who sold among other things,
the powdered petals of a rose, in a poultice,
to cure ailments undefined, next to his
tin of tea, tied in a string on his belt,
and she would drink it when he loved her as a treat,
and sometimes the sneaky spell of rose
would creep into her sips, and she bent to
long ago, when she had childish hips
and slipped into the garden to pick a full-moon rose
and read the magic words with trembling lips,
and now her love had come in the form
of a man who knew nothing of dreams
or fluttering things in the night, but then
she smiled because he was hearty and
knew how to love her with only a cup of tea.

- Valerie Skinner

In the spirit of sharing more of my writing here is a poem, one I wrote quite awhile ago that is still one of my favorites.  Feel free to share my words, as long as you credit me and link back to my blog!


  1. Valerie, I love your poem and the image of the tea shimmering on the blue tile. I found you at my friend Anita's.

    Last day to enter my Serena and Lily Giveaway!

    Art by Karena

  2. Dear Valerie! I was completely caught up in the story! I went to the place, smelled the smells, felt the feelings, was embraced by the ambiance!
    I love it!
    :) ~Debbi

  3. Thanks for the kind comments Karena and Debbi!

  4. Love, Love, LOVE!! Had the feel of Paulo Cohelo meets and English romantic poet.. mmmmmm... what a heady aroma :)

  5. I thought about this poem last night.. and it's completely bohemian, exotic, and lovely - it's YOUR voice and I love it!