Welcome to this week’s poetry club tea date!
Get your favorite steep (or brew) and join us in writing a quick poem based on the following lines, submitted by Every Day Poems reader Sandra Heska King. The lines are from the recent poem delivery Every Morning, by L.L. Barkat:
if only I hear
the expectant cup
Sandra wrote this poem based on those lines:
The Expectant Cup
The potter has passed.
His cup, now mine, expects
the sweet scent of jasmine—heaven sent.
Your Pour
Take a moment to write a poem based on the shared lines. Then add to the comment box (with a touch of cream and sugar) so other club members can enjoy.
✨
Looking for more inspiring lines? Check out the Every Day Poems poetry club room, where we feature additional favorite lines submitted by readers.
- The Poetry Club Tea Date ✨ First Fall - December 10, 2020
- The Poetry Club Tea Date ✨ Braiding His Hair - October 22, 2020
- 5-Minute Refresh: Proof of Thought - October 15, 2020
Bethany R. says
“the potter has passed”
I like how you’ve completely changed the scene here, Sandra. Creative and beautiful.
L.L., what a fun way for the community to come together here. You’re always thinking. Always making. Which reminds me of today’s Every Day Poems title, “Hacedor.”
L.L. Barkat says
I hadn’t even processed the title of today’s poem. Now I need to reread it in that light. Glad you mentioned! 🙂 I do love to make. Even if some things eventually get unmade in time. Like building block towers as a kid.
Sandra, I was completely predisposed to write a poem with an expectant cup in it, because I was focused on your title. But then I let the first half of the phrase work its way into my spirit, and it led to a 3-line dream poem stirring around the idea of “if only I hear”…
Wineberries, silent.
The mourning dove.
Gold of the sun.
Bethany R. says
Lovely 3-line poem.
Sandra Heska King says
I had to look up Hacedor. It’s so fun to sense all these connections.
Laura, I just finished reading Journey into the Whirlwind by Eugenia Ginzburg. At the end she writes about discovering cranberries near where she was felling trees in Siberia–“berries a red so deep that they looked almost black.” From then on, she said, “we went into the forest not in despair but in hope.” She believed those hidden berries helped her survive. She called them “berries of golden wine.” (A quote from poet Igor Severyanin)
Thanks for sharing my lines. This is a fun way to prompt myself into a writing a few words. 🙂
Bethany says
I love having this place to connect. 🙂
Sandra Heska King says
I know, right? There are all kinds of connections to be found here. 🙂
deb felio says
ragged, unseemly, I wander
my sins have brought me low
shamed, outcast, forsaken
where is there for me to go
I kneel again, bowed head in prayer
my name spoken, my eyes look up
I take the bread, almost forgiven
if only I hear the expectant cup.
Bethany R. says
Thank you for sharing your poem with the community, Deb!
Sandra Heska King says
Nice, Deb!
Pauline Beck says
out of my sound sleep
sound of your spoon-made music
sweetly stirred in cup
L.L. Barkat says
Pauline, I especially love the soft repeating sounds in the second line. Also, the repetition (and altered meaning) of “sound.” 🙂
Sandra Heska King says
What she said.
Bethany R. says
I love “spoon-made music.” Thanks for sharing this!
Bethany Rohde says
Morning Mind
gliding out of dreams and landing on creamed-coffee hopes,
the rising scale-music of the filling cup,
the half-inhale which proceeds the
sip
which one
the deepest delight?
deb says
creamed-coffee hopes – delicious!
Bethany says
Thanks for reading this, Deb. 🙂
L.L. Barkat says
I especially like the internal rhymes of “rising scale” and “half-inhale.”
And I can totally relate, with my morning cup. 🙂
Bethany says
Thank you. Cheers! 😉