We’re near the end of the remodeling project. Heather’s been busy unpacking all the boxes and I’ve been moving heavy things. We’re just about back to normal in this house. Just a few light fixtures left for the electrician to install.
Here’s a short list of what I really like:
- I can now make tea and toast at the same time (officially tested last week).
- We no longer have this conversation in the kitchen: “Let me know when you’ve finished making your coffee, I want to start the tea kettle.”
- Ice – you can get ice right from the refrigerator door.
- The kitchen cabinets – every time I look at them I just want to say, “wow, these are so cool.”
- Lights, everywhere.
As the remodeling completes my mind starts to turn back towards other creative endeavors and I am itching to do more writing.
So let’s write a poem following last week’s instructions. First, take a word, any word.
Cup, I’ll take a cup. Spin the synonyms:
Glass, container, pot, vessel, tumbler, jar, mug, chalice, goblet, stein, grail…
Walk around the image:
Tall, short, clear, blue, green, wide, narrow, sitting upright, tipped on the side, turned upside down, flying through the air, smashing across the floor, lips touching the cool rim, steam rising from the hot tea, handles, round, square. Glass, metal, plastic and wood, see the world through a cup.
Listen to the old cup:
He is in his cups.
My cup runneth over.
Take this cup from me.
I take this cup.
The cup is half full or half empty.
Seek for the cup, the grail.
Rise your cups.
Turn the cup down for the fallen.
What do cups do?
Cooling water down weary throats.
Warms hands and bellies on a cold day.
Holds the medicine.
Giver of life.
Taker of mind.
Step lively over the rhyme:
pup, sup, yup, it’s up and you can see it close up.
grass, kras, lass in mass sometime will pass.
The mug held a bug which we wouldn’t chug like a drug so smug – only a thug would slug such a jug.
Consider a juxtaposition:
A cup and a mountain.
A glass and a hammer.
A goblet and a bee.
A stein filled with sand.
A mug of mud.
now quiet and listen. Hear the wind. Cup.
The poem —
Sitting on the table
Cool water within
Cold soothes the aching hand
Lips touch the brim
From the tongue to toes relief flows
Refreshing the mind and cooling the soul
The cup made from glass
To me has passed
The bite of alcohol
Cut by sweet
Diluted with ice
Taking reason as the world blurs
We raise our cups in friendly toast
We raise the glass to the fallen
We take this cup as burden
This grail starts the quest
Turn the cup down to remember those we left behind
Gentle hands offer the warm mug
Take and feel the warmth fills the body
Warm, sweet, thick, passes lips
Sleep takes the worries away
Full of promise
Well that’s it for this week. I am taking some vacation for the next couple of weeks just to rest and play and recover from the remodeling. Likely I won’t be posting much until August when I get into some of the follow-up projects I’ve been thinking of.
Till next time,