Standing in the dark
Midnight mist tangled
In silver moonlight
Splashing across my
Pale, anxious face
Eyes searching swamp edges
Waiting for you
Smoky Souchong
Sloshing in cups
Bamboo and pine fires
Give scent the power
To evoke Russian caravans
Carrying precious tea leaves
To far-flung Florida
Eagerly sipping
The potent brew
No Shakespearean witch
Could conjure in her cauldron
On the darkest night
Caffeine calms me
And I hear years of
Piled Live Oak leaves
Crackling on compacted sand
Recognizing your step
In anticipation of the tea
With its own sensuality…

© 2020 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
IMAGE: Russian Caravan tea



Way down low

On the Southern horizon

According to my handy planisphere

Appears the Teapot

Eight-star “asterism”

Meaning a group of stars

Too big to be a cluster

Too small to be a constellation

Sagittarius, that mighty centaur

Traveling with his own kettle


Stumbling out at midnight

My infamous pack of hounds

Howling at the moon

My neighbors forced to open doors

Allowing their better-trained dogs

To join the joyful song


Groggy from sleep

I gaze at the teapot

Beautifully visible

Without my myopia-cursed glasses

I crave some Russian Caravan tea

Smoky from bamboo

Full of caffeine


Then imagine Scorpius

Swinging stinging tail

Watching Capricornus and Aquarius

Surrounding the Teapot

Thinking of the anomaly

Of winter constellations

Appearing in my 90 degree yard

Remembering that the Southern Hemisphere

Is deep in winter

Wondering if they see these

Or are they gazing at our summer ones

In their darkened sky


Lost in the vastness of space

A mystery I lovingly embrace


© 2016 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)