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A Chocolate Teapot
I wanted a chocolate tea-pot
As a gift for a good friend’s birth-day
But I did feel a bit of a clot
Searching for this on e-Bay
I found a chocolate giraffe
And a chocolate kangaroo
But they wouldn’t give her the laugh
That a chocolate teapot would do
I decided to make one myself
And bought a huge Galaxy slab
Very bad for the general health
But for my plan was perfectly fab
I fashioned it into a pot
Melting it using some heat
Using kettle and water so hot
It really was quite a feat
This teapot I have to confess
Had lumps for handle and spout
And although I got in a mess
Was happy the way it turned out
My friend sent a note in blue ink
“My teapot is fab, may I say....
It wasn’t as useless as most people think
I scoffed the lot in one day! ”
copyright Victoria George
poem by Victoria George
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Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless--like water. Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup, You put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle, You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow or it can crash Be water my friend.
Love Pawn
The raging storm occurring outside my window
Can not compare to the constant choler
That tempers my heart this maniacal moment.
Why? Would you like living a pawn of love?
Forever being forced to feel painful pangs
Caused by a cruel manipulator. Like a captured
Pawn without a pertinent part in the game of love:
Only to stand alone among the active players.
On the sidelines, stagnating, unable to sever
Yourself from the fray. A preordained pawn!
Whose role resembles “ loves labours lost”
A cruel comedy rendering me a pathetic prisoner
That must persistently prove my legitimacy.
Rage on teapot tempest! At least your wrath will wane.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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The Broken-Teapot
Mum's bit of egg money on the mantelpiece
In the broken teapot in the olden days,
Hardly earned and hoarded there,
Much content afforded there
Long before inspectors came and bureaucratic ways.
But science by the barn-door rules the farmer's lot
And Mum's bit of egg-money dwindles in the pot.
Ever since the first years this was mother's perquisite,
Eggs daily gathered by the old barn door,
From the stable gathered in,
From the shed and fodder bin,
Carted in and traded at the small town store;
Gathered from the wayward hen laying far afield
As the new-cleared acres gave their golden yield.
Long it was a stand-by while the kids were little ones
Mum's broken teapot resting on the shelf
Some print to make a dress for Lil,
Sunday boots for Joe and Bill,
A loan to Dad and, now and then, a trifle for herself:
Growing heavy Christmas time by dint of watchful thrift
To buy a little Christmas cheer and here and there a gift.
But Mum's bit of egg-money grows a thing of history,
And Mum's broken teapot an heirloom now indeed,
Since Science ousts the picturesque;
And Dad has bought an office desk
To puzzle o'er official rules and size and weight and breed.
But Mum is brooding darkly o'er the forbidden egg,
Which, like a furtive gangsteress, she threatens to bootleg.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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I Did Not Know That He Has Become Serious In His Poetry Writing
until one night
i saw him putting his chamber pot
beside his
personal computer
and his teapot too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Originally I planned on starting a teapot collection. I really like them.
quote by Billy Dee Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Political Poem
I don't want to write political poetry,
but conflict washes over my native land
like a Katrina surge.
A tempest in a teapot
doesn't mean much
compared to the
relentless fury
of the tsunami.
This year's leaves, floating
gently to my lawn
glowing orange and gold
through the afternoon sun,
signify more than any inept
congressional
super-committee;
but when I see a policeman,
a man I want to call
protector, hero, friend,
spray orange pain
on crouching kids;
when protesters become enemies
of the state, and plans to smash
hope are made
on great, glistening tables
in bank boardrooms
gleaming
with the tears
of the foreclosed,
then must I write political poetry.
I'll fire a simile
into the executive suite,
I'll make strong the barricades
with my fierce metaphor.
poem by Steven Federle
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Teapot Dome involved the conservation of the oil resources of the United States, especially those situated upon the public lands.
quote by George William Norris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The rose and the bumble bee…
Love must have its tempest
Said the bee to the rose
Love must have its passions-harnessed
Before its midnights close.
Yes love must have its passion
Said the rose to the bee
Love must unburden of a fashion…
If it’s ever to be free.
But isn’t that a loves betrayal
Said the bee to the rose
Peering beneath; her petals veil
Before whisking to his toes.
Your love is truly a tempest
Said the rose to the bee
But I’m the queen most; royalist
Sir—on this we’ll both agree....
Love must have its tempest
And this is plain to see…
Why passions flame did bless
The rose and the bee.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Tempest In The Teapot
it is the tea
not the teapot
it is the air
not the wall
it is the soul
not the body
it is the tea
in the water
its essence
is not the water
the at first
was peaceful
and then
with heat
rages on and on...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Talk Over Tea.
Janice's gran
had left the room
to fetch another
pot of tea
and Janice said
Are you coming on
the day trip to the seaside?
I'm not sure
you replied
Oh please do
Janice said
Then we can be together
and I won't have to spend time
with those giggly girls
from the gospel group
you looked at her fair hair
and the way her eyes
were on you
and how precise
her lips were
when she spoke
I'm not sure my parents
can afford it
you said
Oh it's free for kids
whose parents are poor
she said
And after all
it's part of the point
of the whole thing
to show Christian values
and so on
and she smiled
and put her hand
on yours
under the table
as her gran came in
with the teapot
What are you two
talking about?
Gran asked
putting the teapot
down on the table
Janice's hand
squeezed yours
under the table
Oh just about the day trip
to the seaside
Janice said
Are you going too?
her gran asked you
you hesitated
and then said
Yes I think so
and Janice looked at you
her blue eyes bright
and she said
Isn't that good Gran?
Yes indeed
her gran said
and poured tea
into your cup
and added milk
and sugar
and Janice's hand
left yours
and the absence
of the warmth
of her hand
felt like
a dying world
in a vast galaxy
or drowning
in a deep blue sea.
poem by Terry Collett
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Outside of the chair, the teapot is the most ubiquitous and important design element in the domestic environment and almost everyone who has tackled the world of design has ended up designing one.
quote by David McFadden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sea As Myself
a tempest
the day
we parted ways
the torrent
sea played out
my distress
scouring
every crevice
that stores
those sterling
moments
of love
now swelling
with frust
angst
tears
and fears
i steadied
myself
to make my wish
to the moon
for your comeback
its swirling
shimmering dance
in the sea
my only refuge
from being
drowned
in desperation
this tempest
that would
return
again
and again
the unceasing waves
pound the beach
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I will love you forever
I will love you forever
Whether you love me or not
If my life is an airplane
Will you be my co-pilot?
Baby I feel so cool and
You look totally red hot!
You can make me happy and
Keep me warm like a teapot!
Baby I need you so much
You keep coming in my thought!
If I don’t see you one day
Baby I miss you a lot!
poem by Asif Andalib
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My Luck Doesn’t Favor
Who will keep me cozy like a teapot
Who will adore even my beauty spot?
I feel so cool as if I am in arctic region
I need her so sternly in my every season.
Who will give me hope when I feel depressed?
Who will help me out when I am oppressed?
I make efforts so hard but my luck doesn’t favor
Now-a-days it seems we are two shores of a river!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Tempest Of Time
Love gets lost occasionally
within the tempest of time
and all that remains
are the images left behind
in albums gathering dust
waiting to awaken memories
of times long gone by
when the flower of youth
was budding ready to bloom,
such is the photographs
of a love long extinguished
within the tempest of time.
15 April 2011
poem by David Harris
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Today... 'The Covert from the Tempest
Behold a king shall in righteousness reign
and rivers of water cover this dry plain.
Like the shadow of a rock in a weary land
we see the great Covert from the Tempest stand.
Hidden in the Covert from the Tempest sore
there in His body on the cross my sins He bore.
For Christ has borne the Tempest of a Just God.
The great penalty of the laws awful rod.
Now safely sheltered beneath the cross am I.
The mighty Angel of Death will pass me by.
For my Covert from the Tempestuous rages
is beneath the Cross where I'm safe from its ravages.
Justice and Mercy kissed on Calvary's tree.
The law of God is now satisfied for me.
Wonderful peace, perfectly serene and still
can be found at the cross on Calvary's hill.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Inevitable Defeat for Friend Leslie
The tempest rages spitefully
as it has done all through the night.
Determined to defeat the sea
it gives no quarter or respite.
The rolling thunder loudly roars
across the heavens ceaselessly
Forked lightning flickers like a sword.
A weapon wielded expertly
Which strikes the surface of the sea
to small effect. The sea ignores
this useless waste of energy.
The raging storm cannot enforce
it’s will. The mighty sea denies
the storm the smallest victory.
No matter how the tempest tries
The storm will cease eventually.
The storm clouds slowly dissipate
As silence stills the thunders roar.
The sea resumes its peaceful state
and all is as it was before.
The tempest tried to no avail
to overcome its enemy.
Its puny efforts doomed to fail
against the everlasting sea.
29-Jan-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Lonely Teabag...
One solitary teabag
not enough for two to share
just one for the teapot
the caddy being quite bare.
No drawing of the water
no mashing of the pot
no teabag for each person
whilst shopping, I forgot.
With two saucers on the table
but no teacup at the lips
for the corner store's not open
to buy more *PG Tips.
It's tea-less in the cupboard
no tasty leaf to brew
so I will have a coffee
and make tea, just for you.
*trademark
poem by Howard Brace
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On The Dark Height of Jura
I.
Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast,
When o’er the dark aether the tempest is swelling,
And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal passed?
II.
For oft have I stood on the dark height of Jura
Which frowns on the valley that opens beneath;
Oft have I braved the chill night-tempest's fury,
Whilst around me, I thought, echoed murmurs of death.
III.
And now, whilst the winds of the mountain are howling,
O father! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear;
In air whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling,
It breaks on the pause of the elements' jar.
IV.
On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o'er the mountain
Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead:
On the mist of the tempest which hangs o'er the fountain,
Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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