The Storm that Raged in a Tea Cup

A dark curtain had been lifted

then came white ones with

meagre manna or mists

for pretty patterns.

 

A sultan stirred some tea

using a golden paddle like a ladle.

The tea was in a tea cup, a mug

that mounted on a saucer, a saucer

that endured the cup’s hot temper.

 

As the sultan stirred, particles

of beverages melted with joy

they even when to the sultan’s

throat with glowing glee until

reality came in the scarlet hell

of busy organs.

 

The sultan stirred and tea stared…

bubbles formed, waves rose,

wind whistled a provocative song.

A storm was a hummingbird; wind wrestled

with tea, the cup broke and rage

lathered the tea into a sea

that drowned the sultan

and gulped the house

into its runny stomach.

 

Prison Break: door burst, the sea

tea ranted on streets, sank cities

and crowned the country.

 

A nudge is needed, a poke

is the only language a mind

understands to call this only

an imagination, to calm the storm.