Poetry Prompt of the Week: Compare someone (fictional or real) to a teapot (whatever kind of teapot you’d like).
Prose Writing Prompt of the Week: Someone has invited your character for tea. Only when he/she gets there, something seems a bit “off”…
by Carol R. Ward
Not a fine English porcelain
nor a modern stainless steel
not iron nor even ceramic
but something not quite real.
You’re more like a clear glass vessel
with a tea blossom trapped inside
just add a pot of hot water
and watch as you come alive.
Your anger, like steam, quickly rises
and wafts its way through the air
and like steam is quickly gone again
no sign of it anywhere.
The blush of the tea blossom mimics
the colour that’s found on your cheek
and the statuesque form of the teapot
is the same as your body so sleek.
The reddish brown of Darjeeling
is the same as the curls of your hair
but the black of the dragon pearl leaves
are the same as your eyes so fair.
I see you each time I measure
the leaves for a fresh pot of tea
perhaps you are just a tea spirit
but always you’ll be real to me.
Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat
by Carol R. Ward
The tea service was stunning. One would have almost expected sterling silver, given the circumstances, but this was a porcelain so thin it was almost transparent with life-like violets hand painted on it. It was almost too delicate to use. The butler poured the tea and stepped back. Actually, he poured the tea and disappeared completely.
“Cucumber sandwich my dear?”
Jessica accepted the small, square plate with her gloved hand. Gloves? Since when did she wear gloves?
“Milk or sugar?”
“Neither, thank you. I take my tea black.”
There was an autocratic sniff as the proffered creamer set was withdrawn again.
“I think you will enjoy the tea, it’s my own special blend,” the accented voice told her.
Jessica dutifully picked up the teacup, holding out her pinkie finger as she raised the cup to her lips.
“It’s very hot,” she said, setting the cup and saucer down to pick up the thinly sliced cucumber sandwich, hoping the cucumber would soothe her poor burnt tongue.
Again with the sniff. “That’s because you had no milk. Tea should never be served any other way but hot. It’s the addition of the milk that cools it down.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“See that you do.”
Jessica looked around the formal drawing room – the original artwork on the walls, the tastefully arranged flowers. “You have a lovely home.”
“That is a non sequitur.”
“No, that was a compliment,” Jessica told her. “This is a non-sequitur: Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been? I’ve been to London to visit the queen.”
“Indeed. I should, however, like to point out we are not in London.”
“But you are the queen.”
“So they tell me,” Elizabeth said dryly.
Jessica went to take another sip of her tea and saw to her surprise the cup was empty. She set it down carefully on the table in front of her. “Shall I get to the point?”
“There’s something I’ve always wanted to know…”
The queen waited patiently as Jessica fidgeted. “And that is?” she prompted.
“Well you see, Jessica, you have to wake up now.”
“Wake up Jessica.”
The ground beneath her chair began to rock violently. “I think we’re having an earthquake.”
“C’mon Jessica, time to wake up.”
Jessica opened her eyes and Dominic stopped shaking her. “What’s going on?”
“Jessica,” he said, hugging her to him. “I was afraid we were too late.”
“Too late for what?” she asked, a little irritably.
“You got a dose of somnambulist dust,” Ellen said, peering over Dominic’s shoulder at her.
“What is somnambulist dust,” Jessica asked in what she hoped was a reasonable sounding tone of voice. “And how did I get dosed with it?”
Dominic loosened his grip slightly. “It comes from the somnambulist bloom–”
“Of course it does,” she muttered under her breath.
“–and you got dosed with it when you went charging ahead like you always do.”
Jessica wriggled out of Dominic’s embrace so she was sitting up herself. They were sitting on a cushion of dead leaves, a forest at their backs and a field of wildflowers in front of them. “You mean like in the Wizard of Oz?”
“The wizard of where?”
Ellen giggled. “Exactly like in the Wizard of Oz.”
Dominic shot her an angry look. “It’s no laughing matter. If we hadn’t seen where she went down we might not have got to her in time. A big enough dose and she’d have died instantly and if she’d been alone, she could have slept until she starved to death.”
“They look like ordinary wildflowers,” Jessica said with a shiver. She put a soothing hand on Dominic’s arm gave him a kiss on the cheek. “And you did get to me in time, as usual.”
“Rescuing you is starting to become a habit,” he grumbled. “Now come on.” He helped her to her feet. “We should get moving before the wind shifts.”
Jessica agreed whole-heartedly. She took his hand as they followed a game trail into the forest, but spared one wistful glance back at the meadow. Now she’d never know why Queen Elizabeth favoured corgis over every other dog.
Note: Want to know who Jessica and Dominic are? Check out Carol’s Moonstone Chronicles series!
Thanks for reading! Feel free to submit your poems/stories for the week in the comments if you’d like. And check back Monday for new writing prompts!