Poetry by Rhys Hughes
NOT MY CUP OF TEA
To be chopped
into tiny pieces by the
axes of furious Viking warriors
isn’t really my cup of tea.
To sail a yacht
over the edge of a waterfall
and be smashed
to bits on the rocks below also
isn’t my cup of tea.
Please believe me when I say it.
To fall into the
crater of an active volcano
and plop into the lava
while having a picnic
on the slippery slopes is a thing
one hopes will never
come to pass, ergo it’s not
my cup of tea either.
What else fits into this category?
Ah yes! I recall.
A hot beverage made from
the hand-picked leaves
of a specific bush and consumed
in a porcelain drinking vessel
that belongs to you…
It’s just not my cup of tea.
NO REFLECTION
If the sun shines through a window
onto the mirror in your room
but fails to deflect from the glass
and bathe you in mellow warmth
that’s no reflection on you,
my friend! It’s no reflection on you.
If the moon glows on a silent lake
and the luminous lake silvers
the skins of friends and relations
but leaves you in a dismal shadow
that’s no reflection on you,
my friend! It’s no reflection on you.
If the stars sparkle the frosty brows
of sleeping cows in a meadow
but these sparkling cows reserve
the astral gleam all for themselves
that’s moo reflection on you,
my friend! It’s moo reflection on you.
FORGETFULNESS
Once I had a memory like an elephant.
Now I have a memory like a goldfish.
That’s what time does to a man.
But what animals can be found between
these two extremes?
I must have had a memory like a mule
at one point, and like a squirrel
too, a snake and a fox,
a giraffe and a panda (full of thoughts of
bamboo), even a baboon.
But I don’t remember…
I just swim around and around inside the
bowl of my head
instead.
Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.
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