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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