Monday, 15 May 2017

A poem by Tristan Moss

Flower Tea after the 89 Revolution


Primeval mutterings of tea
and a blazing day
in the Carpathians
when Eugenius,
even then an old man,
climbed without a rope
a little way down a cliff
to pick some alpine flowers,
and seeing my relief
when he reappeared
on the way back joked
how we'd have to run
uphill if chased by a bear.

Later, he poured me some tea
and the flowers tasted good.







Tristan Moss lives in York with his partner and two young children. He has had poems published in 'Magma', 'Shadow Train', 'NOON', 'Fat Damsel', 'Obsessed with pipework', 'Snakeskin', 'The Journal', 'Ink Sweat and Tears', 'Word riot', 'Camroc Review','Elimae' and 'Alba'. He can be contacted attristanmoss@hotmail.co.uk .

1 comment:

  1. Funny, last night we were drinking Greek mountain tea collected on Taygetes. Enjoyed your poem.

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