An Abridged Story of Wine
The bottom of the nave used to be a lake’s bed, but one night,
when moon was white as search light and the sky maroon,
the lake vanished. Dead fish and toenail clippings at the bottom,
but the soil was rich, and the people who used to fish for a living,
planted vine which bore healthy grapes, but grapes fermented
and wine was discovered. A drink that made them merry, they
sang, slapped flat stones together and made music.
But if drinking too much they ended fighting and used stones as
missiles, and given to arguing about the quality of snow that fell
the year before. In clay pots they sold red wine and became rich,
till Moslems came, forbad the making of wine, they planted pale
yellow orange trees instead. But the juice of sweet blue grapes
has an unstoppable allure it fills heart with music, the production
was moved to hidden dells in Alentejo. When Arabs, defeated by
Christian hordes, fled; Iberia had abundance of red wine but also
sugary orange juice.
No matter how many you’ve had
your birthdays shouldn’t make you sad.
You are free to wear unmatched plaid
and not tolerate fools.
For oldsters not a thing’s forbad.
You’re allowed to break rules.
Don’t worry about growing old.
It is your turn now to be bold.
Be proud of the years you’ve been doled.
It is time to have fun.
Don’t listen to what you’ve been told.
Golden Years have begun.
Won no. 5
Other than the slight ringing in my ears
The only other sound I hear is the
Computers low droning inner gears.
Monotonous sounds that drive me a
Little crazy at times; background noises
That become deafening after awhile
Especially sitting in quietness
Or rather semi-quietness. Still, I’ll
Never get used to these subtle noises.
I think, perhaps, I am a little mad
If that’s possible; I don’t hear voices
Like a bug-house lunatic, God forbad!
I must be nuts though, to sit here alone
Typing jabberwocky verses at home.
Below zero in a refrigerator,
I sat in a fetal position,
Trembled like a wet wren,
Yearning to feel the blazing flame of summer.
Teeth chatting with those brain neurons,
Fist clenching, not able to move,
Hypothermia began to set in,
My cells were paralyzed by the monster.
My heart, a sleeping dove,
Silenced and tranquilized,
Each heart beat longed to dance
But the hideous snowflakes forbad it.
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