Purple envelope
sealed with dried red grape secrets
folded with ferments
hidden like wine in a cask—
waiting to expunge its words
Purple grape-skins torn
the bruises dark, stinking with hate
postponed and withheld—
seething, fermenting inside,
to pop when eyes are uncorked
Fingers hesitate—
lingering on paper's seam
as if it might bleed
mauve ink, staining memories
with bitter taste of tannin
Who dares to open
the violet-purple skins
threaded like tendrils
curled poised to strike the reader—
staining lips and tongues blood-red
The envelope waits
as a bruise waits for pressure—
purple concealing
the truth of what lies within
with promise and a warning
in a cursed invitation.
I cradle you in both hands—
the cup is hotter than the blood in me.
I sip until my tongue blisters,
as if pain is the only proof
that I can still be filled.
The table is a witness—
its pale skin bruises under you.
You leave your halo of tannin,
a brown eclipse widening,
seeping into the grain like rot that knows my name.
I line the coasters in military rows,
little shields of cork and cloth,
but you slip past their defenses—
a siege of warmth,
an invasion I invite.
Soon the whole table will be dark.
Soon my palms will smell of leaves and ash.
But you seep through everything,
and I wonder if love is not the cup,
nor the hand holding it,
but the stain that stays after.
The sun sets leaping in fierce golden shafts
As days shift shorter with Winter’s warning
We seek emblazoned fires from the chilled drafts
That glaze windows from iced winds each morning
As twilight falls stale dead leaves swirl rifting
Barbed smells of Pine and Tannin Oak scent streams
From forest floor fumes in brisk air hinting
Drab pumpkin, peach and tawny spiced Fall dreams
Sit quietly, watch dusk’s seasonal show
November’s clouds spangled in etched fire stun
When a portrait clad in sheathed splendor flows
A palette of Fall woods under brazed sun
That bring us grand tidings of this season
Where peace reigns and war has little reason
I trace a path between the rocks, jagged cold and grey
that whip the waves into a froth; tea-like tannin stain
Is this a place that we can pass, safe, Or should we stay?
For rapids, falls, and tangled logs, have thwarted us along the way
We’ve pulled the ropes, despite no hope, down paths of constant change
And now we go on one last float, to salvage a tired day.
Like wine,
these older days
are vintage
Aging,
as each days number
declines
Ripe
in the tannin
of what remains
Rich
in the sweetness
of time now past
The vines
to wither
—in memory lost
(The New Room: May, 2021)
A state of every mind full of stuffs or empty
What it needs a drug?
A pain, a pleasure, spiritual, religious…
In every gathering is like a form of drug
For physiological change in body
Daily consumption of beverage as the day begins
A start up plan like a bed tea
Common drug caffeine, tannin
Rejuvenating a new ideas pouring
In a morning and evening coffee or a tea
A sip is needed to psychoactive the mind
During the pain what it needs a painkiller?
Mazatec shaman like a Spiritual cognition
Nootropics like a smart drug improving the brain functioning
On other hands Injected and absorbed and sometimes
Smoked bubbled combined hallucination alcohol
Intoxicating and Lowering the central nervous system
Feeling as if Body above the layer of ground
Glutton behaviours a magic of drug
a vomiting feels its impact
But a drug is a game player
And you feel like you are not you
it can make or mar one’s life so decide with your choice judiciously.
Imagine
Floating on your back, eyes
Shut to all but the hush of sunlight
Buoyant to the lightness of being with only
Birds and insects flinging airs at
Ears immersed in the cool tannin
Stained river gently luring
Dreams from nothing
That drifts and clicks away on the current
Gentle with its tugging of thoughts
Caressing ripples from a mirror…
The mind sliding into eddies, swirling
With time - wading patiently, as if stilled
But merely time passes by, like
The dreams of children that are
Never given another thought.
Yet at some point your dreams
Detach from reality
Loosen from the viscous pull of the river
And wander the murky depths
Lost in a city of streams where
Time and the surrounds are
Abundantly clear behind eyelids
Fat with circadian rhythms
Surpassing your dreams in tones of
Wild wilderness - oblivious
Drifting along in a realm of silence,
Balanced by the weightlessness ~
Of harmony
A poem by Mark Trichet
21 June 2015
Refreshing drink – there’s nothing finer,
When you’re parched and really gasping –
Darjeeling tea in fine bone china,
Mark the subtle, fresh aroma
Spiralling up in wisps of steam.
It wakes the brain, assists with thinking
At breakfast time when spirits flag,
It equals good champagne for drinking,
Just when you need a morning lift.
So sip the amber liquid, slow
And feel the warmth of Asian suns.
That tannin bite will make you glow,
Awakening sleepy spirits, fast.
It’s full of life and constancy,
This British institution, TEA.
CONVERSION
I have signed the pledge of success:
Stood in the group and confessed
To drinking tea and coffee to excess;
But now I have seen the light, I'm better -
No more tannin and caffeine fetter.
I’m a beertotaller.
I love that cowboy, lean and tall...
I see him lumber to the stall,
To cool his horse from ridin hard,
He tips his hat...says, "Howdy pard!"
I love that cowboy in his jeans,
With well-worn chaps and leather's sheen.
Those boots and spurs that fit so well...
The way he chats and sits a spell.
I love that cowboy's manly ways...
Perhaps a rumble in the hay?
He's talkin rough around the guys,
But makes this lady swoon and sigh!
I love that cowboy on a ride,
I see him ropin...tannin hides...
But what's this ringing that I hear?
His trusty cell phone...loud and clear!
I love that cowboy, lean and tall...
I see him lumber to the stall,
To cool his horse from ridin hard,
He tips his hat...says, "Howdy pard!"
I love that cowboy in his jeans,
With well-worn chaps and leather's sheen.
Those boots and spurs that fit so well...
The way he chats and sits a spell.
I love that cowboy's manly ways...
Perhaps a rumble in the hay?
He's talkin rough around the guys,
But makes this lady swoon and sigh!
I love that cowboy on a ride,
I see him ropin...tannin hides...
But what's this ringing that I hear?
His trusty cell phone...loud and clear!
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