AT LAST

On my veranda I watch beads of sweat

slide down the glass of ale I use

to get over something I’m not sure of,

perhaps just an absence of idea or thought,

a quiet discontent that sparrow at the feeder

cannot know.

The small bird skitters to his majesty

the Red Oak who lives slow

in the corner of my woods.

He is old enough to speak

with substance and weight beyond

the business of anything I’ll ever do...

To my left

that willow I set in the ground

some years ago

waves long wands

over the water

and careful plantings she

orchestrated on the terraces and slopes.

And there I am with the sure knowledge

of an ungentle slide down

three score years and ten to sleep,

with a paucity of hope for

substance and weight.

Reviews

[Lorry]

Ah, the absence of tsunami like thoughts raining down on you, like those long forgotten times when we used words like ruminate to explain them, where you could enjoy a cold IPA without anyone caring, let alone knowing your name.
Where you could actually think prosaically and not be constantly thinking if you missed the latest update on things we really don't care about anyway and when you had a problem you could pick up a phone and shout at a real person, who would pretend to be sorry and get right on whatever was paining you, without sending out a questionnaire to find out that the no help you got was useful or not.
Maybe it's just me, but I actually miss queuing to speak to someone, instead of a robot checkout b***h telling the world there is an unexpected item in your bagging area, which only leaves you wondering if it is you!
Just pour yourself another foaming ale and sit back to ruminate on how things used to be...well, except all the Death medicine has stopped and woman dying in childbirth and if not that then setting themselves on fire as their massively complex dresses caught fire while cooking.
You know... happy days! 😃

[ETERNITY]

(*Finally, "the message"...the hand covering yours has a wedding ring on. It's "her".)

The moisture on the glass builds until I can not longer bear the weight of it,
My dwindling hope slides into silence as black as a phantom night on those wide open plains of Texas,
I see red as red as the comb of a Carolina cardinal...I See Red
https://youtu.be/FejAA-ChHNo?si=PboMJRn_rQhYWqvh

[Gee]

A large cold one at the end of a day enjoyed as nature prepared to bed down for the night :)
Your words paint vivid pictures Vol, top writing

[Vol]

Gee,
Thank you... the devil is in the details... and some angels, too.
Vol

[Thomas W Case]

Fantastic imagery. You paint this scene well.

[Vol]

Thomas,
Thank you, man. I have often said (so forgive if I repeat myself) the image IS the message. And it's just a matter of unexpected details.
Vol

[Lara]

This piece reads really nice, Vol.
Some ale!
Perfect blend of hops, temperature, and clime.

[Vol]

Lara,
Wasn't it Benjamin franklin that said "Beer is proof God loves us." I love good beer, ale, too, and friends to share it with... One of my favorite spots as I've traveled the universe is gone now, new owners... STOGIES where our little round table rivaled the Algonquin for good conversation, rounds of laughter, good poetry, and too much cigar smoke.
When It sold, I felt a great disturbance in the force, and continue to mourn all these years later...
Vol

[Lara]

Make mine a Jamieson, and let us toast.