Wine clings to the side
As I slowly twirl the glass
Watching colored stage lights
Bounce off Merlot
Through the haze I realize
I am the wine
Clinging to that
Which confines me
Living in the glass
Gradually sinking
In this pool of liquid
That used to support me
Once clarion clear my voice
Is now slurred spittle
But without the wine
I might not speak at all
Once literary and lucid
My words are confused and common
But without the wine
I might not write at all
Each sip is a curse
I must keep the glass half empty
Otherwise I will lose
All that I have gained
This year marks the tenth anniversary of my first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular. To celebrate I’m posting my favorite poems from the book on Wednesday nights, of course. This poem is the “after” of Wine into Wisdom.

Creative phrases! 🍷
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Thank you, Michele. That’s my goal in poetry.
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Welcome, Bart. 🙌🏻
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Agreed
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Thanks, Daddy!
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I’m reminding myself that you wrote this years ago – that’s not how it is/you are now?
Your words are clear – very clear – you didn’t continue down the road of so many drunken poets/artists.
You’re alive – and living – living through inner stimulii and outer – not needing more. I hope.
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That’s right. The poem is more than ten years old and even when it was new, it wasn’t entirely true.
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You did tell me not to trust you – I forget – I am a naturally trusting soul.
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That’s a powerful way to end a poem. Nicely done.
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Thanks, Professor. I always try to start strong, end strong and let the middle take care of itself.
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Agreed
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Always leave ’em wanting more.
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