For scrambled eggs and bushy haired poets,
A toast with brandy at three a.m.
For piano players and wooden back benches
Stories we’d tell never again.
Brandy and poets and breakfast in bed.
Dreams and words; how we both did know it
Over stingers and bourbons at one a.m.
Impossible dreams, emotional wrenches,
Stories they’d tell of us time and again
When dreamers and poets both dropped over dead.
Originally published in Post Crescent, March 1975.
Published in A Matter of Mind, Foothills Publishing, 2004.
© copyright 2004, 2009 the Grandpa at The Word Mechanic Blog.
All rights reserved.
(Figure I'd better post something. Yesterday I had 0 page hits.)
lol...ok, well THAT was a slow day then, wasn't it? I have a feeling your counter simply wasn't working, Grandpa :)
ReplyDeleteAnd I liked Brandy and Poets....x
I raise my glass of brandy in a toast!
ReplyDeleteThanks for posting.. this delighted my day.
ReplyDeleteBlessings to you
Kringle... oh and how do you tell if your site had hits?! :)
So that's how poets write so well: by tippling brandy.
ReplyDeleteI raise my glass too, lovely post. Thank you so much for visiting my blog. I have enjoyed popping over here and catching up.
ReplyDeleteOne of your best poems, I think. Worth seeing again! Aloha
ReplyDelete