This is the front cover of the latest anthology from the Melbourne Poets Union of poetry about tea, wine & coffee (however, I'm still waiting for the book to be listed in bookstores for real cover). Nevertheless it's a beautifully presented work by many well known Melbourne poets, and I'm proud to have a poem in there called "Left Over Wine". Here's part of the poem only, because the anthology would make a great Christmas present.
Contact MPU for details.
Left Over Wine
it's fragile
and rehearsed in this mind cask
home pleasures are like the sentiment
of crisp, summer wine
it mouths get help!
so you dive unexpectedly
into the freezing brook
through wooded trees
perfectly still
only you've had more wine than usual
and distortion wins
the grass is intense
and there's plenty of green
it's like having a bottle
you've saved all these years
blackberries hedge the railway bridge
mulberries give a whole new meaning
to bottled jam
the purple avenger stays before tea
you say 'no' to this dream in your head
it's a letting down of home-field
the school team
you approach fewer each year
you let the grader scrape the voices in the glade
swing the river rope you missed
hold your breath longer under water
you can't remember how many silkworms you kept
or when the blackberries disappeared
but the wine tastes sweeter than it used to
the old neighbourhood has disappeared in brick
the weathercock is a stable dish
and backyard pickets no longer talk
you turn over, wake in a different world
Contact MPU for details.
it's fragile
and rehearsed in this mind cask
home pleasures are like the sentiment
of crisp, summer wine
it mouths get help!
so you dive unexpectedly
into the freezing brook
through wooded trees
perfectly still
only you've had more wine than usual
and distortion wins
the grass is intense
and there's plenty of green
it's like having a bottle
you've saved all these years
blackberries hedge the railway bridge
mulberries give a whole new meaning
to bottled jam
the purple avenger stays before tea
you say 'no' to this dream in your head
it's a letting down of home-field
the school team
you approach fewer each year
you let the grader scrape the voices in the glade
swing the river rope you missed
hold your breath longer under water
you can't remember how many silkworms you kept
or when the blackberries disappeared
but the wine tastes sweeter than it used to
the old neighbourhood has disappeared in brick
the weathercock is a stable dish
and backyard pickets no longer talk
you turn over, wake in a different world
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