Thursday, December 15, 2005

Riles Rum



No rile, no roil
five strings not strung
neck’s warped and the chores
undone, undone
all that which lay
before us, become
the chemistry, the physics
the knowledge, the sum,
of the victory won
before the report of the gun
the farthest, the furthest
the fastest, the fun
the fans we’d have
the wounds we’d heal
the glory we’d halve
the truce we’d seal
the songs, the songs,
the sonnets all gone
let slide to nuptials
and sunk to nativity
lost in the triune
and the fear of a prophesy
and the fear of proclivity
for strife, for wife
for riff or for rife
and for the beat
of a distant drum...
and the rum.

2 comments:

Riles said...

Ironic my lute’s
A few strings shy of pure
The chords sounding
tinny for sure
This roil’s not flushed
And this rum is not much
On my palate
yet I drink more

Cask aging, they say
adds grace to a brew
Charred barrels being best
For the hue
The taste that awaits
Is smooth to the taste
Sometimes the best things
Have to stew

Ahhh, the flavor
That finally comes home is sublime
The taste makes my soul
Beat in time
Then the songs they flow fast
Til the moment has past
And the last song has received
Its last rhyme.


The trouble with rum
Is the tastes volatile
In a glass it can’t be
For a while
So drink it with speed
That Caribbean mead
And know it your heart
It’s worthwhile

KGT said...

Haiku response follows:

Provoked the thinking
your eloquent reply to
my mea culpa.