Garden Party

Purple librations, sweet
nectarous ceremony in Shangri-La.
Wisdom of vine ingested, flowing
over deceitful tongue, silencing
threnody for a moment, in vain.

A toast!  Glasses kiss one another
with clink of verve, touch lips
in syllabus style,
throat receives truth while
therapeutic bathing washes
away the day.

Like sheep smartly shorn,
old expectations appear
bare, dreams irreverent.
Only the here and now
causes shutter.

New vermilion replaces
old purples as we
think of tomorrow,
reluctant to say good-bye
to the present, knowing
full well it arrives on time,
whilst drops linger upon
insatiable lips,
memory is resurrected from
empty bottles strewn
across the evening.

Old Things In A Box

Old things revered,
mail pouch tins,
ticket stubs,
gathering dust in box-
birthday cards
read again,
mental pictures
lost.
Matchbook covers
from places
I can’t seem
to recall,
photographs of
young faces
that once hung
on my wall,

and

at the bottom
was the letter,
the last I got
from you.
Old things revered
as remembered
when they were
all brand new.