Wine of life

The pharmacology of life
is the ancient fermented grape,
tritest  of the holy Omar Khayyam,
a diner at Charlemagne’s plate,

Bacchus to Caesar’s copulate sins,
blood of the Christian Christ,
the sacrament damned by its purity,
barbarian and cannibalistic.

Hypocrisy of Protestant dominion,
the sangria of death in the bull ring,
Trousseau Noir of bastard Kings,
parlance of the French Paradox.

Thou nectar of the drunkard’s vine,
sweet covenant of life stupor,
deceitful beggar of  a wise man’s reason,
damn you for our own weakness.

You are a  coward of the living
sacramental remembrance of the divine,
dispenser of the opiate for the masses,
your prophet guards the gate, but

hell is the companion of his deceit.
Religion is not a substitute for truth,
Wine endures, long after the Kiddush
thus the vine will forever survive.

©2015, Donald Harbour

Bone Crusher

Listening to the thoughts
Rattling in contemplative
Gestures of this mind held
By the constraints of who
We were, are, could be, taught,
Never, can’t, won’t, afraid.
A breath taken, a gift of oxygen
Fed only to the fire with in,
A moments supplication of why,
Pausing to reflect on all
The questions left unanswered
And never will because,
They are unanswerable grains
Of sandy grit burrowed under
The crotch of a salty bathing
Suit on a sun burnt beach,
An irritation stopped only
When naked under a cold
Shower of cleansing reality.
Smiles left to lay in the gutter
Where they slipped off the faces
Of intimate friends falsely
Chosen in a frantic clinging
Clasp of a need to be wanted,
Accepted, desired, felt, loved,
Appreciated, esteemed, falsehood.
The wine has been uncorked, tasted
Found lacking, of inferior quality,
However it was wine, dark red, with
A hint of wild berries, a romp
In the hay, a roll between the covers
Squeezing the succulent juices
Of ones marrow from the bone crushing
Dregs, to wit the bottle is empty.

Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour