Living Tome

Aug 13, 2011 by     No Comments    Posted under: On Art, On Words, Poetry

It’s not paper;
it’s skin and bones.
It’s not words;
it’s breath and soul.
It’s not binding and covers.
It’s not glue and ink.
It’s birth. It’s growth.
And sometimes it’s death.
But from the moment it’s read,
It is alive.

Whisky, Burns, and Bounty

Aug 13, 2011 by     No Comments    Posted under: On Art, On Humanity, On Words, Poetry

To course, the call, to top it off
In golden tumbled hands
A crystal glass, a bonnie lass
A loch to stretch these lands
A stumble on, a happy throng
Alit in Piper’s tune
The feast commence, with wily wench
And tantalizing boon
To course, the call, to top it off
Gold nectar for these lands
A love repast, a final last
A roust to bard’s command
A toast upon, we carry on
Adrift in worded swoon
‘Till when we rise, at last realize
The soul, the Maker’s Doon

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