a deep swimming sense
of belonging to culture
to history cleanses me
Mediterranean
empire and renaissance
father and mother
the martial red grape
the esthetic green globe
twin vines of my blood
vital vintages yield
the spine and the soul
of a civilized west
rich in letters and arts
liquescent science slakes
intellectual thirst
faiths practiced in goblets
grace pagan and Christian
altarcloth meals
stains drift from the past
come to rest upon tongues
that tincture the future
ideas formed in fragments
assemble themselves into
savory ancestries
liquid stitches of time
binding Caesars to Medici
ferment my history
leaving me merely a swatch
at the edge of a quilt set with
cups of tradition
🙂 Beautiful
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thank you kindly
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evocative images
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thanks kindly, nancy
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Very very nice, Paul . . . I like it! They say that the roots of some of those vines go down over 100 feet which produces consistency in spite of the turbulent environment . . . Same can be said of your poetry . . .
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a comment I will treasure in my keepsake box
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WOWZA–exquisite. Makes me a bit envious.
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there are many ways to feel connected to the past – this just happens to be mine
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Beautiful, and beautifully described for us.
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Reblogged this on OUR POETRY CORNER.
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Shame it’s early morning here! Mind you a little later in the day……..Great poem.
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thanks, mike
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Reblogged this on Poesy plus Polemics.
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A deep, honest sense of tradition and history and how it permeates our lives. Beautiful
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thank you most kindly, ben
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I can taste this poem. Now off to find the corkscrew. Deliciously done.
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cheers
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