Painting by Marlina Vera
pressing of the grape
ancestral imperative
yielding hospitality
lifeblood of family
immortal elixir
congenial of body
with the last vivid
personal label affixed
a season of bottles
lay corked in their racks
who will be honored
with first ruby glass
only a priest of the
purple hand brotherhood
From my book Range of Motion
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...
rejuvenatement - not retirement
Poesy plus Polemics 
You get a lot of home made wine in the barossa valley
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sounds like a great place
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Reblogged this on Poesy plus Polemics.
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When traveling in Italy a few years back, we enjoyed asking for local wines are restaurants. Some even had bottles filled and lightly corked right on the shelf in the room. When these were emptied into our glasses, they took the bottles aside and refilled them from the cask which came from a local vineyard. No need to even ask whether you could purchase the wine at a shop. You had to know the vineyard owner…
Oscar
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sounds like you enjoyed your experience there
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You make me crave a glass.
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then I succeeded
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As you always do, Paul.
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As the songwriter Al Stewart once wrote of a the wine cellar, ‘You can hear history breathing.’ Sadly, my attempts over the years at wine-making have all ended in a disaster! A great shame as wine is my passion – hence we shop once a month in France. Plainly your beautiful poem was not about my pathetic efforts to craft wine of my own.
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ah, but the convenience of all those French bottles must be wonderful
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When travelling back through France we stopped at a Vineyard and bought three cases of youngish wine to lay down!! It was very good, trouble was one long weekend visit from a couple of dedicated red wine drinkers and we managed to hide one bottle for posterity!
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ha ha – thank goodness one survived
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i grew up in an Italian/Irish neighborhood. Still remember the grape arbors in the back yards and stealing grapes. Never did get to taste the wine though. Probably just as well.
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sounds like Boston?
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Yup. Close. Winchester.
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WOW. I’d love a sip from the ruby glass (just sufficient for Holy Communion!)–such visions this swirls in my head!
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ha ha – I wonder if the arbor’s been blessed, does that carry through to the wine?
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I’m certain it must, Paul!!
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A great place here in the valley love your words
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wineries were always great to visit on my travels
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Or the grappa from the basement word head saved by the old man next door, Who shared with me.
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ah, grappa – I know it well
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I was quite sure you would. As a youngster I downed 16 ounces of it in an hour and successfully drove a motorcycle home (things we do when we’re young) I didn’t feel drunk I was too excited.
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Spectacular 😊
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much appreciated
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