Harvest Poetry: Still, The Grapes Come Tumbling Down

Grapes

Still, The Grapes Come Tumbling Down

The voice on the radio spoke

of somewhere called “Somalia”

and a war, from twenty years ago

and the words on the paper

read of something called a “Shutdown”;

something else of which I do not know

but the birds up in the sky

keep on making their bird sounds

as up here, on Black Mountain,

all the grapes come tumbling down

~

In the hour after midnight

as the words blur on the screen

I read of “Health,” I read of “Care”

and the fight for what they mean

Still, up here in the vine rows

all the leaves keep going brown

just like, up here on Black Mountain

all the grapes come tumbling down

~

Introducing “Black,” the color

and the kettle, and the pot

and who can marry who

and who can love, and who cannot

And cue the gondolas of grey

that the tractors pull around

as, up here on Black Mountain,

all the grapes come tumbling down

~

The ones and zeros of our secrets

and the islands where they’re hidden

and the things we’re meant to know

and the things that are forbidden

And I still long for the days

when words were measured out in sound

just as, up here on Black Mountain

all the grapes come tumbling down

~

Poetry at standstill

reality in motion

revolution caught in cables

buried underneath the ocean

and the only thing I occupy

is a patch of vineyard ground

up here on Black Mountain

where the grapes come tumbling down

~

Shane MacGowan sung once

of a bottle full of smoke

And I’m holding now the bottle

of which Shane MacGowan spoke

and in the smoke, the future’s present

and the past is future-bound

just as, up here on Black Mountain

all the grapes come tumbling down

~

In my mother’s eyes, my wife

and in my wife’s eyes, my daughter

the three hearts of my trinity

and my feet upon the water

and my knees upon the cushion

in the zendo-bell, the sound

of the silence of Black Mountain

as the grapes come tumbling down

~

The words on the paper

tell the story of a prayer

emerging from the dark towards its answer

And the song on the radio

sings of war, and then of peace;

I hum the tune, and slowly fill the decanter.



Categories: #Harvest2013, Viticultural Salmagundi, Wine & Poetry

Tags: , , , , ,

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