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Posts Tagged ‘thirst’

One Bidding

 

 

 

waking to rain 

what is driest in me 

reshapes itself  

into a beggar’s bowl 

puts itself in my hands 

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Let’s Get Drunk

 

 

 

The Sufis had it right—

the day is a glass of wine.

It matters not what kind

of vessel it’s poured into—

chipped clay or crystal

or wooden cup. There

is divinity in it regardless—

the chance to dance alongside

the rational, logical self

and fall in love. It brings

the potential for bliss,

for persuasiveness, for imagination,

for spontaneous and riotous

laughter. And you, perhaps,

like I, are beginning to realize

just how dry the mouth,

just how thirsty the heart.

 

 

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Like every other day, today

it is apparent that only love

will save us. Not in the grandiose

abstract way, but in the alarming

specific way. As in forgiveness, now.

As in choosing to hug instead

of fighting back. As in taking

three deep breaths before saying

something we regret. It saves us

from thirsting in the desert of our lives,

but only if we save it first by

choosing it, now in this moment

of angry words, now in this moment

of clenched thoughts, now in

this moment when we’d rather

taste venom but instead, we

pour love into our cup and

bring it to our lips and drink

and drink until once again

it is only love that makes sense,

only love that refills the cup.

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Damn Thirsty

 

 

 

Scent of Darjeeling

escapes through

the poem’s cup—

from miles away

you smell it,

twist of citrus,

muscatel—

try telling your thirst

it’s just words,

the delicate

flowering in the air,

the warmth

of the cup,

the fruit

making merry

on your tongue.

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you, the traveler

thirsting in the desert

and me, the whisky

wishing I could be

your water

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Sounds Crazy But It Happens

so parched she walks miles

for a drink not noticing

the well in her own back yard

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So Thirsty

If you follow a bee,

my friend says, it will lead you

to water. Suddenly

I have never been

so thirsty. I have spent

too much time living

close to the water

without drinking.

I have spent too many hours

not following bees.

I have my excuses—

all the ways I like

to appear busy-ish—

but they all have the same

stale scent excuses always have.

In the tombs of Egypt,

they found honey,

perfectly preserved.

Some things keep.

I look at my dry hands.

Some things have only

so much time.

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