Wine Drops
I forget to remember
what it is I forget
Strange reality of today
walking the vineyards
then sipping pinot noir
that tastes nothing much
although the label
tells an elaborate story of
the crushed purple grapes
It is then I recall the rough
raw liquid poured into
carafes in Napoli
with dishes of pasta : we
sitting gloriously in shade
your eyes boring into mine.
Yes, I do remember what I forgot
It was the perfume of the wine
wafting its richness
Your eyes I cannot remember.
Isha Wagner is a New Zealand poet. She has resided in many countries including Iceland, Libya, India, and Australia. She read some of her work at the VIII International Poetry Festival held in Granada, Nicaragua, in February 2012. She has had three collections of poetry published.
I forget to remember
what it is I forget
Strange reality of today
walking the vineyards
then sipping pinot noir
that tastes nothing much
although the label
tells an elaborate story of
the crushed purple grapes
It is then I recall the rough
raw liquid poured into
carafes in Napoli
with dishes of pasta : we
sitting gloriously in shade
your eyes boring into mine.
Yes, I do remember what I forgot
It was the perfume of the wine
wafting its richness
Your eyes I cannot remember.
Isha Wagner is a New Zealand poet. She has resided in many countries including Iceland, Libya, India, and Australia. She read some of her work at the VIII International Poetry Festival held in Granada, Nicaragua, in February 2012. She has had three collections of poetry published.
Dear Isha,
ReplyDeleteCongratulations on being our second archive selection to receive this honor! You share an insightful poem with an artistic use of imagery. Thank you for being a part of our Whispers' community moving forward.
Blessings,
Karen, Inge and Jack
I really love your poem Isha, In fact I'm in your poem. Wonderfully written!
ReplyDeleteBest wishes,
Inge
Nice piece!
ReplyDeletelovely, especially the surprising last line!
ReplyDelete