Wine Into Water: Poem

Celebration time, so it’s show and tell time again

I hit 50,000 words on my novel,

Robert Ford

and I are in the five thousands on our horror project (and it’s only becoming more and more fun), and today marks 100 days to Halloween, so let’s celebrate with sharing time! I would share more of my novel, but my senior citizen MacBook is charging (he runs Catalina, okay? Don’t judge) and he likes privacy when he is grinding on his battery. Giles is an introvert, just like his owner and his namesake. Also, I am afraid if I don’t baby him he’ll die and I’ll be screwed. So let him rest.

Yes, I name my devices. Giles is the trusty and older laptop. My iPad/multi-ereader is Buffy, because she patrols out in the field with me 😃, and my iPhone is Chant, after the Chant family in the Chrestomanci series by Diana Wynne Jones, because it also plays music and audiobooks for me, and I enjoy the horrible play on words. I am an incorrigible dork.

But I digress, as I am wont to do. Sharing. My writing. To celebrate. There, back on track. Another poem for now, perhaps another slice of the novel tomorrow.

---

Wine Into Water

Some days don’t’cha feel like you have the power to turn wine into water

To bring the wedding party to a screeching halt

Sure you did something helpful

Just look at all that crystal clear drinking water

Needed for body mind and soul

And Magic’s in the air

Holy Spirit

You have real talent

Then you look at the ruddy faces of the half-drunken celebrants who are verily not amused at your red-cheeked awkwardness

At your socially-misfit Magic

At what they don’t understand

Which is you

Your Spirit

Spirit itself

Mystery is just that

murky

numinous

liminal

intoxicated communion

The wine-dark sea

Wine-faced, wine-eyed, lowing oxen on the ship during this odyssey you aren’t sure why you’re on and know you didn’t want to take

They don’t want your communion that you offer and you aren’t certain how to offer it to yourself

Your self

But Sophia is always there, at the helm, carved into the figurehead, in your head

But sometimes she wants you to solve your own problems for yourself

And yes you have to show your work for the Teacher

Palm Sunday, 4.5.20

---

Other poems posted:

Hounds of Love

Cursive is Magic