Wednesday, June 7, 2006

"The Last Of The Wine" Written 1972

(Written in 1972 while in an abbey on retreat.  I had "found" a bottle of sacraficial wine, and being young and bored, took to my little cell and reflected thus:)


I lie here dying in a hundred small ways

from voices crying out my name down endless hallways;

and the clock keeps ticking, eating up the time,

and I'm down to the last of the wine.

My eyes are amazed at the movement my hand makes

while reaching out to the disappearing handshakes,

and the room keeps spinning, slowly in my mind,

and I'm down to the last of the wine.

I sleep on my back, all through the night

and dream of dying, lost in the sunlight

floating on cloudy mists, feather-fine,

I'm still drunk on the last of the wine.

As familiar shadows of the morning start to harden,

I rise up singing to the angel in the garden.

Some sweet and silent angel of another place and time

who sees that I've had enough wine.





cyndygee said...

This is interesting . . .  and well-written.  Have a great Wednesday, Cathy.

lurkynat said...

thanks Cathy! hugs,natalie

bedazzzled1 said...

I like this...really like this.

Now, perhaps you might tell us about the retreat itself. Where was it? Why would you be on one? This poem has made me quite curious!


jmorancoyle said...

    Very good.

sugarsweet056 said...

Nice. Have a good weekend.

libragem007 said...

Oh I love this!
to think you were feeling down when you wrote this...this is actually wonderfully written.
Gem :-)

Anonymous said...
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Anonymous said...

Isn't this a Rod McKuen poem?

Anonymous said...

If You Go Away: The RCA Years, disc six track.

Cathy said...

Sorry to both "anonymouses" but I wrote this years ago, still have the original notebook I jotted it in. It's neither a Rod McQuen poem nor "If You Go Away" a song I remember which words don't come anywhere close to my own here. But nice of you to drop by.