Poetic Interlude XVII


Like all the most bewitching sins,
You overflow with vice –
Oh, let the merriment begin!
And don’t skimp on the ice.

You comfort me when I am woeful,
And you meet my giddy grin,
You permit me to be social
Go on, pour the tonic in.

Sobriety is over rated –
Life with you has been sublime;
You know that I’m self-medicated:
Pour another gin and lime.


The Field

The swallows swoop, singing –
My foot gives the meter
The grain grows in chorus; Demeter’s refrain.
I march each new furrow,
Attending the tiller,
Powered by petrol, no longer by hay:
I’ll conquer this field by the end of the day.


I reap what was sown in
A more hopeful season:
I feel as they did in my forefathers’ day.
The sun and the sweat
And the flies are the backdrop
The reaping’s fulfilling, in back-breaking way:
I’ll conquer this field by the end of the day.

If you enjoyed this Poetic Interlude, please consider buying a copy of my e-book, Patchwork Narrative, for more of the same!

©2013 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved


About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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