Wine is a reckless poet (a poem)

Not eight words, but this is one I have a feeling about. (Note: I use the feminine pronoun in this poem, because my experience has been that women are more likely to express their feelings than are men, who tend to hold them in, to keep them to themselves, for various and sundry reasons.)

This may be too obvious a statement
but wine is a reckless poet

Without prompting
she spits forth whatever is on her mind
as well as whatever is in mine

However raw, hackneyed, or clichéd
the words are brutally honest
not the least bit concerned
with decorum, propriety
literary construction
or any of those things
that would assure their acceptability
in what passes for ‘polite company’

At the same time
neither does she care
that I may be embarrassed
by these confessional outbursts
made permissible
by the inhibition of inhibition
of the varietal in question

In this respect
she is a taskmaster
holding me to my promise
that I am motivated
by honesty, truth, and authenticity
that I want to hold nothing back
even if it’s absolutely necessary

In this spirit
I respect the impulse
and do my best
to not question her methods

She may not save me
or rally others to my cause
but I absolutely trust her intentions
for without her intervention
my bravery
might never make it to light

(11 August 2017)


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