[stylist] Poem - "Drinking" - Second Draft

[Jackie Williams]

Bill,
As usual your poetry grabs me with strong reactions.
I love your description of water, so invaluable to us in this 115 heat in
AZ. 
You really made me have a difficult time swallowing when I thought of my
beloved Manhattans as "Essence of roach!"
Yes, I was married to a Methodist Minister's son, and he really liked his
straight shots of Scotch, but never showed the effects.
Now, I want to throw caution to the winds, go back to several poems of yours
that I have saved, and answer with one of my own on the same subject. Do not
know how far I will get.
You are  a master of unusual images. Probably 65 percent of my stuff is form
or rhymed poetry. So glad we all have these differences. I learn from you.


Jackie Lee

Time is the school in which we learn.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Delmore Schwartz	 


-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William L
Houts via stylist
Sent: Monday, June 15, 2015 11:02 AM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Cc: William L Houts
Subject: [stylist] Poem - "Drinking" - Second Draft



Hey Friends,

Here's my poetic effort by way of starting the week.  I've titled this 
one "Drinking", although it's long been my intention to write one of 
those long, scholarly Miltonic poems about water; you know, one of those 
poems which explains the world to itself and makes everyone sigh at 
poetry readings.  Or maybe just puts them deeply asleep, LOL.  Comments 
welcome, as always.  I won't even cry too much if you're mean.


--Bill


---



*Drinking*

**

**

Though brother and son to baptismal drunks,

I really don't get it, the thirst,

as if blood cells themselves bellowed

for one hundred proof holy booze.

Burgers and beer, that's my speed, or a shot

every other fifth Sunday. My sins

are upon me, like anyone, I'm not saying else.

But distilled or fermented stuff for me,

is like drinking eclipse or essence of roach:

dark and brittle and bare, and full of don't.

It's water I crave, clear and iced, like melting star,

the sound of yes spun into moon-tongue cold

and poured, with clinking cubes, into my heart,

my parched and grateful heart.





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