Big Disappointment
Big Disappointment
January storm in
the Napa Valley: no, it
doesn’t rain wine.
–Tom Riley
Flammeus Gladius
Carmina et Verba pro Discipulis Meis
Tag: Napa Valley
January 18, 2023
July 18, 2022
Drink like a Fish
Drink like a Fish
Did the sardines
I had for lunch enjoy
their sauvignon blanc?
–Tom Riley
June 28, 2022
Napa Valley Heat Wave Sacrificial Urge
Napa Valley Heat Wave Sacrificial Urge
Sun above vineyards:
for cooler mornings, I’d almost
give up wine.
–Tom Riley
August 14, 2017
Messenger
Messenger
The raven sitting on the vineyard fence
Brings wisdom from a distant deity.
“Does the world have it in for you and me?”
Not really, says the One-Eyed God. Events
Proceed with an indifference so immense
That mortals welcome frank hostility.
It’s a gift they will never truly see.
They fool themselves, and that’s their recompense.
“Does every raven answer just the same?”
My fellow, with a semblance of design,
Declares the opposite. It’s not our aim
To force consistency on the divine.
In evenhandedness there is no shame.
Now quit your questions. Have a glass of wine.
–Tom Riley
(First Place, Napa Town and Country Fair, 2017.)
May 23, 2017
Dona Meliora
Dona Meliora
(for Maria Martin)
“¿Habrá sentido que no estaba solo
y que el arcano, el increíble Apolo
le había revelado un arquetipo?”
–Borges
I should, of course, have sent you better wine
From the land of your childhood, which you know
To rule in Cabernet if not Merlot.
If Bacchus is a god, then it’s divine
Here where I once compelled you to decline
Latin nouns. Bacchus is a god, although
I’ve often had too much to tell him so.
I’ll let him make the Maenads dance in line.
I should, perhaps, have sent you once again
A dagger with a handle emerald green.
Minerva would have loved your chances then.
Mars would have hailed you where the bold convene.
Instead you get this sonnet. Tell me when
The disappointment verges on obscene.
Happy Birthday!
TR
23 May 2017
April 22, 2016
Seeing Rachel
Seeing Rachel
(for Rachel Bailey)
Rachel lives in the land of microbrews–
and here I linger, drinking cheap boxed wine.
Balloons rise in the morning, rainbow clues
to sunny lives that really can’t be mine.
The limits that we breezily define
grow into walls that Trump would celebrate,
praising their altitude. Groans form a line.
It is the line, and not the groans, I hate.
Seeing that girl again, of course, was great.
Oh, it was even better than champagne!
But I know chance on sight: it isn’t fate.
The aging heart relies on chance in vain.
When we meet next, it won’t be soon enough.
I turn therefore to stronger drinking stuff.
–Tom Riley
February 18, 2014
Spoken Word
The Spoken Word
(for Delia Bisconer)
The written word of course is meant for speaking,
But most of us can’t give it utterance.
Our voices – groaning, droning on, or creaking—
Slaughter the word and finally convince
Folks to try silent reading. How they wince
To hear us say a single verse aloud!
Our meter limps. It’s crying out for splints.
Our former confidence is quickly cowed.
That’s why of Delia we’re supremely proud.
From verses she constructs a symphony
To please the most discriminating crowd.
The judges have consulted and agree:
Delia has done what only Delia could!
Now even Margaret Atwood’s sounding good.
–Tom Riley
December 6, 2013
California Cold
California Cold
I got a taste of California Cold—
I, long an exile from the land of snow.
Some exiles may have cried out: No, no, no!
I rejoiced as the ice reached to enfold
My aging blood. Why, if the truth is told,
I’ve missed the temperatures I used to know!
Just as the darkness sets my heart aglow,
So the cold warmed what in my heart is old.
Down from my fountain, icicles hung clear
And glorious. This crazy Disneyland
Was real again! Ah, entropy was here
Where very few can hope to understand
The emptiness that undoes all our fear!
My joy was keen because it came unplanned.
–Tom Riley
Flammeus Gladius 