Infidelity Is Fatal
A short story
With a twist
By
Jude Kyrie

Henry knew she was cheating on him.
No specific proof but he got that bitter feeling in his gut,
you know the kind that's always right.
Little things bothered him.
Like Meg not getting home until 6:45 when she finished work at 5 pm.
What was happening with the missing hour
that she should have been home.
Probably ******* some lover somewhere.
She always said oh I called in at the Mall
or ran into Betty her best friend
and stopped at Louie's Bar
for a glass of chablis.

The other thing was the phone calls.
She would put the phone down as soon as he came in the room.
Redial gave no answer at all but that was just a signal
he had read about lovers morse code
Let it ring three times to answer
or wait for the second and third call.
Yes for sure she was ******* someone.

No wonder Meg was stunning at thirty-five
her figure was great she spoke softly and was kind.
The first to offer her help to any worthy cause.
Decorated the church at Christmas and Easter.
She was a beautiful woman.
And some ***** was trying to take her away from him.

The final straw was the trip to LA she said she had to go there
for a meeting but LA was not in her territory.
Henry forbade her to go
but she got angry for the first time in twelve years of marriage
and told him to mind his own ******* business.
Jesus, she never swore.
For sure her lover would be with her
making a patsy of Henry with
Meg moaning ******* in the hotel bed

Then the doozy
he found the gold cufflinks with a small diamond in.|
He knew they were not for him
he never wore cufflinks in his life except on his wedding day.
He did not even own a shirt with a folded french cuff.
Yep, it was a gift for lover boy.

The phone rang it was seven o'clock it was Meg.
Hi Honey, I am going to be really late
I was at the mall and met the Bryants
we are going for a drink want to join us.

He had herNo I am meeting up with David
Evans for a poker game I will be late too he lied.
He knew for certain she was with lover boy at some ****** hotel
He probably had her down to her Bra and ******* right now.
The rage screamed in henry's chest.

The phone rang again
It was actually David Evans his best buddy.
He told him the full story about Meg
and her lover leaving out no detail
David felt he was losing it
Look, Henry.
Megs loves you she's as straight as an arrow,
You are just worrying about nothing.
Meg would never ever cheat on you buddy.
Then he told him about the cuff links
They were hidden in her ***** draw.
He had found them in his search for evidence.
He said silly they are probably a Christmas present for you.
No way, said Henry.
No way. I don't use Cufflinks.

David was worried Henry sounded like he had lost the plot
Look, Henry, I am coming over let's set up a game of pool
Get your good scotch out Buddy.

Henry put the receiver in its cradle|>
Then he went to the desk in his Den
in the locked drawer he pulled out a smith and wesson.45
And slid in in his belt.
It took him three hotels to find her
Her BMW that he bought her
was parked in the back of the carpark
Meg was in it as was a man was in the passenger seat.
He crept closer it Sam Bryant
Megs best friends husband

He was a homely fat **** with a big gut.
What the **** could she see in that loser?

He must have a **** like a ******* horse thought Henry.
But he tapped on the window with his gun
Meg saw him a shocked look on her face Henry what are you doing?.
Don't pretend you don't know you cheating ***** he yelled.
Put the gun down Henry for god's sake.
They ran away to the hotel bar and henry followed them in
He caught up to them and pulled his gun out pointing it a Sam's head
What the **** do you cheat on me with this fat ***** for?
I had a dog that was not as ugly as him
and I shaved its ***
and made it walk backward cried, Henry.
What do you mean said, Meg?
You think Sam and Me are having an affair, Henry?
She almost laughed.
But she was cool really cool.
It"s obvious, the ******* cufflinks.|
They are for you at Christmas.
you been in my drawers again Henry?

Well, Sam, you get ready to pay for your sins he said.
he lifted the gun into sam's face.
A woman screamed from the door
Henry, please don't hurt my husband, we got kids.
It was Betty sams wife.

I told you we were going for drinks henry said Meg
Put the gun down.
I even asked you to join us remember?

The door opened again two policemen with revolvers drawn
pointing at henry one shouted drop the weapon NOW!
Henry turned to face them
his gun pointed in their direction.
Then six shots from the police revolvers
blasted Henry into eternity.
He lay dead upon the floor.
mEg knelt by his body weeping.

The funeral went by quietly
only a few people attended.
Henry was regarded a bad news in this town.

It turned out the gun in Henry's hand
could not have fired anyway.
The firing pin was removed

A month later

The gossip column in the local rag had a story

Meg Williams and David Evans
Are pleased to announce their marriage
At the St Jude’s Church of Salvation.
Ms.Williams is an investment adviser
and widow of Henry Williams.
The wedding is on Saturday the 9th of February
The couple will be honeymooning in LA
Where the bride said they shared
their first romantic moments together

The only hole in Meg's story was fixed later.
She placed the shirt with french cuffs in her closet.
Wrapped in pretty Christmas paper with a note.
To Henry with all my love.
Meg

It was not needed
But God knows who Henry had blabbed
the cuff links story too.
Better to be safe than sorry
Smiled Meg
As she dropped the firing pin
of a Smith and Wesson .45 revolver
Into the drain twenty miles from her home.

The End

She was feeling sorry for herself
After two years divorced
and passing forty it seemed hopeless.
A string of encounters
that were empty and sad.
She had given up on ever
Finding someone to love.
At least he left her the house
And the kids she would focus on them.
The new neighbor seemed nice
He had a twelvish daughter.
She broke some china plates
In the garden by accident.
He just held her and comforted
Her don’t worry he said
There are worse things happen at sea.
Her ex would have yelled so loud.
She sat by her pool it was midnight
She had finished her swim
Looking up she saw her neighbor
He had a bottle of Chablis and two glasses.
May I join you he said.
He had kind eyes
Only if you don’t get the wrong idea
She smiled.
He took his clothes off and dived
naked into the pool.
He was lean and tanned
And cut through the bluewater
Like a fish.
He stopped and rested by her chair
Looking into her eyes
He said softly
You have beautiful breast.
She blushed and pulled
her robe together.
He said don’t you ever get lonely I do.
She nodded quietly.
Are you lonely now
Yes she whispered.

Three years later

Their new baby
Was getting used to the pool water.
Their older kids were swimming
And having a good time.
He brings the baby to her
and they all kiss.
I love you so much honey he said. .
She never remembered being so happy.
And he was hers only hers
Well and the kids also.
A tear of joy fell down her face.
As she said
Not as much as I love you my love

The Whitlams sing that “There’s no aphrodisiac like loneliness, truth beauty and a picture of you”
Unfortunately the lyrics kinda go down hill from there, I am unsure what they were drinking or smoking as they wrote the rest of the lyrics, but they wasted a perfectly good start to a song by continuing to drink/smoke as they wrote, just my opinion, but  I digress.
Why are we as a whole world seemingly obsessed with things that we think are going to improve ours or someone else’s *** performance. Chinese herbal medical is full of such “remedies “as is some European countries. I might add Chinese medical is also full of treatments that actually work too. Ok so I know I’ve shown my hand a bit early as to where I am going with this but heres the thing.
I am no expert on ***; I have nothing to really prove or disprove that statement but heres my theory anyway.
If you think that taking a potion is going to give yours or some one else’s *** drive magical powers, well maybe I need to ask why do you want that in the first place. I understand people have physical and mental issues that affect ****** performance but, consuming ground rhino horn or Spanish Fly, which ironically isn’t from Spain or a fly, and the bug it is made from is REALLY nasty, I don’t think is the solution.
So here my solution to the whole problem whilst still using all of the top ten things people believe are aphrodisiac’s.
1/ Find a person whom you look at and go,” Well she/he’s a bit of alright” best said with a British accent, ask them out to dinner.
2/ Have an entrée of fresh oysters washed down with a glass of Chablis but don’t over do it on the alcohol.
3/ Ensure your main meal includes something low in fat and high in nutrition
4/ Order Chocolate anything as a desert.
5/Talk to the person during dinner and tell them if you are happy with your life or sad and the reasons why.
6/ When you are finished dinner go for a short walk talking about anything that pops into your head and allowing the other person to do the same, hence building up a level of respect between the two of you.
7/ If you end up going somewhere to have ***, before u do, go online and donate to the “save the Rhino fund” once again building up the respect that you have for each other for donating to a worthy cause and helping your own self esteem
8/Ensure u take some aspirin with u to take in the morning in case u had little too much Chablis.
And that pretty much covers it.
1. Ground Rhino horn
2. Spanish Fly
3. Alcohol
4. Chocolate
5. Oysters
6. Yohimbe, Tribulus, Maca i.e. [All traditional African herbs]
7. ******
8. Psychoanalysis
9. Getting in Shape
10. Respect
And no I didn’t miss anything, if restaurant is Spanish and outdoors, and Aspirin was found originally in Willow bark a naturally occurring herb and the rest, read between the lines
Well ok you got me on the ****** thing but all it does is increase blood flow and give you an ******* that wont go away, that would seem annoying not a turn on , so I left it out.
Good luck to us all.
In hind sight with all the time it took me to write this I could have just listened to track 1 and not track 3  and said, The Whitlams have a really cool song called “ Blow up the Pokies” I agree with everything they say in that song and it makes complete sense. That way you wouldn’t have had to read all the other stuff. Unlucky for you I guess
Besides talking about blowing up stuff these days can get you locked up in a detention centre for an indeterminate time. And that would be really no good for your *** life anyways unless you bat for the other team, which I don’t. So track three probably was wise choice after all.

If it's to be
It's up to me

Everything in me wants to flee
To the top of the tress
Where I can live and be free

Connect with nature
Be a baker, teacher or a Sergeant major
Rule the kingdom
With baby Lincoln and a trio of fearsome pilgrims

Swing from branch to beach
The sand, the water and the sea
Is this where I'm meant to be
Siting under a coconut tree drinking Chablis

Sunning with sea creatures
Feeling like a cheater
The heat and the sun
Making this a home run

Knowing it's where I'm meant to be
Me and all my heart is set free

Mading relieves Manute from guard duty.
They share a meagre meal of millet porridge before
Manute returns to the refugee nation of southern Sudan.
The noon sun is a harsh sentence for a parched tongue but
they talk not of coffee or juice-laden fruit and
rice and lentils are mountain memories their stomachs can ill afford.
Instead they curse the clear skies that rain only strafing jets and
pray for their dry-breasted wives on pilgrimage to the aid station
carrying children swollen with the promise of death.
They snarl rumours about al-Bashir’s lapdogs
in Khartoum growing fat on food intended for them.

Jason waits, informed by cell phone of Laurie's imminent arrival.
He orders a wheat beer, its earth tone inviting on a silver tray and
its musky sweetness washing away a morning of phone business.
The noon sun is a warm blessing through the picture window but
they talk not of haloed hills or the light-laden river and
recession and retrenchment are market memories their ulcers can ill afford.
Instead they debate '63 cabernet versus '74 chablis and
moan about their reconstructed wives driving halfway across town
carrying children swollen with the promise of private schooling.
They snarl rumours about Key's cabinet
in Wellington while wolfing crayfish and Steak Diane.

Don’t fail me now not before the bombs fall
words spoken then laughter in the restaurant
over Chablis and oysters, nerves of wool

Worry lines as a way of life across grimacing faces
pilot training as a suppressed experience, deep life,
steak for main maybe choux hearts for dessert

Destruction on the launch pad, the routine has been
impressed on the grid, the matrix of consciousness,
natural selection in the space of jostled neurons wondering

Whether there is any relief once in space, away
away, from this grid of streets, is it solid enough
to hold up our spirits high, untouched,

Blemish free draped in the flag, retro jet joy
and star drives invisible from the dark side of the moon,
food gulped down drink taken to salve the tongue

Burnt out hearts and molten faces set out on the grid,
falling from the skies like punctured Chinese lanterns.

To keep the patient comfortable was all now I could do.
The diagnosis was terminal and he obviously knew.
I was with him through his surgery that was thelast gasp chance,
and now he looked death in the face with an unflinching glance.

He said “Dear, if you’ll humor me and if there’s any chance,
There are three things on my bucket list before I leave this dance.”
“I’m craving one last cigarette; perhaps a glass of wine;.
“and, If you can arrange it, to see the Sun a final time.”

On the top floor of this hospital there’s an open balcony.
I grubbed a cigarette for him out of sympathy.
I could not get a cabernet; he’d settle for Chablis.
I got him on a gurney and called for an orderly.

That afternoon was splendid and Fall was in the air.
The Sun was setting in the West as he watched it from his chair.
The patient puffed his Marlboro and blew smoke rings for me
He didn’t give me too much grief for my choice of Chablis.

“They say the Lord on Calvary was thirsty for a drink,
A sponge soaking in vinegar they offered Him, I think.”
“So who am I to criticize my nurse’s choice of wine;
Its chilled and it is drinkable so it will serve me fine.”

By evening he was comatose; his pulse was weak and fast
His children said there last goodbyes; grateful for the chance.
They’d arranged it with the Doctors; DNR was on his slip.
I sat and held the old man’s hand as the good god, Morphine, dripped.

"Buy a Star!
Own a Star!"

The sales are brisk,
For cross-eyed lovers,
Cross-hearted, lost,
Beneath the spinning constellations
Burning immortal exhalations,
Desiring forever oxytoxic bliss,
Burning ******* and hearts
Yearn longevity of stars....

PT Barnum saw his opportunity:
Sold cotton candy,
Hawked elephants,
Gawked dwarves,
Hid the razors from
Fierce bearded ladies,
Even sold the elephants' dung,
Provender to exotic gardens....

Barnum's packing up
The Pachyderms,
So Hawkers have us
Gazing on the stars....

"Step right up! See the stars!"
Purchase your fire in the sky!
Your lover's name,
Fixed in the firmament  
A million years!

At least the cotton candy
And the elephant dung
Served some earthy, earthly good,
Paid dentists' children's college,
Fertilized the family food.

So now go claim a distant star,
A million, billion miles away,
Its light must make its journey
A thousand years or more
To greet your eyes, and yet,
Your lover's sighs predict
A hundred dollars' better spent
Than on a good Chablis,
Cementing mortal love in
Distant stars so permanent,
Visited through telescopic glass
Atop our rented tenements.

The spirit of Christmas was here again
As they rocked on up to my door,
The aunts and uncles and cousins, all
I’d not even seen before,
They’d smelt the turkey, they’d seen the tree
With its lights, red yellow and green,
They’d even come with their knives and forks
In case that my own weren’t clean.

They came in a rush at twelve o’clock,
‘Now we’re not too late, we trust?
We got caught up at Aunt Mary’s, then
We missed the eleven-ten bus,
She says she’ll not be cooking this year
So we didn’t have time to lose,
She’ll hurry along with a minute to spare
As soon as she puts on her shoes.’

I said, ‘Oh good!’ as they filed on in
To wash their hands in the sink,
Then counted heads and I gulped and saw
The turkey begin to shrink,
A single bird for eleven heads
Or twelve if you counted me,
I might just get a wing and a prayer
When feeding this family.

They found the chest with the beer in ice
But there wasn’t enough for all,
So they corked and drank the fine Rosé
That I’d had displayed on the wall,
They ground the peanuts into the rug
And they spilled Chablis on the couch,
Then kept on stumbling over my feet
And all I could say was ‘Ouch!’

They sat around with an hour to wait
While the turkey started to brown,
And talked of family members that
They thought were coming on down,
But then the topic they all enjoyed
Was raising its ugly head,
‘You’d never believe,’ said Cousin Steve
But Auntie Caroline’s dead!’

‘I heard she fell from the Pepper Tree
With the pruning shears in her grasp,
Into a deadly swarm of bees!’
You could hear the others gasp.
‘And George, remember George, he was
Your Uncle’s cousin’s son,
He fell right under a train; they said
He had a blindfold on.’

Then Gustave from the German branch
And Heidi from the Swiss,
Had both expired in some dread fire,
I’d not heard any of this!
‘Delaney died in Ottawa
When he fell dead off his horse,
And Orson choked on a bottle of coke
That was really chilli sauce!’

I cleared my throat before I spoke
‘I would hate to interrupt,
But listening to your Death Watch List
Has made my mind right up.
I don’t know a single one of you,
You've not been here before,
But you’ll find who you are related to
If you’d like to try next door.’

David Lewis Paget

Karma finds you eventually,
Sometimes while drinking a fine Chablis.
George Zimmerman is back in the news,
with sour grapes that left a bruise.
His girlfriend wouldn’t kneel to play
so he bopped her with un Beaujolais!
His poor girlfriend, clad in a slip,
He christened like a navy ship.
Aggrieved assault is the charge he’ll face
since cops were called out to his place.
He can’t resort to “Stand your Ground”
His prints were on the bottle found.
Off to jail, George, where, they say,
You’ll meet your true love every day.

All was quiet at midnight
In the comfortable little house
Till Santa accidentally
Stepped on the dog's toy mouse.

The SQUEAK! sounded to Santa
As loud as a cannon boom!
He stopped in his tracks and waited
For silence to fill the room.

Carefully placing the presents
Under the Christmas tree,
He spied a plate of cookies
Next to a glass of Chablis.

Suddenly from the hallway
Came a little sound:
"Hold up your hands, Santa….
Now slowly turn around."

Complying with the order,
Santa turned. Behold!
Identical twins stood there--
Barely five years old.

Both were holding toy guns.
Santa all the while
Had to struggle to keep
From breaking out in a smile.

"We just saw you closing
Mommy and Daddy's door,"
Said one. "We want to know
What you were looking for."

"I had to make sure," said Santa,
"That they were fast asleep.
You know how our Mommies
Hear every little peep."

The boys squinted their eyes,
Not sure what to believe.
All they knew was that Santa
Wasn't the kind to deceive.

"I heard," said the other twin,
"From a friend of mine
That you like to drink milk;
But Daddy says you like wine."

Santa hesitated:
"Well…it depends on my mood.
Sometimes I like variety
Regarding my drink or my food."

The first asked, "Why are Santas--
The ones we see at the mall--
Big and round, but you
Look so skinny and small?"

"Santa works so hard
And he's up so very late,
By the time he is finished,
He's lost a lot of weight."

Santa mumbled softly,
"Will they buy that story,
Or am I going to sound
Trite and conciliatory?"

The dog came in from the hallway
Wagging his tail as though
He had been Santa's friend
From a long time ago.

"How does Sparky know you?"
Both boys asked, surprised.
"ALL pets love Santa,"
The wise man emphasized.

The twins were resolute,
And both remained suspicious.
"You know," said Santa wily,
"It wouldn't be judicious

"To keep detaining Santa.
He has lots to do.
Other kids are waiting
For presents, just like you."

"Ju-what?...Aw, never mind!"
Responded the second twin,
Coming around to realize
The hurry Santa was in.

"We hope we get what we asked for.
But one thing we want to make clear:
If all we get is clothes,
You'll be in trouble next year."

Santa winked and smiled.
"Deal!" he firmly said.
Now put down your weapons
And go back to bed."

While drifting off to sleep
In their beds shortly thereafter,
The two boys heard some mumbling
Accompanied by laughter.

They shot out of bed in the morning--
Slightly after dawn.
The first thing they noticed was
The wine and cookies were gone.

But glasses resembling their dad's
Had been left behind.
Their dad said he could wear them
If Santa didn't mind.

- by Bob B

“Is the glass half
Full or half empty?”
Such was the question presented to me.
It depends on whether
The glass contains
A good Cabernet or a cheap Chablis.
 
If it contains
A good Cabernet
With a bold, full-bodied, smoky flavor,
The glass is always
Half empty because
That’s an experience I want to savor.
 
If, however,
A cheap Chablis
Stares at me from the glass’s interior,
That glass is always
Half full to me,
As I endlessly sip a wine that’s inferior.
 
What? You say
That I don’t get it—
That I am trying to redefine
The meaning behind
The expression? I say:
Just shut up and hand me my wine!
 
- by Bob B

i wanna discover Ironlak spray paint and bare brick, learn how to hold the can so my art doesn’t cry.  i wanna dress up and go to the Black Book Gallery.  sip chablis with folks whose Benz payment is more than my monthly expenses. throw up my hands and run out laughing, with tears in my eyes. some days i wanna pretend fleeting things will last forever; like your hand will always find its way to my waist.

i wanna pretend integrity doesn’t matter to me. pretend im a good daughter sister lover friend.  i wanna wake up and pretend that black felonious cloud isn’t funkin’ up my day.  i wanna discover parts of you i didn’t fathom existed and taste the skin of your wrist.  i wanna fall asleep in the grass from joyful exhaustion,  and be awakened by a gentle rain…roll into you and make love like it’s worth a stint in the pokie.

i wanna discover the hard and twisted insides of the caapi vine with you.  get inside out, while gazing into your endless insides. give me rain and heat and hallelujah.  i wanna discover a subculture i never knew existed and pretend i am a part of it.  somedays i wanna pretend forever things, eternal things, are fleeting. like i could call my dead mother tomorrow just to *******.

i wanna rail against the universe.  i wanna brawl with mother nature because it's dumb that ******* can’t create babies.  i wanna discover an afternoon with you, drunk, that bleeds into the evening, night and next morning.  filled with laughter, singing, fake british accents and *****. squishy lips, tongues, giggles and fits. let’s discover time.

i want a lover to take a full bodied swallow of me, roll it around in his mouth like a glass of a buttery merlot… just to prolong the inhalation of me~

Another night, another beer for the lonely
Cigarette in my left, Night is chilly
If only, I could take you with me
Candle lit, white roses and a glass of chablis

Another stick of Winston, another puff for the restless
A pack on my pocket, Song would be pointless
If only you could take me out of this mess
All will be good, things will get better, we'll have the best

Another poem, Another worthless message
You in my mind, I'm just another page
If only you and me could be in Cupid's stage
I won't mind, be it in cell or in a cage

She looked at me through the bottom of a glass
Crystal eyes and wet strawberry lips
I looked at her through the bottom of the bottle
Seashell dimples and wild dandelion hair


A scarlet chest in exchange for a day in her sands
Swing set smiles
Between blistering footsteps
And icy ocean kisses
Undressed and drowning at the bottom of her bed
Feeling like ****, feeling ******* high
Serpentine limbs beg me
“Stay”
Our own little mattress comedy
Cast across the plaster in pale light


They’re all so ******* domestic
She kicks the chair from under me
Abrupt masochistic compulsions
Baptized in her holy see
Smoldering marquees and lascivious repartee
Let’s drink every drop of this satanic chablis
Until the bottle’s empty
Until we’re back at the bottom
And you look for me
And I look for you

cyclones of russet leaves  
doing devilish dances in her yard
while she read, sipped chamomile,
and listened to the cat’s warm hum by her feet,  
the neighbor’s Harley on her street    

the default ring tone
she never changed, interrupted her mid paragraph,
between the writer’s deft description of a noisy bar,  
and an anonymous couple walking to the car  
to find something they lost
long before that night    

the words that came
when she answered became part
of her own novel, lines scribed in a book
she would carry with her forever,
words she read over and over
as she ran to the car,
“your husband is in the ER”
“your husband is in the ER”  
“your husband…”  

he had gone for cat food,
asparagus, and likely some beer,
or Chablis if he remembered they were having
chicken Milan that very night    
and he did, because the bottle  
was yet on the floor board
of his Honda Accord, after…    

two officers met her
at the sliding ER door  
and the eyes of one, puffy with compassion
required they say no more than her name
this also now written in her own book
since half of it was his  
half, his

his parents arrived
at 2:56 AM the next day
having been entombed in a silver blue buzzing tube
two hours late from JFK--first class only meant more
mournful space around them  
they could not fill      

her own mother
handled all the arrangements, being a master at such  
having buried her father, the last pilot downed
in that crazy Asian war, and putting her older brother  
in the ground when white blood cancer
took him before he made it
to double digits  

services, closed casket,
were on a thick Thursday,
delayed a day while they
waited for their priest to return
from his own mother’s wake
in some other world  

all friends and family
gone by Saturday, leaving her to listen
for the cat’s hum (but he was hiding)
the neighbor’s roaring machine  
and more ring tones, more sound  
that would too become indelible lines
in her timeless tome, that began
on a windy Sunday

After six goblets,
the taste of Merlot
actually tastes like Beaujolais.
Unless of course
you're an expert
on wineolgy
& I'm not.
But I do like a glass or seven
every now and then.
The lights look weird now,
peoples eyes are amplified
& they are smoking abundantly.
Sadly, the only fresh air
around here
is six blocks away
in a roundabout
& I ain't crawling that far
to breathe
or even try to clear my head.
So I think
I'll keep my lonely-self
sitting right here at this quaint bar
and order me a glass of Chablis
that will probably taste like Merlot.
Sophie don't look too bad.

The wicked whip of word
lashes whelps
upon the starved psyche
of the errogenous mind

Indeed !
The moment rises
in smoke and flaming
"I-don't-knows" of sheets
of layered heat
pressing down
into the flesh of desired
impunity . . . iniquities . . . liquidity

Happy is the framed statement
of thine , birthed
behind plastic cups of wine
in sheds of grey wooden sides
from long long ago

Was it board through (Bordeaux)
or just shabby (Chablis)

But the experience
while daunting
leaves you panting
for more

I peer at the bottom well where I draw from cerulean waters;
Chablis of the worn out grape harvester,
your eyes intoxicate me;
You are the solace granted to the weary me,
the balm of my heart;
I accept to be a castaway with no beacon for guidance,
as long as I wreck in your coasts;
how delightful it is to abandon oneself!

At times...
I see your very beauty shape shift before my eyes,
my soul mate...
Could it be this alchemy we tried to achieve on?
Has Hermes Trismegistus given away his secret?
May this shaft of light traverse us endlessly,
as dusk never befall our zenith

I know of a spot where time has forgot,
Boulevards are airy, taken with Chablis,
Lawns are like meadows, spongy like dough,
The sun burns mushrooms into candy plums,
Gives way to the moon, tonight so maroon,
A gentle wind puffs, and thinks its hot stuff

This place that I know, everyone's called Joe,
Streets are full of gin and we are all twins,
Its a magic place, where clocks have no face,
Here everything's free; just ask the fir tree,
Where there are no fights, for everyone's right,
I can have winter, you can have summer.

We have no homes, we have whispering domes,
Everywhere we go, Angels are our beaux's,
They are serene and their names are Jean,
And we play hopscotch as the pixie's watch,
A cheerful place, full of charm and grace,
We're not Camelot, gone with a head shot.

I am
certain.

in you.

is the
indigo
of night
shadows.

the washing
of evening
clouds
across
a half
filled
Chablis
moon.

the running
of a
Caliente
tempest
wind
over a
distant
nomad
dune.

I am
certain.

in you.

is the
rest
between
the beats
of a
humming bird's
heart.

The open
lip kiss
of a Juliet
in search
of a fairy tale
ending.

and I
am certain
this river's
song
whispers
your name.

and the
earth holds
you in
consciousness
and peace
in it's
womb.

to someday
to be
born
to me
again.

no longer

wandering

through the

night.


a time

when
in you.

is everything

to me..

Soothing liquid drinking vine
Mondavi,  Bare Foot and their kind;
dry Chardonnay wine.
Monsters flee and angels race with every sip, a  faster pace, hiding horrors ...in their place;
strong Chardonnay wine.
You are loyal, kind and never blue, waiting in a bottle true, ever faithful, always new;
cheap Chardonnay wine.
Forget Chablis and Moscato, turn your back on Sauvignon Blanc. Even popular Pinot Grigio won't give you what you want. The reds are not in question, their often on my mind.  But in the end, I'm  loyal, and there's only just one kind;
very strong, very dry, very cheap and very mine;

Chardonnay wine.

December, and I feel the Winters breath on me tonight
Blue skies and warmer weather overdue
I wonder, is it hope that has left me here outright
And this glass of wine, that takes the place of you
I drink, and in my mind I am taken back to when
We watched the Autumn leaves, beside the fire
Intoxication takes from me, much more than I take in
And leaves me here alone, with my desire

But as I pour another glass of sorrow in my heart
Another bottle crashes to the floor
I walk upon these shattered rhymes, the ones I've torn apart
So many things my heart must answer for
I shut myself inside again, to keep the cold at bay
Unlock the loss with bottles, that I drink
To think that if I open them, the pain may go away
But it just pours back out of me, in ink

Pictures, that were taken then, show me a different man
The images, just moments trapped in time
I close my eyes to hide from them, but I don't think I can
Forget the memories, trapped in my mind
It leads me nowhere fast, though I travel on and on
To places I have been, with you in dreams
The memories return to me, another bottle gone
Still trying to relive, relieve, unwind.

But tension holds me here alone, caught in the cruel grip of
The reasons that I drink to ease my thought
Holds me to a picture of a girl, a life, a love
And all the loneliness, that this has brought
Allowing visitation, with these nights of what once was
Believing drink, may bring you back to me
Trying to correct mistakes I've made, but just because
I cannot hope to do so with Chablis

I cannot view things clearly through this glass held in my hand
Or see through clouded thought, when I am finished
I pull another cork, and like so many grains of sand
My power to discern these things, diminished
To see the eyes I once had known, that looked right into me
Transparent as I am, and was before
My love I never tried to hide, and hoped that you would see
But hope is lost, it's closed and locked the door

Locked me far away from all I had, or ever knew
Then closed me in to what I know today
Falling Autumn leaves, that remind me still of you
Though love now seems a tired old cliche
To destroy all I am, or all I once had hoped to be
to leave me with the tears dropped from my eyes
My glass is full again, though now it seems of me
We’ve said all of the sad and cruel goodbyes

Goodbye is not the end of love, but the beginning of alone
"I love you" not the start of love, as well
But I’m still thinking, wandering, back to what is gone
It breaks my spirit, that much I can tell
I've told my story many times, to this old photograph
I've tried just to explain, though no one hears
Each bottle that I open, and the others seem to laugh
At drinks I mix, with sorrow and my tears

I suppose that it's my mind, just playing tricks you see
Springtime’s shining leaves now turned to brown
Outside my window, Decembers darkness screams to me
Another reason just to think, and drown
Drown myself in pity, and another shaking glass
Held within this shaking heart of mine
The broken heart of such a man, that's fading, fading fast
Dissolving in another glass of wine

Shrinking with each bottle that lies cluttered on my floor
Dying, as the embers of my fire
Gone is yet another day, but I know there are more
Before the death of me, and my desire
Desire that does not resist the clock, or years of time
Doesn't die with drink that I consume
Hasn't gone away in any broken, dismal rhyme
Or a glass of wine,
that takes the place of you

Dean Evans
11-07-08

It was so very long ago
almost a lifetime.
We were caught
inside the magic glow
of Paris in springtime
where love and youth
have no defenses.
I painted your portrait
in my tiny studio.
My God you were beautiful.
In the small room
the incomparable voice of Edith Piaf
sang the only song for lovers
La Vie en Rose.
My brushes found color and form
I had never found before.
I think your portrait
was my best work.
even today after all these years.
I have been offered large sums
of money even when I was hungry
and unknown.
But I would never sell it.
It was painted with my heart
how can you sell the first time
you fell in love.
Today I am an old man
I sit in my studio
sipping a glass of Chablis
looking at your portrait.
Something is missing of course
I flip the player on
Edith pours her soul once more
as her
La Vie en rose completes my mood.

She
Keeps me warm
Away from harm
The measure of my life
She is what I need
She believes we will be all right
She is the heart of my soul
Who controls our destiny
She is the best
She is the best for me

As day turns into night
When the sun says good night to the moon
We just melt together
One long and lovely swoon
The sunset is all ours
Let us enjoy
Would you like a glass of Chablis, my dear?
Come and kiss your boy

She never wavers, is solid as can be
I believe in her, she believes in me
It magical and mystical, we’re on a golden path
Always wondrous and wonderful
Unless I give her too much sass

So here’s to her
She’s the one
The one and only she
We share a love
We share a life
It’s down to she and me

Chablis is number 2 in wine
White is the cheapest of pine
Bauxite is the hardest to mine
Careful, Natashka, your fork's got a bent tine
Nylon screening comes with substandard spline
Prostrate yourself to digitize my spine
Let us sup as we communalistically dine
No one proceeds to ten without acknowledging nine
Though ivory be bright—ebony do shine
Alice Babette Toklas conceived Gerty F. Stein
Vitamin B17 renders cancer curably benign
Words long-neglected grow hard to define
Around a willing neck is strung a line;
   around the block: electronic soup line
If it be not yours—it be not mine