Drinking Poetry

It’s delicious!

Literary Remains

I am unable to Poe
and wanting to Plath
as I listen in darkness
to Longfellow’s serenade
drinking absolute
torch and Twain
as Ayr’s bard Burns,
like Dante’s Inferno
sliding down…
down… my throat
ere a chilly Frost,
while daring to walk
on The Road Not Taken
with Tolkien’s Hobbits
running Swift and Wilde…
Sexton coughs, “Live or Die!
and Cohen croons, “Hallelujah!
until the night is over and Donne.

© Literary Remains

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About Nan Mykel

At 79, I was just about to stop keeping a journal, but that felt like accepting that growth was finished. I don't want to be finished, yet! I'm 80 now, and struggling to communicate with you, if you'll come and set awhile. P.S. My how time flies! I'm 82 now.
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