St. Patty’s

Hello, my name is Chris, and I’m not Irish. My ancestors are from the isles, but they never did call the white-foamed cliffs or the emerald fields of Ireland their home.  I know, I’m sorry – but now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, allow me to add that I appreciate a good St. Patty’s as much as anyone. Started my day off right, with a fine play list taking us from as far off as the raging typical St. Patty’s tunes of Flogging Molly and Dropkick Murphys, through the Dubliners and Stephen Lynch and even a touch of Buck O Nine, between more traditional bits.

Outside, the day is already surrendered to the sound and the sight of the drink on campus – Frat Row, as it is called, has already got their beer pong tables set up, as usual, and I’m sure anything with pub or anything vaguely Irish in its name will be roaring with business all day. The weather couldn’t be better – 60s in Michigan in March, for St. Patty’s? Yes, please – and I am in a fantastic mood. I wrote and I danced, and you know what else? I worked up a little poem for you all, and I do hope you enjoy.

A shamrock lies between us.

The grievances of history

Balanced on the tips of leaves

Are swallowed in green beer

To high tide tunes of fiddlers

Passing in the night

Where love and lust are staggering

With dignity and design—

They say as much to Mr. Jameson

As they pour a little more cream,

Pondering the existential implications

Of the girls in their shortest skirts

Swaying and serenading

The Dance.

(All images care of Google – thanks Google search!)

Edit: And also to note – it is my good pleasure to announce that today is also my dear friend Kila’s (Willowwish) birthday! Happy Birthday Kila! And in the travesty of all travesties, she has to spend it AND St. Patty’s day mired in class…oh dears.

Sustain

A crumb cannot sustain

no more than a man abstain

in his own right thinking

he can escape the linking

of opinion – it’s like drinking

in how it struck,

without the luck;

At least the bottle throws a bone,

table-scraps of joy, alone;

some people, they cry

don’t dream of heaven, but they lie:

ain’t a man that ever did die

didn’t sniff it up like cocaine–

once, the thought, even in disdain.

* My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well–they’re a skilled bunch of poets, with a strong and supportive community.  Enjoy!

Birthday Thoughts

“The great challenge of adulthood is holding on to your idealism after you lose your innocence.” ~Bruce Springsteen

Well, well, the day has come. According to society, I’m a man now.

Twenty one years have come and gone, and while I’ve been able to go off and die now for the past three years, I am now apparently old enough to legally have at the alcohol. Michigan, true to form, however, seems to have little interest in embracing summer just for such a silly little occasion, though. Clouds encompass everything in swirls of gray and black, threatening rain without ever working up the energy to do so. Lovely–I just hope it’s not a sign of things to come.

Regardless, I take this to be a time of reflection. Nearly a quarter of a century has come and gone–and the real world looms so near. College is nearly at its end, and I suppose I’m to be all grown up now. Will I be ready when the time comes?

I suppose many people ask themselves the same question. I wonder how many have the answer.