Artwork courtesy Tex Fontanella and John M. Bennett
An Ode to Water
In winter
it is a drink that
I disdain
unless it steeps
my tea—
give me instead
the taste
of fermented grape—
or a shot
taken straight—
the first
for its afterglow of
contentment—
the latter whenever
I require an
immediate blast of
furnace heat
In summer
such abstention is
rescinded—in
cup glass or dipper—
bring me
the well’s depths—
aged nectar
from ancient clouds—
with a tang of
iron for seasoning—
something so
elementally simple
that the sun’s
furnace is nullified
by the shock
of its ambrosia’s
aching chill
Breaking Something
This deep in winter, with everything
frozen solid,
I feel like breaking something,
be it a window
encased in frost, the monotony,
my dormant heart,
anything to contradict the sound of
ice thickening,
that wind crystalizing the season.
Instead, by the fire, I escape into
a book’s babble,
reading until a river of lines blurs
and hardens,
silencing the words’ cacophony.
Held captive in
the arms of a chair’s rigid frame,
logs now embers,
I find the chill has stiffened me, too.
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Robert Koehler is a Madison poet and his blog, Robert Up At Dawn, can be found at https://robertupatdawn.wordpress.com
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