At Dinner

Here is a gracious host
and the claret has produced a sheen
on the table, set.

Here is a small sound.
His home, not claiming enough space
for its distance.

“You only get one chance to be my son.”
Clearing through the creak
from another room, distracting.

I listen for something accidental.
These small sounds are made for me,
and he ignores them, as does the rest
of the party.

She is waiting, somewhere
in the recesses of his booming, lonely voice.

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7 Responses to “At Dinner”

  1. Donna Mathis-Davis Says:

    A poem. Stream of conciousness-like. Write a song with this with Van Morrison in mind…

    P.S. Wine gives me bad headaches! I can only have one glass before I move on to the vodka!

  2. Donna Mathis-Davis Says:

    Donna again. I’m from Chattanooga. I meant buddy miller! Nice blog stuff. Buddy is so cool. I saw him with the 3 ladies, Emmylou, Shawn C. and ,Patty G. at the Tivoli , Chattanooga, a couple years ago. The tour was called Three Girls and Their Buddy. Buddy and Julie- fire and gasoline…have you heard that one?

    Nice massager pic. Does the G spot get you out of the 400 Unit? Gee, I so hate those places. Once you get out, you don’t want to die anymore because you are so thrilled to get out!

    When you get in the mood to tour after the holidays, please consider an evening at Rythem and Brews, Chattanooga.

  3. Donna Mathis-Davis Says:

    Notify me of follow-up comments via email.

  4. JPW Says:

    Welcome to the blog world, Jason.

  5. J True Says:

    i like. kinda like William Carlos Williams with punctuation.

    it’s easy to try to do too much. for that reason, i like the economy of your syntax. see you soon.

  6. boaconstricther Says:

    when a bleeding November rose throws back her head in pure defiance
    to relieve the conscience of the elements that cannot contain her

  7. Gabriel Says:

    C’mon man. That’s just not fair. You can’t write amazing songs AND be an amazing poet. Next you’ll win the National Spelling Bee. Leave some talent for the rest of us.

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