Poetry by Jeff Green

Four Glasses of Wine

—— Laying Down the Vintage ——

He was sitting in a clearing, writing love songs late at night,
When the Moon first met a poet who was drinking in her light;
There she listened to the magic in the poet’s lovelorn words
As he sung away his sadness to the music of the birds.
Every night he serenaded, every night she learned some more,
Of the story of a lover and the girl he would adore.
Over years the tale adapted to reflect the new-found love,
Of a lone romantic poet and his goddess high above;
He would sing and she would listen, while she wrapped him in her beams
As his words became the language that we listen to in dreams.
Though the Moon is everlasting lowly poets come and go;
In due time she lost her lover and his music far below.
But she swore she’d not forget him so she fashioned him a shrine
Now the clearing is a garden where the Moon pours out her wine.

—— The moon pours white wine ——

At a table in the garden, on a soft, sweet, summer’s night
Two friends are sitting talking by the moon’s reflected light.
On the table in the garden there are glasses but no drink
And the friends are sitting talking, though they often stop to think.
The topics that they cover seem to range so far and wide
And the glasses sit there empty, since they left the drink inside.
The night is getting cooler but the friends stay close and warm,
The moon just looks down calmly, she has magic to perform.
As he leans across to kiss her, and she kisses him as well,
The friendship starts to blossom into something more to tell.
The tension in the garden needs assistance to decline
So the silver crescent of the moon leans down to pour white wine.

—— After the wine ——

As we left them in the garden, drinking wine the Moon had poured,
They were falling ever deeper into arms they once ignored.
All the topics of discussion passed away in gentle sighs
And the visions of the future formed as gleams in lovestruck eyes.
While the time turned ever later and the passions slowly grew
There were forays into madness that romantic poets knew;
Little hints of aims and pleasures, and temptations where to touch,
In a friendship swiftly changing into love that means so much.
I won’t doubt that by the morning there’ll be sleep and even more
For each friend that sat down talking found a love they can adore.
All the tension that was building as they climbed the steep incline
Turned to love that lasts a lifetime when the Moon poured out the wine.

—— Another glass ——

After years there’s still a garden, still a table, still the chairs;
Where the lovers sit serenely while discussing World affairs.
On the table, empty glasses — a reminder of the past,
When two friends discovered loving and a rapture that would last.
There’s a swing beneath the oak tree and a digger in the sand,
Where their children play all summer, living life that isn’t planned.
After all those happy evenings some things still remain the same,
And the smiling Moon above them knows that she’s in part to blame.
When it’s time to pass the baton and the garden’s overgrown
Will another simple friendship be forever overthrown?
If two friends should go exploring will they find that special place
Where the future and the present are colliding face to face?
Will they find the garden table that’s become an ancient shrine,
To the shining silver crescent that leant down to pour white wine.

Author notes

“The Moon Pours White Wine” came first, since then from time to time I have returned to my garden and written further chapters of its story