The Crystal Glass

[Tony Grannell]

Hello grant, Isn't it just, a pocket of heaven in a devilish world. Delighted you found it so. You are in fine fettle, I hope, Tony.

[Tony Grannell]

Hello poemzone, Your positive review is surely welcome and very much appreciated. Kind regards, Tony.

[Tony Grannell]

Hello Alexandra, 'Quiet lovely', finds be most pleased and for that, I thank you. You are in fine health, I trust, Tony.

[Tony Grannell]

Hello RhymeLovingWriter, Delighted you found it satisfying, a lovely state to be in. Your words are very much appreciated. All the best, Tony.

[Tony Grannell]

Hello amenOra, You are very welcome and thank you so much for your fine response. Do take care now, Tony.

[grant hayes]

Wow, this sounds like ... heaven!

[poemzone]

ike rhyme set out in this poetry. this glass is full on positive review.

[AlexandratheLate]

This is quite lovely.

[RhymeLovingWriter]

Lovely evening reverie. Leaves me with a strong sense of satisfaction. Thank you Tony - it's beautiful.

[amenOra]

So well done, coupled with the ending, and the whole previous sequence which seemed split in three, really. Loved the diction and rhythm. Thanks for sharing friend!

[Tony Grannell]

A crystal glass so finely cut to claim the evening’s hue;
my ancient leather whiskey chair, to sip the tranquil dew.
Senses stir the amber pool as it mellows in my mouth,
mid plumes of Cuban hand bound leaves, I’ll see the evening out.

I’ve done my verse, my pen to rest until tomorrow’s light,
perhaps by then, another will have come out of the night.
But now the evening whispers seep into my cherished land,
to ramble through my wonderings with crystal in my hand.

The early spring still timbers need to argue with the flames;
to keep my chamber warm and dry for winter’s print remains.
The ailing dog lies at my feet, now old and fast asleep,
my loyal friend has stood my ground in sadness and defeat.

The clock still ticks for daily wound, a labour, I adore,
it gives me strength to seek each day, each moment to explore.
Each hour chimes a passing time and another to unfold,
each day to bid, a fond farewell, the night to take its hold.

The silence weaves the cigar smoke in floating ropes of mist,
lassoing temperamental moods that try to steal a kiss.
But age has warmed to wisdom’s calm and evening fails to harm;
my wilder wings have folded, rests the falcon on my arm.

My library stands, timbered strength, her authors bound in age,
and there they rest, the words of giants, the tombstones of the sage.
My reading lamp’s been burning for as long as I have learned,
and how it still enlightens all the pages I have turned.

The stars appear to celebrate the dusking of the day;
the perfumes of the evening with the light to drift away.
I hear my lady calling me, your dinner waits for you,
I must with haste, with glass in hand, waist not a drop – adieu.