Brewed Beverage of Choice: A half-liter of Islander Pale
It is safe to say that my mind has not been flowing like a river these days. With all that has been going on in the past year or so, it is easily understandable. Three moves, a stint on unemployment, hitting a deer, the list goes on and on. But now that we have been living in Seattle for almost a year now, I think my mind and spirit may be settling. And because of this new-found comfort, a flood of poetry hit me this morning as I was trying to think up a beer name. The following was borne out of this flood:
#1
The Scourge hath no pity
for a weary mariner. She lay in wait
ready to release her fury
on the unexpected. And before you know it,
you are face down on the deck
wondering what just hit you.
#2
Two signs to a good day:
The sun peaking through
the brewery window and steam
rising from the kettle stack.
#3
A clear mind
thanks to meditation over tea
although I am turning forty
the only fog
comes from the kettle stack.
#4
Someone told me
forty is the new twenty.
Ha! At twenty
I was naive and single.
Now I am merely naive.
#5
On my birthday, blossoms
appear on the tree outside
my brewery: a sign
spring approaches.
#6
A friend asks,
“Now that you are forty,
what mid-life crisis will strike you?”
Amused, I respond,
“I will let you know when I reach
the middle of my life.”
Prost!
the confucian brewer