Friday, February 08, 2008


In honor of your homecoming, Wyld Man:
a poem... wishing you many a day like he describes:
steaks hissing on a grill,
cold beers
and philosophy.


My philosopher friend is explaining again
that the bottle of well-chilled beer in my hand

might not be a bottle of beer,
that the trickle of bottle-sweat cooling in my palm

might not be wet, might not be cool,
that in fact it’s impossible ever to know

if I’m holding a bottle at all.
I try to follow his logic, flipping the steaks

that are almost certainly hissing
over the bed of coals – coals I’d swear

were black at first, then gray, then red –
coals we could spread out and walk on

and why not, I ask, since we’ll never be sure
if our feet burn, if our soles

blister and peel, if our faithlessness
is any better or worse a tool

than the firewalker’s can-do extreme.
Exactly, he smiles. Behind the fence

the moon rises, or seems to.
Have another. Whatever else is true,

the coals feel hotter than ever
as the darkness begins to do

what darkness does. Another what? I ask.

by Philip Memmer


FranIAm said...

Oh my- that is extraordinary. Really beautiful post and poem.

Welcome home to our friend Wyld. We may not know each other, but we all know him. That is beautiful.

And Calvinista- I have to dig that. Very cool. Peace to you my sister.

Wyldth1ng said...

Thank you very much.

I like the poem and may steal it later.

You definately fall in the silly pastor category, which is cool.

Diane said...

as Wyldth1ng would say -- Nifty.
love when people post poetry.