I Dream of Love and Land: My First Ghazal by Jill Stockinger
My mind conjures visions, up late with wine,
but I grow dull and insensate with wine.
It is wise to be righteous and peaceful,
but it is hard to find that state with wine.
“Won’t you answer my frantic pleas for love?”
He hopes to open my locked gate, with wine.
He says suicide will end his torment.
Such weakness makes me quite irate, with wine.
The cricket chirps his desire in the night;
I fantasize a true lovemate, with wine.
The doctor cautioned, “Drink less or die young!”
but it is my expected fate, with wine.
Though ill, I do not trust his shaking hands;
the doctor wants to operate, with wine.
My forebears wandered through so many lands;
now I long for roots, an estate with wine.
In bars, I hear talk of revolution,
thin ice on which I will not skate, with wine.
Fears are falsely fanned to serve evil ends,
truth and lies hard to separate, with wine.
Men, pressed to fight for honor and glory,
often rise and swallow such bait, with wine.
Glass raised, you shout, “Jill, tell us more stories!”
No! No more tales will I relate, with wine!
My forebears wandered through so many lands;
now I long for roots, an estate with wine.
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