Treasure Island

Lola Ridge

(December 12, 1873- May 19, 1941 / Dublin)

Iron Wine


The ore in the crucible is pungent, smelling like acrid wine,
It is dusky red, like the ebb of poppies,
And purple, like the blood of elderberries.
Surely it is a strong wine - juice distilled of the fierce iron.
I am drunk of its fumes.
I feel its fiery flux
Diffusing, permeating,
Working some strange alchemy…
So that I turn aside from the goodly board,
So that I look askance upon the common cup,
And from the mouths of crucibles
Suck forth the acrid sap.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Edited: Wednesday, February 08, 2012

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

improve

Comments about this poem (Iron Wine by Lola Ridge )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Beehive, Naveed Khalid
  2. Write, Pradip Chattopadhyay
  3. Madrigal, Naveed Khalid
  4. Sunburnt, Naveed Khalid
  5. Proclaiming Love, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  6. Easter, Naveed Khalid
  7. Mona Lisa, Naveed Khalid
  8. Exciting Colors, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  9. Three Days Before You Left, Mikey Bachman
  10. Conceptualizing Thoughts, RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Poem of the Day

poet Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
...... Read complete »

 

Modern Poem

poet John Todhunter

 

Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]