Quaffing! Poem by Georgina Murray


My mother loved nothing more,
Than to quaff, Champagne galore.
What was her favourite? It slips my mind,
So many bottles, not enough time!
My dear old mother, with so much class,
Stop your talking and fill my glass!
Piper Hiedseick, and Mumm’s Rose
Whatever the weather, no matter the day.
A fine old philly, with style to boot,
Get it out and share the loot!
I can see her fingers, laden with rings,
Tightly clutching these glassy things.
But no room for my favourite, a cold glass of Bolly
Amongst the rattles of the shopping trolley
A Magnum bottle one birthday may bring,
Not a Methuselah? ? I picture her sing.
My wonderful mother, how I love her so,
I love you too, now pass the Mo’

Daniel Brick 08 May 2017

This poem is brilliantly written, not a wasted word or a break in its forward rhythmic drive. I was carried along by the jovial tone, even though I couldn't keep up with the drinking. Enough is enough, more than that limit is no longer a pleasure but a compulsion. So I see the poem as both a celebration of good spirits (both alcohol and feelings) and a warnjng against excesss.

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Colleen Courtney 25 May 2014

Hmmm....I'm trying to decide if this is a humorous write or a more sorrowful write as in having a neglectful mother who drinks too much? I like though how it is left up to the reader to interpret!

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