TERENCE WINCH'S "THAT SHIP HAS SAILED"

 
It's "Poetry Month" (every month is to me), and the best way to celebrate it is to buy Terence Winch's latest poetry collection: "THAT SHIP HAS SAILED"! Every poem in this book is worth the price of admission. There's humor, tenderness, pathos, storytelling, jokes, philosophy, sarcasm, romance, suspense (where's he going?), lyricism, melodies, insight, nostalgia, realism, fantasy, rhymes, rhythm, healing, uplifting, wise-ass-ism, beauty, sorrow, love, and so much more. Everyone should have a copy and (full disclosure) not just because Terence is my best friend and the book is dedicated to me, but because it's an instant classic and the title poem is already an anthem for so many of us. It'll become like a favorite record you'll want to experience again and again. Here's a taste with the title poem:

That Ship Has Sailed

In our old life, we ate ice cream and bread

pudding. We drank glass after glass of

Grand Marnier until it made us sick.

Our libido was as big as a billboard.

Our libido was larger than a drive-in

theater screen in the middle of nowhere

playing endless adolescent pornographic

classics. We had an appetite for appetite.

We poured melted lard all over our

popcorn which we then covered

with a snowstorm of salt. We smoked,

we snorted, we cavorted with people

who were best left alone. We talked

all fucking night on the phone. We read

Keats and Yeats and all the greats

day and night. We got into fights

in pubs. We drank sixteen cups

of coffee every day. We called in sick

and spent the day in mysteries, doubts,

uncertainties. We shirked our

responsibilities without a second

thought. We ate Chinese food

and pizza for breakfast. We rode

the bus to visit friends wherever

they might be. We stole books.

We cheated, we lied, we cried.

We danced all night in the living

room around the Christmas tree.

In our new life, we try to remember

the names of the people we think

we might have slept with. We haul

the bags of frozen broccoli out

of the freezer. We light a candle

to commemorate crossing

the great divide between

the green island of the young

and the songs in our bones

that have come unsung.