2012 Poetry: Glorious Joaquin the Brave

Through the stately streets of Clear Water

Where the oil lamps lit the way,

Steadily stumbled a mighty man

With a jug tilted to his face.


His dress was that of nobles

With coat, boots and blade.

His body was a veteran brawler,

And his hair was iced by age.


He parted the oaken doors and entered

The jolly old Gentlemen’s Club.

The blazing hearth chased out the cold

with the smell of fine tobacco that he loved.


He strode with purpose through the tavern

Where he was known to spend his time.

He meant to stop only for a moment

To refill his jug with wine.


Yet, he stayed for all the patrons

Who sang praises to his name,

And he longed for tender wenches

And the comfort they once gave.