A Glassful of Silver Stars By John C. Mannone

 

This is for all the lonely people thinking that life has passed them by

Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup and ride that highway in the sky.

—America

Magical blue ribbons of light

enchant the night, catch all

the stars in a lonely bar room.

Drinkers’ eyes cast toward

the heavens.

Their thoughts pass right over

the bartender, whose ears are

already full of idle chatter; they

drift up—some become trapped

in crystal. Others whoosh past.

Hung glasses hum their care,

attentive to pipe organ tones. Each

goblet a universe, each thought

a star, not mere glimmers in wine

darkened seas with the sun sinking

below waves, but rather, a hope

of light in a sad and stark world.

John C. Mannone has poems in Windhover, North Dakota Quarterly, The Pigeon Parade Quarterly, Poetry South, and others. He was awarded a Jean Ritchie Fellowship (2017) in Appalachian literature and served as the celebrity judge for the National Federation of State Poetry Societies (2018). He is also the recipient of the Dwarf Stars Award (2020). He edits poetry for Abyss & Apex and other journals. A retired physics professor, John lives in Knoxville, Tennessee.