Long ago, in search of affordable insobriety, a literary friend and I made homemade wine. On bottling day, poetic and artistic labels were affixed. Here are some of my contributions:
Bromo’s Red Table, one of the vintners’ early efforts; best enjoyed with a good night’s sleep and a few Ibuprofen in the morning.
Not to be deterred, the Bros. sterilized their bung and got back to business with New Beginnings quality Wine! I chose a caveman theme to reflect this return to basics.
Bromo’s Peerless Vine, a devilishly drinkable red, equally at home with angels’ food or pitchforks full of roasted rump.
The Bromos’ indomitable fermented spirit lived on longer than the wine did, as this Anniversary label attests.
As for my literary friend Deryk, I should include one of his contributions. Here is his poem to go along with the above drawing:
Blazing sun through winter windows
Blue, blue grass round ambient streams
Willows overflowing, cool with shadow
Long summer nights and water girl dreams.
Breath of life, forgotten sorrow;
Winter’s death: fresh spring rain steams
Pressed to the flesh, close to the marrow
Soft silhouettes under yellow moon-beams.
Rich mother earth, song for the sparrows
Boundless with life in a forest pristine
Ruby red jewels, the gold of the Pharaohs
A beginning, an end, and all in between.
Bromo is a way of life.
Bromo is the firmament.
To all brothers (and sisters) in Bromo, remember: “hail Bromo, Bromo calms the waves, its drinkers never shall be knaves!”
‘Til next week,