Origin

All things must start; even blogs. So this - this that you're reading right here - is the start of a blog.

One might question why I chose the name Bitter Grapes (well, THE Bitter Grapes - some jerk already took plain old Bitter Grapes). It actually comes from a poem I wrote -

(Fulton, Illinois)


We sucked down the honey tree,
lifted bitter grapes off rain-swollen vines,
ripped the skin from our hands (escape!)
and bled red dewdrops on the prairie grass.

You, belicose blessing,
math-riddled saint of Prophetstown -
Nunzio, the spoken angel -
stand on the shore of the Rock River
with a thunderstorm across your face.

I try to count your eyelashes as they brush against my skin.
You are estimating the average diameter of my freckles
when I push you into the fruitful earth
and make you think other things entirely.



(Birds sing)

But that doesn't really explain what Bitter Grapes is. (My former Editor-in-Chief has asked me, on several occasions, "are bitter grapes the green ones?" No. No they are not.) Bitter grapes are the ones that make the sweet ones taste so good; the bad that makes you count your blessings. On Bitter Grapes, I will try to recount the good AND bad. Along with the professional postings and poetry, I'll address the things that make up my life: beautiful, awful, sweet and bitter, and try to throw a few universal truths in there along the way.

Make way for some fine whines up ahead.