Joseph Howard Tyson III graduated from LaSalle University with a B.A. in Philosophy, took graduate courses in English at Pennsylvania State University, then served in the U. S. Marine Corps. He lives in a Philadelphia suburb, and works for the insurance industry. Besides historical non-fiction articles published in Schuylkill Valley Journal, New England Genealogical & Historical Society, Southern Cross Review, and other publications, he has written eight books: Penn’s Luminous City (2005,) Madame Blavatsky Revisited (2006,) Hitler’s Mentor: Dietrich Eckart (2008,) The Surreal Reich (2010,) World War II Leaders (2011,) Fifty-Seven Years of Russian Madness (2015,) Notable Reprobates (2019,) and Astrology: Its Worldview and Implications (2021.)
Jug Wine Aficionado
I’m a votary of Bacchus:
Somewhere between a connoisseur and wino,
Vaguely familiar with wine snobs’
Panegyrics to rare vintages:
Glorious attacks on the tongue,
Followed by delicious middles and finishes,
Hints of currants, apples, kiwis, pears,
Licorice, coffee, tobacco,
Peppers, almonds, kumquats…
(Somehow never grapes!)
From newspaper columns
I’ve half-learned rituals
Of swirling vino in proper glasses,
Sniffing, sipping, slurping, chewing, gargling,
Yet still have an uncultivated sensibility--
Favoring cheap varietals
Like Chablis, Zinfandel, Moscato,
And those extracted from wild Indian grapes—
Niagara, Concord, Catawba…
Does that make me a wine slob?
After forty years of random bibbing,
Eight buck bottles of Chianti
Still taste like nectar,
While dry French Cabernets
Costing thirty dollars per liter
Pucker my mouth,
Go down plebeian palate
Like balsamic vinegar
Mixed with mouthwash.
Could that mean flawed perceptions:
Savoring cheap plonk,
But spurning prized elixirs?
And does such faulty judgment
Leak into other spheres of life,
Signifying bad taste
In clothing, music, women, art, and cars?
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