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Best Drink Poems

Below are the all-time best Drink poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of drink poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Drink Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Drink poems are below this new poems list.

Happiness is a drink called alcohol by Nganga, Jack
Drink Up Beer by Horn, James
Drink The Namibia Countryside by Musinga, Seth
Mother's Favorite Drink by johnson, curtis
A Cold Drink of Water by Flannery, Vincent
women who drink and sex by hansen, jan oskar
Cool Drink by Kimathi, Teddy
Drink Fine Cherry Wine by T.M.M., Eve
The View I See of Bread and Drink by Price, Franklin
All those peas or Don't Drink the Tea by Barth, Jason

View all new Drink Poems

The Best Drink Poems

Details | Drink Poem | |

Champagne Toast

*Drunken Master *


***
sweet lavender lips
I heard it through the grapevine
transform from sweet grapes

sweet lavender lips
I heard it through the grapevine
libation of wine

sweet lavender lips
I heard it through the grapevine
intoxicating -----X----- beverage 
***


by;pd 
4th place
CHEERS!!!

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

More great poems below...


Details | Drink Poem | |

DON'T BE A SILLY DONKEY THIS YEAR

Little donkey Legs are wonky He’s been on the beer Little donkey He’s gone wonky Full of Christmas cheer Been a long night little donkey You need to sober up If he arrives on your doorstep Be warned that he’s half cut Little donkey Eyes gone wonky He’s had too much beer If he heads to drive a vehicle We have much to fear Any one who drinks and drives …. really is an ass Jan Allison 20th December 2014

Copyright © JAN ALLISON


Details | Drink Poem | |

Whiskey Flower

Swallowing nectar from a whiskey flower,
Raining inside me like a summer storm shower.
A fire in full bloom burning with every sip,
Unfolding the silk petals of my sun kissed lips.

Eyes sink shut against the jukeboxes serenade
Vibes in lyrics mesmerizingly played.
Slow the seasons of my soul become exposed.
Fruit from the garden of Eden readily grows.

With every drink of courage, I ready my will,
A ticket to heaven, yet my heart beats still.
Numbers on a napkin, wrote in lust colored ink,
Experience pleads from the bottom of my drink.

Stung by the thorns of a whiskey flower, I bleed.
Dark are the droplets of unquenchable need.
The voice of a clock tells me it is time to go.
Stumbling into a darkness, many will never know.


12-03-2014

Copyright © Casarah Nance


Details | Drink Poem | |

Advice

Do not look to me with questioning eyes
For i do not possess the answers you seek 
i cannot taste the bitter sweetness on your tongue,
or smell the withered flowers along your path
My heart beats with less rythm than your blues
i am unable to stumble through your dark corridors,
for you are poet undiscovered
Your answers are hidden deep within an apathetic pen
For you hide behind a painted closed window
Pushing too little 
arriving late
Not aware of your own relevance
Solitarily, feeling sorry for yourself
When instead, pity could be your party
Yes it is true, the world celebrates sad clowns
But you do not let laughter mix with your grey sky tears
i myself, see images of you poured out on limitless pages
Rearranged 
Sculpted
Until your words have substance 
Becoming living and breathing beings 
I wish you to reveal to us your cherished children
Birth them to a forgiving unforgiven world
Risk the grasping hands of rejection
True courage will reveal your annoited pen

Without risk 
you cannot
will not 
bleed in rainbowed splendor
Instead, days will become years
Yesterday will slide into tomorrow
All the while the world would be less
A shadow of what it could have been
In a place of unawareness
Oblivious to its own lacking
Bathed in deprivation
All because
Of a missing
Unexpressed
Silent
Unexplored
voice!

Or maybe
Just maybe
One letter 
A tiny little letter
will grow into a word
Several strung together a stanza
Several stanzas a poem
An honest to goodnes poem
Then we will all be witnesses
To the emergence
The screaming or quiet entrance
The proverbial birth
of a singular voice
of a wide eyed dreamer
Then you will feel that collective sigh
as other broken dreamers applaud you
For on that day
If only you possess the courage
all will know
That you truly are
and always have been 
a Poet!


For Tyshawn Knight's "Words of Wisdom" contest

Re edited version.







Copyright © Richard Lamoureux


Details | Drink Poem | |

Bullet Proof

                     Bullet Proof

If I was a bullet I would travel real fast
Take showers in the past
Use gun powder to keep me dry
Shop at Target
And avoid people at all cost
If I was a bullet I would buy a gun
A small one, for company
Challenge Superman to a race
Or simply let him leap tall buildings, if he were so inclined
As I leap to my own conclusions by his side
If I was a bullet I would go to Mexico
Drink tequila real slow to get inebriated 
Finish off bottles of 90 proof vodka to prove a point
That I can become bullet proof in any old joint


9/01/14 The Poet - Poetry contest

Copyright © Earl Schumacker

More great poems below...


Details | Drink Poem | |

She Hulk

When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses 
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed 
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were  ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman 
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or god,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us 
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood 
just how much words effect us. 
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.

Copyright © Katie Pukash


Details | Drink Poem | |

I got a letter from the devil

(Hello, my sweet friend!)

Speaks in unknown tongues 
Nevertheless it will consume
Ask for food, 
A sweet drink 
The hunger and thirst are real
It's pitchfork aims at my free will 
Seeking and freaking through my pages 
It's been ages since the depression was gone 
Sloppy wording, crawl under my hide 
Notification triggers my finger and thumb 
Bang! The evil one exists
With a second-hand letter 
It believes, it should never be forgotten

Numb as Novocaine can be 
I watch and interpret the riddles in every line 
Living and breathing, 
I'm repeating the same nightmare 
How dare, the devil seeks to be fed! 
Screaming and remembering 
--the demons that linger in its head 
Too much to read, 
I have major troubles with your disease 
Lunacy of the universe 
Open Obituary, you are a curse
Like a transparent note from a fatal fax machine 
It's a calling, unbearable to describe 
Take from me, after I am deceased 
Like fire, it burns cancer in every star 

Lies to 
Greets to 

My eye twitch 
My soul hurts 

I'm not feeling well 
Take care, 
Leave me the HEll alone


(-*-)

Copyright © SKAT A


Details | Drink Poem | |

Death of my Friend

Death of my Friend


Found was the key to heaven's door
this pain I can bear no more
The shadows that eat my long nights
the guilt of that deadly fight

Ages ago tragedy came sailing in
took the life of you my friend
A drunken party that went so wrong
our lives becoming a sad song

I begged you to not dare drive
if you done so you'd be alive
My guilt in not forcing you back
you car hit on that train track

Death came instantly to my friend
for me pain that will never end
I backed down when you hit me then
your funeral I'd not had to attend

You that always got your own way
should have never died that sad day
Now I see your fate was meant to be
you died young, a soul early set free!

Robert Lindley

note: Death of my friend. I tried to stop him 
but not hard enough.Too drunk to safely drive but 
when so young we thought we were ten feet tall and 
bullet proof! 
Maybe we were but just not speeding train proof..
Rather than knock him out I let him go. 
Car was hit by a train and death was immediate..
Twenty-one is too young to go..

Copyright © Robert Lindley


Details | Drink Poem | |

Meeting The Soupers

"Your first poem was an 
excellent poem....you are 
welcome...." Commented 
skat on my first poem.
"Wonderful and deep 
poem....you are welcome 
to poetry soup..." That 
was Poet Destroyer.
"Wow you have touched 
my heart in a special way 
with your poem.....your 
new friend Leonora 
Galinta" said Galinta.
"Well penned" said 
kithinji and so many 
special poets.
Hearty words from these 
unique poets spurred me 
to write better poems.
Which they appreciate.
Poetry soup is safe haven 
where feelings and 
emotions are expressed 
in tangible forms.
An educational enclave 
where different forms of 
knowledge are 
exchanged like two 
hands washing eachother.
Am most humbled to 
meet these dazzling 
gems radiating warmth 
like the sun-a privilege it 
is connect to parts of the 
planet.
I believe we all will meet 
someday,not in the after 
life.
Leonora Galinta is an 
angel to meet,whom I 
admire amongst others.
Love to set my eyes on 
her delicate and graceful 
nature. See her graceful 
carriage, feel her gentle 
hands and smiles as she 
exudes sweetness. I pray 
hand of time will 
backwards when that 
day appears as we walk 
in the woods leading to 
silent deep blue sea with 
gentle breeze 
whispering...... A prolific 
writer as well.
PD will I meet 
someday,love her 
amiable nature,full of 
grace and charm. A 
prolific poetess.
Skat is lovely with her 
immeasurable words of 
encouragement.
Kithinji will I love to 
behold,to learn from him.
Have drink with Robin,
Alian, shake akinyemi, 
stroll with Joe, hv a hike 
with
Sibanda, dine with Ralph 
and you.
Saying hi and hugs to 
Paz Samelo.
Meeting the soupers is 
making a happy family.
   Am gliding like the 
eagle,soaring higher as 
the day pass by.          
you soupers are my 
strength.








Name:Ifeanyi Bob 
Ekechukwu.
(Baron Of Ebullion)

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu


Details | Drink Poem | |

Tattoo of a Broken Heart

It’s raining in the corner
Stripes upon the floor
Bloody knife in a barroom door
Drinking whiskey
From a hollowed out gourd
Full of wasps
That rage in my core
Old man Mason
Got a smile upon his face
He knows the fire
And now I got a taste
Can’t stand up
Can’t lie down
Spinning room 
Going round and round
Lipstick so red and thick
Devils eyes are on my hip
Right hand of the devil
Is a handgun son
I’m shooting dice
I’m shooting everyone
Woke up in a Philippine jail
I’ll sail for Hong Kong
Once I make my bail
They’ll never find me
The only evidence to tell 
Is a tattoo of a broken heart
And a rusty nail

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer


Details | Drink Poem | |

Sitting In My Deck Chair

The pale face of nature, of flowers and treetops
Has been lost without color, behind frost in the meadow
Under snow on the fence post, and the ice on the willow

So tattered and bobbing, and weary of hiding
So weary of biding her time in the fog
Tired of the doldrums, tired of the ho-hums ,  and weary of crying...

The pale face of nature, of gardens in springtime
Will drink in this morning, to find it surprising!
A lekker arrival !!
Of sunkissed horizons
Is blissfully welcomed with gold in the morning
All smitten with cheer !

Trees lean to the side
Drunk on the sun
Lifting their branches
And keeping it near

I long for it too
As I move out my chair
From under the shade
To drink in the sun
After dark winter days
To welcome it here

A lekker arrival
Is speckled in sunshine
I find it to be fine, to bask on my deck!
I'll poke out my neck to soak in the bliss
And what could be better than this?   Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!


________________________________________________________
For Suzette's Contest: "LEKKER"


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Copyright © Carrie Richards


Details | Drink Poem | |

The Pub II

Inside pub steins stout magic spoke
‘neath genie wisps of bangle smoke
Brown cone cigars, deep chubby pipes
Aromatic spills to breach the night.
Music calls to muted songs 
Rough knuckles echo Bodhrán drums.
Flute, melodeon, bouzouki*, mandolin
Penny whistles, uilleann pipes, one feisty violin.
Pied piper rhythms, pied piper beats
Bold Celtic persuasions to move proud legs and feet. 

To Daver and friendship, thank you!

* Bouzouki...A stringed instrument that could stand up to the volume and intensity of fiddles, flutes, accordions, and pipes.
*uilleann pipes...Irish bagpipes...melodeon. an Irish accordian

Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald


Details | Drink Poem | |

Blossoms And Bubbles

As I entered the garden the scents enticed
rampant rose blossom the arches fenced.

Cascading aromatic blossoms greeting me
amidst the climbers were the sweet pea.

In the centre stood the patio so glamorous
sparkling bubbles of champagne  so amorous.

Tickling the throat buds saturated with scent
from the tumbling blossoms as they descent.

Blood stream and breath full of roiling bubbles
and past swish the gentry parading in couples.

Raise your glasses in a toast as friends are wed
laughing, knowing they will all too soon be in bed.

Ah what a perfect day in this romantic garden
bubbles and blossoms tumbling as skies darken

Blossoms and bubbles never somniferous
mixed together they are becoming toxiferous.

written 03/25/2015

contest Blossom and Bubbles

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton


Details | Drink Poem | |

After Auld Lang Syne is sung

The horns are squeezed the bells ring out
Auld Lang Syne is sung, no one about
All gone to their homes, arm in arm they walk
A few bevies inside them, so they talk the talk. 

Of how it will be this coming year
Money no object, no fighting or fear
Till they get home, something seems to snap
The dog is kicked, the wife gets a slap

The bevies have taken over, control is nought
Peace ever after, what a grand thought
No use trying to coax or chivvy when like this
Definitely stand away, don't get close for a kiss

He will blame it on a bad pint, same as last year
Makes you want to forget new year with  all its fear
He needs to be locked up with a few likewise men
Bet he would never, beat his wife up again.

So all you men and women that drinks too much
this poem I hope your conscience will touch
Get a grip of yourself be a man keep off the beer
Give your family a break next new year


For all the abused women and children that fear holiday times

Penned 01/01/2015

Copyright © SEREN ROBERTS


Details | Drink Poem | |

LUCIFER and HOOCH

LUCIFER'S gullet was as parched as hell!

   He said, "Lord, some cold HOOCH, would do me well!"

      Lord said, "In thy condition,

         Smoldering in perdition,

            Not a snowball's chance in the place ye dwell!"

Entry for Catie Lindsey's  "L&H Limericks" Contest 

Took First Place in the contest.

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw


Details | Drink Poem | |

She O'the Morrow

Woman of Sorrow                                     She o'the Morrow


Drink to her whose sorrow                       Nay... I'll drink to her on the morrow...
Has aroused a poet's sigh;		         She who'd set my thoughts a'fly...
A woman who brought tomorrow             She from whom I'd borrowed...
What treasure can never buy.                  Treazure grand from silken thigh...
Her words are penned with sadness        Her words o'pen o'gladness...
And often an empty tone;                         Feelings oft thought as madness...
Along with all those feelings                     Full cool crost river's stone...
In a sea of tears from feeling alone.         A'drift in sea o'tear... o'smile felt hers alone.

Here's to her whose sorrow                     Here's to she of morrow...
Has made many a poet cry;                      Whose gift I so shall try...
Her words are read with tears	                 Her words thus through the years...
That rain like love from the sky.                Shall be as rain o'love from sky.
Now the sea will drink her tears               Aye! I'll toast then on that morrow...
With those we try to hide;                        Gone thus her fog o'sorrow...               
Here's to her whose sorrow                     As joy displaces fear...
Flows free from deep down inside.           When then our sea doth drink her tear...
                                                                 Mine as well fast by her side...
Elizabeth Wesley                                      Winds of pleazure set high our tide...                   
                                                                 So shall I my glass lift high...
                                                                 To she that sails on winds o'pride.


                                                                                    SeaWolf

Copyright © Caribbean SeaWolf


Details | Drink Poem | |

A Truly Inspiring Story

(this write is inspired by the real story of a homeless man who found a student's bag with two thousand nine hundred dollars cash in it. the student was bringing it to pay his tuition fees. without hesitation the homeless man used the information in the bag to return the student his belongings.) void loyd, he’s a bum smells of rum. covered in stink no kitchen sink he got nothing  he’s recovering come see it’s free. void loyd, he’s a bum smells of rum. scum!, right?, no light? hey buddy can you spare a dime? face it, wouldn’t give him the time. finds a sack gives it back twenty-nine hundred in cash didn’t keep it but isn’t he trash? void loyd, he’s a bum smells of rum. what did the student think his fingers covered in ink pockets his money calls his honey tells her loudly proclaims proudly ‘can’t judge a cover by its book, listen to me here’s the hook. school smart or street smart it comes down to the heart. that man lives in a ditch but sweetie he is rich. you have to take a second look never judge a cover by its book.’ void loyd, he’s a bum smells of rum.
8~29~2014 Sponsor: gautami phookan Contest Name: Sketch a Character

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne


Details | Drink Poem | |

Touch me

I am sitting in the dark, silently.
Sipping a drink as I did many times in the past.

Only now I am blushing, for my skin
has never been caressed with such deep voice before.

Those gentle vibes are dancing all over my body
and I cannot help but shiver.

Finally I surrender and let that sound please me.

Your warm whisper floating across the room
stops at my table and rests on my ears.

A muffled groan comes out of my mouth.

Suddenly I feel speechless, naked…
Covered only with your words,
which suit me perfectly.

The room is fulfilled with applause,
brighten by lights escaping through the window
as I walk away.

I left my glass slipper on the table
with a bitter- sweet lipstick mark on it.

Copyright © Danka Sikorska


Details | Drink Poem | |

ROSEBUD

You have a lovely Rosebud
a beauty,..if i may be so bold
i would stay and Taste your Rosebud
Longing and thirst have taken hold

Unwrapped ..the silk smooth tissue
Delectable aroma and taste within
Dancing tongue..rolls Rosebud gently
i will linger...quench my thirst, my sin

Flowery blooms..unbiden fruits
Releasing scents so strong...so fine
Heady....intoxicating flavours
love the Taste of Rosebud wine.

Copyright © Ian Guyler


Details | Drink Poem | |

W85th and Broadway

Does time matter to a sleepless city?
Waiting for the train to come…it'll have to come eventually
Most likely it won' even have my stop.
Hop on hop on while others hop off.
This particular track wasnt meant for them.
Next stop lexington and 125th street
UPTOWN. The voice crackles over the speaker.
5 more stops
5 more stops.
Close but not exact, the train is never exact.

The weak scavenge for a place to sit 
while the sturdy stand upright.

Stand clear of the closing doors. 

Humans packed tight together, 
cause for complete strangers to share conversation

Stand clear of the closing doors.

Open Close
The breaks screech again.
Open Close
On and Off
Still I stand strong keeping seats open for the ones who deserve it.

Does hard work really pay off? 
A city worker with a broken back is still broke. 
While a Wall Street broker affords to lose enough money 
to feed his family for an entire year.

On and off they go 
On and off they went 
busy bees and worker ants crawling on a ball of dirt.

Copyright © Gerald Moise


Details | Drink Poem | |

Poison

The taste of a warm, clear liquid runs through my throat. 
The bitter taste of love, feelings and emotions all in one clear bottle of venom.
How did it end to this, how did i end up doing this?
The taste gets bitter and bitter just like the flavor of you.
The fiery burn is hotter than hell itself, but i continue going on.
With every drink is another memory to forget, with every drop is another story to be forgotten. 
The numbness of feeling no pain gets stronger and stronger, Every action, every word ever spoken completely disappear with just another drop.
I soon forget but that doesn’t make me stop, why?
Shouldn’t the void clear up now?  shouldn’t the emptiness fill up with the venom, filling me up?
Shouldn’t the dark turn to a grey color and shouldn’t i be satisfied with the warm, fuzzy feeling of forgetting?
No, because how could you forget the emptiness, how could you forget those words, how can you turn an addiction to nothing more than a piece of forgotten string. 
How can you turn love into hate, and how can you turn me into a person?
With the month of addiction, the month of trial and error how did i end up being hurt the most? 
How did i end up turning into someone i’m not, how did i turn to the venom for forgiveness and hope.
5 years old, 8 years old, 10 years, 11 years old I swore to myself i wouldn’t.
I swore the poison would never go into my body, and become my only resort to the paradise called hope.
I swore i would never let substance control me.
But the ashy taste of cigarettes and the burn of venom became my best friend.
They became the only thing that let me forget, and let me feel something more than an endless void, a dark hole in my heart and vibrant colors in my mind. 
They became the only thing to look forward to in the day, the only thing i wanted.
It became very clear to me that the venom i depended on was the poison you left me with.
The only thing i had left was the taste of the warm, clear liquid showing me hope.. 

Copyright © Jillian Conway


Details | Drink Poem | |

Tongue Twister

Come hither, Mister Delicious.
Satiate my craving for saturating kisses.

Read these ready lips like romance fiction.
Practice your best parched desert depiction.

Slurp up this smorgasbord to savor
cherry chapstick and cinnamon disk's flavor.

Caress the texture of love's breath, pressed against companion lips.
Twist with saliva's slides and slips.

Play tongue tag like young ones chasing.
Stencil silent speech, each moment embracing.

Sip freely from the flowing fountain of Venus.
Spin to the rhythm of the heartbeat between us.

Copyright © Juliet Ligon


Details | Drink Poem | |

A Desert Song

I found the bottle lying on a dune of wind-swept sand,
And I brushed the grains upon it with a weak and trembling hand,

I was crazy-mad for water, I was more than three days dry,
So I pulled the cork with sand fouled teeth and spat it at the sky.

What came out wasn't water, it tasted more like smoke,
So I thought myself the victim of some fools cruel joke.

Then standing there before me, like a Muslim houri dressed,
Was a damsel more than beautiful, who my flaking face caressed.

She said "you've given me my freedom from my prison of the ages.
So I offer wishes numbering three as payment of your wages."

I knew what I desired, I knew what to wish for first,
I said "give drink to all upon this world who now suffer thirst.

But give those thirsty, a love of fellow, more than words upon the lip.
So they offer the bottle to a brother, before they take a sip.

And give those brethren gratitude, to kneel before they swallow
And thank whatevever God they serve for allowing them to follow."

When this was said I realised, my wishes all were spent,
Which was what I knew I'd wanted, from my first intent.

She said "o man, I see you're one, whom God has truly blessed,
So take a drink of water, and lay thee down to rest.

I grant thee freedom from jealousy, from earthly want, from sin.
Accept these gifts as tribute from an Effete of the Green Djinn."

My reason for wishing as I did, to this day seems to flee me,
But nightly as I slumber well, I still dream of Genie.

Copyright © William Kershaw


Details | Drink Poem | |

Grapes



grapes for the best wine
fresh from the richest vineyard
blessed on the altar

grapes for the best wine
fresh from the richest vineyard
connoisseur’s best choice

grapes for the best wine
fresh from the richest vineyard
difficult to spurn

grapes for the best wine
fresh from the richest vineyard
highlights on feast time


May 17,2013


Note: Originally, I wrote four haiku; but I entered only three in the contest. 

Prize: A book of poem by poet Alfred Vassallo entitled, In Search of Crazed Love

Copyright © Leonora Galinta


Details | Drink Poem | |

Essence Better with time

Ripened grapes turned to wine.
Brandy’s wine, burned in time.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.13.2014
Nette Onclaud’s Contest:
In its Essence 

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