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Details | Wine Poem | |

Windowpanes

An ancient river, centuries-old shops and restaurants steeped in a 2000-year history and 
culture set the scene. The ambiance seemed divinely contrived to facilitate the purposes of 
our meeting and the very fodder from which the greatest poets are sustained.
Not newcomers to the area, Kay P. and I were assigned to the Army Security Agency Field 
Station in Augsburg, Germany in 1974. We were colleagues in the intelligence community 
with no romantic overtures to our relationship, save an appreciation of poetry and profound 
philosophical discussions. Kay wanted to spend the evening with a poet, so we planned the 
evening to be appropriate for the purpose. 
At the time and place, we quickly found ourselves hopelessly immersed in the philosophical 
foundations of my writings throughout the evening. It was the first time since Vietnam that 
I'd felt worthy as a person. I still recall sipping the red wine and feeling the warmth of the 
large hearth inside the Balkan eatery. I still see the swans gliding by on the Lech flowing by 
our café.

When windowpanes begin to weep with autumn's chilly dew, I'm taken back through seasons passed to one delight held true, A rendezvous that time allowed, a gentle evening spent Amid a time of long discord when days were dreary bent. I feel the stretch upon my lips, the smile returns once more. Again, I smell the Balkan fare prepared on Lech's old shore, The mood is cast in high regard, the wine is tart and dry, As Augsburg ripples in the wake when swans go gliding by. The ancient windows frame our view and day begins to wane As rivulets meander down and streak the dampened panes. The ambiance of ages passed beseeched us not to leave And held us in its warm embrace throughout the ebbing eve. My heart was scarred, without regard and hardened by the war But her esteem unveiled its worth, while nothing had before. She saw the child that once was me, I'd long since cast aside, And bade he climb astride his mount, engage his life and ride. Now, she is but a memory, whose kindness soothed my heart, For we embarked upon our lives on paths ordained to part. Her subtle way escaped my eye till time had made it clear That her esteem had set me free, that night I hold so dear. The poetry that filled my soul remains these many years, Impassioned in my warmest thoughts when autumn first appears, When windowpanes begin to weep, a-glisten with the dew, And I return to seasons passed, to one delight held true.

Details | Wine Poem | |

Call me, Call me

Crazy

If their is one breathing angel left in the universe
I do plead
Tell the gal to call me

If she has a heart, even of coal
Let me be the furnace
To burn her passions

If she doesn’t care
Let me care for both
Let the clouds carry us away

If I am a fool 
Let me dream
Of a magical time and place

When I listened to her sweet beautiful grace
Her voice the melody
Of my fantasy

Let me be
Let my love free
Call me and whisper to me

Sweet nothings

Details | Wine Poem | |

Boozer Not a Loser

A billionaire, he knew each wine by name

Todd Worthington of inheritance fame

      Blindfolded he taste-tested

     Fans watched so interested

Until a street boozer put him to shame


Fred stumbled in, challenged Todd to a race

Though Fred was not skilled in fine social grace

     Drank Todd under the table

     Todd out cold, Fred was able

To acquire high society’s embrace



Written June 18, 2011 
for Francine’s “Bottle of Wine (Fruit of the vine, when...” contest”

Details | Wine Poem | |

One Day if I Could Spend The Night

One day, perhaps if I could spend the night, 
I would stack your hearth with firewood 
so we could sit together on your couch 
you, your feet tucked under you, 
your head against my chest, 
while I held you close and breathed
that faint and lovely fragrance of your hair,
and we could dine on pizza and red wine, 
in the softly glowing firelight. 
One day, perhaps, if I could spend the night. 

One day, perhaps if I could spend the night, 
there would be no haste, 
no urgency in either of our lives, 
and we could have another glass of wine, 
speaking soberly of matters sombre, 
if we felt that way inclined. 
Or, we would have that other glass of wine 
and laugh at matters impolite, 
one day, perhaps, if I could spend the night. 

One day, perhaps if I could spend the night, 
when we were ready we would go to bed 
and kiss and make unhurried love. 
Or, equally unhurried, we would not. 
And we would listen to the wind and rain 
then kiss and make unhurried love again. 
Or, equally unhurried, we would not. 
And we would sleep, egg and spoon together, 
with each of us at peace. 
And everything in both our worlds, 
would be just right. 
One day, 
perhaps, 
if I could spend the night. 

Details | Wine Poem | |

Sweeter Than Wine


He pops the cork from vintage vine, then bubbles dance in scarlet wine I look his way, his eyes find mine The stars align, the stars align! He pours the glass, and as it tips one drop remains there, as I sip I leave for him upon my lips My heartbeat skips, my heartbeat skips! The wine my lips had not yet met becomes a bliss, I'll not forget A kiss that tastes of sweet claret Not one regret, not one regret
________________________________ Inspired by the Contest: Monetetra Sponsored by Kim Merryman 6/26/13

Details | Wine Poem | |

Wine

Take a drink of me,
Do I taste good on your lip?
I have smoothed with age, 
take me slowly as you sip.

From a long stemmed glass
or a bottle if you choose
I am chilled to perfection
Either way you won't loose

Take a drink of me
I will make you feel alright
I will soothe all your pain
and rest you well tonight.

Details | Wine Poem | |

Why Dot Won't LeAve the Farm

Dot Blogs she was a buxom lass and hefty heifer too
who married Bobby Eugene Blows when she was twenty- two.
They lived upon a dairy farm alongside Boggy Creek
and milked  a hundred fresian cows … yes seven days a week.

Now Dotty took to motherhood and had some eighteen kids
and Bobby too was very fond of all his billy lids.
Though life was using hand me downs from hats to underwear,
it taught them old world values; like the gift of how to share.

Dot seldom ventured from the place and trips to town were rare
as she’d become content with life and simple country fare.
But Bob, in a romantic mood, applied his boyish charm
and thought he’d hit the city and get Dotty off the farm.

Their anniversary was due and Bob now thought it time
to hit the big smoke for a change were they could wine and dine.
Well Dot had dressed up to the nines and looked a proper treat,
but how to fit her in the ute had poor Rob kind of beat.

Poor Dot was three axe handles when one measured ’cross her rump
and putting things politely she was rather flamin’ plump.
But Dot she was a country girl and just jumped in the back
and soon both her and husband Rob were heading down the track.

The cities razzle dazzle blew both Dot and Rob away
and headed for the classy place where they were gonna stay.
But when Dot hit the doorway well she then ran out of luck,
as she was jammed there tightly and evidently stuck. 

The chaps behind the service desk and three bell boys as well
they tried to push poor Dotty free but Robby knew darn well
that Dottie’s hefty hips were simply wedged in there too tight
and going out to wine and dine was now in doubt that night.

Just then a bell boy cried out loud, “I have a plan for sure.
I’ll grab the local rugby team that’s dining right next door.”
The forwards packed behind poor Dot and gave it all they had,
but all they did was stir her up and she was getting mad.

Then Rob remembered once back home how Bert the bull was jammed
real tight inside the race they had and how they fin’lly planned
to rub his hips with lots of grease and on the count of three
they’d hit him with a jigger and you’re right … he busted free.

The Motel staff then whipped around and searched each patron’s bag
and grabbed all sorts of greasy stuff their little hands could snag.
Rob rubbed old Dottie’s hips all down and laid it on real thick,
then grabbed the night guards stun gun;  it was sure to do the trick.

Poor Dot she kicked and bellowed when the voltage hit her hide
and man she cut some capers and she went all goggle eyed.
She snorted and she struggled like some poor wild frightened beast,
but just like Bert, Rob did admit, she busted free at least.

Now Dot is back at Boggy Creek and though poor Rob tries hard
she won’t budge from the Dairy farm; she just won’t budge a yard.
Poor Rob now does the shopping and the thing he finds bizarre
Is rubbing Dot down  ev’ry night where two prongs left a scar.

©Bush Poet and Balladeer -  Merv Webster	


Details | Wine Poem | |

The Wine Glass Of Love

                                     The wine glass of love
                                      Will  it  ever overflow
                                      Have you drank of  it
                                      Do  you really   know
                                      It's filled  to  the rim
                                      With   precious   love 
                                      And    understanding
                                      So  take  just  a   sip
                                     It's not too demanding
                                      And follow your heart
                                        With this gift for it
                                              Was given
                                                To you
                                                   F
                                                   O
                                                   R
                                                   A
                                                   L
                                                   L
                                                   T
                                                   H
                                                   E
                                            Sad Times
                                    When you feel so blue 



Dan Kearley:
                                                
                                                  
                                                    
                                                   
                                                   
                                                 
                                        



Details | Wine Poem | |

The Wine of Life

    The past has 
flown out the window
   The present is full of sorrow
   Look to the future 
for a taste of the  
   sweet wine of life 
Your tears will change to laughter
  if you focus on what is to come
Tomorrow - looming ahead like 
    a bright shining star
is something we should never
    lose sight of 
Let the dance begin!
   Let the songs be sung!
Let the wine of life 
   be poured 
         into gorgeous goblets of 
purest gold!

Details | Wine Poem | |

The Wisdom of Wine and Gin

My hair has receded and my belly grown fat
There’s hair growing in my ears and I don’t like that
My joints ache all the day and I have troubles with peeing
I’m tired all the time and have glasses for seeing
Gravity has taken over putting life in a downward spin
No wonder I enjoy drinking a little wine and gin

Details | Wine Poem | |

The Party

                                                         
The host was the most, an elegant man,
Who throws great parties like no one else can.
All were dressed to the nines for a special affair,
While men peeked at bosoms and tried not to stare.

The gathering together of local folks,
Were sitting and telling some witty jokes;
While ladies who came dressed in the latest style,
Vied with each other for a gentleman’s smile.

Candles were lit, the music played low,
The table was set in perfection’s glow;
With goblets of wine and bone china plates,
That defined the mind with earnest debates.

The fragrance of food that smelled so fine,
Was delivered with bottles of sweet scented wine;
And great steaming bowls of chicken soup,
Were served in style with a sterling silver scoop.

Roast beef with gravy was served with care,
With mashed potatoes and all the fanfare.
There were squash, carrots and dishes of beans,
And bowls of crisp chopped salad greens.

There was wine to sip and coffee to drink,
There was so much to eat, no one could think;
There was cake to splurge and gin to purge,
And all who ate quickly lost the urge.

The hours ticked by with buttons undone,
That belied the gourmet from having fun;
 For lessons they learned were simple and few,
A waist filled with haste is hard to undo.


 






.

Details | Wine Poem | |

Red Wine (Reflection)

Have you ever had sweet strawberry wine?
    Delicious fruit from straight off the vine
       The heady taste….a love of mine
            Delicate and tempting me
              Of summer sun and free
                 Have a glass and see
                  Shimmers of light
                   Glimmers bright
                        Star sight                         
                          Drink
                           Pink
                         I might
                     dream delight
                   September night
                  Ah…this fantasy
             Of that crimson berry
        Two chilled glasses-you and me
      The heady taste….a love of mine
   Delicious fruit from straight off the vine
 Have you ever had sweet strawberry wine?



I call this form Reflection
Lines go from ten syllables down to one then one syllable back up to ten
With a rhyme scheme of aaa bbb ccc dd ccc bbb aaa and the first three lines
Are the same as the last three lines.
Inspired by Mr. Michaels original form contest

Details | Wine Poem | |

Himalayan Sunset

The young men sat, planted under the overhang
like the pansies and geraniums that surrounded them in boxes,
as the rain pelted the terra-cotta terrace.

The mountain air was sharp with the taste of lightening.
Having bid farewell to the arched shard of a rainbow across the valley,
they sat tensely watching the celestial bombardment of Katmandu.

The lightening stoked the day’s heat, 
thickening the early evening sky like the yogurt they’d eaten for lunch.
A home-made rice wine poured freely over their tongues
from an innocent looking water bottle.
Their eyes turned garnet with the harshness of it. 

The bottle sat with its tattered label, upon the arm of the white chair.
The wine within tasted faintly of the gasoline,
yet, they reveled in it, and the freedom from deep seeded societal traits,
it freed them from.

Overhead, the sky was draped in a bridal veil of stars;
as I emerged from the room to sit beside them.

Details | Wine 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 

Details | Wine Poem | |

Waves Crash, Warm Sand

Waves crash, warm sand
Gold ring, your hand
I can't stay 
Away from you
But I know my place

You held my shaking body
Regret etched in your face
You know you’re not where you belong
But when you’re here
You belong to me
I can't make it go away
Not with the wine or the others
Or the lies I tell myself
About how I'm just lonely
And any man will do
Those words sound empty and hollow
I know what I want
And it's you
Cold white wine in crystal
While the fire crackles and glows
And my need for you grows
From the moment you leave my bed
The tension builds
Until I finally feel you inside me again
Caress your satin
Savor the taste of your kiss
Your breath against my thigh
Watching you
Watching me
You make me a little crazy

Waves crash, warm sand
Gold ring, your hand
I can't stay 
Away from you
But I know my place

There's a difference
Between feeling guilty and regret
Regret would be a knife in my soul
It's easier to let go
If the words of goodbye
Don't drop between us like heavy stones
Building an unscaleable wall
But we go back to reality
Who can say why
Life pulls two people together
I hate being trapped in this busy room
I don't need to turn around
To know you've walked in
I feel your eye's caress
That grabs me by the heart
And suddenly there's no air in this room
And I can't hear what anyone is saying
Over the pounding of my heart
And I can't see anything
But your smile
Even though it’s sweet torture to be near you
Even if I have to settle for feeling your eyes on me
Where I want your hands to be
Where I want your breath to be
Even though you make me feel a little crazy
Here I stay
I can't forget those nights
The sound of your guitar
I can't forget how you taste
And how you feel
Or the look on your face when you're inside
The look that makes my heart move
I don't know if it's beating harder
Or turning over
Or breaking
But it hurts
I know making love isn't a contract
I gave you my heart
It's not something you can give back
Caught in the moment like a rabbit in a snare
You lean over me and reach for the seashells we collected
In small paper cups
The touch of your hand blows me away
Your breath on my cheek blows me apart
I want to race away from you like a sandpiper from the waves
But I'll let the passion I feel for you
Crash like waves all over my body
As I sit here acting unaffected

Waves crash, warm sand
Gold ring, your hand
I can't stay 
Away from you
But I know my place

Details | Wine Poem | |

Words Like Wine & Water

It's difficult to fabricate a verse
whose words convey like water in a stream,
but one should try, for there is nothing worse
than words that cannot flow nor form a theme.

I wish to write with words imbued with spring:
the kind that bloom within the reader's mind
and linger with the scent that season brings;
no better words than these can writers find.

Though, words of autumn also can console,
and so I'd like my words to warmly fall
as different colors toward a common goal;
and, like that season, may such words enthrall.

Upon my page I wish for words like oil:
acutely bold and never poor in point,
the kind that gurgle under ivory soil
and long to meet the eyes that they'll anoint.

Have not you ever yearned for words like song--
the sort of dialect that sings when said,
or maybe words whose voices carry strong
within the reader's mind and ring when read?

I want my words to thrive like fervent fire--
engulfing every eye that wanders near,
to dance with little match and never tire,
for words should last and never cease to sear.

It's also my desire to write like ice,
with words akin to water-- smooth yet sound,
the kind that naturally form and gleam concise
when brought to light where thirsty eyes are found.

But every word at least should taste like wine:
a flavor fermented and rightly earned--
the kind when sipped again, tastes more refined,
the kind that urges readers to return.

Details | Wine Poem | |

Unburden

Unburden my life of desolation
the weight on my shoulders too heavy.
Can somebody please lighten my load
I am clearly needy and ready. 

All my life never asked a soul
To really help me out
I got by inch by inch
by being gracious with no shout

There is a point when somebody breaks
no human is made of steel. 
I've held in all my pain
More years than i can heal

when will there be a chapter
in this play i've been
That doesn't involve massive damage
Where i can just sit and grin. 

I cant wait any longer
My life that was taken away
need to begin. 

kristen bruni



Details | Wine Poem | |

A Nepali Dilemma

The swarthy young men sat, planted under the overhang
like the pansies and geraniums that surrounded them in boxes,
as the rain pelted the terra-cotta terrace.

The mountain air was sharp with the taste of lightening.
Having bid farewell to the arched shard of a rainbow across the valley,
they sat tensely watching the celestial bombardment of Katmandu.

The lightening stoked the day’s heat, 
thickening the early evening sky like the yogurt they’d eaten for lunch.
A home-made rice wine poured freely over their tongues
from an innocent looking water bottle.
Their eyes turned garnet with the harshness of it. 

The bottle sat with its tattered label, upon the arm of the white chair.
The wine within tasted faintly of the gasoline,
yet, they reveled in it, and the freedom from deep seeded societal traits,
of impending marriages, political, religious and of the heart;
one woman seldom fit all three requirements.
The wine flowed with the discussion.

Overhead, the sky was draped in a bridal veil of stars;
as I emerged from the room to sit beside them.

Details | Wine Poem | |

My glass of wine

I sit here drinking my wine 
I look over my own mind 
Over the days gone by
It gives no smile ,MY spirt is dying
What, where and when 
So many questions i try to answer
As life moves faster away

The years have dissappeared 
I can not count the missing smiles
I want to runaway
Day by day
I stay just to obey
I feel like prey
Waiting for the knock on the door

A prison gate surrounds me 
No key to the lock
I have tried
Each step seems wrong direction
Which way to go crossroads stands still
The memories tie me back

I still sit here with my glass
The bottle is still full
To love but not in that special way
It holds me here
My fear wont let go
As i sit with my glass of wine 
As i drift into a thought of unknown....



Details | Wine Poem | |

The Sands Of Time

.....I give you my all through the sands of time 
.......As your hearts rhythm beats with mine 
............Your face reflects my touch within 
..............As the sifting sands pour within 
.................You fill my arms forevermore 
...................Lips of wine wanting more 
.........................As time sifts through 
...............................A sky of blue 
.................................Two hearts 
.......................................Drift 
........................................By 
..........................................- 
........................................As 
.....................................A star 
................................Does shine 
.............................On lips of wine 
.........................Our bodies rubbing 
......................Our hearts start blazing 
..................Firey flames make you mine 
................As I give to you my eternal kiss 
...........You start shaking in a shivering bliss 
........Then your hearts rhythm beats with mine 
.....As I give you my all through the sands of time 

 
 
 
 
 

Details | Wine Poem | |

Wine

Such sweet grapes make up this luscious drink.
    Red or white dry or sweet depends on you
      Goes with spaghetti or a nice sea bass 
      Barefoot is the best in Chardonnay. To
      all his own depending what he desires.
      Great for all seasons and any time with
                    her on a date. Summer
                        time picnic great to
                            share a glass in
                                        the 
                                        sun.
                                        Any
                                        one
                  can take the time to enjoy one

Details | Wine Poem | |

A Glass Of Wine, A Thought, A Meaning

It’s amazing how a simple glass of wine,
Can unleash a hidden thought or meaning
You’d think as much as I’ve consumed in life, 
I would have a tome that’s gleaming 

Full of wise, sagacious oratory 
Of thoughts that help the mind
But maybe it’s all piffle, of the wrong kind

You see it’s a very simple thing, 
If you’re a writer from the heart
It doesn’t matter how or if you cloud it, 
It may someday become someone’s art

God has provided us one of many bounties, the grape
That sometimes helps unleash the sometimes hidden shape
Of some very blessed minds from the most blessed of us all
It may be a way to help reach our true selves, or sometimes break through a wall

So now that I’ve made this potentially absurd assertion
It’s time to prove the theory, with some not so perfect allocution
Of some wise, thoughtful insight into a single glass of wine 
For without passion and effort in the making 
It may not enable the divine

So maybe try a glass of the fermented grape 
When next you feel the block of the writer, 
And when others read your work thereafter, 
Things may turn out brighter.

Details | Wine Poem | |

When the Earth was in danger 4

Ref. Tandava Nritya* please see my Blog posted on 17th Feb Tandava Nritya or the Dance of ...

Prelude  of this story is given in part 1 of the epic.


When the Earth was in danger 4 of  

When her beautiful feet’s, touched the ground with a thrilling rhythm, 
To perform the best of their skills and the magic of her body and mind, 
She started her best the most eloquent steps, no one could follow that day,
As Urvashi was performing an art, which no one has ever performed.  14

A unique dance to match the rhythms of Shiva’s Tandava Nritya*, which
No one was capable to watch, such was the speed & elegance of her dance,
Even Gods and Goddesses too, could not understand what was happening,
Such was the beauty of her moving hands, thrilling body, her legs, feet’s and
The grace and beauty of Urvashi’s unprecedented magical dance.       15

To enchant Lord Shiva*, the Nature’s beauty and its wine splashed so high, 
That it touched the sky, wetting everything in its mood and flavor,
To fill the atmosphere more intoxicating, than the Sura* of heaven,
Everyone was only standing astonished, stunned with eyes wide opened. 16

When Urvashi’s feet’s touched the ground, no one could understand and 
When the drumbeats started to match her fleeing steps, again no one could follow,
The season had changed by then, by the presence of Basant* and
The Earth too began to play, a lofty musical notes on the ground and air,
To spread the intoxicating music and fragrance all around in the air.    17

By then the spectators of that divine dance, had lost their senses,
 By the flowing intoxication everywhere in the air, 
This unique happening on Earth, no one could ever understand completely,
As Spring had swept away the mind and their hearts, and 
The senses of everyone were  under the complete influence of 
Lord Shiva’s favorites, Nature, the Earth and the season of Spring.     18

Ravindra
Kanpur India 20th Feb 3011                            to continue in 5 /  

Clarifications:
Shiva* is the supreme God of Hindus

*Tandava Nritya* means Dance of destruction

Urvashi* was one of the most beautiful Apsara* of the court of Lord Indira of heaven, as
per Hindu mythology. She was a perfect dancer and singer.  

Lord Indira*  .   Is the  King of Kings. A warrior par excellence. Ruler of the heavens.
Dispenser of rain.

Basant* is Hindi Sanskrit word for the season of Spring. 

Sura*  a Sanskrit Hindi word means Nectar like wine of heaven.
   
Dahra*Hindi word  means earth.



Details | Wine Poem | |

Ode to a Mellow Glass of Chardonay - by Michael Dom

Marvellous Mellow Glass of Chardonnay
What was my life before you came my way?
My parched throat and tongue, my taste buds were rife,
My heart, my mouth, with the raw taste of life!
I would sweat by my brawn, or by my brows, 
Through the days and nights, for a wife and house;
But, with a Mellow Glass of Chardonnay,
My troubles and strife’s seem to wash away!
My heart, my mouth, would taste the sprite of life
If you were woman, I’d make you my wife!






*A poem written on a request from Keith Jackson AM.

Details | Wine Poem | |

Sister, Sister

Mother Superior faced a daunting task,
Like no other in her forty years.
She had prayed it simply wasn’t so,
That Godly intervention might belie her fears.

But sadly, there was no such intervention,
No relief from the duty she did rue.
Despite her hopes and all her prayers,
It had been confirmed.  What she feared was true.

So, she gathered all the Sisters after Vespers.
The impromptu meeting caused quite a stir.
There was murmuring as they filed into the chapel.
She hesitated for a moment... but no, she was sure.

“Sisters, I asked you all here to share some news.
It’s something I never thought I’d have to say.
We have a case of gonorrhea in the convent.”
Mary Catherine, a Sister for sixty years, said, 
“Oh, thank God.  I’m so tired of Chardonnay.”