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Best Wine Poems

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

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A GLASS OF WINE by khan, sarojkumar
Words to Wine by Langford, Eton
The Wine and I by Derbyshire, Lionel
FROM WELCH'S TO WINE by Atkinson, Joye
Coplas on Wine by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan by Wignesan, T
Will Serve Bread with Wine by Horn, James
Red wine by Sundman, Gabriel
Red, Red Wine by Rhumour, Dave
Wine and Women by Conklin, Randall
Wine Has Legs by Ellison, Jack

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The Best Wine Poems

Details | Wine Poem | |


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.

Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009

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, 
and we 
would sit together on your couch, 
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, 
while speaking soberly 
of matters sombre, 
if we felt that way inclined. 
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. 
equally unhurried, we would not. 
And we would listen to the wind and rain 
and kiss and make unhurried love again. 
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, 
if I could spend the night. 

Copyright © Red OMara | Year Posted 2013

Details | Wine Poem | |

May I Caress Your Heart

Alone, in Paris
The flowers sing
Le jardin du Luxembourg
I look at all the pretty ladies
Which one of them pray tell 
Is you
The one who wishes for that sweet caress
The one whose painting hangs on the wall
The one who knows beauty runs deeper
Than a river running to kiss the oceans swell
The grandest of castles with candles dim
There in the damp night would bonds begin
If only you would listen to my whispers deep
Forgiving the scars I have suffered
As in the night I have wept
Napoleon marched forth across great lands
I the knight have lesser demands
If only you, whoever you are
Would take hold of me
As we dance away our eternities
Sur le pont de Avignon
Where the river flows
Like poetry

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

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

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Wine Poem | |

Life Like Tasting Wine

Hold it; let it breathe; it grows better with time. Ignoring its colors is a crime! Sniff and swirl it for a sign. Inhale. Sip. Divine! Slurp! Savor wine. The flavor that comes from YOUR vine is more enhanced when you dine - finding balance. Life can be sublime! Hold it; let it breathe; it grows better with time. Poetry Form: An Andaree written for Chase Trevi's "a wine connoisseur" poetry contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Details | Wine Poem | |

Can poetry matter

In the debate between accessible and difficult poems
Poets' poems and poems for people
Only the single poem and private reader matter

Both kinds and anything between can matter or not
Solid or made of air, a vase or heavy clay ashtray
One word repeated or many like a lei

An acquired taste, like wine, and like wine
Not sustenance, yet men die with their miseries
Uncut without it, news and mere matter

I advise everyone to keep a personal anthology of poems that matter
Or not. Perhaps it should be novels. Stones, insect wings,
Feathers, Birds you've seen, People loved.

Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015

Details | Wine Poem | |

Call me, Call me


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

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

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!

Copyright © Matthew Anish | Year Posted 2012

Details | Wine Poem | |

The Connoisseur

He was a connoisseur of beauty
But not of the usual kind
He could see the beauty within
Which all the others could not find

When he gazed upon a woman
He saw the sparkle of her soul
With his sweet and knowing smile
All her virtues he would extol

His eyes drank in the loveliness
That she'd cloistered within her heart
with words dipped in affirmation
he painted her: a work of art

He saw the aura of beauty
That shone brightly around her face
In each line of her full body
Sheer luxuriance he could trace

The connoisseur was an expert
At making her feel divine
In her ear he gently whispered
what made her exquisite, fine

When he had drunk in her beauty
He held on to the shapely glass
In his mouth her textured fullness
His rating? Certainly, first class!

The bottle that she had come in
was now trembling in his grip
And craving just a little more
Tilted the bottle to his lip

He licked the luscious last drop
Inebriated by her taste
A connoisseur of real beauty
he would let nothing go to waste

And so once more she was poured out
To the connoisseur of her soul
She gave him what he desired
the wine of love had made them whole

For Chase's the Connoisseur Contest

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

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.



Copyright © elizabeth wesley | Year Posted 2011

Details | Wine Poem | |


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

Copyright © Kristen Bruni | Year Posted 2014

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	

Copyright © Merv Webster | Year Posted 2013

Details | Wine Poem | |

To Truly Love and Drink The Cold, Cold Beer

To Truly Love and Drink The Cold, Cold Beer

What I once was and just why I survived
 I remember a life so damn contrived.
Reaching for moon and stars in the skies
 as time ate onward, loud my soul cries.

There was this ache that had to be fed
 I remember vividly each treasure in bed.
Reaching for ever more, such great pleasures
 as time ate onward, heart lost treasures.

Then came pride that most vicious master
 I remember forced me to race ever faster.
Reaching for more laurels to feed appetites
 as time ate onward, greater were the fights.

Later revenge on the world was the new call
 I remember punishing many, me most of all.
Reaching for a deeper, harder kind of pain
 as time ate onward, all folly made so plain.

I gave up the war, the race, the endless fights
 what I once was and just why I am now here.
Now I miss most dearly on hot August nights
is to truly love and drink that cold, cold beer!

Robert J. Lindley, 02-22-2015

Note: Truth in the telling my friends......

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2008

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

Copyright © Lisa Milligan | Year Posted 2006

Details | Wine Poem | |

The Foothills of the Himalayas

The swarthy young men sit, planted under the overhang
like the pansies and geraniums surrounding them in boxes
as the rain pelts the terra-cotta terrace; we beneath the awning.
The mountain air sharpens with the acrid taste of lightening.

Having bid farewell to the arched shard of rainbow across the valley;
we shiver watching the celestial fireworks bombardment of Katmandu.
The lightening stokes the day’s heat: earth, water, metal, fire, air,
curdel the early evening sky like the yogurt we ate for lunch.

A home-made rice wine pours over our tongues from an innocent
looking water bottle. Our eyes turn garnet with the harshness of it. 
The bottle with its tattered label sits upon the arm of a white chair.
The wine within tastes faintly of the gasoline. Yet, we reveled in it,

and the freedom wine lends us from the deep-seeded societal mores, 
of impending marriages, political, religious and of the heart. How, one woman 
seldom fits all three requirements. The wine flowed with the discussion.

Overhead, a bridal veil of stars drapes the horizon. Single as we three
are, we retire to discuss the finer points within the one bedroom
which was all that was available in the mountain inn.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Wine Poem | |

Upon What Distant Shores Dare We Tread

Upon What Distant Shores Dare We Tread

On what shores, do the soft, bouncing gleams of sad moonlight,
Wander through the misty gloom to glow upon the dark retreats,
Where the leaves only serve to scatter the sweetest gathering
Of mythical forested creature from the ancient days of yore;
No earthly wisdom can explain this mystery to friend or foe,
Or travelers through the fantastic spiritual realms at midnight
Often seeing the miracles of creatures that man can not explain,
Or the wonders within a fairy's multi-colored, majestic gleams.

Traveling, within such vast, unexplored and magical realms,
Into the congregation of creatures our minds so often fear.

Within such wooded and mystical terrain rests our hidden dreams,
Such that often we never ever dare to reveal to even ourselves,
Aching dreams of love and fantasy desires resting upon our minds
With images glistening of ancient trolls, dwarfs, fairies and elves;
Mere fodder to set our minds into a far deeper,inspiring landscape,
In a desperate search to meet higher beings to explain this place;
And as those bouncing gleams highlight the spiritual in the night,
That we may see, that God that we so dearly want to see face to face.

Traveling, within such vast, unexplored and magical realms,
Into the congregation of creatures our minds so often fear.

R.J. Lindley

Note- A rare offering of my actually writing a poem back then that was not primarily rhyme based.

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015

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....

Copyright © sarah hales | Year Posted 2010

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 
.....................................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 


Copyright © George Martin | Year Posted 2007

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.” 

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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.

Copyright © Michael Dom | Year Posted 2014

Details | Wine Poem | |


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
                  can take the time to enjoy one

Copyright © Michael Byte | Year Posted 2014

Details | Wine Poem | |

Pour The Wine

Pour the wine! 
Pour the wine! 
Pour the wine! 
Everything is fine.
When we pour the wine.
All the grapes.
From a very fine vine.
A glass for me.
A glass for you.
A glass for anybody.
Who ever wanted to..
Pour the wine! 
Pour the wine! 
Pour the wine! 
Open the gate.
Our cellar is great.
We gotta find time.
To pour the wine.
Pour the wine! 
Pour the wine! 
Pour the wine! 
Burgundy! Chateau! A Cabernet! 
A Cabernet on the bay.
With a girl named Rene.
So open the gate.
Our cellar is great.
We gotta find time.
To pour the wine.
Pour the wine! 
Pour the wine! 
Pour the wine! 

Wine Cellar Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2007,2014..ALL rights reserved..

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Wine Poem | |


I once knew a sedate gent with class,  
who would not drink red wine at church mass.
Would take a wee sip,
to wet his wee lip,
since red wine made him expel built gas.

Was time for his daughter to marry,
gentleman who liked to drink sherry.
Being a good dad,
he toasted the lad,
then prayed for audacious canary.

Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey

Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2011

Details | Wine Poem | |

Essence Better with time

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

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

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014