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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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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 |

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, 
and we could sit together, on your couch. 
You, your feet tucked under you 
and your head against my chest, 
while I held you close to me, 
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 nothing hurried, 
no urgency in either life, 
and we could have another glass of wine 
and talk, earnestly, of matters serious, 
if we felt that way inclined. 
Or, we could 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 |

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 |

DJ Lance Romance

Dance dance
Into a trance
We beat as one
Sexual heat, sexual romance
Love is fire
Love is ice
Only in Trance
Do we feel the romance
We are hot, as we move
In the groove of summer nights
We beat as one
Trance embraced
Dancing loves feeling heat
Released in passions delight
We get hot
We get free ready for flight
In the beat 
Musical rhythms
Give us this heat
Love is fire
As we dance this night

We beat as one
Sexual heat, sexual romance


This poem is dedicated to a friend of mine who passed away suddenly, he was a DJ known as DJ Lance Romance. Although many may not relate to this style of music, this DJ was someone who loved life, his kids, and his knowledge of all genres of music was impressive indeed. Music is indeed a bridge that can bring people form diverse backgrounds together, to dance and smile!!


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 |

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.


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