If 'music be the food of love,'
as the Avon Bard did write,
sing me a song of sixpence for my supper,
to see me through this star-crossed night.
And there'll be no need to drink to me
only with thine eyes,
as, for a happy hour or two,
a glass of euphoria I will pour for you.
A Green Fairy, guaranteed to relax inhibitions
and unwind the tired mind,
my fingers will do the walking
and talk to you in kind.
Rumoured to possess aphrodisiac qualities,
let's taste, not waste, nor this potent potion squander,
well you know, green means go and as true emerald is its hue,
Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.
With apologies to William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
La Fée Verte, Mistress of Wormwood,
High Consort of la Belle Époque,
Shimmering with joie de vivre.
She’s holding court with bohemian charm,
All haute couture with feathers and furs,
Promising what fools believe.
One spends the night with mademoiselle
In bondage to her whims and mercies,
Content to be softly chained,
Then wakes up nude in the Paris Commune,
A subject of interest in the Dreyfus Affair,
Wishing one had just abstained.
Enough is enough--
seriously how would it not
The fog rolling over my eyes
over my body
this fog that swallows my voice
annihilates my being
digs deep to my very soul
losing the me that
i so wish you would
want to know
want to love
Lost to the taste
of absinthe on my lips
AP: Honorable Mention 2023, Honorable Mention 2023
Color swirl, collision of
Light mesmerizes; the fire
Incinerates; a dust
fade-to-black…
Absinthe dreams.
It awakens artists & cures melancholy.
Take me away from this dark reality.
Numb my sorrows & heal my pain.
My wounds will heal, but will I love again?
Absinthe releases the "Green Fairy."
It has inspired writers like Mary Shelley.
Open my third eye to see the mystical.
Everyone's dreams should be magical.
It creates roles for actors to play.
Images of someone they may be someday.
Reciting stories written in rhyme.
An audience is taken to another place & time.
Absinthe releases the "Green Fairy."
It soothes the soul & relaxes the body.
It is a muse to poets like Edgar Allan Poe.
If he was reborn...where would he go?
In the firmament of trees
October's eye
looks down in cruel azure
on summer's absinthe leaves,
flocking like survivors
to a mortal haven.
Autumn's blood magma
creeps through leaves
bequeathing fire
and brittle amber.
Fertile frost breeds
in arctic prisms,
whispering feral eddas
as withering violets
echo bitter truth.
the
bass,
the
treble,
the
high,
high
hat,
rat
a
tat
tat,
throb
and
pull,
a
mad,
mad
pulse,
match
the
slow
pour
of
a
sloe
gin,
and
I
never
clap
for
the
rude
crescendo
of
her
tin
ear
and
his
last
call...
From a broken Heart, does one recover:
To know you will always love the other?
When discarded like trash, far too late, alas!
You soon discover you long for that Lover?
Drinking absinthe the color green,
snuck from Ireland in a bag unseen.
Dreams of faeries in my green bean patch,
chasing leprechauns I never can catch.
Into a cave, where St. Patrick sat,
on a rock, stroking an old fuzzy cat.
"What's up, Pat!" I said with a slur.
"You know" He said "Drink is not your cure."
"Well, Pat." I slurred. "It will work for now."
"Gotta go, I lost my bottle some how."
Back to the porch, I stumbled and crawled.
To awaken alone, with photos sprawled.
For the "Irish poem" contest
I was a non-believer in exodus
of nothingness.
Here you are,
I am.
In crimson sky
talking of nobody, unbuttoning the moon.
Fill up my glass
with tears of joy.
And sleep I must
in the arms of sorrow.
There was a shipwreck in absence
while chasing the eyes.
Satish Verma
honoring Rimbaud's birthday
... for some,
the wormwood of unholiness is the only sacrament known,
the ecstasy of wickedness their hymn, their
prayer, their psalm,
and the thunder-crashes aren't from hell alone
but a realm of madness known as god
thrashing about in gleeful drunkenness and
sudden epiphany of birth,
virgin in shimmering, ravishing darkness,
forever - ever, and amen...
The Green Fairy visits me
From an apothecary jar
And gives me a Commoner’s taste of heaven
Libations for one and all
In close proximity
Not from afar.
In smoke filled rooms
Of curling delights
I see diamonds
Reflected in all the lights
And Illumination
From the green glow
Possessed by the café’s glasses.
All is forgiven and forgotten
Within those walls of shame
There is a warmth and a comfort
To all its dismay…
As night turns toward midnight…
And midnight runs toward day.
There is no real obscure focus…
No magical hocus pocus
No real concentration of veritable belief
That the green fairy hides behind.
As absinthe begins and then continues on
To rule my body and my mind
And spirits me away
To a life of shortened days
But hours lengthened by the devotion
To The Green Fairy.
Copyright Christine A Kysely 2010 November 26, 2010
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.