Best Bottling Poems
A lonely beam of yellow-white light,
carving a curve in the ink of the night,
upon the snow-burdened branches of pine,
standing still guard to the lord of the line.
The icy wind howls in the silence serene,
tempting the light to avert and careen,
off of the timber and iron ahead,
into the water, the darkness, the dead.
And the blizzard, it beckons, with comfort sublime,
whispering rest to the lord of the line.
For burdens oft carried can even bend steel,
and wheels are not able to lay flat or kneel.
The engine is tempted, it lets out a peal,
a horn most forlorn to the wind most surreal.
Yet as the sound leaps through the valley of ice,
there redounds an echo—once, twice, and thrice!
And under the frost-covered rivets, inside,
the fire burns hotter, and strengthens the hide.
A purpose so strong is written within,
that heard from without, can bring life again.
As noble as Atlas, the train carries on,
knowing some where to go, and much where it's gone.
Accepting the fate of bitterest wine,
following on as the lord of the line.
But there is a crowd in the carriage behind,
they have many eyes, and still they are blind.
Driven by torment and anger and spite,
to tear out their hearts and sleep in the night.
Too proud to sound the horn of lonely man's fear,
their fires die within them, drowned by a tear,
a droplet of brine they would never expose,
so they swallow it whole, like blood in death-throes.
And they choke and they sputter, bottling steam,
they rush to the brink, as if in a dream.
A nightmare of pain in a cold hinterland.
And they cast off their life by no one's command.
In fear of the trials, they surrender their hope.
They laugh at life's line and they sever the rope.
A road through the darkness might lead on to shine.
Do you dare to take it, O Lord of the Line?
I look back fondly on this poem. Though I have grown in my ability to deviate from very structured poetry, I see my natural tendencies toward order when I look at this piece. I think PS drives me to explore new themes, structures, and ideas that will expand my abilities as a poet, and offer insight into my life outside of poetry.
Categories:
bottling, dark, life, light, loneliness,
Form:
Free verse
Subway, Pirelli, Hellinic bottling company
The Citigroup Inc, Herbal life and KFC
Also the Kimberly Clark Corporation
And Hilton are a disgrace to every peace loving nation.
McDonald's have now pulled out and have stopped trading
Or they'd have been in this poem that I'm naming and shaming
Sanctions will only work if every one is on board
To cripple that evil nation we need to cut the cord.
There are probably many more and I'll add them when I see
They're all still trading in Russia, helping their economy
Haven't these companies got one ounce of shame
They're indirectly helping Russia to bomb, kill and maim.
Show support for Ukraine, show them that you care
Buy your food, drinks and services from alternatives elsewhere
I'll never buy from them again as long as I'm alive
I'd rather die of thirst and hunger rather than see their profits thrive.
A big thanks to those companies who've already severed ties
And those innocent Russians who have seen through the lies
The price of goods will rise but it's a small price to pay
To ensure freedom prevails and Putin doesn't get his own way.
Written on 8th March 2022
Categories:
bottling, anger, humanity, international,
Form:
Rhyme
All these things that happened..playing ever so clear in my head.
They are my secrets to take with me, until the day that I am dead.
Too scared to tell anyone, suffocating me so I can't breathe.
Alone I face the darkness, bottling up every emotion because they only make me seethe.
People may read this, some confused but still those who know what it means.
This is the best way I can put it, these are my silent screams.
Everything comes crashing down on you..Why at such a cost?
You took my happiness from me, innocence once held to be forever lost.
It's so easy to say it never happened, everything felt behind a mask.
Blocking it is never permanent, the pain will always last.
It just couldn't stop at one bad thing, you pray the pain in your soul is numbing, just to have more trauma you never saw coming.
I can never escape it.. the sound of those silent screams.
They stay with me wherever I go, they even haunt my dreams.
I know what you are thinking, this is never something you want to see.
But some of us have terrifying secrets, that are ours alone to keep.
The people who will get this will know what these words mean.
Reading between the lines is easier than it may seem.
This story is heartbreaking to write. It's painful, sad and true..but these bad things happened to me and I pray they never happen to you.
I do not seek sympathy. These are just words left unspoken. I am not completely torn...I am just beautifully broken.
Categories:
bottling, abuse, anger, anxiety, child
Form:
Free verse
I’m an All-Star at bottling emotions,
I run around my court dribbling emotions
onto paper. Ball hogging my sensitivities,
no one has ever been able to catch me..
I’m too damn quick.
I’ve sent every nerve that has threatened
to expose itself deep into a dark hole.
Hammered a cross at it’s base labeled
"Eyes only."
The most technical term I could muster.
Most people steer clear of technicalities.
I’m suddenly thinking about Boyle’s law.
I feel like a hooked fish,
being reeled up from deep waters
and I can picture the rushing current
of self doubt passing over me
while you bring me ashore.
I can see your reaction
to my insides protruding
out of my mouth like that
Bass I caught in Conroe.
I just hope you can stand the image.
I’ve never felt a pull so strong.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.
Categories:
bottling, deep, fishing, love, love
Form:
Free verse
I couldnt take it anymore.
Dealing with Everyone elses
problems, always under stress,
bottling up inside what I wish I
could scream out. There's a
limit you know. A certain
amount of pressure your put
under until you snap. I tried as
had as I could, but when you
lose hope and feel like The
world is falling in on you and
the only way to escape is if..is
if you run away. So I did. No
more worrying, no more
coming home to my dad
shooting up, no more exscuses
of why I always have bruises
on my arms, no more fear.
Maybe it's just my generation
but life seems to be getting
worse as time goes on. Well..
not me. Im getting as far away
from this place as I can and
never coming back.
Categories:
bottling, sorrow
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Hey dude, who do you think you can prove?
How much pull will do?
I am a man I interrupt too,
I end-zone when I feel soothed,
at the end of the day-
or just because I moved,
when the cats come through,
and then jump in the room...
Bottling brews,
and make walking the chew-
talking the soup,
raging out on the roof,
catering to the bow,
make it rain up above the snow!
For eye's that grow...
And 'you will take it slow!'
One time or another you will hit your best go-
see it in with your vote,
preaching it after it pokes...
Because limber backs just might drape,
and naughty napes just might take,
rafters may shake as they blow you away-
in a daze,
roamin' around in a craze-
in a maze...
Made up of wave's,
and hile's and hails from the betrayed!
Wondering when they will feel paid,
a price that has some prey.
So gone in the weed of the breeze,
I can now sit and pray for the pleased,
and wait on a wave to come and hit me,
so my drift will ski,
and my boredom will eat.
Categories:
bottling, birth, blue, boy, bullying,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Remember me, the cool glass milk bottle. I used to sit on your front porch early in the morning. You could hear me arriving before the sun was up. I am a Bateson Model Dairy milk bottle, beautifully made of thick clear glass. A lot of milk bottles have been replaced with plastic but I am an expensive looking quality original. I am one of the most popular milk bottles in the area.
I came from a small processing dairy in Wingham, Ontario where the Bateson family owned and operated their business for many, many years. Working seven days a week during the very early hours bottling milk delivered from local farmers producing hundreds of bottles for their loyal customers.
Remember the wonderful clinking sound of the milk bottles arriving? Leaving out the empties represents many people’s first concept of recycling. I can remember that relatively traumatic moment when I was replaced with the carton. There was just something really wrong about pouring milk out of a carton because it didn’t have that refreshing coolness of a glass bottle. A cold bottle of milk has a certain integrity to it and the glass retains that. What a shame.
The milkman would deliver me to the door and collect the empties which held a few coins or milk tickets to pay for the fresh bottle of milk. Many conversations occurred on the stoop of each home as the family pet circled for a sniff. My travels around town went from the horse drawn milk wagon to a square van. Sometimes when the van stopped the old dog, Dina would wake up to chase a cat up a tree.
Over the years my shape has changed and my new caps gave me some upbeat fashion. But the quality of my contents stayed true. Sadly, if you show a child a glass milk bottle today he won’t know what it is. I come in many shapes and sizes, the quart, the pint, the half pint, the creamer and many more. The name printed on my side changed little over the years to keep the nostalgia of the small time dairy business.
Now I am considered an antique waiting on dusty shelves in antique shops for a new home. When you see me you may be thrilled to find a bit of history to place on the mantle of your home. You might recall childhood memories of the comforting sound of the milk man arriving at the door with fresh milk so very early in the morning.
Categories:
bottling, feelings, history, memory, nostalgia,
Form:
Narrative
Peter Beechey capped the last bottle, of the latest Lager that he'd brewed.
He's changed his recipe this time, so the argument will be renewed.
He say’s the Lager that I make is not near the standard that he sets,
now we'll argue this for hours until we’re finally making bets.
Stout, lager, bitters labeled; the smell of malt drifts through the shed.
Air-locked and popping through the water; a brew ferments below a head.
Us pair have now refined the art; our little breweries come of age.
No longer do we show impatience - we've stopped bottling hand grenades.
Both of our stocks have built up now and so of course the word soon spreads.
This means the visits from the connoisseurs; blokes each home brewer dreads.
On weekends we roll out 'Hilly' - insensible - to which beer is best.
Even the local cop and publican closed the pub to take the test.
Water, yeast, malt - but no sugar - clarity and flavour of the hops.
The head, right down to the barley, but the disagreeing never stops,
and 'Hilly' never cleared one point; our beers were locked in similar status.
We need an independent to give a true scientific basis.
I suggested what we ought to do, is send samples to the public analyst,
for he will clear the finer points; the ones that obviously we missed.
Three weeks later in the mail, his analyzing caused a further strain -
'Gentlemen, I regret to tell you - that neither horse will race again!'
Categories:
bottling, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
I'm aiming in every direction so you better duck down
You've came up against the champ, Sorry but your luck's out
One strike will have you dizzy and see your blood rush out
I call my pen Anthony Joshua because we don't care who or what we have to punch out
Fear isn't real, It's a myth just like writers block
The champ isn't scared he will fight the lot
One by one, so bring on the opponent
I've felt the same way since Eminem told me to sing for the moment
Made a few poor choices but now I'm trying to turn it into a grand day
I just want to find a loyal girl who looks like Ariana Grande
No more bottling my emotions up and hiding in my man cave
No more fear in my heart, you won't see my hands shake
The Crowd screaming "Ali Bomaye" commentators saying "everyone should fear him"
He'll leave you screaming on the floor like Neymar at the world cup when no one was near him
He proves himself by winning then talks about the stats
I'm the Anthony Joshua of poetry and that's a fact
I'm aiming in every direction so you better duck down
You've came up against the champ sorry but your luck's out
One strike will have you dizzy and see your blood rush out
I call my pen Anthony Joshua because we don't care who or what we have to punch out
Categories:
bottling, deep, humorous, inspiration, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
I have known earth was in in trouble since I was a nipper,
But I didn't know much,
Until the rest of the world,
Started lauding a country that is refuses to admit,
That water bottling plants are an abomination,
And that we have more than enough plastic,
In our bodies and in our rivers and lakes,
Not to mention the sea.
While it is true those residing here are may seem less greedy,
And less needy,
King tides are now more common,
And where a human life was seldom cut short,
It is now a weekly and sometimes daily event.
If New Zealand is the world's only hope,
The rest of the world should get out their microscope,
And stop comparing apples with oranges.
Thank god there are a few people who visited NZ in the fifties and sixties,
And revisited it before covid,
Our country had something going for it that it does not now,
Even if it needed to do better by minority groups,
We for the most part only died natural deaths,
Which mean't there were more second chances for us all,
And our communities were for the most part intact.
Wake up everybody,
NZ needs a kick in the pants,
Nots a whole lot of gold medals,
The bottom line here is that greed and corruption is happening,
More than you would like to think,
And gangs now control some of our towns,
And fear has sprung up in places ,
Where the meaning of the word,
Was hitherto unknown.
This is my warning to those in worse situations than us,
Do not give us a blank cheque,
Instead only give praise where praise is due,
Anything more is no help to me or you,
And another nail in the the coffin for a healthy environment,
In this part of the world,
That looks so cool from a distance.
Categories:
bottling, abuse, addiction, analogy, anger,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
What is not a question forms phraseology
Parallel worlds in freelance
A Fraction of elevated erudition
where days discuss weeks
hours neglect seconds
And accommodations without specifications
scar our ability to comprehend.
So an explanation sounds like run on sentences
Using the same words...how appropriate
This easily manifests memorization or hypnosis
or LORD.
Duly noted...the sickness of inception does not intercede
This fat swallowing, nerve bottling, bottomless pit.
Stays famished seeking atonement to vomit
and what is sincere continues to mask its true appearance
in how to believe its snug turtle neck.
"So how do I breathe?" You may ask.
Start over...You're welcome.
Categories:
bottling, giving,
Form:
Free verse
Flowers Are Miracles That Grow
C olors that splash and blend to heal
L ove held firm in holding hands.
O ne love that gifts fantastic thrill
V isions of peace in all lands.
E very heart finds destined true love
R emembering joys from above.
M eadows, flowers flowing up the hill
I nvite my soul to cleave to hers.
R acing out into winter's snowy chill
A soft touch she lovingly prefers.
C atching life and bottling its glee
L iving our life, just her and me.
E ternal hope as large as an Oak tree.
S weetest honey from my beautiful bee.
G oing out into a cool summer rain
R unning into her soft embrace.
O ften riding on her treasure train.
W ith smiles upon euphoric face.
Robert J. Lindley, 09-27-2015
( Clover, Miracles Grow)
Categories:
bottling, beauty, flower, green, imagery,
Form:
Acrostic
He was tough, he’d been raised to be big, fit and strong,
To hide any hurt, pain or fear.
He’d prepared for this fight, bottling his feelings,
Living an unemotional atmosphere.
Then the time had arrived, a fight till the end,
He had to win this fight at any price.
His opponent knocked on his door, ready to take him on,
By casually rolling the dice.
He swung to the left and glanced to the right,
Then an uppercut straight to the chin.
Then he kicked like a soldier, a seasoned marine,
And he thought he was going to win.
But his opponent was smart, and took all of his rage,
Took it with one boxing glove.
His opponent she won, so he lay down defeated,
Defeated by that emotion called love.
Categories:
bottling, emotions, love,
Form:
Quatrain
The dragon’s time table comes with lots of bubbling
no other way of reaching Life’s horizon
other than chilling with iniquity’s agents.
Lust comes with lots of Gifts so appealing
and my thoughts in full acceptance of lure into evil’s modeling
makes me a master and my deeds reaching the point of boiling.
Swirled towards hell, my Life is at the edge of Lucifer’s sling,
a legion of demons extend their fellowship to make me their darling,
shameful vices catching my youthful eyes like bling bling
with my mind in a regular outing with the devil to play bowling
as all virtues line up under his industry of re-bottling
to ascertain the destination of this ever destructive fling.
Even with the load, I still gracefully feel your gentle cling
with every wrong step marked in an appalling register
knocking softly from the outside for me to yield to such calling.
Despite how far I’ve gone astray, you still stay willing
to relief me of this heavy load and release me of this shame
confirming that Your love shown through my salvation oh lord
remains forever great and baffling.
Categories:
bottling, christian, god, spiritual,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
Rising to the dawn,
Grateful for the present.
Glowing yellow, the sky,
Rejoices in its joys- reservedly blent.
Sitting by the beach, past noon,
Soothing tranquility in the air.
The Abode, one with horizon, azure,
At peace it be, when within are all monsters' lair?
Standing in the rain,
Drenched in all despair.
All up above is gloomy grey,
Its sorrows it weeps, agony in its share!
Through those tears, a smile,
Kindled a fire, its warmth- hope.
Even the curve of seven colours,
Bottling bygones, spurious smile- trope!
At the sky up above, I look, I say,
"Whom has it done justice? Credence, dark dolours!
Everything you were, I was! Your beguiling visage- varient.
And yet there I am, underneath your only changing colours!"
Categories:
bottling, angst, betrayal, change, deep,
Form:
Rhyme