Best Chablis Poems
invert & impassive,
moon reflective like.. shadow"
taste blossom; copper chablis..
For once this is not fiction
Can you change the past?
I yearn to,
But on condition I carry with me
All that I have learned.
But you cannot change the past.
Still, I yearn for a bottle
Of chilled white wine Chablis.
Delicious on the palette,
Exquisite with rice and plenty of seafood.
The aroma of truffled sauce, the razor clams,
The pinkish prawns and open-wide oysters.
It is my delight.
I yearn for silence, away from rife,
The sounds of cars crashing, the boom of guns,
The killing of innocent people.
I yearn for peace.
I yearn to travel as I used,
For I visited half of Europe
And ventured to Brazil.
Now I’m Island bound and
Travel is no more.
You look good, they say.
But only on the outside.
I yearn for health inside:
The small inoperable cancer,
Kept in check by implants
With bouts of depression
That twice I deleted my poetry site.
Good thing I kept copies of my writings.
But my heart is weak after
Twenty years when I had a triple bypass.
My right eye has the beginning of a cataract,
My left knee needs a replacement
But with Diabetes 2 no operation can be done.
I yearn for my wife.
Seven years I still grieve for her.
She’s in Heaven now.
I yearn for my beloved Lord.
The creator of all.
I pray He takes care of me.
May He grant me a happy death.
And may the Rose of Sharon help me too.
My Dearest Lee…How we miss thee!
Please come back…here is our plea…
If you’d come back, we agree…
To eat cold Brussels sprouts and a pea
To swim across the Yellow sea
To take you on a shopping spree
To suck the stinger from a bee
To take you to Vail and let you ski
To shine your name on a marquee
To rig you kids’ spelling bee
To let you race in the Grand Prix
To arrange with the queen, afternoon tea
To kick Chris and Frank in the knee
To give up our glass of Chablis
To let you win every game of yahtzee
To run around naked, like a banshee
Lee, please come back and hear our plea
Then we will all be yellin’ “YIPPEE”
*Now Lee…we would never really kick Chris and Frank in the knee b/c we love them dearly but the rest is true :) We really miss your style of poetry…your message pieces…your unique way of telling a story. Please come back to us my dear.
By: Natalie The Rogue Rhymer :)
You see her giddy so you go and pour
Another cup of compliments so fine
She sees the letters swish and longs for more
The connoisseur, you know the best “word wine”
Your rhyme Chablis does best intoxicate
Her reason compromised, she leans on you
Your thirst for her tonight you’ll satiate
For you have longed to taste her rosebud dew
She drinks and laughs and lets you kiss her lips
A sigh escapes, all laced in longings deep
Your hands rove up the bounty of her hips
You hope her eyes don't see your lusting s~e~e~p
When you have had your fill, you leave her there
A logophile with heart exposed and bare
Eileen
There are so many things I am mad about.
Take sunrise with red clouds and soft rays
Penetrating through the water-laden clouds.
Rain is imminent, thunder threatening afar.
It matters not, for I love to stay cosy indoors.
Soon, it will rain, and with impulsive haste, I’ll
Sit at my beloved baby grand and play
A few tentative light-hearted arpeggios
Followed by a mesmerising, uplifting allegro
But never finish with some sad dirge.
By noon, the weather clears into a soft breeze
And I proceed to have a meal made up
Of my favourite shellfish and rigatoni
With shredded truffles and a glass of chilled Chablis.
From that terrace, I could see the turbulent sea,
Its waves roll nonchalantly towards the shore,
Rising and falling, always transient
And showering us with a froth of salty spray,
A sweet caress that tastes so pleasant on my lips.
There are so many things that give me pleasure and satisfaction.
And you, Madam? I still remember your sensitivity.
Your glossy lips met mine: It was the best thing I loved.
I went to a cheese and wine party on Saturday,
where huge platters of cheese were on display.
There was Gorgonzola and creamy white Brie,
I devoured huge chunks with a glass of Chablis.
Danish Blue, Mozzarella and Swiss Emmental,
of course I had to try a sample of them all!
I declined Edam and Gouda, I find them too waxy -
and the last time I ate them I was sick in the taxi!
Soft creamy Camembert and blue Roquefort,
went down a treat with a glass of vintage port.
Crumbly Cheshire and Cheddar were so divine,
and tasted heavenly with red Beaujolais wine.
I’d chomped through all of the Stinking Bishop,
our hostess had to restock the whole dish up!
Then I munched little cubes of Monterey Jack -
if my doctor saw me he’d have a heart attack!
When our host carried in a blue Stilton in a truckle,
I loosened a notch on my now straining belt buckle!
I admit blue cheese can smell like men's sweaty socks
but ripe Stilton and crackers, this cheese simply rocks!
Write a poem about Cheese Contest
Sponsored by Barry Stebbings
FICTION POEM FOR CONTEST
11/12/18
A packet of seeds arrived in the mail last week
with no hint of what they were, or how to be grown.
With curiosity aroused by their mystique,
I wondered just what I would reap from what I'd sown.
The very next day, there appeared weird little sprouts,
wiggling like fingers, rising up from rain soaked ground.
That these things were edible, I was having doubts
when I heard from deep inside one, a gurgling sound.
If this was a prank or some sort of wicked joke
someone was making a mockery out of me.
My heart nearly stopped; thought I was having a stroke.
I needed a drink, or a bottle of Chablis.
Suddenly, tendrils grew into a climbing vine
with blooms of white flowers, overflowing with wine.
August 16, 2020
Mystery Seeds Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
There flows in the blooming fields of Master, Claude Monet
a tulip river that springs to life with each impassioned stroke
A painting into which butterflies would be tempted to stray
where flowers waft in currents, making oohs and ahs evoke.
A Don Quixotic windmill and an old farmhouse in succession
short strokes of crimson, muted greens and boldest yellow
blended on canvas, the artist's Impressionistic expression.
Landscapes in natural light was the genius of this fellow.
I would snip a fresh bouquet of tulips to adorn a crystal vase
and capture their scent from the canvas for perfumed potpourri.
If I could climb inside a Monet painting, in my arms I'd embrace
you beside his tulip river and then sip a glass of crisp Chablis.
Is there anyone who can explain to me
why someone in the Soup community
would gripe about those on the lists,
ranting on with their pen in clenched fist?
How important can the lists possibly be
to set someone's nerves off so repeatedly.
Why dwell upon them with such negativity,
screeching and wailing like a banshee?
I don't know what the fuss is all about,
but I certainly don't see a reason to pout.
If their name is not on the lists, no doubt,
could be they're just jealous as all get out.
I don't care who writes the most poetry.
I don't join contests for people to notice me,
but why do they impugn poets unpleasantly?
Just ignore the lists and drink some Chablis.
If you are guilty of this, take a drink or two
and put an end to your nagging like a shrew.
I'm weary of your protests and hullabaloo,
squawking all around the site like a cuckoo.
Contest themes give poets a place to start
silly limericks, or something from the heart.
You disparage them, tearing them apart,
but a poet's lines are treasured works of art.
What's it to you if poets want to compete?
Are you afraid that you'd go down in defeat?
Instead of bahing like a sheep with each bleat,
turn your sour scorning into something sweet.
You get poem of the day or poem of the week.
How quick you are to label yours with a tweak,
not the mark of one who's humble and meek.
It's a bit hypocritical. That would be my critique.
Entering contests is a poet's choice, not a crime.
If there's a laddered list poets wish to climb,
it's not right for you to sound off or chime.
Why don't you just find some other pastime?
Charlie
That's Me
Detects
Suspects
Here's Clue
For Flu
Veggie
Suey
Ban Food
No Good
You Do
Flu Through
My Fee
Chablis
Glug Glug
Chug Chug...
So Long
Drink Gone
Chianti, Riesling, Chardonnay;
What kinda wine we gonna have today?
Pass that bottle, if you please -
I think I'll have a little more Chablis!
Swirl that stuff 'round in the glass...
Show 'em all that you got class!
Has it got the nose? Has it got the look?
Can you use it when you cook?
Wine, Wine, Wine
All hail the Grape Divine!
Wine, Wine, Wine
Makes everyone feel fine!
You got yours, I got mine -
Wine, Wine, Wine, Wine, Wine!
Sniff that bouquet up yer nose;
"What's the Year, d'you suppose?"
Could be red, could be white -
Either way, we're havin' wine tonight!
Truckin' on down to da liquor store;
Runnin' out - gotta get some more!
The folks at the counters all know my face -
I practically live down at the place!
Wine, Wine, Wine
All hail the Grape Divine!
Wine, Wine, Wine
Makes everyone feel fine!
You got yours, I got mine -
Wine, Wine, Wine, Wine, Wine!
Tokay, Shiraz, Pinot Noir!
I ain't never seen so many wines before!
Step right up and take a taste -
I ain't gonna let a single drop go to waste!
Wine, Wine, Wine
All hail the Grape Divine!
Wine, Wine, Wine
Makes everyone feel fine!
You got yours, and I got mine -
Wine, Wine, Wine, Wine, Wine!
I am addicted to raspberry tea
I prefer it to a fine French Chablis
If alcohol it contained
I'd stagger about half-brained
Guzzling gallons to gratify me
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Francine Robert's "Pick a Beverage, any Beverage" Contest - Oct 2011
The harbour rests from the rolling waves
Of a windswept and tempestuous sea
Beyond the breakwater lay sailors graves
Where shipwrecks in eternal sleep rest free
Once lured upon the rocks they didn’t see
Now ghosts of sailors take their endless rest
With sirens haunting cries, their bemoaning plea
Heard in the wind and the waves foaming crest
Yachts now moored, as their owners misbehaves
In dim lit cabins with lovers on their knee
Pink gin’s at sunset and acting like knaves
While jealous husbands spy hiding on the quay
And lovers sit on their boats drinking Chablis
Other yachts sit forlorn not looking their best
Their days spent at sea, with the call of the siren’s banshee
Heard in the wind and the waves foaming crest
Fishing boats chug past, their crew now waves
At those waiting for their catch with impish glee
On the quayside, fish, their customers now craves
And the fee for their catch they readily agree
Then having a meal completely buckshee
The fishermen go home for a well-earned rest
No more trawling, hearing sirens or wailing kelpie
Heard in the wind and the waves foaming crest
Life in the harbour for some is all but carefree
Yet for others it may not be so heaven blest
As they sail troubled seas where sirens can be
Heard in the wind and the waves foaming crest
We’re going on a break, R and R for a week.
It’ll be just my beautiful girl and me.
Plan on sitting on a beach, alone on a beach,
Just sipping some fine Chablis.
We’ll sit and we’ll talk about nothing at all,
Warming with the fine soft sand.
Slowly but surely kind of cooking ourselves,
Cooking until we are tanned.
Then we’ll wander in waves, vibrant radiant waves,
Getting hit, bashed, and crashed by the swell.
Until the end of each day when we’ll walk our way back,
Via pubs and cafes to our hotel.
There we’ll do what all loving couples can do,
And do it well into the night.
We’ll enjoy the calm dark, out by the warm poolside,
And do it in the moonlight.
Each day will begin with the slow hug, passionate kiss,
Hot coffee, and a warm bun.
We’ll be on a fiesta for a week at a beach,
For both of us a week full of fun.
At a corner cafe', in south central Marseilles,
While drinking imported Chablis
As people passed by, from the corner of my eye
Came a lady, she was smiling, at me
Well I looked around, feeling like a clown,
At the patrons, sitting nearby
They seemed to be lovers, talking to each other
I spun around, just in time, to say "hi"
"No parlez vous Englaise", was all she could say
So I stood up and pulled out a chair
But she walked up and hugged me, practically mugged me
Then kissed me like we were a pair
I shook myself loose, held up a deuce
For the waiter to bring her a glass
Then I sat back down, still looking around
Expecting to be rudely harassed
She had dark mousey hair, and oh what a pair
Of the sexiest dark brown eyes
I guessed her for thirty, obviously flirty
When the waiter finally arrived
He poured her some wine, she looked over at mine
Got up, started walking away
Then turning her head, In English she said
"Who the hell drinks imported in Marseilles"
by Daniel Turner