Best Cognac Poems
What’s In The Urn
Strangers offered me to join them in a drink
I met them on a mountain edge while skiing
They seemed like friendly normal people then
So what could happen in a simple cabin?
Finding that which is not there or vanquished
What is there that cannot be perceived?
Placed upon the mantel piece are ashes in the cabin
Brass vase, a receptacle for lost souls sits in repose
A death vase to glare at over cognac
By the sober flames cast by
A fire place glow observed in action
Liquid spirits pour out their poison
In the cozy living room inside the cabin
Drinks alone cannot remove this feeling of distraction
The urn is piercing through my soul
People belong in cemeteries you know
With all due respect for the dead
Scatter them at sea when they‘re deceased
Not paraded around in gloom to cause unease
Or as a center piece for living rooms
I’m not relieved to find it is a lizard on the shelf
To be exact, an exotic iguana family friend entombed
And to assume that fact makes this matter optimal
I beg to differ on that point and voice my opinion later
There must be a plot of ground outside
Or toilet somewhere to flush it down
But better left unsaid, as they are bereaved about the death
And I am their invited guest
Iguana tried consuming the family’s cat
Another favorite pet I guess
It is surmised, that’s how it met its end
Wound up expired inside the urn
The receptacle was there and going nowhere on its own
I swear it follows me from room to room
By embers glow and ash, shadowing my every move
A brass smile casting off the urn, leaving me concerned
I could not take my leave
The container followed me
So I waited, fixated on the thing
Is it coming back to life to eat more bugs or me?
Finding that which is not there
Is easier in the dark
Rising to the occasion of the day that breaks
I must escape the premises to continue skiing
Into the frozen world outside I fly
With no discernible signs or paths to lead or learn
I get away, no time to say good-byes or find my way
Never again will I say; what’s in the urn
Categories:
cognac, adventure, animal, anxiety, conflict,
Form:
Quatrain
Energy is neither created, nor destroyed
but does transform
witness the log burning in the fireplace
cellulose and lignin combining with oxygen
yielding heat, water and CO2
and with you sitting so close beside me
another transformation's coming on.
Yet cracks appear as we age,
time and entropy take their toll,
and these days we go to more funerals
than weddings and christenings.
We've made arrangements to smooth
our affairs for those who remain and
laid up good whiskey and cognac
for our last remembrance.
I've chosen green burial
in a 500 year forest;
you cremation,
with your ashes
pressed into
a forever
diamond.
While we know our genes
carry on in our children
and our atoms will still cycle,
but there remains the question
of how the bit that makes us
us will merge with the cosmos.
Categories:
cognac, life,
Form:
Free verse
In a world where we are constantly told how we should do this and that,
we must learn to thank them for their opinions…but, to listen to our own
hearts and THINK for ourselves.
There is a difference between guidance & being told what to do; where
opinions are sometimes, sadly, just glorified pre-judgments in hiding. In this
world today, more than ever, we must stand our ground and water our seeds
with our own heartbeats.
Because in the time one could spend listening to loud/louder/loudest opinions
of why one should or shouldn’t do it someone else's way, one could have
already done it their own way. Always move in the direction of time:
Forward
...
Another herd of evaporated soliloquies
Flashing warning signs of good-will
Unto the lost
The deaf
The mute
The righteously blind
They simply ask for a sip of strenuous cognac
To lighten regurgitated burdens
Yet, throats become condensed with
Good intentions
Under a cratered moon, afflicted with two-faced vertigo
How can one stand in the face of adversity
When our legs are kicked from the same foundations
That opinion’s high court built
How can I be told to write with syllabic serenity
When a rambunctious rhyme
Would be the socialized death of me
“Guided” by educated parchments, recycled without signatures
…
If poetry is freedom,
Why do critics scream in beer-battered rings of opulent contradictions?
If poetry is freedom,
How is one frowned upon for speaking the word of Life, the word of God
The same God who told us to speak upon epiphanies’ climactic pain
Towards the same “heaven”,
They swear,
They’ll arrive at.
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
cognac, how i feel, life,
Form:
Free verse
For this desire
to someday be accommodated,
we shall sit in front of the fire,
lodge chairs at angles akin to talking low,
honey cognac thick,
whispers even thicker,
and you will tell me life.
From the moment your memory begins
you will unravel the senses in dark licorice words
by crackling light.
We will throw lithium on the fire
and watch the shadows turn red
in our laughter
...just children, really, despite our age...
The night will wane as good nights always do,
and we'll sleep on and off in the chairs,
in the midst of the other's story.
It won't matter, as it all becomes a dream anyway
and we'll never tend the fire till it gives up it's coal.
At 5 am our voices will be hoarse
and our legs will be angry at us for pretzeling them,
so we will rise to make strong coffee.
You, grinding powder brown beans,
and me finding two perfect cups for hand holding,
brushing past you electric in the process.
After the brew, after our lives have been told,
at the precise red photograph of sunrise,
we will sleep.
My head will fall sullen on your shoulder,
angry at my inability to control my eyes to stay with you a moment more,
and this new world, which has spun at twice it's
normal speed since meeting you,
will suddenly,
finally,
be still.
Categories:
cognac, happiness, life, peace, people,
Form:
Free verse
Silken linens scented of
last night's rendezvous,
still wafting midst
reticent moments,
cognac and aromatic
candlelight burning 'neath
surreptitious breaths,
as we unfurled
sultry seduction's poetry
'tween clandestine shadows
Categories:
cognac, dark, desire, love, lust,
Form:
Free verse
Standing there wearing
Baileys holding a Glass
of Cognac I notice your
time piece Kremlin findings
as you calmly approached
my shyness I recognised
the untimely gesture leaving
my quarters knowing full
well beruit was near you
offered yourself with no
strings an yet bombs sounded
throughout the night time
air I was taken an yet
startled King we were taken
to stone slabs draped with
teal fabric peppermint oils
garments of silk I wore you
into the night while we
cringed with fright the town
emptied the tower tumbled
I kelp yours smile in view
as your body crumbled into
the rumble of yesterday I
awakened to the sound of
the sun rising in the east
as I returned to blood
soaked carnage absent
from heaven remembering
only your touch your warmth
your illuminated essence burning
my soul whispering dasvidanyia
from Russia with love
Categories:
cognac, allah, creation, feelings,
Form:
Masnavi
Neglige' i bought earlier
Inspired my creative
Genius for
Hot and steamy, yet
Tasteless strip show
Cognac with our meal
Along with lingerie, spark such
Playful moods..
Categories:
cognac, passion
Form:
Acrostic
Human things
Are very tiring,
Pays homage to granite,
Welcomes the warmth
Of the sun that turns,
Welcomes the silence
On the pretty cemetery,
Human things
Are very tiring,
ignore young girls,
And the beautiful alexandrins,
ignores young men
The transparent glass
Filled it with cognac,
Get drunk, more often,
Of the beauty of the world,
human things
Are very tiring,
Welcome the sun
On your skin, quietly,
The birds are bright,
Human things
Are tiring,
Behold the primrose,
The golden sprig, the daffodil,
Love the silence,
Love the pink granite,
hear my deaf prayer,
Human things
Are very tiring,
Admire the primroses.
Categories:
cognac, appreciation, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Kneel down beside my river
Drink of my pure desire
As you make my body quiver
Setting my Essence on fire
Stroke me until I'm Intoxicated
From lips that taste of cognac
Doesn't have to be complicated
Melting until my body goes slack
Hold me like there's no tomorrow
Embrace me within warm arms
Then kiss away all of my sorrows
Steal my heart with all your charms
Categories:
cognac, love,
Form:
Rhyme
Why read Walt Whitman?
Because he writes majestic poems,
Luminous for who has a heart wounded by life,
Because he loves America and its men,*
That he writes that there is nothing more perfect than the earth,*
Because he walked in the ruts, the deep forests,
Because he saw the cities being built before his eyes,
Why read Walt Whitman?
"Because he is a cosmos, from Manhattan, the son" (I quote him),*
Because he is anything but narcissistic,
Because he understood that sweetness was a medicine
Like poetry, like travel or science,
Why read Walt Whitman, the grass leaves,
Because he is a friend, a brother, an interpreter,
He writes like one makes cinema, great cinema;
Because he is wary of faith, Because he loves the new and the old,*
Because he loves you reader, he could be like your "mother"
Because he loves you reader, like me,
Like the fire that feeds on what it burns, the wood,
That he needs you as a reader and that he knows it,
Why read Walt Whitman?
Because he understood that poetry is a bourbon or a cognac
A cocktail or a caipirinha, a sweet Chianti or a tequila
We drink it morning, noon, and evening, to no longer suffer.
* i quote the genius
Categories:
cognac, community, poets,
Form:
Free verse
As I sip on aged Cognac
swirling in circular sadness,
contained within cup made
of broken stained glass memories,
I witness.
Witnessing Cloud 9’s silhouette
surround this glued enigma.
Lionel Ritchie was the rock for this moment’s bliss.
“Truly in love,
with
you.”
Emanating across cathedral uncertainty,
breaking its glass.
This was a celebration of priceless Silver.
A currency only earned by the Philanthropists of Love.
Creating justifiable fantasies
with attainable dreams.
It was amor, maintained.
While I sip on Cognac’s remnants,
mixed with retina’s loneliness,
dripping
downwards
with smile craving soul-pack solution,
I exhale.
In “Deep Sigh” Symphony: No. 9.
With my ventricle chambers
kissing subconscious on forehead,
in preparation for dream come true.
Because one day,
that will
be
me.
© Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
cognac, anniversary, devotion, husband, life,
Form:
Free verse
"PARIS"
Her perfume follows him
from room to room
Lily-of-the-Valley-Roses
lingers in the corners
of his mind, the hollow of
his neck
a soft kiss some hot moment back
in time, a vintage tune
Breeze blows her curtains
wide open
her streets of soft pink velvet
pulsating
Cherry Blossom,
her Empress Trees
all her rapturous city's noises
sway in time to
all his heart’s
crying voices
Her Church steeple,
his place of worship
god’s altar
drink her wine
his hair ruffled
genuflection,
Choir of Angels sweet cry.
Spring rain softly caressing
his Winter window panes
stained glass
Cognac Kisses, sweet
nude vertigo
luscious dream,
wanton blisses,
his last golden
Libertango
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018 Jan)
1.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vaXNdVTGT0k
2.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h02LY6KnyoI
Categories:
cognac, desire, giving, imagery, lust,
Form:
Romanticism
Soldiers in the line of fire,
we're mic for hire,
we're for the cash or die
so all kneel to the poetic sire,
It's the black king from the goddess
plantin' cash seeds in the garden of loot,
It's the moment of truth,
My voice is like a volcanic box of chatter,
Poetry tracks will stab ya' like daggers,
My words scatter like when blood splatters,
As I unveil my wisdom & remedies,
My human acts & energies tend to be,
The formulas for your life & deaths proximity,
I'm mic for hire,
Spectators kneel & scream sire,
Trumpets get blown
As I spread my message like a town crier,
It's the arrival of the buffalo soldier,
You seized up in the RHYME PEDDLA'Z culture,
Fumes from my vocal box will choke ya',
As i drop poetic rain throughout your village,
And spillage from my mind damn creates a pillage,
For cash flow,
To the non-believers I slash throats and bag foes,
I'm equivalent to spontaneous combustion
When I splash quotes,
In verbal warfare, I'm psycotic and I don't frolic,
With my melodic manuscripts to leave your brain spotted,
With my symbol,
My mind runs fugitive like Richard Kimball,
360 degrees from my left temple back to my left temple,
I spit cerebral typhoons,
Spoken words and hype tunes,
Will penetrate your system
Leaving deep traces of mic wounds,
Which will reconstruct your eardrums,
I fears none but GOD the almighty big one,
A shot of cognac be my serum I need a swig son,
While i'm deep inside the trenches, relentless,
Trying to keep my adversaries hintless,
Many die quick, hard & centless,
Tryin' to phathom,
The magnectic lyrical orgasms,
From the dark skin grizzly adams
Categories:
cognac, hip hop, spoken word,
Form:
Rhyme
Stylish Zelli's shoes are unique,
they stand out in my neat boutique;
what a distinguished look
in a suit nobody took...
green cognac is gorgeous and chic!
Categories:
cognac, anniversary, funny, wedding
Form:
Limerick
The most elusive of all the big cats. A patient, intelligent, efficient
Hunter prowling and striking at prey with deadly intent and precision
Enigmatic. Adaptable. Strategic. Endangered. The...
Leopard, a wild cat native to the Serengeti Savannah and South Asia
Expert tree climber with sharp talons and searingly intense cognac eyes.
Opportunistic, nocturnal, powerful, aesthetically striking
Predator. A study in contradiction; simultaneously fierce and shy
Agile acrobat; quintessence of feline grace. A master of camouflage with
Rosettes on its fur and long tail. A ghost-like hunter, springing with
Deadly pounce. A loner. A stealth assassin
Your Favorite Animal In The Wild Poetry Contest/Winner(2nd Place)
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
Date written and posted: 05/11/2018
Submitted on 12/10/2019 for...
Your Favorite Animal Poetry Contest /Winner(1st Place)
Sponsored by: Gregory Paul
Categories:
cognac, animal,
Form:
Acrostic