Best Pinot Noir Poems
Twenty fifth of December, three thousand and four
and already I'm down in the dumps
we're round at the neighbour's via tubes that save labour
propelled by some hydraulic pumps.
We've exchanged all our presents and got them unwrapped
once again I've got self-cleaning socks
the wife's Kevlar panties, though they are quite scanty
are going straight back in the box.
I'm constantly goaded to eat nuts they've downloaded
they'll try any tactic to feed ya
but the problem, I quibble is that some have been nibbled
as they're passed around on social media.
We're looking for doorways or just any more ways
to find a quick route to get out
and escape if we're able, being chased round the table
by genetically modified sprouts.
They've offered a glass of Martian Pinot noir
and they tell me it's alcohol free
so there goes my boozing and afternoon snoozing
and waking up just after tea.
Grandma kids are teasing, cryogenic freezing
means she won't wake up until noon
to find grapes in her hair and a plum, God knows where
and they've blocked up her nose with some spoons.
Don't know why they have bothered with plates that can hover
it seems so bone idle to me
they could have just handed the pudding that's landed
on the light fitting just above me.
The custard's abundant but the jug is redundant
administered now by syringe
and so is the Brandy which, though is quite handy
prevents us from having a binge.
When later we get back from fresh air and jet packs
remembering when we could walk
I'll look back fondly then to those Christmases when
we just used a knife and a fork.
November 16th 2015
For Contest 'A futuristic Christmas', sponsor Mystic Rose
COOKING WITH JIM
actually, with him in spirit, in the kitchen
of his quaint brownstone on West 12th Street
in Manhattan, decades after his death.
And quite at home with him, I chop and slice;
bake, twice-baked potatoes — their skins crisping
to perfection; roast, the prime tenderloin of beef
he’d earlier instructed me to hand-rub with
coarsely ground black pepper and kosher salt.
(I used sea salt and that was ok with him.)
Right now, he’s reminding me to stir my roux,
then I should add the crisp bacon bits, made earlier,
to the finely chopped spinach I just finished sautéing.
He says I should wait till the last minute
to toss the mélange of local field greens with
the lemongrette he had me make in lieu of
vinaigrette, because, it seems that vinegar
often spoils the taste of wine. As for the wines
with dinner: for the salad, I’m chilling
a 2011 Seyval Blanc from New York State;
with the beef dish, a 10-year-old California
Zinfandel; this followed by a 2010 Pinot Noir
from Oregon, paired with artisanal cheeses
from Vermont and Connecticut, plus
crisp sourdough rolls and flatbread;
and, in the frig, chilling, a late-harvest, Long Island
Riesling to complement the secret confection hidden
away on a silver tray till dessert-time.
According to Jim, red wine should be served at
room temperature, and since older reds have a layer
of sediment in the bottle, he said the Zin will need
to be decanted, and that, right before serving;
he wants the Pinot to breathe 15 minutes, or so,
in the glass before being drunk.
(The aeration of younger reds will rid those wines of
their chalky tasting tannins.) All this for my guests
who’ll soon be sitting round my dining table akin to
Jim’s 60 inch round green marble slab of a tabletop,
where, before the first bite of the Jim-inspired,
5-star meal, I’ll raise my glass to the big bald guy —
James Beard, “The Father of American Cuisine.”
Patriots and Seahawks, today head to head
Will wear the helmets; tooth and nail fight the day
University of Phoenix stadium, the beautiful Grand Canyon state
Sweat and blood will spill on cactus bed.
Hard training, pain, dedication and rivalry
Let it end today in guts, honor and glory.
“The Star- spangled Banner”, the sweet little song
That’s the way to start the game on
The Red, White and Blue, waving in the air
Jet planes stripe the sky in white smoky flair.
It is half time show; Katy Perry will soothe the ear
Lenny Kravitz will tear up our fear.
Time to have a drink baby
Cold beer, pinot noir or tequila savory
Let’s dive deep in some dips
Velveeta, salsa and tortilla chips.
Enjoy the platter of, hot wings, blue cheese and dill mayonnaise
Add some green olives, carrots and crunchy celeries.
Slices of pizza or meaty tacos, gasp my sigh
A bowl of chili, or even a chicken leg fry
Everything will go just fine
When we are all football high.
Forget all work, qualms and quarks
Keep your whining and politics inside the drawers
Let’s all watch the Super Bowl on this Sunday
And hold dear a simple pleasure in truly American way.
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!
Waiting for him to come home in my sexy low cut short black dress
To tangle my fingers around his curly blond hair
Kiss those soft lips the flame of my desire
Start a fire we cannot put out
Tonight marks our one-year wedding anniversary living and loving in paradise
I've prepared a candlelight dinner for two
Persimmon and Pomegranate salad
Quail in rose petals sauce
Couscous, with sultanas and pistachio
Garnished the plates with rose buds to set the mood
With a glass of fruity Pinot Noir red wine to warm and intoxicate the night
For dessert a wonderful strawberries and blueberries vanilla cream pie
To play and tease letting lips meet and kiss starting a flame of desire
Served out on the veranda under the romantic soft glow of the entertaining moon light and
A million stars with soft music and sweet fragrance of lavender wisteria as it perfumes the garden
I patiently wait for him at the door
Take his things and bathe myself in his hug and kiss placing my head against his chest and whisper
Happy Anniversary
Touching my soul memories being made binding our love with strawberries and wine
10/15/2015
They say Cabernet Sauvignon pairs nicely with steak
Pinotage, they reckon, for cheese
Tempranillo is the choice for Mexican grub
But, I'm somewhat easier to please
I've tried a fair few "Reds", on a weekend night
While chilling to some melodic jazz
I've had the brave, the bold and the border-line nasty
But I've never had a "Shy Shiraz"
I once had a good round Pinot Noir
And I've tried a spicy Grenache
I've felt the cranberry burst through a daring Gamay
Which cost me lots of cash
I've had a Beaujolais, which wasn't too pretty
Bought from a dodgy guy named "Baz"
Found a corked Chianti - rather a pity
But I've never had a "Shy Shiraz"
I've had a monster of a Monastrell
And a beautiful Petit Ver
A Mataro, which did nothing for me
A Malbec, which made my mind whirr
Yes, I like a glass, on a weekend night
You may prefer beer, whereas
I must keep looking, 'cos it's quite off-putting
That I've never found a "Shy Shiraz"
A Zinfandel gave me heartburn hell
And a Claret once cleared my head
A Merlot can make me beg for more
Rioja sends me merrily to bed
Yes, I like a bottle, on a weekend night
It gives my mind pizzazz
Then sends me mellow, like a good old fellow
Who's searching for a "Shy Shiraz"
This earth is fine, for those who love wine
I've had the old world, and the new
But until I find a "Shy Shiraz"
I'll just keep trying - as you do.
For a bottle of red, on a weekend night
Is a blend of razzmatazz
You can find me drinking, while secretly thinking
"I hope I never find a Shy Shiraz"
(MaGowen’s Pizzaland Monroe, CT 2008)
The caterwaul of the jukebox blends seamlessly with the screech of infants,
and the fumes of garlic hanging heavily in the air.
The true mama’s and papa’s are here, here where the dough flies
the glasses clink; and the Beatles belt out
Strawberry Fields Forever ....
The roar of unruly children,
bashing video buttons to Roll Over Beethoven
pounds into the diners temples, dulled with Pinot noir, Chianti
and pitchers of golden ale.
Trays, tall, saucer-shaped sit beside cherry red baskets
of pristine white bread, as the fire engine red corvettes pull up outside.
The jet-black and chrome model T’s vie for spaces on the asphalt lot
outside the restaurants doors.
Sweet-hearts wait for the cracked, green-vinyl booths
like penitents at a Sunday mornings mass.
Pizza pies fly by on stainless saucer- shaped plates
landing on cluttered Formica tables
dressed with vinegars and shake cheese
Racecars zoom around the game track;
as kids run pell-mell down the aisles.
And, only Mary Lou knows
“Who’s on first?”
A wine connoisseur and Life
Trickling pearls of red and white
The sizzling hot, the fizzing out
Pinot noir, Reisling, Chardonnay
Teroldego, Norton , Carbanet
Deliverance from all the doubts
As he sees, swirls, sniffs, sips, savors
For once he chooses, its best of world
The embroidered sweet drops with finest taste
The embellished pearly drops with blissful tizz
Oenophile's stemware filled with recherche expertise
Like a bagpiper playing best among best of tunes!
Floats our life's canoe over varied wines of emotions
We the connoisseurs need to take the tasting flight
And drink from bottles of right emotions
And drink from glasses poured in blends of doses right
To row the canoe through smoothest wines,
exotic choices we ought to make...
And enjoy the tizz of happiness,
Savor the taste of contentment,
Relish the sparkling journey
of life to cherish a vintage life!
©Anulaxmi Nayak, 2015
( had to drop it for contest as this exceeded 13 lines...)
Here I sit musing
Alone, except for pinot noir
I take out a knife
To pierce my heart
And let the blood flow into a dish
Now I have the ink to write
I can barely breathe
So I must be fast with pen
As I etch out my dreams on paper
Blood tells the story of my life
The redness of my desires is now known to you
I have stained the paper with a crimson tear
For this I am sorry
I have smeared this declaration
Of my undying love
Even a teardrop, can not destroy
My everlasting hope
That you know
I love you
The rain is falling
Pitter Patter
I sit on my porch and rock
My Pinot noir slips and shatters
The angry winds mock
I retrieve my lighter from the kitchen
Foolishly expecting to smoke
The enraged wind is full of tension
A gush of rain blew in to soak
My face wore a blank expression
In hopes the storm would taunt another
Portrayed myself oblivious to its aggression
We had a rivalry between each other
The rain is falling
Pitter Patter
I lie in my bed and watch the ceiling drip
A pot to catch the fallen water
Determined to go down with my ship
The storm refuses to cease
Floods consume the bottom level
My home falls apart piece by piece
The very foundation begins to bevel
The rain is falling
Pitter Patter
It rolls off the sides of my face
The storm rolls on, but it doesn't matter
This is a deserted place
Petite-o-tat-oes, baked
of a fiery oven
Crispy skin
as spud's innards
fluff into a hot
morsel of delight
Butter-drowned
sour cream, spices
Romaine lettuce wedge
french bread-fresh-baked
creamy brie, Pinot Noir
tantalized taste-buds
Like a hot fudge sauce
effused
onto stone-cold
tutti-frutti
sensate's tongue tip
Salivation!
timer
hums
readiness -
Delectable
Consumption
of crispy, savory
Petite-o-tat-oes
To blue flames
set-ablaze
dessert of
"Cherries Jubilee"
total fiction
I heard the words repeated on the news
so sick of them that my mind rebelled...
"Doge's plan and Trump commands
the Constitution should be banned.
Hell to that Chief! There's no relief
Breaking news only heightened the blues.
I don't want to hear anymore.
By seven P.M. I lost count of the trips
I'd made, walking fast, past my kitchen,
refusing to turn on the light to see
a day's worth of dirty dishes
that wish I'd make them sparkling clean.
They're staring with a look of contempt at me.
I knew what I'd find...
coffee grinds stuck to the filter
Raisin bran flakes
caked along the edge of a bowl
a saucer with a bunch of crusts
cut off of a sandwich from lunch.
I'll get to them later....
The excuse I used on myself
when the sink is a refuse of clutter.
I've become a recluse
and no one will see them anyway
and the old cliché of...
Tomorrow's another day.
By eight thirty I was bored
a time when food comes to mind
Hunger would not be ignored
A frozen dinner of mac and cheese
"Geeze" said my stomach
when it saw it coming...
"Oh PLEASE, don't do this to me"
Ok, ok...
chocolate ice cream
sounds better anyway
By ten, guilt pointed accusing fingers
lingering and wagging before my face.
Stop it!" I actually said aloud
"I'll get to them later,
first thing in the morning. You'll see."
My new mantra was repeated.
I decided to go to bed. My usual stunt,
but culpability was on the hunt
haunting and taunting inside my head
Two steps over the kitchen threshold
and my conscience took control
when I smelled the leftover fish.
The thought of facing each greasy dish
would not be on my to-do list come morning.
I knew my mouth was puckered in a pout
No doubt my yawns were angry at me
and my sudden notion of conviction...
a vow of benediction, it seems I'd taken
awakened me to the need for sanitation.
Liquid was pouring from two spouts
Hot water in the sink
and a 'clink' of glass on glass
Pinot Noir flowed from a decanter
I raised my stem and toasted the dishes
"Here's to wishes that don't come true."
There is a sublime pool of intersecting streams.
I wade that wet like watermelon's green.
Citrulline el citrine my cisterns be clean like the water's Maxwell.
The soul is luminous and gloomed by the taste of tart nectarines.
Ascorbic acid redox action.
Black berries and raspberry pi passions.
Anthocyanin dismutation.
Resveratrol is my midas touch; I turn water into a flight of Pinot noir and charcuterie plush.
I see your face and develop a crush.
I may improvise on your liquid piano a null note to Chopin.
Masquerade with a mask made of fluent time before the sluice is opened.
Lift my grail to fill of all with these mulled elixirs; to place in a potion of pairs.
Drop just a dram of it's dole on the serpent's forked tongue so that it's venom may be squared.
The juice of a dragon fruit dragon.
Take just a drop to succus for a homeopathic.
Used to incant with living spirits a sanguine pima mater.
It sweetens inside it's menstruum; imprinting it's mark in the water by delicate radio wave resonance.
All to be nestled in the sublingual space of an atoned tyrant.
Vitalized by the fruit's likeliness to my draconian ward.
Reconstituted by the essence of what was once the fruit of knowledge before.
Ripened, to a pursuit of love inside it's holon core.
Sunset rolling on through the sky,
Haze, what a truly magnificent sight.
To look ahead on the dusty track,
I see the outline of the home that is mine.
Never a thought to look behind me.
One foot in front of the other,
even closer to my desires.
Rubbing my eyes to clear the tears,
overwhelming feeling of pure emotion.
On one side of me, a lake so hypnotic,
shaded gently around the edges
with pine scent trees.
Red and yellow hues colour the sky,
highlighting the thin outline of clouds.
I gaze to the other side I see an assortment of beauty.
Dense woodland half covering a mountain range.
To see pure white snow on peaks,
but feeling the comfort of the warm sun on my face.
As I approach the place I now call home,
I sit on the rocking chair and face the setting sun.
Listening to the blend of the crickets playing the chorus,
my children laughing, leading each verse.
My wife next to me composing the harmony.
As I smile with a glass of Pinot Noir in hand,
I look over to my wife and see our lives endless.
Sun having set, there is no orange tint in the sky.
I vast blanket of black overhead with millions of diamonds inset.
How I feel at peace with my heart secured here.
Worry, a word that has no meaning.
Never having to wake from this lucid slumber
Knowing how blessed I am to have my dream made real.
In my many years I have found the ideal travelling companion. An escort who can be quiet and reserved yet sometimes,when required, strong and bold. Most times pleasantly agreeable. Her age it does not matter and in some cases the older the better. My companion can be sweet and sugary and maybe at times a little tart. Yet every now and then,contemporary with plenty of drive and a certain nuance of audacity. Red or white it makes no difference to me. Tis the grape that has become my friend, my travel guide to the world. She (and she must always be a she) has seduced me to sip my way through life. To enjoy its many pleasures and endure its many hardships. A cool sweet Chardonnay has been my Orient Express to intrigue, a potent port my African Queen to adventure and, a delicate red-fruit pinot noir my Apollo to the moon. I toast to you my friends and to my friend "The Grape".