Best Zin Poems
Upon attending “Her Requiem”, I felt a bit fractured and nearly insane
When a fantasy of golden haze, wearing a shiny “Halo of Grace”
Suggested it would be wise to take a “Journey to Spirit Mountain”
And maybe chase some butterflies in a “Transformed” state
Off I went, “Riding My Whims” into a glaring "Red Sun" morning
To my chagrin, “The Goddess of War” struts in with utterly no warning
Singing,-Girl you’re looking quite undone, it’s clear you're having no fun
Those fractures in the brain are going to require some “Change”-
The goddess continued her speech; but to her surprise I rolled my eyes while
She sang, -We’ve been invited to imbibe with “The Castaway and the Scribe”-
Well, the party was wild, folks drank all night, we all did the “Jive in a Beehive”
I downed the “Zin”, as the “Lust” crept in to my shapely “Scarlett” dress,
At the end of night I was seen hitching a ride to “Burn” my “Nemesis”
"It's All In The Titles" Contest by Adam Hapworth 08/19/2013
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.”
I can tolerate most any grub that is placed upon my plate,
Though I must be somewhat selective so as to control my weight!
I love a juicy New Yawk steak and taters with a slab of cherry pie,
'Cause I'm strictly a meat and taters sort of guy!
There ain't nothin' as tasty as a meatloaf with smashed pertaters,
With lots of gravy, new spring peas and fresh beefsteak termaters!
But spare me pickled pigs' feet or a feesh starin' me in the eye,
'Cause I'm strictly a meat and taters sort of guy!
I savor various kinds of soups and a good homemade stew,
And Beringer's White Zin wine with a delectable cordon bleu!
Sushi causes me to barf and pungent kimchi tears my eye!
I reckon by now you've guessed I'm a meat and taters sort of guy!
I relish the products hogs produce like sausage, bacon and ham,
And I don't care what others say, I'm an aficionado of good ol' Spam!
But Lord have mercy! Spare the anchovies, 'specially on a pizza pie,
'Cause I'm strictly a meat and taters sort of guy!
In these politically correct times, some folks might rashly conclude,
That since I detest certain grubs that I'm a prejudiced dude.
Well, that's their problem if we don't exactly see eye to eye.
It just so happens that I was born a meat and taters sort of guy!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Withering auras of Zin surround
The tears of a crying heart
Trickling down through ancient vines
Spilled into pools of sacred red wine
Where pain freely flows
Until the brooding heart glows
Embraced in time, sharp edges refined
Drifting to sheer delight
Zin pours from sepulchers divine
Sanctioned in muted candle’s light
Promises the spirit to ignite
Reflected in his sparkling eyes
Your beauty is zin in thoughts of you I swim
Feeling relaxed within harassed at the fact that I’m a wimp
When I try to let you in best expressed with my pen
The way I feel this is real untangible but I can feel
A connection look into your eyes and feel protection
From a lack of affection
In your atmosphere I’m at recess like Gretchen
Your in the east I’m a west wind
Barely come to a close
We continue in circles relapsing but I want to overdose
I just sit and wait with my eyes closed
Meditating trying to get rid of resistance like diodes
Seeking hope for you and I or just freedom to fly
Closer to you I’m high
Freefalling ignoring others passing by
On my way down loves my allaby
So im guilty as charged filthy with stars
Day dreaming of you then I put you in bars
Feeling blessed by your presence
Deep in the thought of your origins and essence
The feel of your lips pressed against mine in a session
Of indulging, examining your profile and emotion
Your smokey silohuette in motion
Choked up when togetherness is broken
Stimulated by your soul, I’m sold
Now I’m generating stocks to hold
Pleasure particles are overgrown
Synapse is overwhelmed me and you in our own realm
Our bodies light up with touch
Eyes want all the light our senses can conjer up,
Vegas
Hoping our interests are not different, collars up
On the same page when it comes to lust
And when it finally comes to we simultaneously combust
In the Islands day talk like you sing
don't know till ya been dar tiz an Island-ting
take two jig-um-ups tiz coke to fly
gave me shots of rum with coke on the side
smell dim gon-ja blown to day breeze
it be I-ree make day eyes chineese
you'z bee'z lookin like day rasta man
I past out with my face in the sand
I don't know why, I'll let you call it
I woke up 6 hours later without my walllet
so goto day Islands it's fun taz hear dim sings
just don't go do-zin dim wrong Island-tings
by Capt. Mike
ps yaz knows dim crabs bee'z taken yaz wallet Cap-pin Mikes
Yes mon but you stick around and hears another story if yaz likes
Pakistan is weeping now
weeping Burmese burnt dreams
weeping Cubans in Darfur
weeping Venezuelans
North Korea is weeping still
weeping Iranian uranium dream
weeping Chinese in Tibet
weeping Russians
the world wails
waning
and We sleep to dream
I am in bad mood, where’s the coconut cake?
How about a small chocolate chip cookie chaser?
A swig of white zin might help.
Still feeling blue I open the refrigerator.
My husband who does not know me after sixty years ask
“What are you looking for?”
If I knew that, I’d have eaten it by now.
I do not even know what we have, I have not bought groceries for years.
I hate that kind of store unless I am on a big diet. Then for three weeks I
Religiously get only the things I will eat. But this is only a couple of times
A year.
Diets are not good for some people and I am one of them.
I close the frig and reach for a small bag of potato chips on the table.
Take a step.
Rethink, spin, and grab another bag.
There is not enough salt and sugar in the world
For this problem, but it is a start.
There the rhythm goes,
With the drum, as we pose,
As the time goes by,
All the way with rhymes
Being made so fine,
Blessed, through with zin;
Though in this solo slime
Being bound with hollow crimes
That forsakes the being of Christ;
But we will always try,
If tough, even with cries,
To reach the maker of life,
With Prancing Poems and Poetry.
Sweat glistening on pallid skin,
icy hot, heavenly sin,
throbbing moments of sanguine zin,
Verdant shades of grey.
whispers of passion, ecstasy,
Invisible chains, bound, free,
Longing for what the flesh can see,
Bittersweet anticipation.
Nibble of a crimson lip,
Gasp into another kiss,
Thrusting against blushing bliss,
Carnal desire submerged.
Nerves drunk with vertigo,
dripping, spasms of afterglow,
Sated thirst, starving ego,
collapse into embrace.
Drift away, a languid dream,
Haunted by a moan, a scream,
Perfumed sighs, claws, cream,
Until we meet again.
I can not imagine
To live without a
heart
Like a car that
fails to start
And my head
Becomes a boiling
kettle
Dancing with steam
Like fairies from a
scene
Of the Midsummer
Night Dream
And my mind becomes
uncertain
Like I am blown by a
whirl wind
I can feel
afflictions
Because my world
devoid of love
I can feel
afflictions
Because I feel
forsaken from above
Hopeless
Wandering in the
wilderness of Zin
With each plan
failing
Like I am paying a
price for my sin
I could not find
I was blind
By ignorance and
selfishness
And the evil we do
on to others
Will one day come to
ourselves
Like mischief in the
night by little
green elves
For in life
We adore the
successful
And celebrate the
great
And care less about
men
Of less fate
For within us lies
Karibaras Fall
A place where dreams
are realized
No matter how cheap
or tall
But I am still
afflicted
And my heart
Bears my witness
Is failure a source
of strength or
weakness?
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Truth in Senses
by Jourdan Bilbrew
Jutting pines dancing wind branches that wave,
the smell from the needles excite your brain,
foliage, grass, and bark on the ground.
You realize you have a past
but don't turn around.
The present is euphoric
the future is vague,
happiness is mad
unless effort is made.
A hand that manipulates a pen
a mind that creates peace,
begins with zin,
zin can overwhelm hostility and pain.
A mental bruise begins to scar
healing can only begin
when the problem is shined upon
and not hidden in the dark.
Smoke is airborne
for a short period of time,
then evaporates or falls.
The smell remains so it collaborates
with all,
which is matter; therefore,
smoke is neither before or after
it's always like a stain
that is powerful in stature
"Will this make me some money?"
Saying so [[)
Will Money
Make Some
You
Ir0Nik Zin€
Moses, Miriam, Aaron and the children of Israel wandered into the wilderness of Zin.
The Israelites complained because there was no water, their patience was wearing thin.
God told Moses to take the rod, call the people and speak to the rock.
God said there would be enough water for the people and their livestock.
But instead of speaking to the rock like God commanded, Moses raised his hand and struck it with the rod.
Water flowed from the rock but Moses was punished because he became angry and didn't follow the command of God.
Because Moses didn't do as God commanded, God wouldn't let him lead the Israelites into the promised land.
Moses quickly learned that the best thing to do is to always do as Jehovah God commands.
I am inviting you to imbibe with me with a little drink said the cat.
The tiny mini mouse was surprised, for he had heard the cat was a rat.
What would we have to drink? He asked, a bit leery of this.
We’ll have some white Zin, it’s wonderful, said Cat Miss.
The tiny mouse sat on a toadstool and took a few sips.
The cat was all chatty and moved back and forth her cat hips.
You are so nervous! She said. Why can’t you relax like a bee?
Or a butterfly? Asked the pink monarch, whose name was Lee.
The mouse did not put his guard down, he was nervous as heck.
Cat Miss said, “I can get you some white Zen, bottled up in a peck.”
The mouse could not calm down, his home was quite a trek.
Unfortunately, he drank too much and ended up in a wreck.
Moral of the story is do not worry about what might not be
And if you go out drinking, stick to sassafras tea