Bottling Poems | Examples

BUSY BUSY BUMBLE BEE

Busy…Buzzing…Bumble Bee
Busy Buzzing Bottling Honey
Jumbo Bundled Bumble Bee
With Bold-Brown Buttoned Bottoms 
And Billowy Belted Blemished Top
All well-suited for yet another
Busy-Busy Beautifully-Buzzing
Kind of Day
Bottling Golden Malted Honey
For the Bubble-Blowing Honey-Bee…•

Bullet for My Traffic

Sitting, knees bumping, fingers tapping
waiting for the Great Wall of China
to move. An angelic rift wafts over
the stereo, calming the boiling rage
bottling up in the gut for a few
more minutes.

The ambience, a slip into 
outer space, the guitar
sparking child-like awe-
a blessing to my strife

Holding back insanity with reins,
I scream I’m coming home
I’ve been gone for far too long

Brake lights two-step ahead
teasing a false reality
of turning tires

Thoughts drift across
the gaps in the music
the pot stopped boiling
an unsettling calm, into

A thundering storm
formed within the car

It seems I lost the reins, since
          my hearts burst into flames.

Waiting For Her

I'm waiting for her,
Coz she is magic,
I'm bottling up all my love,
To shower on her one day,

I'm waiting for her,
I didn't give up,
I'm collecting all the dreams,
That we are gonna live one day,

I'm waiting for her,
Coz she's worth it,
She is the woman of my life,
And I'm waiting to be her's one day,

I'm waiting for her,
Didn't stop loving her,
Just stopped telling her,
And this is for her.

Cider Time

CIDER TIME

Just like the leaves, apples eventually fall
An early hint of October’s natural bounty
The time to be making more cider is now
On misty mornings, picked from the bough
Recognised as due, throughout the county
A sharp taste not sweet, preferably small

Washed and sorted, chopped and crushed
The juice is strained, then left to ferment
But a little sugar and yeast may expedite
With years of experience, one does it right
Then a week or so until the bottling event
But it takes its own time, best never rushed

A popular drink ever since the dark ages
Especially in climates that are temperate
It’s a simple route to drinking satisfaction
That every time, secures a good reaction
And requires a good sleep to recuperate
Nectar of the Gods, as said by the sages

Peace

Peace isn't rare 
It's just a habit you bare
5minutes of affirmations every morning
A jog around the neighbourhood every evening
Talking about everything that hurts you
Instead of bottling up every emotion that bothers you
And when in the busy city life
 stress and anger twist in the knife
Find your peace in the glimmer of moonlight
sneaking through your window every night
Find your peace in reading a tale
Find peace in the fact that your food isn't stale
Find peace in droplets of water that hit the pavement in the cruel summer heat 
Lead your heart to where all the pheonix and dolphins come to meet
And when you find your peace in crisis
Let go of your gadgets and devices
Because peace isn't rare 
Its a habit you bare

Bottling Up Moments

There was never enough time with you,
so I decided to go back to 1970 
and bottle up moments 
that brought us laughter
and tears

proud moments, happy moments,
moments of togetherness 
we shared in secret, when your hands touched.

excited moments, thrilling moments,
moments that no one else could understand
moments that could not ever be explained.

the moments that belong to only us

Celie's Life

Four score and many more 
And still within her prime 
In her mind and in the woods, 
Hunting, fishing, trapping, 
A workhorse of a woman. 
Watch her go- swing the axe, 
Cleaving wood, making fence posts, 
Shoveling sand, raking it, 
Trapping rabbits, beavers, bears, 
Skinning, cleaning, bottling, 
Pelts, skins, berries wild, 
Out doing many a man is 
This woman of the North. 
She built her own houses, a carpenter, 
Lover of her cabin and the wild 
In Hawks Bay, Newfoundland.
Celie never rests. 
God bless her as she attributes to Him 
All her abilities and good health.
Celie - the woman does it all. 

A W.C.Hull Poem © 2010-2022-704 (D)

Determination

Why are many people perpetually angry?
Seems they look for reasons to growl
My father was always disgruntled, frankly,
He was always wearing a scowl.

Nothing we did ever pleased him, I recall,
He was always ready to criticize,
And when it came his turn to take a fall
It was someone else’s fault, in his eyes.

I grew up trying to stay out of his way
Avoiding any confrontation, you bet!
Biting my tongue, not having my say
Bottling it inside with tons of regret.

I’d have my say, come hell or high water
I avowed, with the utmost determination,
A resolve that came direct from my father
Never shared with him, to my consternation.

Written August 15, 2022

Smoke

Today is one of the days I feel like smoke. 
Choking myself.... bottling every feeling, 
not allowing myself to breathe. 
Covering everything with white ashes, 
turning things monotonous...black and white. 

I am not kerosene yet. 

I am not kerosene yet...it never corrodes,
 it forms impenetrable layers…
not allowing a chance for reversal. 
Not letting down a breathe,
excluding from every other thing... 

I am not kerosene. Yet. 

I am not even wrapped in a warm blanket. 
I am cold. 

I'm cold.
Sitting in smoking temperatures, I am cold. 
Frozen. Numb. Insensitive. 

Not wrapped in a warm blanket, I sit cold.

Human Bloom

a child collapsed cold in the garden 
talisman waved with the wind 
violently close to a pardoning-
hardening, molding the kin to her seam inter-winged 
horribly marbling volatile harmony 
azure veins fold under skin- jittering 
gently golden it stings 
effigy holding the strings 
partially fondling close within cartilage-
pieces now bloom into things-
before following- 
thin choreology
thew ending progeny
posed they erode intermittently- 
honestly, 
iridine progeny, 
how are you possibly
watching atrocity knead etymology 
skin abound covering, sleeving impossibly 
sinew renewed where it feeds on bare faucet leaks 
farther it blossoms then seeps something bodily 
oddity, pardon me
lovably blue and it bleeds out so audibly 
fissure pains bottling 
lowly imposingly- 
nearing a prophecy 
budding up slowly to figurehead modesty
petals all grown out- they shelter so somberly
flay splayed out flower-wise neatly and modestly 
peaking autonomy 
inky tear conjuring  
pink from the fostering
nauseously
cautiously failing to breathe

Laborer's Ode Ii - Bottled-Up Future

In his mid-30s but still a boy

Given $14.50 an hour and 12 hour shifts
Six days a week

His driver’s license confiscated
For five slung beers over a night long ago

Cost him $10,000
Contributed to the system
Of judges bailiffs lawyers and Presidents
All residents
Of the lakes and new mansions up north on weekends

Five years it will take him
To pay them for his sin.

Out here on the way to work
There are no buses
So the boy joins a line of third world refugees

Walking an hour and a half a day
Each way
Through the sweat of summer
And the snow of winter
From Greatdale Apartments
To the soda pop company’s bottling plant

He limps down the shoulder of King’s Road
Texting a screen scream to his desperate dad
“I can’t do this anymore!”

This
The only demand the son can manage

While Escalades
Roar by him
Side mirrors whisking within inches of his elbows

The thought of the American Dream
Or even the idea of a violent union revolution
Pouring out of him

Like his 10 cent returns
After work at the Party Store.

Brands, Your Blip Is Showing

Here's how much-sponsored brands get a boot—
Get public's sharp brow, and absolute,
There’s a point here to moot,
A point not in past put,
Nor passed a fair test ere:
Should ads talk in thin air?
For a change, shoes sold bite seller's foot!
______________________________________ 
Happenings|20.06.2021|

Poet’s note: This limerick follows what happened a few days back. Cristiano Ronaldo, a well-known footballer, removed a Coke bottle at a press conference and replaced it with one of water, and soon the company lost four billion dollars in its market capitalization. This does raise a few fundamental questions. India’s home brands, Amul and Fevicol, took a jibe each at these brands. Amul (the milkman of the nation) taunted: ‘Not bottling one’s feelings’; Fevicol (makers of various adhesives): ‘These bottles cannot be removed, nor will its valuation dip’. I loved it. Yes, markets do need some earthy humour in these hard times, a food for thought for them to mull.

Perfect Contradiction

Thank you for the contradiction
The do as I say, not as I do’s
The teaching through acts
The mind games with words

You made me who I am
Then complain about what you see
Yet here I am at a low
You not giving what I need

Anger, hatred, criticism
Is it a twisted game?
Love and understanding
Are they alien to you?

You gave me everything
Yet restricted its use
How can I function?
Whilst dreaming of a noose

You destroyed my sanity
Just leave me be
Bottling up my vanity
Emotions don’t flee

Bottled Rage

Inner rage at boiling point,
Fighting emotions, losing sight
Wanting to let go, dreading I might,
Bottling it up before it’s flight

Roaring and twisting, my tormented soul
Mind fighting reason, giving a goal.
Suffer in silence, or fight and lose all?
Sanity clawing, grasping the wall.

Too easy to kill, harder to drown
Inner most being, must think I’m a clown

My pain is my own
My mind it’s home
Here to stay
Don’t leave I pray
Don’t leave I pray

Lots of Bottles

A million plus blue bottles
washed up upon a shore

Each and every one with still
a sting in it's tentacles

And gasping for air

And along for the ride rode
a single blue bottle with a
message inside

Forewarning of the danger of
bottling thing's up

For fear of being told by other's
 to shut up

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