Long Chablis Poems
Long Chablis Poems. Below are the most popular long Chablis by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chablis poems by poem length and keyword.
In my most endearing reveries, I journey once more
where monoliths of stone rose from the rocky shore
reminiscing the joyful days we spent along the quay
as sunrise painted pastel hues over waves in the bay
We gazed at the blush on the horizon, both enchanted
It was though Chablis and rose' were being decanted
generously poured into the sea in front of our eyes
as dawn was birthed in morning's Eastern skies
Barely older than innocence, on love's fragile verge
Emotions were undisguised as passion began to surge
Hesitant touches, clumsy kisses, awakened fascination
That summer was so much more than a mere flirtation
Haunted by the memories of the towering Cornwall cliffs
my heart will always wonder about those "what ifs"
What if we'd not parted. What if we'd let love prevail
Magic and mystery linger, much like an Arthurian tale
Amazing days we shared, leaving footprints on the coast
But it wasn't just geography that held me so engrossed
but the beauty of a woman and the spell on me she wove
in our romantic morning trysts, along that sandy Cove
The question itself begs interpretation,
The word 'where' concealing so many implications
Is this 'where' a physical place, or state of mind?
Perhaps it's with a higher consciousness aligned?
Boston, London, Paris, or Rome? Cairo, Lisbon, Moscow, or Gnome?
Were you abroad? Were you at sea? Were you in space? --Or just at home?
Perhaps you were in Timbuktu, or basking in the ambience of Xanadu,
Sailing away on pink Chablis, sipping winter-blossom chartreuse tea.
The word itself is a siren, inviting by utterance unimaginable peregrinations
Of connotations, demarcations, gesticulations, imprecations--divinations!
Fathomless depths, layers of meaning, shells of encasement, particulars
beaming:
'Here' is in 'where,' and so is 'were.' Were you here? Where? Posibilities
teeming..
Not to mention 'Ere' and 'Rhee:' Ere you were here, where were you, Rhee?
Ah, Rhee, my bold, my courageous, my daring--yet compassionate Draupadi.
Now ere I bid this poem adieu: Where were you in the 70s is the question.
Hmmm. I can't really say. Forgive me, please, this slight indiscretion.
Wild rambling roses of a pinkish bloom
dance in the breeze down by the sea.
Roots grasping deep in the tall wavy dunes.
Pussy Willows growing in a grandiose plume.
Cat birds cry from a tall shimmering tree.
Wild rambling roses of a pinkish bloom.
Summer is now here, so we all assume.
white gulls soar in the blue sky above me.
Roots grasping deep in the tall wavy dunes.
Nocturnal shadows creep into my room.
I fill my cherished cup with a green tea.
Wild rambling roses of a pinkish bloom.
Essence of lilac, such a lovely perfume.
Soon to be autumn and the wonderful jubilee.
Roots grasping deep in the tall wavy dunes.
Strong winds blow-up a sand simoom.
I sit on the deck with a glass of Chablis,
Wild rambling roses of a pinkish bloom;
Roots grasping deep in the tall wavy dunes.
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.
Her Love Colored Soul
A masterpiece of delight, that shimmers
in musical moonlight.
In its swirls, the mystical tales that disclose
tales of her delights.
The steamy crimson kisses, no, you will
never feel.
Her curvaceous body under finest lace and
satiny teal.
Her almost divine, angelic intervention,
That makes you bloom in a summer night's
passionate resurrection!
Her soft hands, to never touch your skin.
Because you are afraid that passion is a sin.
And thus, the moon surely doth take flight.
And you? You missed your Adonis night.
The scent of summer's evening flowers,
Overtakes you, in your lonely room.
Not even a chilled glass of Chablis,
Can replace her voice whispering, "I love you."
July 12, 2020
8pm PST
'Twas the night before Christmas, I awoke
to Santa in my house, a chubby bloke
He rubbed his pudgy tummy
Said, "The cookies are yummy.
But can you offer me a rum and coke?"
I stared at him with my mouth wide open
Hopin' Santa wasn't high from dopin'
He pointed to his nose
And told me, "This job blows,
It's the best way I can keep on copin'."
There were stomping sounds coming from my roof
One of his reindeer has a twitchy hoof
"When Rudolph has to go
That's how he lets me know."
Was Santa Claus tricking me with a spoof?
He asked about my wife. What a perve!
Thinking he was kinky threw me a curve
When he started dancing
The reindeer were prancing
All of them had gotten on my last nerve!
I finally kicked him out of my house
When he said he wanted to kiss my spouse
Dasher said, "That's a wrap.
Enough of this fake crap.
Santa's going down for being a louse!
The reindeer flew away, just before dawn
Leaving Santa Claus sprawled upon my lawn
I hid him beneath a quilt
Behind a snowman I built
So, my kids wouldn't know he's just a con
We scattered toys we'd bought under the tree
They'd never know they were from Mom and me
Nor that Santa's a fraud
Whose real name is Jean-Claude
Who imbibed far too much beer and Chablis!
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!
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?
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
My auntie’s best friend Liselotte
Adores making sweet panna cotta
Auntie’s over the moon
Grabs an enormous spoon
Then greedily gobbles the lotta!
By piling sweet treats on her plate
Poor auntie starts putting on weight
She steps on the scales
Then curses and wails
Must diet before it's too late
Written by Jan Allison
Jan's Auntie has become quite a glutton
Feasting on panna cotta and mutton
Now her butt crack's exposed
I'm keeping my eyes closed
Zipper's broken, and she popped a button
She devoured the custard and the Chablis
She's drunk and ready to go Full Monty
Not trying to be rude
But her plump rump, nude
Would bring about nightmares to haunt me
Written by Lin Lane
1/10/20
Jan's huge auntie had a weakness for cheese
When offered seconds always said" yes please"
She was known as' big Nelly'
Because of her fat belly
And her large boobies hung down to her knees...
She went off with her friends to sunny Spain
But would have needed three seats on the plane
Although it was freezing cold
Nelly opted for the hold
On landing they had to use a large crane...
Written by Tom Cunningham
Jan's too full Auntie crashes on the bed
complaining her guts hurt from too much bread
she lands with a loud pop
expelling gas nonstop
and yelling that was a relief, she said
Jan's Uncle is so tired he wants to sleep
He enters the bedroom, the stench is deep
Auntie is passed out
snoring like a trout
He runs back onto the couch with a leap
Written by Tania Kitchin
She went straight back to see Liselotte
and ate MORE of that thick panacotta!
But she’s full of regret
for right now she’s beset
by a quiver that’s making her totter.
The doctor explained. “If you gobble
too much of that stuff, then you’re nobbled!
You can run, you can sweat
off the calories - yet
you will NEVER get rid of the wobble!”
WRITTEN BY NINA PARMENTER