Long Distillery Poems
Long Distillery Poems. Below are the most popular long Distillery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Distillery poems by poem length and keyword.
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Would like to come face to face with Gordon Ramsey.
Being on his reality cooking show quite suits my fancy.
Would like to create poetry soup worthy of his exaltation,
One that would make my soup a meaningful sensation.
What ingredients do I use,
Ones that would favor my persnickety muse?
The answer is simple you’ll quickly see.
Follow my advice, and the ‘bees knees’ you’re sure to be.
Start with a base of words so sweet,
Carefully chosen to make your poem complete.
Stir in a medley of metaphors,
While snacking on some petit fours.
Add a dash of delightful imagery
As you drink some wine from the local distillery.
Throw in a pinch of personification.
Stir and simmer and wait for aromatic conflation.
Spoon in syntactic seasoning for extra zing.
Remember to double check your apron string.
Toss in just the right amount of thyme.
Mince up some cadence and rhyme.
Throw in just a smidgen of wit.
Too much can be a distraction, I must admit.
Slowly sauté a couple of similes.
Doing so creates entrancing epiphanies.
‘Tis easy cooking up poetry—it’s like flicking your wrist.
Let the ingredients simmer while waiting to submit.
When it's time to serve,
Pour out your poetry soup with verve.
A steaming bowl, a feast for the mind.
You’ll nourish souls, one poem at a time.
. Mouser.
The distillery cat was flat on his back
He’d had too much to drink.
The silly moggy his mind was foggy
He could hardly think.
It was thee day he was on his way
His time was really up.
The rules require he must retire
So he had drunk from the goodbye cup!
Those little mice they didn’t think twice
they quickly ran amok
And in no time felt quite sublime
Could not believe their luck!
Tails in the air, Mouser so unaware
Their party had began.
For life’s a must, much was discussed
Like an employee ownership plan.
“Imagine if, Mouser was a stiff
And we all ruled this place,
By and large we’d be in charge
Something we could all embrace.”
But just at that appeared a Rat,
You know what they all say.
You’re never more than through a door
Away from their decay.
“Well gee whiz, so what is this
We have an open house.”
He said with grin, “I’ll just move in
And go and get my spouse.”
The mice felt down and wore a frown
And thought we can’t have this,
Awake that cat from off his mat
Get him out his drunken bliss.
So it was to great applause
He had ended up quite upset,
They’d got the hose and gave a dose
Of water cold and wet!
Mouser howled then he scowled
Jumped up and cried aloud,
“I’ll get those mice they are my vice
They will end up in a shroud.”
The mice did flee with so much glee
The Rat it disappeared.
Mousers head felt like stale bread
His paws they went real weird.
And so it was, like an arbitration clause
Came in the Big Bad Boss.
“What’s all this noise I don’t enjoys,
I prefer a hearing loss!”
So Mouser stayed, a big blockade
And the mice he tipped a wink,
The big brown Rat, he don’t like a cat
That’s had too much to drink!
Now drink can make you think
It can feel good alright.
Whiskey can make you frisky
But it can also make you fight!
For a Scottish cat enjoys combat
As much as a Father loves his daughter,
Although there is a cure,
maybe it is obscure,
We could of course add water!
Massil with Carn Mor Dearg
you rear up in massive bulk
Devonia volcano with collapsed dome
proud you stand against darkening skies
Many to your summit climb
wary of your cloud chambers
us mortals tremble at your storms
forked lightening flashing deadly bolts
Venomous mountain your Gaelic name
at your summit a series of ring dikes
your slope longest and steepest in this Isle
wide open your vast plateau, nay shelter here
Dropping to Glen Bennis Nibheis as you descend
be sure to visit the Glen's distillery for a dram
savour Usige Beatha" a taste of heaven for sure
Look up and wonder at the beauty of Beinn Nibheis
originally written 03/09/2013
As most of you will know Beinn Nibheis is Ben Nevis which in Gaelic meaning venomous
or malicious mountain, in a 5 year period responsible for 13 deaths. Usige Beatha means
water of life in Gaelic Massil means twinned with
They say that naught in life is free;
With that, I have to disagree.
In Oregon, you get the views
Of waves and sand and, if you choose,
A tour of something now in vogue -
The brewery where they make Rogue.
Their beers and spirits never fail
To bring some joy, like Dead Guy Ale
And on their tour, you see it made
For zero dollars - what we paid.
They gave us root beer - that's replaced
For 5 bucks with some beer to taste.
Their spirit barrels sure are super,
Crafted by their in-house cooper.
Whiskey, vodka, gin and rum
Are offered; payees sampled some.
And if this wasn't quite enough -
The Beer Museum - filled with stuff.
A smile-inducing part (still free!)
Was brew part to distillery.
We rode there in a little train;
From choo-choos! we could not refrain.
The passersby all waved and we
Responded with a childish glee.
All told, a bargain and such fun
I'd recommend to everyone!
In my close vicinity has come a neighbor
Who is seen by all as a terrible bore
No one is quite sure of his identity
Nobody seems to endure his audacity
If you go to him, he will bore you with his brag
With stories, your precious time he will drag
Once, with him if you have a chance encounter
Never will you dare to have another
When he begins his tedious yapping
The listeners start turning and yawning
Nobody, his words closely attend
Not a single soul wants to be his friend
He is equally puffed up as a pedant
About displaying knowledge he is ardent
But his learning is tawdry as a bauble
If probed deep, it bursts like a bubble!
Not that he lacks any sense of humor
But he has some shady deals, runs the rumor
Some say he runs an illegal distillery
His past is history and his present a mystery
Meeting him face to face is a fright
People often flee for life from his sight
Some say, he plays many a foul trick
That he is seen as a pestering tick
By his talk he makes others feel sick
To him not even his children do stick
Strange that he could easily be pleased
If his hunger for praise could be appeased
Among locals, he is called a bore
His new entry, they sorely deplore
If you have such an uncanny neighbor
Will you bear him or totally ignore?
Placed Second
1.Jan, 2022
King Size Bull Crap Poetry Contest
Sponsor- charles messina
i thought about leaving on a train
i thought about walking blindly in the rain
i thought about going somewhere where no one could find me
in the end it was your true love that would thankfully blind me
i thought about making you a casserole
i thought about making you filet of sole
i thought about taking you somewhere that you always dreamed of going
then you tell me that you will always be well travelled as long our love for each other is flowing
i thought about send you flowers special delivery
i thought about sending you a fancy thirst quencher from a distillery
i thought about expressing how your warm my heart with love that would accentuate the expressive beauty of each dimple
instead you took my left hand and said softly with a smile, 'keep it simple'
with that i say i love you as a small diamond pendant on your heart
you respond by kissing me with a quiet passion, simply saying with a smile, 'smart'
Jasper Newton Daniel was born in 1850.
He hailed from a small town called Lynchburg in Tennessee.
Jack was born on a farm located in Moore County.
He was one of twelve children born to the family.
At an early age, he started a distillery.
Its product would be a world-famous sour mash whiskey.
In a rectangular bottle with a black label,
“Old Number Seven” proved quite popular and able.
Despite the Civil War, and strong legal repression,
the whiskey even survived the Great Prohibition.
Jack Daniel never married and had heirs to bestow.
Therefore, the business went to his nephew Lem Motlow.
These two men earned the Tennessee whiskey a big name.
The Brown-Forman Company made it achieve more fame.
Jack Daniel’s success is something no one will deny.
This is strange considering the Lynchburg town is dry.
I thank both wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and Jack Daniel's website for information I obtained to write this poem.
This colorless liquor originated in Russia
The numbers of drinks it can make are a plethora.
It is distilled from potato mash, or from wheat or rye.
Its popularity is something no one can deny.
The name comes from “little water” in the Russian language
This charcoal-filtered spirit is paid global homage.
This has been consumed by many in each century.
It is produced worldwide at any distillery.
This liquor is one that has great versatility.
It’s served neat, or mixed with a variety of juices.
This distilled beverage has a host of great uses.
Vodka is found in common drinks like a Bloody Mary,
or found in some wild concoctions that seem quite contrary.
It comes in proof strength of eighty or one hundred.
For many connoisseurs, it’s a spirit that’s beloved.
Deathsnake coiling, squeezing.
Heavy soul wheezing.
Conforming for conjoining.
A trick or two sets the mood.
Teasing and pleasing.
For a quickened f-_-ening.
In distillery of proofs.
In massage of noose.
Native tongued nativity.
Masochism helix form.
Homing sense reaching.
To carry me the way home?
The distance sends a beacon.
An Emmissary.
A Prostitute of Heaven.
This sphere bounces carelessly.
Joy acting aloof.
In ignorant ecstacy.
In distillery of proofs.
In massage of noose.
Native tongued nativity.
Such a cold frivolity.
The mind does fear it.
An idiosyncrasy.
The closer you are near it.
Makes no nevermind.
Obsequious of spirit.
I say to self, this is sick?
Unscrupulousness.
With a shiver and a twitch.
Lightness now of solid form.
In it's foundation.
It's proving grounds, now shine, honed.
Ethereal warrior
Of understanding?
Trial by fires reborn?
Do I mean my prayers?
What is the endpoint.
My desires be not undone.
Do I deceive even me?
Synchronized, alone.
As I think myself clever.
Errors of grandeur to the bone.
Errors to the throne.
Touched in such a wicked way.
That no-one would ever know.
I feel not deranged.
I feel that I want to change.
Bridge me that comforting path.
Please, so I may know.
I'll suffer not wrath, but home.
I am sitting in the sun watching destiny on the run
the cars are circling around the bend and you can tell that
the show is coming to an end. The fire has gone out of the people
and reality is just setting in, humility is walking around the town
and shame is dressed in a long gown. The dignitaries are waiting in
the wings to answer the final questions, and make the verdict for everyone to hear. I have been sitting in the rain and sun for one year and eight months, working my heart out for you and hoping that your promise will come through to relocate me to another place. I have endured the batter, and bruises, the insults and the abuses; I have endured the punches and crunches, starvation, and hunger ,your mocking religious prayers and the people chanting death and destruction at the altar. This is not a game and you ought to feel ashamed because you have nothing to gain, and when the day is done your distillery will be empty. Human suffering is real and your sophisticated harassment around me is an attempt to destroy me and lower my dignity. You have made several attempts to kill me but destiny will take you away before you get the chance to hurt me again. I am malnourished and underfed, and I have nowhere to lay my head but my strong will power and in-depth spiritual energy have kept me alive until this very hour. I have absorbed your daily political brawl and I have stood up to dishonest politicians, the don men, the iron man on
the corner, and religious impersonators. I have made peace with the walking dead and the tower that has fallen from his head. The dignitaries are waiting in wings.