Long Merlot Poems
Long Merlot Poems. Below are the most popular long Merlot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Merlot poems by poem length and keyword.
I followed milky and mouldy scents,
down cobbled and narrow paths,
only to see it riddled with rats,
feasting on Feta and Camembert,
whilst the wine sipping Uppers prepared to
clash against the cider swigging downers!
The Fromage Frenzy and Curd Craze deli.
across from the Dizzy Duck and the Boastful Bard taverns
had been ransacked with only cracker crumbs on the floor.
All the cheesemongers were hiding in their basements.
All the landlords locked away in their cellars!
Bar stools dripping with Chardonnay and Merlot,
carpets soaked in 'Scrumpy Jack' and 'Strongbow.'
It was utter chaos as the 'cheese shed' raged on...
The goats and the cows watched,
as the town folk gathered on either side.
Anger in their eyes, yelling insults like;
'Cheap cheddar gobblers' and 'stinky Stilton munchers.'
This was not cultural tensions,
nor issues with tariffs, quotas or labelling practises-
this was a war of the social classes!
They were not fighting with fists or weapons,
oh no, no no..
The Downers started squirting stinky cheese sauce,
drenching the Uppers with its reeking stench.
However, when the Uppers started hurling
Storico and Caciocavallo Podolico,
back at the Downers, they simply,
started consuming it with their cider!
Both fractions kept pelting and sprinkling,
until little Joey from the farm,
reminded them the football had started,
so off they plodded to watch the game,
singing and laughing together,
arm in arm, munching on cheese
they had salvaged from their skirmish.
Birds
care not
for whom they
sing, as beneath
skies of flickering
flowers and diamond dews~
we follow merlot wine rays..
For between steel dusk and bronze dawn,
where shadows of silent sonnets flow
we are all petals of imperfection
sharing the same sun glazed in honeyed hope~
that floats from purple hued pansies to~
ebony buds, wrapped in lilac
love and wisteria warmth,
like a blue bouquet of,
blissful butterflies
fluttering inked~
poetry
to the
stars
and
soul of
the rose moon,
mirroring his
selfless silhouette
forever calming the
freckled ripples of grieving
seas, tonight my heart knits rhymeless
pleas in saffron syllables, wishing
his gemini garden will glow and thrive…
Why we'd catered to the foundation of unpopular beliefs beyond what a romance like ours would follow beneath the calmness of people like us the fascinating wonder along the cities shoreline of gut wrenched haste we'd found each other in spite the gathering of hatred bestowed between the lines of a completed manuscript well kelp under my pillow why we'd balanced a certain novel approach to be forgiven if our love affair caused pain the lessons learned the writings on the wall poetically prohibited to love after writing a romantic love affair smothered by the mafia the creativeness the cunniness the sinking values of the old country crawling beyond the olive branches grapevines and lemon trees of tuscany finding me within the cupboards of cedar raw bourbon cigars painting a warm glass of merlot suddenly Italia began to bathe in my sweet nectar of kindness wrapped in nothing but desire hence a quiet find where being a female writer with masculine views why rather frowned upon throughout the twenty first century unless it's displayed on a mahogany mantel where Mann have left torn pages rippled wrapping of memos reminders that a woman could not write masculine binderies playwrites from beyond what's seen what's heard what's felt breaking barriers of what one believes should be allowed only in a sullen thought process the thinking kind the moral findings of patience and thought musing over the masterpiece I craved over labor pains breast feeding and hearing that a woman just can't write organized crime novels to be or not to be charmed by affection yet honored to be a writer
Time you know I’m on your side
I’ll be with you in a while
And even if it’s not on your side
You know I’ll be in just a while
Momentum can shift
In a days lip of a lift
Along with the wind
And the waters drift
I can move you forward
In the touch of a sip
Child you know time is on your side
I’ll be with you in a while
And even if it’s not on your side
You know I’ll be in just a while
If autumn calls
Then this winter’s for all
And as winners we’ll fall
Nothing makes everything
Mean so much more to you
And everything that’s logical
Means so little
In your moments of truth
Time you know I’m on your side
I’ll be with you in a while
And even if it’s not on your side
You know I’ll be in just a while
Merlot wine in the touch of a time
We weren’t exactly fond of
Truth was underlined
As the ability to move along
Mistakes were meant to sooth your wrong
A time I was yet too smooth to yawn
Tired and ale in a daze so pale
A heart attack followed by a stroke on the lawn
On and on we continue to moan
And now you know it won’t be long
“history”
when last rays of autumn - tip toe along to sunset streaked reveries
listen to the crisp breeze of fallen fairies - truth floats through tawny tunes
whilst crickets chirp - lulling grieving trees - silhouette of sky bursts in gold
a crumpled haven of seraphic swings - whistling wind-swept dreams of brown
as twilight bleeds merlot red runes - shifting shades of coral pink clouds weep
flurry flakes curve - amidst a deep labyrinth of chamomile silence
butterflies rest upon rain rinsed roses - exhaling brisk balmy blues
timeless tales of forgotten tulips - yet between dusk and dawn faith thrives
and frost-kissed hope - swiftly turns a new leaf - feathered with crystal belief
but - if to love your moon is madness - let stars fade into cosmic dust
ITs another Halloween
There are groups walking the street
Looking happy with themselves
And their stash from trick or treat
We’ve got toffees by the door
And a bag of lollipops
I’ve taped up the letterbox
To stop unwanted drops
The tree outside is webbed
The pumpkin lights are lit
I’m dressed up like Hagrid
But my costume doesn’t fit
Waiting for the neighbours
And their throng of ghosts and ghouls
For the annual spooky party
We host again like fools
And suddenly the house is full
Excitements on the rise
The dog’s under the table
Fearing her demise
Hoops thrown around witches hats
The mummy has been dressed
Now it’s time for Zombie Tag
The dogs looking more stressed
The din moves to the garden
security lights ablaze
The apples have been bobbed
So now it’s time to graze.
A table spread with orange cakes
With crisps and monster munch
Soon looks like a tornadoes past
Did these kids not have their lunch ?
Can we watch the telly now ?
I hear a little pumpkin plead
Casper the friendly ghost is on
Yes ! i say - just what we need
Now it’s time for the grown ups
Who look exhausted tired and grey
Eying up some different spirits -
Called Merlot and Cabernet !
“Mums fallen in the bobbing bowl”
It’s tipped and made a flood
“ Bit too much red wine ?’ asked Bob
No I said - It’s vampire blood !
A sleepy superman appears
Arms outstretches I hug him tight
It’s time to wrap this party up
See you all on firework night
The vastness of it all mi
ancestors the shores of
pastel climbing beneath
my feet essence of Veneto
the wildness of black cherries
bluntness of plums strings
of grapes opened just so
found behind a glass of
Merlot singing lemoncello
crowding tastes buds through
rows of lemon trees crawling
olive branches sweeping the
stone ways a covenant of mi
Nonna dancing throughout
Rome mi ancestors Mason
Veneto builders an yet
cemeteries where religious
statues buildings tombstones
are crafted by the blood
of my ancestors hands
all over Italy the vastness
of it all remembering
mi Nonna remembering Rome
not a biography
certainly not an
autobiography
but an audio
biography
here i am with her
dancing though
i don't dance
but my ears
do due to
her words
play me
pluck me
like a harp
a note's
worth a
letter so
a chord
forms
a word
tritones begin
the basics of
baby stepping
nursery rhyme
lettered words
BIG and in
colored blocks
so let's play
on and build up
on
these
and
add
a
seventh
an eleventh
even a thirt
eenth but
think about
the implications
instrumentation
interestingly
as
interesting
shapes
form
and
run
off
the
page in rages of
improvisation in
an attempt to
imitate but
self create
that which what
combines
seeing
feeling
smelling
a
note
no
ting the
texture
between
the teeth
Hendrix trying
to eat his guitar
applying plyability
with playability
pairing of food
with wine
white with
fish and xy
lophone bones
a dry red rib cage
played with merlot
and a mallet and
while at it
try hitting that
high hat at
a
n
a
n
g
e
L
w
i
t
h the
s
i
d
e
of your drum
stick to get
more of a
ticking tapping
time telling yet
not a reaction
but a fraction
of a refraction
of light
magnIF FIED
MAGNIFIED
i can now find
where she and
i have stopped
dancing since
i've stepped on
her toes once
too many times
but the orchestra
plays on and only
the conductor is
keeping the score
our new year's ball
ends before we beg
in the start of what i
hope will never nnnd
Form:
Its the kind of cold
Where we draw hearts on windows
And see the evidence of our breathing
We know we're alive because
We feel everything
The air pinches our skin
"Wake up and don't go"
But as the candles slowly dimmed their light
and we drank the last bit of the Merlot
Our cheeks went flush
Saw the blood rush in
Like a tidal wave
Too late to save
So I hide in plain sight
And I cover my face
You pull my arms down;
Tell me I belong in this place
Its the kind of air that pumps
straight into your lungs
Breathing life into words
that roll off smooth tongues
It's the kind of night
the light scatters through
Convince me to stay
I'll turn everything blue
When first freed from mother's skirt, still arrayed in white,
dew kissed, peach sweet, blush cored, I dove into
love, Persephone pierced; where ox-eyed daisies grew
within a field abreast a Roman ... in daylight.
Dry merlot overcast the blooded spot on site
where passion flowered upon the box stitched blue
quilt Grandmother with constancy had imbued.
Yet, youth was not enough to make the man contrite.
An omen ran through red bee balm, a hound of black
long-limbed, loosed to pursue the brazen few who dared
to lay unabashed in sunlight, the farmer stared back
from the porch; he saw them run, saw yarrow in her hair.
Ill fated yes, but first love is honeyed and that is a fact;
nothing's sweeter than a maid undressed in open air.