Long Sip Poems
Long Sip Poems. Below are the most popular long Sip by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sip poems by poem length and keyword.
The lip trembles slightly
with the first morning sip.
Searching for the rim
the hand is slightly shaky.
Eyes half-opened, ears
seized with silence as the breath
inhales the vaporized memory
of a slow rising steam.
The second sip more confident
finds the soothing liquid quickly.
The throat opens wide, welcoming
body sighs of mild comfort.
The third sip of the morning is the best
as anyone who knows it will attest.
The body now awake
is fully prepped to take a fitting gulp.
No longer sipping, fairly zipping
in the body’s quest for alertness.
The tongue is sharp to mark
the measure of the draw.
The back is straighter now
as the body stands more tall.
This is the sip of the day.
The first full taste.
Not done in haste
but savored
for the fullness of the flavor.
This is the quiet sip.
Transporting you
to the easy comfort of a welcomed day.
you sink into the softness of
a welcomed resting mind.
This is the sip
you are reluctant to relinquish.
That fair elongated moment
of the magic third sip
that stops time.
And then,
you gulp your way
across the line
that marks the end
of the cup
and the beginning
of the day.
When next my eyes are blessed to set on you,
May that be soon or further down the line,
Will tears refuse to paint with only blue,
And choose instead less colors viewed as mine;
I’ll see no beauty where it was before,
No lilac petals shall your garden grow,
And that it won’t, in dark, then to a store,
Where bottles sold are filled with fine merlot;
One sip is all these words will need to slur,
That tell left feet, a pair, attached my legs,
To stumble forth when hunger might occur,
But hear eternal hollow famished begs;
For years have passed since wine thin veins unwind,
Same your resplendence which turns vision blind.
Put a little cardamom in it.
Spice it up!
Cloves are great for health.
Add that in too!
A pinch of cinnamon.
Wow, what a robust flavor!
Don’t forget Ginger!
Peel and feel the texture.
Drop it in!
Pitch black tea leaves.
It leaves you with a strong, but bitter sensation.
Hear those bubbles sing and dance while boiling,
Steam shoots up in the air out of the tea kettles’ spout,
like a rocket to the moon.
Yes, I can drink this to the moon and back.
A tasty concoction of flavor in this tiny little cup.
Simply just pleases your taste buds.
Stems from the country of India.
Spicy and yet so sweet.
Makes your day complete,
rather than incomplete.
Under the summer heat.
Or embracing the streaks of cold air,
while wrapped up and gulping,
then saying: “This beverage is just one of a kind”.
Betrayed by love, I sip the bitter nectar you provide,
A chalice transfigured from black ink, your verse a river, infernal.
The burn grows in my throat, no choice do I have, I cannot flee,
Each gulp slowly tears from me a sigh, a prayer in a soft decree.
Do you watch as my dry lips trace the hourglass of pain,
Knowing you shall never taste this end of joy's wane?
For I cannot imprint, nor force into my palms the sorrow you've cast,
This vicious cocktail, of betrayals and venom, how bitterly you've amassed.
Your eyes laugh, witnessing the agony nest within me deep,
You think each sip a torment, but my heart whispers its keep:
"I love you, do not betray me, I shall not lose you, it can't be dire!"
My tongue is scorched, yet still I drink from that chalice of fire,
For I hold this mad faith that, despite it all, you would never truly disown.
The cup in your hand never empties, it's a wellspring of mists that moan,
I gaze at you through waves of tears, transient, paths on a map that bend and break.
Because my heart, deaf to the mind's hesitations,
Refuses to believe that this love is dead, that it's all just air and pretensions.
An echo, how our wings that have flown moment by moment have shattered,
In the spider's web of time, rings upon rings have been battered.
A canvas of melancholy unfolds, for love - a flame, a spectacle, a pyrotechnic blaze,
Fades in glances, something immovable, something immortal, akin to an offering's grace.
In the desolate domain of eerie milieu
under the ebony opaque sky,
on the murky hideous landscape
the nocturnal creatures prowl and try
to stalk those who can’t see
the nightriders slither in the sly
from the sinister forlornness of the wild,
the unwary they craftily descry.
With the arcane acumen concealed
as ominous feral creatures they lurk,
like sordid silhouettes of evil menace
they stealthily sneak in the dark
into the quintessence of your life,
crumbling it down going berserk,
they sip from the chalice of night
your soul’s ambrosia in darkness stark.
__________________
January 21, 2022
Contest : The Chalice Of Night
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
In the desolate domain of eerie milieu under the ebony sky
on the murky ground the nocturnal animals prowl around,
stalking those who can’t see the nightriders slither in the sly
from the creepy wild, the unsuspecting they craftily hound.
With the arcane acumen of sinister feral creatures they lurk,
like sordid silhouettes of evil menace they stealthily sneak
into the quintessence of your life crumbling down berserk,
as they sip the seraphic ambrosia of your soul they seek.
October 29,2020
Rhyme checked on Rhymezone
Contest : 8 Lines Of Spooky Rhyme
Sponsor : Tania Kitchin
August 18, 2021
Brian Strand's Contest : A Brian Strand Rime
A sip of wine feels oh, so fine
When I encounter tension.
It calms the nerves and too, preserves
Reality’s suspension.
A glass of wine’s not out of line
When there’s some apprehension
That things won’t be so fancy-free,
Though that’s not your intention.
A wine carafe might make you laugh
And, maybe by extension,
Your worries flee and then you’ll see
The powers of prevention.
A jug of wine may help define
And call to your attention,
The fact that life is filled with strife,
Which nobody will mention.
So have a drink; your fears will shrink.
I’ll broker no dissension –
And then you’ll sleep and problems keep
In slumberland’s dimension.
Like a dried-up fountain, I sip from my shadows,
Dusty memories, like forgotten books on shelves of dreams,
I swallow my existence, like a sea of silence,
And let it flow, spread, dissolve into verses.
I would like to open my heart, to sprinkle my blood
On the white paper, to write with the venom of melancholy
And to see how each word becomes a stiletto for me,
Deeply embedded in the flesh of readers, in the flesh of the world.
I need life to feed my death,
To feel how each breath becomes a verse,
How each heartbeat becomes a rhythm,
An echo of ancestral sadness,
And how my soul transforms
Into a river of murky light,
Flowing between rocks of pain, through valleys of longing.
Even if it kills me, I will scatter into words,
Like a rain of shooting stars,
Like a wind that whispers the forgotten names of ancient gods.
I need it!
Even if it kills me,
To feel how each letter absorbs my life,
How each sentence feeds my death,
And to know that I have lived, that I have existed,
In an ocean of words, in a universe of sadness.
I need it!
Even if it kills me.
Even if it kills me!
She drowned her sorrows in an amber liquid world
Scotch on the rocks, round and round it swirled
She was now totally drunk
And on the verge of passing out
The monkey on her back kept her in a funk
As she could not control her drinking bouts
Next morning when she awoke
she remembered nothing of the previous night
she fumbled for a cigarette to smoke
she needed help urgently to win this fight
As the sirens rushed to the accident scene
mangled metal was all that could be seen
they pulled out a body from the broken glass
it appeared to be that of the amber swirl lass
Now she drinks on a higher plane
Where she feels nothing, not even pain
A ghostly guest in this strange new world
And no one to give her an amber swirl
----
4/11/12
I gazed at the warmth
in your smile,
careful not to meet your eyes,
stepping back just enough
to stay in control.
Sitting on the balcony,
waiting to watch
your first sip of coffee,
where sunlight touched your skin,
and I lost my balance quietly.
I could choose to touch,
embrace,
even choose to love you.
I didn't.
This fleeting moment
is too fragile
to endure a touch.
Longing to become
two statues mirroring each other,
hung from a cathedral,
resisting time.
Thousands would cross between us,
yet I would remain fixed on you.
Witnessing uncountable battles
over the centuries,
gazing at the fractures in you.
Beneath loud voices in prayer,
and still I would find
your silence.
When our time comes,
even reduced to dust,
we would resist.
Paralyzed in memory,
frozen in pictures made of us,
carried through stories
that will age before us.
In that stillness,
I would hold nothing of the world.
A simple move
would be impossible.
Still—
I would have you.
Now—
I realize
I was yours too.