Short Absinthe Poems

Color swirl, collision of
Light mesmerizes; the fire 
Incinerates; a dust
fade-to-black…
Absinthe dreams.
...

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In this downpour of 
nil a blinding fog descended
and a venomous,

absinthe-mindedness wrapped all 
over me, thus all of my 
senses were out of order....

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From a broken Heart, does one recover:
To know you will always love the other?
When discarded like trash, far too late, alas! 
You soon discover you long for that Lover?...

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Arty stuff No 1

An artist called 'Toulose' L'Autrec,
Thought landscapes a pain in the neck,
So he painted in bars,
Drank Absinthe from jars,
Which left him an absolute wreck!!...

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the 
bass,
the 
treble,
the 
high, 
high 
hat,
rat
a
tat
tat,
throb
and
pull,
a 
mad,
mad
pulse,
match
the
slow
pour
of 
a 
sloe
gin,
and
I
never
clap
for 
the
rude 
crescendo
of
her
tin
ear
and 
his
last
call......

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I was a non-believer in exodus
of nothingness. 
Here you are,
I am.

In crimson sky 
talking of nobody, unbuttoning the moon.
Fill up my glass 
with tears of joy.

And sleep I must 
in the arms of sorrow.
There was a shipwreck in absence 
while chasing the eyes.


Satish Verma...

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The chartreuse pearls hung on the pregnant vine
as whispered jade of leaves in autumn breeze.
The necklaces of trellis did entwine
like clefs of absinthe notes in verdant keys.

3/5/18

Original poem:  Grape Harvest
10/20/17

Rithium Divisa 2 Contest
Sponsor:  Gregory R Barden...

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In the firmament of trees
October's eye
looks down in cruel azure
on summer's absinthe leaves,
flocking like survivors
to a mortal haven.
Autumn's blood magma
creeps through leaves
bequeathing fire 
and brittle amber. 
Fertile frost breeds
in arctic prisms,
whispering feral eddas
as withering violets
echo bitter truth....

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My poetry starts with nicotine.
     After awhile I mixed in alcohol.
     Catholicism is a main ingredient.
     Puberty is a wicked mix of Absinthe.
     Next I add a father broken from war.
     My mom could be friend or betrayer.
     I had to maintain a delicate balance
     between being real or just amusing.
     Amusing is easy. Real is impossible....

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always mixing 
tequila lemon
cello with
absinthe

my muttering
words utterly
come out
like milk

from a cow
but usually
somehow
understood

so soon but
not soon
enough
for me

we will be
facing one
another and
not knowing

enough of each
of the other's
language
we'll be

living life
after Babel
babbling but
understanding

laughter...

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Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Aspen is a place to squander.
Assess, take some time to ponder.
Absinthe causes minds to wander.
Aston Martin’s gone; I pawned her.
Accent hair to make you blonder.
Access ski slopes over yonder;
Ascend lifts on high like condors.
Accidents bring first responders.
Accept when it’s time to launder.
Absent money, home grows fonder....

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And oh the hearts of the dollars.
Life's rampage.
All is love in love and glory.
My priest bowed to my maid today.
The ones in my mind.

This is our absinthe.
Our absence of release.
Find the wings in your basement.
The soul's retreival.

You are so much more than all the world.
POV and length of line be damned.
Of all cosmic energies,
You are peanut butter and jammed.
...

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Indebted to defining darkness
a fortress of pained souls crying a chorus
fearless and bonded by religious rites
reviving the dada movement fueled by absinthe
driven by inertia in absentia calling forth
dementia dripping with sorrow 
and steeped in anxiety to say nothing at all
as smooth as glass pitch black as night
my self loathing pity is as to death 
as porcelain is to midnight...

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honoring Rimbaud's birthday

... for some,

the wormwood of unholiness is the only sacrament known,

the ecstasy of wickedness their hymn, their

prayer, their psalm,

and the thunder-crashes aren't from hell alone

but a realm of madness known as god

thrashing about in gleeful drunkenness and

sudden epiphany of birth,

virgin in shimmering, ravishing darkness,

forever - ever, and amen......

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Midnight Romance

Passionate glances erupt charcoal smoke
Awakening crimson ash of roses
Crystal cerulean eyes do provoke
Ivory silk skin cleavage exposes

Porcelain moist lips taste absinthe luscious
Orgasmic trysts feel obsidian cool
Highlighted moon in sable sky blushes
Midnight romance soul and body dual

These are the memories we hold so dear
They encapsulate time and push past fear...

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Again, the Green hour
my love,
like the blossoming
of unfelt desires.

Again, the beauty
my love,
earnest in such
keen undertakings.

Again, the miseries
of romances
lost, murderous. . .
liars.

Again, the glee
of the wretched
and their vile
foresakings.

Absinthe,
of Wormwood,
your poisons,
intoxicating. . .
My mind,
my body,
of souls' lost. . .

Again, the Green hour
my love....

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Ivory stars flicker and spit 
like candles kissed by zephyrs.
Midnight foil effervesces, 
raptures me in obsidian.
Gladiolus come begging 
at my crimson thoughts.
Smoky Cirrus caress 
a white butterfly crescent.
Charcoal embers in a pit 
whisper ashes of roses.
Cerulean wavers 
in remnant flames of saffron. 
I stir absinthe at an onyx table 
on a porcelain patio.
Chartreuse gardens fade 
in sable shadows....

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My love
we fear the corona
my lover
let us wear
our plague doctor
masks to bed again

You look at me
with eyes like two ribbons
of warm absinthe

We fear for our life
from our life
the whole span
of it glistens

To protect us
light the candles
spray on some
moonlight

Let us recite
some old biblical
verses

Some say they
still hear the screams
where plague doctors
walked in bird like masks
where no birds sing......

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La Fée Verte, Mistress of Wormwood, 
High Consort of la Belle Époque,
Shimmering with joie de vivre.
She’s holding court with bohemian charm,
All haute couture with feathers and furs,
Promising what fools believe.

One spends the night with mademoiselle
In bondage to her whims and mercies,
Content to be softly chained,
Then wakes up nude in the Paris Commune,
A subject of interest in the Dreyfus Affair,
Wishing one had just abstained....

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A lonely night
Staring in the wall
Of eternity
A phone call
A glance

A second chance
Is out of sight
But not groovy
In the scenes
Of a movie

Blanked out
Black sleep
Rehearsal
For death

(a calm, breathless coffin)

a porch swings
a window blares
heat

sweat sires unreason
and a season of visions

dripping colors
Absinthe abstained

Schizophrenia unchained

(birds fly teeth grit)

a cool song plays on

revelation in a second

a dove flies echoes...

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Solace lacks in the crimson night
Diabolical vindictiveness lessens the light
Drink up your absinthe and feed on unsheltered prey
Not to walk beneath unmarked shadows at day
Fearing the loneliness consuming your soul
As well, blood sinfully shed for sense of control
Courting dread mentally within your being
And loosing sight in what you are seeing
The corpse of the earth keeps proposition in sight
When you are walking alone in the dead of the night...

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ET SIC ...!
     
      Word ... absinthe,
      just feel the thrill when i,
      drink...
      Chill ... just 
      be quiet when i feel
      the thrill ...
      Hemlock ... I only drink
      darkling...
      In the visible transparent,
      I refuse...
      Love ... I always crave
      above  all...
      Before death ... before
      lucky...
      Love, I claim together with
      life ... life with love
      that's all ...!...

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I dreamed of worlds
far and away;
worlds of colored fancies,
worlds that play
among the stars,
in emerald air and
shimmering golden.

Gods play peek-a-boo
with Chimera,
of abalone skin,
lustrous,
flawless.

Ambrosia and absinthe
dining is the
pleasure here;
worlds among the ethers
where mortal dreams
lend wishes
of perfection
to the ethers...
sheer bilss.


3-10-21
Enter the 'ALL YOURS (Mar 10)' Poetry Contest
Brian Strand...

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Listen to poem:

enough is enough-- seriously how would it not

the fog rolling over my eyes
over my body
this fog that swallows my voice
annihilates my being
digs deep to my very soul
losing the me that
i so wish you would
want to know
want to love

lost to the taste of absinthe on my lips



AP: Honorable Mention 2023, Honorable Mention 2023

Submitted on April 8, 2023 for contest A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE NO.1207 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND

Originally posted on March 25, 2023...

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His belly full of absinthe
His nervous system writhed
as he looked up to the heavens
cachinnation in his eyes
The juice from plums of damson
trickled down as purple blood
as he fell, the kulak jester
face first flat into the mud
Aromatic orange berries 
filled the night right up with spice
whilst the hyalite 'round his finger
sparked itself up to delight
The nadir answered back his laugh
with rain and sleet and hail
as we leave the jester lonely 
sleeping in his vinic jail~...

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