Short Bacchus Poems

Bacchus only wept
in summertime's driest days
when drought killed the vine...

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Michelangelo Merisi
came from Caraaggio to be free
with a history of hooliganism in Milan
his art helped* redeem this sad epigram


*https://www.wikiart.org/en/caravaggio/young-sick-bacchus...

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Bacchus
God of wine twice born
Bacchus son of thunderbolt...
two fermentations

God of wine twice born
Bacchus son of thunderbolt...
from grape to happy

God of wine twice born
Bacchus son of thunderbolt...
happy to headache.

©1/05/2013
contest entry...

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Bacchus God of wine
Thou art the Liberator
Loosen our tongues with thy sweet nectar 

Bacchus God of wine
Thou art the Liberator
Whip us into a frenzy of intoxication

Bacchus God of wine
Thou art the Liberator
Allow us freedom to tell our secrets...

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His stock is rosy red, his nose
Blood-hound sensitive;
Cabernets, Chardonnay, 
Muscadet; Bacchus of the industry! 

Rolling the names around his tongue,
leaving no Chateau or wine unsung:
 Chateau Lafite, Chateau Latour, 
Chateau Mouton, Chateau Margaux....

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Drinking the blues away


tears of mascara 
taste with different option
smells like red wine juice 
tears of mascara 
taste with different options
worldwide white wine grapes
tears of mascara 
taste with different options
smoky blackberry


Alfred's Contest: Bacchus The God Who Loved His Grapes...

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Doomed, his mom was mortal
Dad's thigh (Zeus) his birth place
Dubbed the "god of the grape"
Developed winemaking
Danced with drunken pleasure
Dithyrambs: songs for him
Double:  Roman Bacchus 

March 4, 2022

contest:  Greek Mythology (pleiades)
sponsor:  Joseph May
HMS - syllables checked...

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Bunch of grapes for sale
Of green, white, red and purple.
Suit for jam and wine.

Bunch of grapes for sale
Of green, white, red and purple.
Come and have a taste.

Bunch of grapes for sale
Of green, white, red and purple.
Now your choice to make.


For Alfred Vasallo's "Bacchus The God Who Loved His Grapes" Contest....

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tenderly crushed grapes
perfectly producing wine
overly sour juice

tenderly crushed grapes
perfectly producing wine
made liquid hatred

tenderly crushed grapes
perfectly producing wine
romance billows in

Entered into Alfred Vassallo's "Bacchus The God Who Loved His Grapes" contest

5/1/2013...

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the muscadine grapes
unpruned in the fall season...
grape crop diminished

the muscadine grapes
unpruned in the fall season...
bird nest among vines

the muscadine grapes
unpruned in the fall season...
fireants~wasps~share juice

May 17, 2013
Sponsor: Alfred Vassallo
Contest: Bacchus The God Who Loved His Grapes...

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slightly sour juice squeezed
from succulent small grape fruits--
this wine smells better

slightly sour juice squeezed
from succulent small grape fruits--
vine has more of them

slightly sour juice squeezed
from succulent small grape fruits--
raisins made for me



CONTEST:"Bacchus The God Who Loved His Grapes" sponsored by Alfred Vassallo....

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Mad night, mad night,
all the colours and the light
play tricks on the whirling mind.  
Thick the air with hidden stares 
from masked figurines.
Death hides amidst the crowd,
wearing a collar of beads.
Morbid debauchery, crazed song and dance,
the reincarnation of Bacchus 
is looking for the chance
to break the lyre and end the song
of Orpheus at last!...

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spiral darker
   deeper down
 ever starker
   viral rounds

sing out somber, to the seas
 of tears of floods, uprooted trees,
   the flotsam the jetsam
 the waste and ennui
        barred walls of this cyclonic me
     this caged vortex of the sea
        this maelstrom of my
                                  infinity
  for Bacchus loved Neptune
and they both hate me...

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We are together,fondling each other,
not wanting to let go.Drinking red wine,
perfumed by our kiss,scarlet love from 
each other's lips,evoking emotions.
Fire place lit by Our warmth.Spicy Wood
burning,by our yearning,by our devouring 
desire.Never knowing we wanted,We needed
so much of each other.Never knowing we were 
so much in love,a different kind of Love.



Charma...

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Sometimes 
I write poems about
 Wine and other essential
 Molehills of Life at 
4 AM when 
Bacchus is still awake
Conniving in 
Sheer revelry at the
 Mere notion he invented
Satyrs and other
Preternatural nymphs.
Speaking of nymphs, I relish the whim that at 
4:10 AM or thereabouts, if I rush outside into the
 Oozing Black Syrup, I might brush against one,
Intentionally....

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If I become blind
I should this mind,
For I can’t anymore my way find,
My watch correctly wind,
Nor the scattered bind …

I will have away pined
By the time I become blind,
As I won’t note the dishes I dined
Nor the Bacchus on which I wined;
How resources are undermined
And complainants their teeth grind …
Nor the number pick of my enemies behind. 

If I should become blind,
I might cease to be kind....

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Anacreontic verse


Bacchus rose
joy purging
xeric throats
choking upon
libations
conflicted aims
dancing naked
fearlessly awash
escaping
inhibition’s
tyranny
loosing anger’s soul 
through merriment
releasing
wingless spirits
thoughtless thoughts
unfettered
voices mumbling
wine soaked praise
to numbing’s god.


10/26/2015

submitted to – Anacreontic Verse 1 – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Edward Ebbs...

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Your tender body
is a fertile garden
where flowers bloom
beautiful and animated.

Sanctuary of desire
in their domain
pursuing eternal splendor
splashed in golden water..

Paradise under captive sky
scent of Magnolia in country
my hands touch in the instant
lips upon your lovely petals.

This morning in your garden
with you in sighing sanctuary
on our hands love expired
overgrown with Springtime flowers...
~...

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Tale's the days that made eyes    ~s w a y
through pools of blues swam    a~w a y  
leisured a maroon    heart~b e a t
tangent harmonious    ~s u i t e
whispers occasions    al~l u r e
coursing a night of    a~m o u r

Luna affirms the    one~n e s s
Bacchus poured vessel    vi~n o u s
an emotional    grow~i n g
Cupid perfects his    aim~i n g
Cherubs playing harps    a~f l o a t
a couple boards their    dream~b o a t...

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Surely some time the line of the contour of the glass is
Continue like the Great Wall of China
Sit on the shore of the lake
Drunkenness is the song of Hölderlin Bacchus
The liquid of water and the bulge of the galaxy are infant's skin
Enduru Shuraku's three wheels mountain enclosure
Unlimited hard wind
The reflection of the lake reflects on the bottom of the back of the glass
Flowing light with Sara Sara
Monet's water lily pat on my tongue...

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The first drop—an instantaneous plunge
Into another world,
blushing, warm, and welcome

Dazed and daydreaming,
My taste buds singing,
My palette bathed in smooth softness,

My soul turns bright and whole,
Full dark with barley juice,
And happy Irish cream,

And as I raise my glass to Bacchus,
and curse the sober world,
So gray and plain and dead,

I hug and cling to chaos,
So colorful and free,
And dance and dream like pagans do,
Until the music dies....

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If you fortune a tangent,
You’ll get a stash,
A rill of crescents pageant,
Old and holding the gash.

Perception not able,
The dynamo dies in the land,
Normal cable to stable,
The bearings of negates and hand.

Piercings whisper through the ears,
Wheat quakes to sliver rum,
Dermis exhalted the overdraft years,
The pollination riffed the drum.

Chrysanthemum sung to oak,
To know the structure is of the silk,
Bacchus architectured folk,
When muscle, mind ruptured n’ did silt....

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While with others for the treasured scramble,
We sometimes like Acrobats tumble,
The message wiring across that we’re nimble
But all too soon like an elephant amble,
And like the soaked in Bacchus stumble
And like ramshackle walls crumble;
From our bellies a heard rumble
And The Once Fluent begins to ramble,
Lots of a tailor beginner's fumble,
Not good at the use of a thimble
That sometimes forces out a grumble
Before our becoming at last humble;
From our loud speeches to a mumble....

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