Short Vermouth Poems

Golden epaulets smile
A hint of vermouth
Through an opened door...

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He knew her well in his youth.
She was refined, he uncouth.
Maiden so fair
now see her there
drowning in his gin/vermouth...

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A sleuth who thought truth too uncouth
Invented a villain named ‘Ruth’.
Her crimes, though quite quaint,
Compelled him to faint,
Reviving his nerves with vermouth.
...

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A rakish young fellow from Duluth
Completely hooked on gin and vermouth
Drank like a fish
Out of a dish
Somewhere along the way lost his couth.

May 27, 2021...

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Sweet Tooth For Youth 

What I did was to have a sweet tooth,
For when I was young in all of my youth;
Got by somehow;
Much older now;
Did wash down with gin and vermouth.

Jim Horn...

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Believe it or not this is the absolute truth
And I'm not into drinking gin and vermouth
Heard through the grapevine
Ladies parts are divine
For ogling, but unwanted touching is uncouth


© Jack Ellison 2015...

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Twelve envelopes 
    from the Department of Truth.

Gathered together 
    by a curious sleuth.

Though buried away 
    by a bottle of vermouth.

Monday, November 8, 2021
BITE SIZE POEM no26 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier...

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**** For my Caramel Swirl****

Cinnamon flavored,
my caramel love.
Soft inside with a tough candy shell.
My after work
desert.
A cure for my sweet tooth,
not a pervert,
I yearn for her vermouth


Name held until contest is over.....
4/15/2010...

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Positive freedom,
nose in the wind
Negative freedom,
refusing within

Shaking and straining,
the spirits set free 
To pour or leave empty,
 at times disagree

Positive, Negative,
the labels of truth
Distilled combination
—like gin and vermouth

(Villanova University: February, 2021)...

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The sun inspires me to do my best
To relax my brain
And give my muse her flex
She twirls the pen
She drops it on the floor
She kicks it sideways
She sneers and more
She runs away
Giggling her truth
She takes a bottle of sweet Vermouth
I care not, so relaxed am I
I continue to rest
The sun is high...

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Dismay that I am so blithely uncouth
As to bluntly say what is on my mind,
So, I shall blame the stale vermouth.
Dismay that I am so bitterly uncouth
To go through life with this sad truth,
It is necessary, I admit, for me to find
Dismay that I am so blithely uncouth,
As to bluntly say what is on my mind.

written October 15, 2021...

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Two am., I’m up again
Staying asleep befuddles me
Needing to flip the switch at the main
And turn off my mind you see
What wheels do turn
Screech round then stop
My head doth burn
Like flames atop
The buried truth
Must eventually come out
I drink the vermouth
Washed down with a stout
Easier to lob off my neck
And see my face roll on the deck...

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In the mid summer hues 
Oh in the Kingdom of thee 
Pillars of lust so lofty 
Dither boneless men like bees 
Only to mesmerise the seer 
For its beauty & valhallain 
 A fine glass of amethyst 
Toped to its impious brim 
With a prime vermouth 
Titillated with placid fervours 
Vexed in secular cravings 
Fellated into an ebullience  
Oh shrivel mankind...

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What good is a martini without an olive?
The gin and vermouth have nothing else to give.
This drink is something with no class.
Something else has to be put inside the glass.

Here comes a member of the Gibson family.
This bartender appears to have a quick remedy.
He brings a bunch of pearl onions in a jar.
Gibson has an idea that will go far.
...

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Damning two lies
with only one truth
Deception remixes 
like gin and vermouth

Jumping from one
as the other got hot
Port in the storm
where perdition is fraught     

Grace in short order
 with blessings denied 
Thomas redoubting
 all faith circumscribed  

Prevarication
twin sister of pain
The Word caught between them
—trapped to remain

(The New Room: July, 2023)...

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She'd been lying on the table for some time  
crumbled from being assaulted in a crime      
The odor she issued had turned quite rank
Some would bluntly say, "Gawd, she stank!"

When her veins turned a gross shade of  blue
I knew I had to keep her away from my fondue
"Waiter, please find me another table or booth
Ruined is my appetite for cheese and vermouth."


~Not contest bound~...

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my heart  slain by  truth
from a voice that drunk vermouth
he looked me in the eye
“forgive me for I have told you a lie”

my mind is  damp  and frail
too much liquor and ale
I’ve drown my loyalty so still
it was not meant to kill

I confess my wrong I am to blame
don’t want to die with my life in shame
if I can’t be forgiven  I’ll be on my way
although my love for spirits again will slay...

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olive skin so soft and silky smooth
dark brown hair the color of poo
sat in the sun too long is what she do
and now shes bronzed and leathery too
her skin and hair turned to vermouth
aged and withered unwise to see
the color of bronze she turned indeed
now caramel swirled and autumned hair
she sat in the mirror and wondered and stared
how to turn back to the dove she once heired
the tanning bed is a wreckless thing
it wrecks and wrinkles the skin!...

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He sweats, he grunts
  he plods, he plugs
There is't a ditch
  he hasn't dug

Works like a dog
  and eats like a horse
Though most of his meals
  are only one course

Had to quit school
  when his parents died
Got married young
  to his 'baby bride'

One kid after another
  took away his youth
Then his health took a hit
  Too much gin sans vermouth

Now at age 60
  He's old and worn-out
Nary a field seeded
  for memory to sprout...

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this soldier took those rounds so they could save

their fellow conscripts from their early grave

how ghastly tannic, tastes such horrid truth

though warm as blood, or tart as sweet vermouth


thus now they gather ‘round to ask for grace

dark masks of horror frozen on each face

such needless waste to ransom golden curls

this warrior, brave, now lost … was but a girl.











Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, March 6, 2023...

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Listen to poem:

The Crime of the Clock
David J Walker

Only now do I know
 	The name of my youth 
Printed on tablets of stone
A suspicious truth 
Laced in vermouth
the creative slaves 
And the innocent naves
Dine alone 
In the booth 
Of their own design 

Only now do I know
	The lateness of the hour
And the power 
Of the clocks opine 
A chime of the truth
Or so says the sooth 
Each tick and its tock 
Responds to the clock 
Alerting the sleuth
To its crime...

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To qualify as an educated gent
    to certain boarding-schools one must be sent
  To learn how to position one's fork and knife
    and raise one's pinkie, unlike lowlifes  

  A gent speaks with an air of charm and grace
    his nose gradually rising on his face
  Savaging the ways of 'today's barbaric youth' 
    while knocking down shots of gin and vermouth    

  Such gents betimes depart fine society
    exposing themselves ~ targets of impropriety...

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Listen to poem:

My accountant’s forever twisting truth
between glasses of generous tall vermouth,
forever conniving to save face
while under breath reciting grace.

Endlessly playing the most convoluted charades,
he masterminds the grandest schemes and escapades.
Inevitably he comes to the same conclusion
that one day there will be no absolution;
still, he refuses to abandon hope
that he’ll find the way to get richer than the pope



AP: Third place 2022

Posted on June 28, 2022...

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