Most clouds have slipped away
pushed south by evening wind sways
in the brief raindrop spin,
breezes remain wide and thin
sliding through the rain
as the outer darkness gains;
by morning light
gone is the leftover black of night
eased as the weather soaks in and dries
in the slowed passing of 2026 July.
Off in the distant trees, locust repeat their calls
repetitious then silence falls,
but for the gatherings of crows
cawing loudly to the earth below,
birdsong melodic rhapsodies explode
in the cool of morning's flows
into the warm of sunlight clothed.
The blue skies return again
speckled with wispy white trends
puffed up clouds push in and out once more
revealing harbored glimpses of heaven's door,
there comes a calm, a peaceful paused interlude
as the sun the moon pursues
that will soothe the day's vermouth
with sweeter ingratiated fruits;
Noon arrives as nature thrives
all in living grateful to be alive
pulled into the rapture of life's inebriated delights
save for the fools whirling in constant human flight.
The roses you gave
in the summer of our youth
I tried all to save.
They spoke of the truth
of the love you had for me
as sweet as vermouth.
You even teased me
that I’d soon throw them away--
I did not agree.
Now I’m old and gray,
in the winter of my years,
I can only say:
I kept the flowers--
Though dry, they still bear a trace
Of the love that’s ours.
November 9, 2025
My great-aunt, Ada, said to me;
you’re like your father used to be;
I never knew quite what she meant
or cared, I had a life unspent.
Her sister, Mary, gave me books
which I devoured like cakes she cooks;
both were born Victorian girls
their high church collars, necks of pearls
whose tut-tuts shaped my father’s core;
gossiped my mother was a whore;
in which, sadly, there was some truth
notably after red vermouth
or Babycham and brandy wine;
the show of stocking tops a sign.
My grandma Hanna was the third
of sisters, with some values shared
before year ninety sixty nine,
who knew the truth, and broke the line;
encouraged me to go to sea;
not shelter in the morbid lee.
Ah, the innocence of youth
to recapture it, forsooth
Pursue new kinds of pleasures
~ ditch the gin with vermouth
I need an olive
Gin and vermouth look lonely
with no green jewel.
In twilight’s breath, dark swallowing light
Cloaked in shadows of dry gin and vermouth
Echoes growing louder in council of secrets
No longer muffled whispers of raven flight
But Polly wants a cracker perched on a wooden throne
Yet feast on the bones
Polly has got a pair of big childish and curious eyes
A body full of curves made for adventure
And Polly, oh Polly lives to bathe on moonlight
Collaboration Amethyste & Adagio
12 pork chops
thick about one inch
make a flour mix
2 tablespoons of salt
ground ginger 2Tablespoons
2 Cayeene pepper
2 T of Onion powder
1 T garlic powder
1 T Paprika
5 T breadcrumbs
1/2 c of parmesan cheese
1 cup of crushed corn flakes
2 C of flour
3 eggs 1 cup of milk egg wash
dip and fry in Olive oil
until golden brown (not done)
transfer to a baking pan
in a skillet
sautee
11/2 cup of onions diced
4 T crushed garlic
3 cups of sliced mushrooms
1 grated apple
3 tablespoons of fennel bulb grated
2 cups of red bell pepper
1 tablespoon of pepper flakes
saute until onions are translucent
add 1/4 cup of lemon juice
1/2 cups of vermouth
2 T brown sugar
4 tablespoons of butter
1/2 c of heavy cream
1 c of veggie stock
1/2 cup of chopped parsley
1 teaspoon of liquid smoke
make a loose sauce and pour over pork chops
bake 350 degrees for about 45-50 minutes
or until done.
Perception
is the potion
where pudding
holds the proof
The details
get bedeviled
Martini’s
all Vermouth
A good girl
or a bad girl
the wind
can blow both ways
Looking right
or looking left
the truth
— not on display
(The New Room: May, 2025)
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.
Morning thoughts of you roses full of dew
gardens full of summer love, sweet romance
here inside your arms we rebirth brand-new
like the morning sun when it starts to dance
Aborning sunlight cortef hours .... loved,
like the pied colors of a rainbow burst.
glancing tinted shades two petals englobed
to the loving hands of time, we come first.
Inside this garden youthful hours of truth
reborn like the seasons we live nonetheless
despite of the winter mulched in vermouth
we pair up nicely, ... to nature's headdress
Morning blushes her cheeks and we turn right,
like airborne angels, at the cusp of night.
You and I are at the sink
We’re making martinis
‘bout time
Don’t you think?
Beefeaters my gin
Your choice Bombay
We’ve tried many others
But don’t often stray
You are very precise
Mix yours 4 to 1
Me, not so particular
Vermouth, almost none
I’ll take an olive
You like a twist
If there’s no fruit
You’ll use ‘Lemon Mist’
The first sip brings a smile
And good conversation
There’s nothing quite like
This Royal Libation
We sip and enjoy
Gaze out at the view
And offer a toast
Here’s to Life, Here’s to Love, Here’s to you
Travel with me and enter
into the flower carpeted mountain meadows
of my youth;
Lose yourself in the wild beauty which resides within
God's tinted skies of yellow and vermouth.
Vested memories held captive by eidetic moments,
"Oh blessed beating heart, "
enter the flowered thoughts of a poet's nest, delve into the
sanctuary of God's Grace,
for it is here that you belong.
Seen through the eyes, felt with the heart
ensconced with a soul your free to roam,
inside roads less traveled, where timeless voices
are heard, through the echoes of all time.
You belong to the One who has given you,
both shape and creed.
The greatest thrill you've ever had
You probably have more than one
Try to keep it clean dear people
This could be read by a bunch of young'uns
Wanna know mine well of course you do
This goes back to when I was courting
My very first kiss I can still feel the thrill
Loved messing around and cavorting
Sure blew my whistle as I rounded the bend
Snorting and huffing and puffing
The top of my head started shooting out steam
And I lost a bunch of my stuffing
Oh to go back and experience it again
Those glorious days of my youth
Unfortunately they're gone never to return
Down another gin and vermouth
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)
pound and flaten one large turkey breast
place 12 slices of cottage bacon inside
in a bowl add
1 cup of feta cheese
1/2 teaspoon of cumin
1/4 nutmeg
1 cup of spinach (Strained and chopped)
1 tablespoon of garlic
3 Tablespoons of dehydrated onion
1/4 cup of cooked bacon
One tablespoon of cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon of lemon zest
1 teaspoon of mace
2 tablespoon of Vermouth (sweet)
mix well and layer over turkey breast. bake until done about an hour and a half
on 350 degrees.
serve with mushroom and parmesan cream noodle
and an onion, cucumber and avocado salad.
Conducted and performed n the proper sequences. made right to please.
that greatest understanding of satisfaction. Beyond Adagio steeping into Atonality.
Cantata Agua
3 Cups of peach nectar
3 Cups of gingerale
5 cups of a good white wine
1/4 cup of a rasberry flavored vodka
4 cups of rasberry clubsoda
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.