Wineglass Poems | Examples

Interment

In fifth grade, I earned first place
statewide for violin
against the girl I half-loved—
her fingers quicker,
her lineage more illustrious—
but that day,
mine did not tremble.

She chose a piece
with fireworks and pitfalls—
something by Tchaikovsky—
I chose Barcarolle—
plainspoken, sweet,
a boat gliding through moonlight.
I played it without flaw.
She slipped once,
only once.

We both knew I’d won
on a grace note—
not brilliance, nor fire—
just a clean line
held steady
while hers faltered.
Afterward,
she turned from me
like a violin
tucked into its case.

A week later,
dad took us to a restaurant
with cloth napkins and candles,
to celebrate my victory.
He smiled too much,
and talked too loud,
and the wineglass
trembled in his hand
just before he threw up
on the checkered tablecloth.

He tried to pay,
but the card was declined.
The cashier cut it in half.
He gave them his gold watch
as a promise.
I wished I could just
be invisible,
and we left without dessert.

Two years later,
I buried my medal in the woods
and never played violin again.

NOONRAY IN WINTER

NOONRAY IN WINTER 

Noonray in your navel 
a locus for language light
whale wave wishes
in water songs kisses
as July just jokes along

Winter wonder words waffling 
storm crown chakra baffling 
cold she stirs potted iced rice
as rain rigorously roars
Noonray holds the dice

On hailstone highway she 
instantly marries marigold 
instinct with indigo intuition 
timing tactical thunderbolts 
favouring floods for nutrition 

Noonray in silent shiver
shake or hide shelter seek 
a game of glum greeting 
Winter knows no flotsam 
fathomless figure awaiting

Noonray no wee whimpers 
or white wisdoms waste
in a wineglass she slithers  
six seamless seasonless 
sweets simultaneously 
… then quivers ! 


©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Song2024

First Kiss

She felt the soft brush of the grass
upon her fingers as she tripped
amongst the lazy Spring meadow.
Her faint flesh blush, vibrant, aglow
from the sweet cider she had sipped
of the long forbidden wineglass.
The moist dew trailed along her wrist
as the morning haze draped her gown
exposing her delicate youth
and the inexorable truth;
it’s easy for a girl to drown
in love’s first forbidden soft kiss.

A pose in meditation

I hold the stem of a wineglass, a pose in meditation,
cradling the glass as if it were an injured bird.
This is my moment of peace, my mind at ease
in stillness I peer at images and visions 
tease my heart to recall my journey through  life.

I need the grace to have clarity of thought,
an unclouded focus, an ungrudging acceptance
for moments of bliss, of loves possessed and gone,
of choices forged, rejected, and discarded-
I wish no barefaced cynicism, no conscience accuser.

Absolution is my own private, solitary affair
with unquenchable flair I will face life
in all of its stages in unfaltering whimsy -
not wither like a blossom in drought,
not a weather vane in a shifting wind.


@jjote021124

Vermeer and His Girls

VIRGINAL GIRL
begin the beguine..
Make your music mine
LAUGHING GIRL
joy's outflow-from eyes aglow
GIRL WITH EARRING
a look of love-
into eternity's mirror
LACEMAKING GIRL
intricate detail
patient design-
portrait of time
MUSIC GIRL
when the music ends-
we no longer can pretend
LETTER GIRL
a few words
can make us ill-
or better
WINEGLASS GIRL
a girl with a glass
chateau red-
a touch of class
NECKLACE GIRL
mirror to face
with a necklace-
memory without a trace
PENSIVE LADY
lost in thought,
she sighs...caught
by vermeers eyes
PIANO GIRL
sing and play
concert,piano forte-
art,forgotten today
GUITAR GIRL
the music of the dance,
love in her glance-
to her true love,perchance?
JUG GIRL
a maid,unafraid
innocence..
displayed
LUTE GIRL
her tune,picked by ear
brings forth a tear-
yet draws us near
BALANCE GIRL
a delicate touch
frozen in time-
a story in mime
SINGING GIRL
the singers or her song
forever to us belong-
picture music vivant
THINKING GIRL
think on,think long
thought,her everyday song

Wine Glass

Darling,

Your lipstick on the wineglass was my last sip of you.  I put my fingers around yours, and drew a deep breath, putting my lips upon your rouge, as I savored the last drop of your chardonnay.  The thought crossed my mind that we experienced the flavor together.  

Then my heart raced when I realized mine was the richer experience.  I tasted the last drop of you, along with that lonely drop of wine.  Now, I can only long for another vintage of that blend.

Wicked Game

Late the music played in the smoky air
  in our noir Bogey and Bacall vignette,
and hands that stroked your silky chestnut hair
  held a red wine and lit a cigarette.
Your soft skin smelt of aloes and citrus -
  the smudge of fresh lipstick on your wineglass,
and what covet it was those lips to kiss -
  in wine there’s love! In vino veritas!
Those bitter tannins with your sweet imbue
  filled my soul and we played our wicked game,
and I knew no one could save me but you
  for you doll are no ordinary dame.
If I should echo your whistle I’ll know
to just put my lips together and blow!


                 Written: April 2013

                         For Les


Note: Wicked Game is a song by 
           Chris Isaak. It was then 
         and will always be our song.

         In vino veritas is Latin for 
           “in wine there’s truth”.

Mourning a Broken Wineglass

Mourning a broken wineglass

Brittle and beautiful you were, you were.
Brittle and broken, you are, you are.
"A thing of beauty a joy forever?
O profundity I cannot measure.
All earthy things will surely pass.
Vessel of sanctity, frail glass,
To hold wine, not water, was your due.
I, who to the sink my treasure threw.
Must  careless haste  confess and rue.

A Glorious Lunacy

I found a stream running down beside a landscape,
chuckling as it splashed. I envy its intimacy with nature.
I tread softly along in dreamy euphoria,
picking flowers and tossing them into the water.
I watched them float and form a quilt of color
until light was purpling, and I felt the keening of ghosts
while a half-moon hid behind  a moving veil of cloud.

Stars begin to scud the sky, 
towers of clouds poised like opera curtains
the earth below a stage on opening night.
I hover above myself, holding an imaginary wineglass
its tinkle sending sparkles in starlight,
I am slipping into an opium dream of my own,
only to wake up in a blaze of glorious lunacy.


@jjote 070121

Keeping It Real

"One day I woke up to a world of topsy-turvy 
one minute sharing a meal and hugging my kids 
and the next, keeping my distance with a masked smile" 

I believe that tomorrow was never ours 
and that hope is the rafter that keeps us afloat 
I believe that this pandemic has changed our attitude  
and given us a chance to realize how precious life is 

I believe that if we persevere and work together 
we can find a solution to this dilemma 
I believe government is doing the best it can 
we can't slap our leaders, if we need their hand 

I believe in miracles, especially in these difficult times 
one day can make a difference 
I believe that mountains can crumble and so can people 
but if we fight the good fight, we can win 

I believe in good old fashioned courage 
putting a little water in our wineglass 
I believe we owe it to ourselves and to our loved ones 
to continue to do all that we can, to stay healthy and alive.

Come Back

Saša Milivojev - COME BACK


Come back In a slumber
In a contellation
I listen for your soft steps
Vanished touches of mute fingers
Wrap my untouched neck
Like a wineglass overfilled
Like mother’s warmth
I miss
Your dazzling visage
Come back From afar and remember
Our stage that is washed
By silver rains
Come back
From afar Say my name no more
But come back
And use no more
Wingless birds to send
Teary letters
In the faded skies
Search for a path of return
As I have waited for you so long
I play with tears
Living every tone
Of our song
Come back Freeze next to me
So we can melt together

 

Saša Milivojev

www.sasamilivojev.com

The W's Have It

Well-established wonder-stricken wayfarers will work with wizards,
who worry worm-eating warblers will wander by with Wyandottes.
Witchdoctors wallowing with Weiss beer will widen willowy wonky
widow’s walks.  Who? What? When? Why? Why not?

Wonderful wearisome woolly Willies whose wrinkly wiggly whatchamacallits will weigh whizzing wingfish whipped wildly within Widow Williams’s whirlybird’s window wells. Who? What? When? Why? Why not?

Why wayfarers? Witches? Wizards, Wolverines? Witchdoctors? Well, woks, workbenches, wobbly wickiups, were wildly wanting whiffle ball’s wishful wildcats, which is why we were willing to wind up wolves, women, and worst-case woodcocks into worthy wayfarer’s winter wineglass widgets within wonderful, wise-cracking 
woodland’s wee-folk who reside within wizardly wigwams.
Who? What? When? Where? Why?  Why not?

Warm whoopee wayfarers welcome willing witchdoctor's whizzing whatchamcallits on Wednesdays with wonderfulness.

Form and Poems

Form is the wineglass from which I pour, 
The many words and thoughts I store.

It holds vivid images blended there,
Subtle and smooth, or feelings austere.

Without form, words spill out everywhere,
Rambling forth like sea waves to the shore.

Like wasted wine losing body and taste, 
Words without form were written in haste.

Form defines the poem, gives it identity.
Whether it's a sonnet, a haiku, or couplet maybe.

Like a house with words there residing,
Form keeps them intact,  message flowing.


Cynthia Buhain-Baello ~~~09.13.17

Winedrunk

The end of our dreams
flow in shattered discord
like a wineglass overturned
In our fruitless searches
bereavement impales
as we pour the bottle on the floor
Watching each drop
collect and pool
swirling in bitter waves
Our tongues are stained
with that sweet taste
rose tinted
with hints of sage
and as our spirits rise
from a body so fine
they will pour us in our graves

Johannes Vermeer More of His Girls

MUSIC GIRL
when the music ends-
we no longer can pretend
LETTER GIRL
a few words
can make us ill-
or better
WINEGLASS GIRL
a girl with a glass
chateau red-
a touch of class
NECKLACE GIRL
mirror to face
with a necklace-
memory without a trace
PENSIVE LADY
lost in thought,
she sighs...caught
by vermeers eyes
PIANO GIRL
sing and play
concert,piano forte-
art,forgotten today

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