Ryan Holden May 2017

As sun rises into your eyes,
So does your flaming soul,
Your declaration of love,
Veins full,
As sweet as sangria.

It's erstwhile worth it,
Opened hearts or palms,
Clenched fists would be fine,
As her soul quickly burns,
Like whisky on a fire.

Aspersions of guilt pointed,
At my head like the barrel of a gun,
Whilst she stains sheets of another,
But I know secrets,
Of which I discover.

Beautiful, calm and wonderful,
But I've been rinsed,
In a tsunami of her breathing.

I can't help it,
I feel this deep down sometimes,

Despite her Jack Frost persona,
Her house is fiery hell,
But it's worth it,
Some of the time.

Hanging on by a thread,
Holding her fiery soul,
In my clenched fists,
But her blood is unique,
Sweet sangria.

Story about a toxic relationship I was in and foolishly stayed in for much longer than I should have.

crooked eyelash
gnarly, toothy
snookie snookie
with a grin like chocolate suckle
that is smooth sangria down the throat
artichoke belt buckle
enjoy the comfortable finale
"forget i'm filthy, from the alley"

chicky? chicky! are you sleeping?
i have been for 16 years
dreaming loads of lovely fellows
strong enough to show me tears
i have wasted the best of charms i've ever tasted;
the stairs fall down beneath my heel

i greet your frowns
my toes on the line
i drink with a hunger
from a gallon of wine
encourage the blur
allow the feel

do they think that i am beautiful?
do they think that i am real?

Teresa Magaña Jan 2012

My Sweetness
My Fruit
Little bits of sourness that I have felt from dealing with boys ,..that I’ve let come, …in my life,…and just pass on through,
Like Tita from Agua Para Chocolate
Pouring her energy
Her feelings
Her heart in every dish she made
I poured and poured
10 bottles of red wine…Passionate red vibes
Into that Sangria containing my sweet fruit
And just a little bit,…little bite of lime
That little bit of sourness I hold inside
My energy flowing through every smile, word, and laughter that floated in the air
And bounced from vibe to vibe
And what did I get in return?
Not only the satisfaction of seeing and feeling everyone have such a great time
Giggles from buzzed and tipsy steps of folks passing me by
But the collection of singles, overflowing in the cute bartender’s tip jar
It was your singles
And his singles
And even her singles that filled up that jar
The collection of singles that fed the creative force of souls that night
Fed the souls
Fed the minds
Fed us with creativity
But most importantly
Fed us with awesome tacos at 2:30 in the morning from a place we happened to find right around the block
My Sangria bought us tip jar tacos that night

Skaidrum Jul 2016

Bathed in silver, cracked in gold
love got into one of your stories again.
               ❝ i swear i didn't mean to be temporary ❞

Sangria flames and broken glass;
dry ashes mixed with lavender petals,
a phoenix beckoning the silk threads of night
                ❝ desolation took a bite from the moon ❞

You will become brittle dust to feed old books on shelves,
and I don't regret that I both poured
and drank
a cup of lust and sorrow, just for you
              ❝ do you still want to kiss the ink off my lips ❞

Tip the dish to catch the koi,
as you reincarnate once again;
mind those knives in the sink,
and please remember, that fire is impatient
               ❝ as you succumb to me in all thousand lives ❞

my phoenix
let it be known that
your dreams still stain my pillow

© Copywrite Skaidrum
Mike Jewett Feb 2015

Moonup, shades of sangria
hazed in mothwing

motes. We wrap in
flannel, tartan Seattle

accompanied by smudging sticks.
Batteries never charged-

shock. Flatline.
You said no violets (you

mean it). Moondown takes
time- scores of swaying shadows
      to arc

the parsecs. Inherit starlight,
bank it, never blink; wet stones

in the noise of stars.

A K Krueger Mar 2013

What are the words
I mean to say?
This drink, it flows,
Inside my veins,
And life, it moves
And flows for me
Yet worldly pleasures
Drive the weak.
As I long
To tell you these,
All I can say
Are words that please.
I love you
I love you,
Do I,
Do I?

Sweetheart, dream.
And listen on
To the stars that flow
From here
To beyond.

RJames O'Brien May 2014

People wobbling in the heat haze like a real time hall of mirrors
Street performers sing & flamenco & mime
The snap of digital cameras & excited chatter outside the cathedral
Sangria cold & fruity as it slides down easily
The tram glides past the beggars & hawkers
Gypsies’ curses in coarse andalucian as rosemary favours are repelled
Excited Asians watching every move Large Americans loudly exclaiming their delight as the light fades into dusk
Now the Feria comes alive all lights & ferris wheels & music so much music
Men on horseback women ride sidesaddle all in traditional dress
A throwback to a time before bailouts & austerity
Sing & Dance & Eat & laugh & joke
As dusk becomes evening the ottoman turrets light up
The cooler night air seems to remove inhibitions as people from different worlds celebrate humanity with cheers & smiles
Muchos Gracias & Bueno & Buena Noches  in various accents fill the night as the spell is broken

I sit here,

            cat on my lap,

            an evergreen forest in my lungs

                                    and silver fish in my heart.

Your blue eyes are beneath these typewriter keys,

                                    behind every sheet of paper.

“I will always find you,” you whispered as our stars ripped apart.

And you did,

                        on a May night warm with sangria and bonfire:

                                    we made eye contact

                                    and our souls crashed

                                    into each other

                                    like wave against wave,

                                    starlight against starlight.

Rj Nov 2015

You're crashing into me like waves on the coast
Every time we talk, you move in close
Wrecking ball dancing down the hallway
You're holding your shoes, wearing my shades
We fall against the door,
we fall into a wild warm kiss

By Blake Shelton, not mine
ZWS Jul 2015

I've been looking down the bottle for so long my eyes are corks
When I'm drinking liquid bread there isn't a need for forks
The only reason I'm here is because my father shot the stork
And my mother was wearing that white dress like it was her corpse
And their love sounded more like morse
Constant disconnect, hoarse

Things get a little fucked when you're having sangria dreams
When you're void of love, and you're falling asleep on mail you never opened, and bills you've got to pay, and pills you never want to take
And a pile full of your mistakes

You brush off, you shave, you work
Or you don't, and you sit in bed all day with guilty insides
And you open up another bottle of wine
And you think about love, mishaps and sex
But this time it doesn't hurt
You tell yourself it doesn't hurt

So I'm drinking the red wine
I had those cut-up peaches
Soaking, fermenting in for 3 days.
A nice summer evening buzz,
Just back from my evening walk
Within the gates of my over-55
Lunatic Asylum.
On my rear porch in Hemetucky,
I chaise lounge the hours,
Listening to the mourning dove
Nesting in the bottlebrush bush.
I know she's there, having
Fired thru my duck blind,
My latest weapon of choice,
My new-fangled Flex Hose,
It expands when turned on.
Which got me thinking that the
Flex Hose inventor guy must have
Whacked off a lot as a teenager.
An Alex Portnoy protege, perhaps,
If familiar with Roth's book.
Portnoy's Complaint:
Most of us read it;
Some of us lived it.
It is pointless to speculate.
12 ft. Flexible Water Hose with
Nozzle-flxh-25 (4-00268...Home Depot
Hose-with.../204818892/The Home Depot
Rating: 1.8 - ‎14 reviews - ‎$19.97 - ‎In stock
"The Flexible hose automatically expands with water flow and contracts back to its original shape for storage. Lightweight and durable. The Flexible Hose will ..."
(That's right, a commercial right in the
Middle of the fucking poem.
This Poet refusing to die in the gutter,
Having finally figured out how to
But I digress.

Anonymouse Jane Dec 2014

I fell asleep to the sound of your screaming,
the melancholic melodies of our sinister love.
I woke shrouded in silence;
the dark room shifted and squirmed around me.
My hands groped the sheets for you
but were left wanting.

The sun comes up
and I’m still waiting.
The room now a temple of hate,
an auditorium of ludicrous lamentations

Too late for recess from the pain
too tangled in a cancerous web of thoughts
too late

-our sweet wine now vinegar.

Cathy Jan 2016

It started with a sip
The kiss of a rim
How did it turn out like this?

I fiddled with the straw
I flirted at the bar
I took too many gulps
How did I end up like this?

My friends worried about me
My loneliness came and got me
I cried tequila tears
How did I know it'd be like this?

I just wanted one kiss
To taste a pair of lips
but the sangria betrayed me
How did Blake Shelton not say this?

I'm still hungover whoops
Your lips taste like sangria is my jam
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