"wined" poems
Tiger, Tiger they all called him.
Faces marked with smiles grim.
Office buzzed with word tiger, tiger.
He was one but many they were.
Full day continued insincere flattery.
End of month 'twas, day for salary.
Then story took melodramatic turn.
Like tiger he moved, demeanor stern.
Outright he announced party that night.
Everyone attended in clothes bright.
They gossiped, danced and dined.
Happily they all boozed and wined.
He sat like a tiger circled by coterie;
And the total bill was half the salary.
I looked through magnifying glass;
And saw pack of wolves and an ***
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:32 AM UTC
I took Death out to dinner last night,
dressed up
in my favorite costume.
Dripping diamonds
and champagne tear-ducts--
I clogged my pores
with soggy make-up.
We wined and dined
and wore out our shoes--
I told him my secrets
He nodded and listened.
We shuffled down side-streets
and looked into mirrors--
I shivered in darkness
He drew me in nearer.
His body a bone-yard
Lovely but broken--
I heard his soft breath
I felt fingers stroking.
But crawling back homeward
Aching and tired--
We parted by day-fall
I watched him shrink inward.
With farewell promises
to meet again soon--
I swallowed the sunrise,
I cursed out the moon.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
You'll come around,
soon, realize
This is not pain you are getting
for refusing me pleasure
This a pleasure I am giving,
so you don't refuse MY pain.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
Women are always saying, why are there no good men out there anymore?
I say there are plenty of good men out there.
Good men with great qualities.
Might not look like Brad Pitt but strong enough to never quit.
You can't wait for a George Clooney you may go ******
You chose to go out on a date with that handsome man.
Who drives the fancy car and wears that fancy watch.
That handsome man wined you and dined you.
Took you back to his place where you ended up staying late.
You left in the early morning hour, heading home for a shower.
A few days have gone by, that handsome man never calls.
You're feeling sad and rejected, thats what handsome men do.
A good man would not have rejected you.
A good man who drives an old pickup truck.
Who worries when the rents do.
A good man working to make ends meet would sweep you off your feet.
Good men aren't hard to find.
Just open your eyes and you just might find.
That there are a few good men out there.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle
The rabbits beneath the deck,
Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery,
Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead,
Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach,
All inquire:
Was it better wherever you went?
Were the:
Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin,
Eagles, double headed, of Russia
Herring, fried, creamed, wined,
From the vendors on the docks of
Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn,
Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm,
More impressive,
Tastier than our striped bass,
Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently
For their chronicler to return?
Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin
Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen
Welcome you more warmly than your friends,
The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls
Who overwatch your steps and safety
When hiking in Mashomack Preserve?
Are the interlacing tidal creeks,
Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged,
Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island
Any lesser than those of Scandinavia?
Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the
Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland,
More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe,
Who carry you swiftly home to us?
The National Geographic people say that in
Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone
Is one of the ten best in the world.
Guessing they have not made it yet to the
Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks!
Were you unaware that our isle settled before
Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand
Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg,
Route 114 was a traveled forest path,
By settlers and Indians, not serfs.
Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage,
The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace,
Wrote not a single word, we observe.
Your attentions, they did not deserve?
The answers all, self evident.
Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of
Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay,
Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere,
Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall,
Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island
Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed
Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp.
Silver Beach
July 22, 2012
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
So much talk about me; my dreams, my goals, my desires
So what then; when, how, who can realize the change I require?
My yesterday, my today, my future all entwined
My kids celebrate me, but have only wined and dined
Listen faintly, to a bit of my life’s story
As a colony of empires I was; my history!
I was birthed to treasure seeking hunters
Merely over-shadowing the fore-fathers
Merged and named after a flowing River from within
“Nigeria” was and is; Nineteen Hundred and Fourteen
I would have to call this, my naming ceremony
I sensed motley feelings; no empire, no colony
Crowned as the giant of Africa; behold, my birthday
Perhaps, this started the beginning of my future today?
Outdated assumptions; are the thrown away weights
Our economic growth the world watches and waits
Stop the whining yesterday; start an act today, and stand
All we have to do is look into ourselves, our hands
Overlook the past, create a change today, you and I can
Yes!, you, me; we all are “Nigeria’s Future”.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
FAKE FRIENDS
You call me a friend, as you pull out a knife
You stab me in the back, not once but twice
Friends for life, but that’s a straight up lie
You aint gotta clue, about Ride or Die
I’m surrounded by wolves that are dressed like sheep
Telling straight lies, dry snitching on me
Claiming it wasn’t you, behind the line up glass
You straight pointed out me, to save your own ***
I’d rather sweat buckets, to search out peace
Than spilling gallons of blood, fighting demons in me
The battle continues, frighten the anger within
It’s a full time job, dealing with FAKE *** FRIENDS
Ever time I think I know, what you’ll do next
You end up selling me out, for a yard or less
You made you a dollar, so I’m screaming again
You’re a straight up punk, a FAKE *** FRIEND
I can sit and formulate a plan in my head
Take a ****** shot; make your FAKE *** DEAD
Now I’m on the run, a fugitive at large
Aint a FAKE *** FRIEND around, worth taking a charge
Their a dime a dozen, you can find them anywhere
Just don’t be fooled, because its buyer beware
It’s a known street rule, don’t say it wasn’t said
Because FAKE *** FRIENDS, usually wined up dead
But ill take what GOD gave me common sense, and walk away
It’s a soft *** move, but Ill write another day
Not locked up covered up, dealing with my sins
Nothing wrong with cutting off, a FAKE *** FRIEND
Aint a chick or dude around, can’t relate to what I’m saying
We all had friends, which were straight perpetrating
Saying they got our back, all the way to the end
Same ole same ole, just a FAKE *** FRIEND
So now I ride solo, I know it’s a risk
If push comes to shove, Ill add my girl to the list
Now I’m RICH and FAMOUS, and you wanna make amends
But as I told you before, **** FAKE *** FRIENDS!
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 8:48 PM UTC
Stones from Heaven ---pourles enfants de Haiti "Whatcrime what sin had those young hearts conceived That lie bleeding torn on a mother’sbreast... The human race demands a word from God."--Voltaire, " Poem on the Lisbon Earthquake" (1775) the flesh of the city blends its blood with the dust ofearth's gravethe devil quake broke the bones of their beds with itsterrorist bombthey could see the day light of death in the beaten air feel it in their prayerful souls as the some time glad daysun fell into forever's darkness and all the all reeked with theashes of fearwhere is the loving God of married hallelujahs? all the poor man's houses falling falling "amid thedeepening gloom"into a tomb for sons of promise and green daughterstheir pleasure and pain drowned in a ghost of tears lost like raindrops on the grey face of the bottomless oceanvanished like the passing shadows of stories in theimagination of cloudswhy oh darkened God of stones God of the Word God of Heaven? in the once bright light of a schoolyard's promise silencenow bleedswhere young eyes yesterday shouted from their books a beliefin tomorrows now the living dead carry their bodies with loving worms on the gallows of their bent backs wander the veins of thebeaten streets chanting horror's verbs black angels mourning the flesh of222,217 in mass graveswhere is the open hands of God the prodigal Father? they lie down forever in the weather of their sorrow withthe innocent deadweep for the seed of their breathless children in the bloodlit city of gospel sorrow no glad to be home families no wined friends with hope'sholiday songs no loving child's prayers or whispered shut eye no sweetgood nights no these good soldiers of Jesus' hosannas are the inspiredblind no moreto the womb of endless night no to the forsaken God of theirbrambled *****
Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 9:01 AM UTC
One mile down the drunken river
I lost my mind in her midday yellow haze.
Residues of the river-wind-kiss lingered saline on my face,
Wild sun on the wild river scathed my skin copper,
And I glided upstream in blurred eye sweat
Losing and finding the river’s mangrove shore.
My mind in delirious mess wondered
What it was that wined the river, made her a swirling detachment,
Bearing all with the endurance of a drunkard
But embracing nothing like an all foregoing monk.
I dreamed adrift one more mile and then another
Till I was windswept and wined like the drunken river.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
we see the dying die. i walk down the stairs and give them nothing everyday. as i was walking down 8th ave one afternoon, i was approached by a girl who was about my age. she was screaming indiscriminately
"please sir! can you help me?! i have no idea where i am and i don't have enough money for a bus ticket home."
i drudged a drunken look up at her
i was tired
i wanted the bus ticket home
and the beautiful new york city girl you sit next to
you know
the ones they keep up in front
but they sit in back
she told me she had gotten on the wrong bus and wound up in new york city
just by accident
that she didn't have any money
and her family was worried and needed her back home
8th and 43rd
she wined at anyone who passed
with a terrified look
as if she was to be eaten or sacrificed
her story was unconvincing
i gave her twenty dollars to get home
i truly hope she did
but in my heart of hearts i know she spent it on drugs
she was a good actress
and should get what she deserves
after i handed her the bill
she asked
" oh my god , can i give you a hug!? please?! "
she grabbed me tight and was almost crying
she was so beautiful
in trouble
as if i had given her life itself
our elders do not understand the affect of there traditions
upon the truthful way of life
so we sit here and wither
victims of just being tired
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
First time I looked into his eyes
my heart sighed, now that I
think back he made my soul
cry every time I felt him by my
side, especially when his hands
would glide gently upon my
thigh.
Opening my mind's chasm;
while he whispered how he'd
always love me through the
test of time, fore, he loves to
hear my sultry whine; as his
eyes wined and dined upon
each curved line.
And tingles ran up and down
my spine; those are the days
he blew my mind, purring like
a kitten; I knew from the first
time I looked into his eyes I'd
be smitten and those days I
wouldn't be forgetting.
His allure is so, sumptuously
fetching, my breath is still catching;
remembering his lascivious
twinkle and ***** smile; my body
reels back in time causing me to feel,
what he had in mind; I still crave
him like a connoisseur, the woman
he worshipped and adored.
Laying here in revelry thinking of
all the deviltry we partook in makes
me take a second look into my mind's
eye and long for his dreamy eyes to
feast all over again and I'd begin to
sigh, fore, as he slept those hands
would rest upon quivering thighs.
And I'd listen to his sleep laden sigh
dreaming of me his gentle rose; fore,
I'd stand in his eyes reflective pool and
pose; while he'd breathe in the scent
of my aromatic rose.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 2:11 AM UTC
I knew an old man
Who tried to act young
He popped a blue
pill on the tip of his
Tongue.
He slicked back his hair
and put on a White suit
He tried to style like Travolta,
one more grey and hirsute
(It wasn't much as illusion
but it sure was a hoot)
He danced till his hip ached
then had to recline.
The lifts in his loafers
had betrayed him this time.
He tried to impress
with a big *** of cash
But the young ladies knew
his best days were long past
He loved them, they left him
He wined and they dined
He tried to romance them
but was always declined.
At the end of the evening
and the last of the wine
He conceded to age
and resumed his decline.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 2:31 PM UTC
write something for me, darling.
write me like one of your fancy girls
all glowing and sinning in my gown.
write me a beautiful scene
in an italian countryside
with you and we're both just in the best of shape.
write me at night under the lamplight
where you can barely make out
the outline of my face,
but you see the lamplight in my eyes
and for once you wonder
what's behind that twinkle.
oh but darling just write me
in anger when i can't meet your needs
and you blame yourself,
throwing your possessions all about
and tearing your clothes off
ripping me apart asking why oh why not
couldn't i have just been faithful?
but you know she never burned me
like you do.
won't you write that.
don't you write me darling.
don't you dare put us on a boat
in the middle of a sea
ready to capsize as the rogues pass,
sloshing and tossing us about.
don't you take me below deck
and remind me that jesus h. christ
is [where oh where don't we both know]
... and yet i've forgotten.
it's been so long.
i'm hardly adjusting to the altitude, you know.
not to mention the wine.
won't you write me a philosoph-
checking and correcting and spiritually connecting
until i throw my manifesto into the fire place,
and in your face, your blazing face,
that dances as the flames charr and erase
the passionate loss and cherubim embrace-
doll, what does your skin feel like these days?
oh lovely, write it for me. write it for me.
write me for it.
right me for it.
i'd like to be erased, thus:
know-it-all that i've become!
unwittingly writing with my two left feet
and my two left thumbs.
[cough... sputter... shoulder glance.]
i have wined and dined myself again, dear.
no thanks to your writing.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:03 PM UTC
Like petals from the flower bloomed
her smile wades
as eyes consume
the personification of beauty...
of which every angel longs
but could never hope to be
because their wings are over encumbered
by the burden of our wrongs.
Shadows cast upon the face
of the ever-blazing sun
top rung being...
of the evolution sprung...
proof of natural selection
is the breath that leaves her lungs.
hour glassed and figurine(d)
are the angles of her curves
parabolas that round just right,
i wish they'd never end,
penned in shape with permanency
nerves twist and wined to lips
that trade kiss with me like currency.
Her soul peers out through her iris
desirous to capture this moment.
because this moment will last forever...
universally content
lips bent & crease at both corners
when i rest my hands upon her hips.
and treat each passing glance as the priceless...
the priceless gift of knowing bliss.
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 5:00 PM UTC
A most beautiful Rose
In all that beauty, that of a rose
To see, its scent, may I propose
A sonnet or some rambling prose
To compliment it as it grows.
A pink, a yellow, blood red verse
A turn of phrase to intersperse
A sanctuary where I immerse
A once off bloom not to rehearse.
Be great; be graceful in your bloom
Posy soft, petal pantaloom
Life’s union of young bride and groom
So vibrant in their special room.
Such dreamy gentle lines that find
A paint brush, colours intertwined
An *********** for creative mind
Natures gift thus wined and dined
All fifty years, each well walked mile
You still reduce me to this smile
So radiant flawless in your style
Fill fifty more, it’s all worthwhile.
Nov 29, 2010
Nov 29, 2010 at 10:33 AM UTC
Across the room I followed his eyes;
a look that whispered a need to be
at my side; sideburns and mustache
beckoned to tease me, already
tingling with throbbed hunger; a physique
that rippled with each finger I wanted to press
into sculptured muscles as his mind licked
me with slow dips into my soft muscular lanky frame.
I knew we were meant for one another, especially,
when those same eyes seem to say I want to marry
you as soon as we get to know each other; which made
me slowly want to whimper into his open mouth; inviting me
to taste his emanating ambrosia, his intoxicating scent;
making me swoon into his arms; wrapping me within
his alluring warmth all I could utter is hmmm...
Week after week just touching and tasting drove
me out of my mind; wanting him to have all of me,
the way he walked and talked left me trembling
inwardly, but, I held my lusting mind, wanting
us to both be introduced physically and mentally
with the same need and want of one another; I
myself knew I wanted to spend the rest of my
life with this handsome specimen, the most
alluring thing about him was his intellect.
His conversation even had me drooling, I was
falling...no I won't say falling in love; I fell in
love from the look in his eyes way across the
room, eyes he only had for me; at that time
and moment put me in a trance.
We wined and dined, movies, shopped and
even enjoyed the atmosphere of an arcade;
I even allowed him to beat me in bowling,
he was/is just an exquisite man.
Another month or more goes by no physicality,
just loving mentally with a little petting now
and again, but, we both agreed to discover
our likes and dislikes; I was so, enamored it
didn't matter how long we waited as long as
I was in his presence, touched.
Then one night; after heavily tasting one another
we couldn't contain ourselves not one more
minute and he slipped a ring of friendship upon
my finger; a lip quiver and a tear rolled down
my cheeks as he explained he still wanted it to
be a transition of getting to know everything
of each other; tears blinding me, all I could do
was smile and shake my head in agreement.
Our love bloomed for two years before we
actually got engaged and then married a year
after a long courtship of bliss and wanton
hunger grew into an enraptured lust that is
still strong until this day...My Lover & I.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 3:00 AM UTC
Startled ends, the consummation
Of hours, last days sparkle, begin,
I was made and I, was cast away,
Unsaved, born of oceans drowned
Pressures unwaved, unfounded
Yet strung alive, blood draining,
Torn inside and your voice, supple-
Clarion, your little hands roping mine
Subtle vines, tangled in unrest
Provisioned, sweet song, poison
Wined, what sorcerery, what shame
To forget ones grounded name,
To live, now only in shadow, sun
Only in shade where every room
Remains—
Empty, the golden light washed
Out in the seeping tides of ruin.
Though I was spent open, betrayed,
Always waiting, deaf hope listened
For deaths' floating midge of feathers
Drop, wish I never knew, never ran,
Came by you, never saw the mirrors
Ends, only wish for peace, day lights
Dull untold innocence.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
Puppet master you tried to play
For years holding srtings that have started to fray.
Oh poor puppet man, how will you ever stand
without the strings in your hand?
I'm sprinting away without a shadow of doubt.
I'll go in this way, and find my own way out.
Finding my own water when I get thirsty
Rinsing clean all that makes my mouth *****
Vast desert landscapes have nothing on me
For I am the one that's creating the heat.
You can throw your stones and tell me I'm weak
but your stones will just shatter and I will still be.
So much power is packed in my fist,
for I've wined and dined and conversed with Jesus.
I've seen white lights that you will never witness.
So go on, Puppet Master, keep working those strings
that are tattered and broken, tied up to nothing.
Aug 30, 2010
Aug 30, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC
This was unprecedented:
After so many years,
The three of us,
Spending time with each other,
The second time, actually,
But the first time in reality...
Doing things together
Whatever the weather
Amidst the flu epidemic
Only in our house endemic...
Diving through albums uncovered
Old cards and photographs, discovered
Events recalled with each page
Of those still alive but have aged
Even those in this world now gone
No more tears now, just pure fun...
Amazing!
My sisters and I,
All in our senior years.
The times have been kind to us,
The gravity of our burdens
Never capitalized on our appearances.
In all modesty,
In all honesty,
in the eyes of many,
And in my own eyes...
We have become lovelier,
In our own ways...
Wealthy in experiences,
With each line and wrinkle
Bearing witness to the wisdom
We carry
In our minds and in our hearts,
Adding more precious gemstones
To each of our invisible jeweled crowns.
Still very much honed, our senses...
Still clear, our memories,
Olden times in our lives,
Oftentimes, recounted...
Clear as glass,
Every detail,
Every date,
Specified,
Verified,
All true.
We faced, dealt with
The acid tests of life, we
Emerged triumphant.
There weren't dull moments,
For we learned to smile,
Come what may...
In and out we dined,
Laughed, and wined,
Sang our songs,
Told our stories,
Tried on our old outfits,
Gigglings of our youth
All relived,
All resurrected.
The three of us,
Up to having more wrinkles soon,
Laughing at the most trivial things.
The "Tres Hermanas,"
As we were fondly called,
Then, even now,
My two sisters,
Oblivious of their nearing departure,
For we were having unequaled fun,
From sunrise to sunset,
Even beyond bedtime hours,
Here, in our family house,
After a long, long time.
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A, Bayan
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 7:56 AM UTC
I've poured over books of science
Studied hard the ancient arts
Even spoke with bearded Guru's
On the peak of mountain tops
Taken classes from learned professors
At top notch universities
But if Jesus isn't brought up
What good are they to me
I've rubbed elbows with Hollywood Stars
As they've rehearsed their lines
Had discussions with dignitaries
With Presidents I've wined and dined
I have watched the worlds top athletes
Some of whom I'm their biggest fan
But if Jesus isn't in the process
It doesn't make any sense
I've seen a man walk on the moon
Plant a flag beneath the stars
Heard men give the greatest speeches
Watched men drive the fastest cars
You could say I've about done it all
And in that you would be right
But without Jesus in the mix
There's not much good to life
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
Eb pulls back, he holds his peace
he's done with Flo, he's wined the beast
and as it's said, 'don't tread where sands are shifting'
ebb and flow, they come and go
ebb draws us out, the tides are low,
but as we yearn, return, and stop our drifting.
i stand on rock, alone at last
and mourn for what is done and past
but still, with broken heart, recall the surges;
the times when you were out at sea
and when you finally wrote to me
I laugh at how you satisfied my urges.
The words we shout from distant shore
the ones which fall on heavy oar
which make the trip back home far less than pleasing;
far better are the words on wing
which land with olive branch and sing
a song of love which keeps the flow from freezing.
but even in the closest knit
where scarcely will the piece not fit
there's comes a rhythm known as ebb and flow.
and marriage is a special bond
and Eb and Flo they looked beyond
and understood the way it had to go.
and through the laughter and the tears
and late night dances, sharing beers
they always knew the highs would lead to low.
and now Flo waits on lonesome shore
for time apart was forced before
as time would have it, 'twas Eb's time to go.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
She sat there and drank
As the Titanic sank
And the people were running about
"There's no need to worry,"
She said without hurry,
"I expect to be wined 'til they're out!"
The waiter dropped tray
As he scampered away
And the champagne now flowed on the floor
The woman looked down
With a sizeable frown
And gargled and belched, "I want more!"
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Wishful thinking of us entwined
Romantic meals we wined and dined
Such perfect times that we both shared
Promises of love that we both shared
Holding hands our love so divine
Wishful thinking of us entwined
Under full moon we planned our dreams
Romantically and so serene
Ecstasy with a single touch
Pleasured, enraptured by our love
Wishful thinking of us entwined
Words of love for you, I would find
Dreams we cherish sometimes die
The ones we loved have chosen lies
My broken heart for now I pine
Wishful thinking of us entwined
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 8:33 AM UTC
There are many rules to dating 1st rule you don't date in the circle because exes usually can't be friend and that puts the crowd in an awkward situation.
Next rule you don't date exes of friends or family. There's boundaries that need to be respect. It just ruins friendships if you choose a relationship take that chance at your own risk.
Dating has changed before men wined and dined women now a days most women want to be miss independent so they shouldn't be made setting double standards.
I thought men asked women out now a days women slay men like they have some kind of dominate conquest. I'm not sure how things work but I've been observing since the late time I dated.
If a girl likes you that makes it is winning a girl over is like asking her to give up what she loves. I've learned to not ask for much.
The 3 date rule I don't oppose it but hear its out there women want you to flaunt them and respect if not they'll find someone who will.
I've heard what women like and want but never end up with the product they speak of it starves my curiosity.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
Magic whispered at her fingertips
Ghosts dripped from her red wined lips
Trickery twirled from her ever cluttered heart
Hurricanes roared in her icy blue eyes
Hellish wonder spun from her mind
She was known as Chaos and no one called her mine
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC