"winery" poems
There’s a scurrying sound of something, burrowing,
Down in the depths of the dungeons, hurrying,
Skittering, pittering-pattering, scattering
When there’s a footstep, hear them chattering:
‘Here come the lords, and here comes the vassal,
Tripping their way through Cockroach Castle.’
Here come the ladies, all in their finery
Tripping and sipping the wine from the winery,
Trailing their silks, their satins and bustling,
Up in the ballroom, while the rustling
Army beneath the sounds of their razzle
Is down in the depths of Cockroach Castle.
Spilling their millions up in the glooming
Out from the flagstones, terror is looming,
Up on the awnings, hung from the ceiling
Under the swish of the skirts they’re stealing,
Dropping in hair, and burrowing faster,
Cockroach Castle is set for disaster.
Suddenly all of the room is screaming
Flapping of hands, the roaches are teeming,
Myriad hordes in the Carbonara,
Candles are tipped from the candelabra,
Choking smoke from the candles guttered,
Flames leap up from the ones that stuttered.
Clothing and flags and the awnings razing
Silks and satins flare up, and blazing,
Roaches in eyes and ears, they’re rasping
Clogging their throats, to leave them gasping,
There isn’t a lady or lord, or vassal
To come out alive from Cockroach Castle!
David Lewis Paget
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She had her own signature scent,
A lasting aroma, that lingers in every corner of her home
As the strong winds picked up the scent,
and move it quite a distance.
She carefully prepare the mixture from the earth
Cuss ,kuss grass, Jasmine, rose buds and roots,
Before she prepare the mixtures with that special touch
Like a fine wine from the winery,
“One more drop of Rosemary oil, she would say
This would make the scent last for eternity,
Old Granddad he would make silly jokes,
His word usages, madam chemist, a witch with a spoon,
But in the end, she would always made a special potion for him
We would carefully select the flaky mahogany woods shaving,
with combinations of fresh vanilla leaves with extracting oil with oils
Those homemade perfumes from flowers had lots of potential.
Granddad hand craft the wooded bottle stoppers with his chisel,
It was a joy to watch, the old Irish typhoon working and smoking his pipe
Old Alan baffler was Nana nickname for him
She would scold and speak harshly to us
for touching the those colorful luring bottles
“Don’t open those bottles, you malicious children
Else a witch would appear: She would often say,
For me, my nana was an old chemist,
with old decade’s wooden sticks.
Preparing the mixtures like a fine wine,
I am forever grateful for those memories
I should have follow in her footsteps,
Her secret potions, her gift,
Is worth millions of dollars today
Looking back on yesteryears , good parenting
and good memories
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 8:48 AM UTC
It was a cold night,
I was coming home,
And I didn't inform her,
As I wanted it to be a surprise.
War was over and I was going home,
The terrorists had been terminated.
I had stopover en route,
At a distant town I paused,
Famous for its winery,
I had got the finest ***
For both me & my wife.
Obstructed en route by a blizzard,
I thought about my wife at home.
Waiting for the way to be cleared,
I slept because I felt so very tired.
A dream sequence started,
It was so bright and warm.
I was basking in the Sun,
My wife accompanied me.
Holding hands we're in the backyard,
Not a cloth shielded us from the Sun.
Composing poems we were,
Warm and hot ones as well.
I had said:
***"Oh my honeybunch,
My buttercup,
I love you,
From the core,
Of my purest heart."***
She had replied:
***"Oh my sweetiepie,
My bigger baby,
I love you too,
From my heart,
And even my body."***
But then the dream ended,
They had cleared the road.
The driver again started driving,
At a slow speed fit only for snails,
Still my rifle rattled inside the bad.
Now I reached my town,
I expected her in nightgown,
In the velvety green one she had.
Edging closer on foot to my home,
I observe incandescence in the hall,
Glimmering through the curtains,
I thought she was waiting for me,
Basking in the heat of the fireplace,
After a tiring day's work at the office,
She should have slept peacefully,
But here she was, I thought,
Waiting for her man to be back,
From the neighbouring state's capital.
With these positive thoughts on my mind,
I parried forwards in the snow,
And I thought I'd surprise her,
Telling that my work was done,
Earlier, much earlier than I had expected.
I produced my copy of the key,
And silently opened the door,
But then I heard some sounds.
Totally unexpected sounds,
Like the intimate ones in bed,
I wanted it to be some teleseries,
But then I noticed an overcoat,
And a pair of oversized boots,
Neither the overcoat belonged to me,
Nor the huge gumboots were mine.
It dawned upon me,
My wife had been cheating,
She was in the hall,
The indecent incandescence,
With the noises of it,
Filled the home after issuing,
From the main hall.
I immediately stepped back,
Closing the door silently behind me,
Then I went to the bus stop.
I entered the lodge nearby,
Took the bottle of *** out,
Drank it full slowly but surely,
Then I took the gun out,
Sank the *** in & pulled the trigger,
BANG!!!
The bullet dug under my chin,
It pierced me through my head,
Shattering the lamp overhead.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 11:40 PM UTC
Flawed Hypothesis
I know she was the one
she had the most to gain
reaching down to touch the fallen soul
bleeding from the mouth
at the bottom of the stairs
she would inherit the winery
she would now be rich
have it all to herself
she had revenge in her heart
he had stolen it from her family
but the wine master seems strange
very nervous for an innocent
and his mustache looks crooked
I don't think it's real Neal
You're right Sherlock
and what about that boyfriend
he could marry her if she inherited
that slicked back black hair
something is not right there
the way his lip curls
what about that store magnate
wanting to purchase his land
and that scar on his right hand
smooth talker if ever there was
his suit must have cost 2 grand
maybe they all had a hand
but I still think its Muriel
those tears just don't seem real to me
not the way that she should be
so I am thinking it is her for me
Gomer LePoet ...
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 7:21 PM UTC
As we drew closer to the abysmal highway
We stopped by a winery
And I found myself asking
"Is this a cemetery?"
Which is poetically ironic
Because I imagine my former self
Is buried somewhere in that vineyard
Fore I felt the ghost of who I once was eerily imminent
Among the grape vines that reminded me of skeletons
Barren and desolate
But ripe with possibilities
For a better tomorrow
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
acid pools in stomachs mingling
with melatonin and valerian.
struggling to displace oneself in the scheme of things.
there is no question that Mitchum was the man,
or that Farewell, My Lovely is still too expensive for me to buy,
but I do question the length of time we spent
pondering the truth with empty schedules and JWH-018.
we etched an identity from a corner-store drug era
filled with colorful characters and interesting flavors;
burning spare change and time probing the annals
of creativity for something to pop up and speak to us.
I know I shouldn't have stopped texting,
but you should have let the schoolyard bully stay home.
artsy flicks just don't have the same charm anymore,
and the struggle to stay seated is hard to purge,
pleading, wailing in a crowded cinema,
when we both know you could've prevented yourself
from never getting a chance to see this.
you hover still over the lights lining the aisles.
the phases of the moon have stayed loyal,
chili and tabasco are still great on a cold January afternoon,
and there is still some charm to cranking the stereo
on the stretch of highway out by Rock Springs.
Big Boss Man still asks "do you believe in God?"
before he asks an unsuspecting face for a dollar.
they still put on concerts in the summer over by The Winery,
but I haven't ever heard of any of the bands.
someone else manages The Smoker's Den now;
some kid I've never met, so I probably won't go back in.
he doesn't appreciate the comedy found in the face of Perot,
or the elusive, dark sweetness of the huckleberry.
in passing we exchanged a miraculous favor,
and in passing we managed to become different people,
in passing I walk on top of uncertain footprints,
and in passing you dream of film noir.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
Lady in violet
let us venture to Venus the planet of love
plant a vineyard
open a winery
becoming the axis of the universe
under purple skies in a bed of purple violets drunk on purple wine.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 6:50 AM UTC
matrimoni australiani non mancano mai di farmi un po 'tantino geloso di tutte le persone che hanno avuto la fortuna di parteciparvi .Perché quando prendo una sbirciatina a un matrimonio come questo da Sarah Bamford Fotografia So solo che gli ospiti sono ancora parlando di quanto sia divertente che avevano in questo matrimonio oggi .E ' la perfetta combinazione di moda e sentimentale .e c'è molto di più vi aspetta qui .
Condividi questa splendida galleria
Da Sarah Bamford Photography.This matrimonio era pura perfezione .Beatitudine Vintage ed eccellenza fai da te.Ogni splendido dettaglio è stato creato dalla sposa e lo sposo compresi i menu .centrotavola .la torre torta .bouquet e ospite book.The sposo anche fatto i tavoli di accoglienza da vecchi pallet in legno.Tale quota coppia un uno su un milione amore e la connessione e traspariva il giorno più di ogni altra cosa .Erano così facile andare e gli ospiti ci sono svanite abiti da sposa corti dalla bellezza di tutto questo.La cerimonia si è svolta nel bellissimo giardino percorso di Seppeltsfield Cantina abiti da sposa corti nella Barossa Valley .con la reception in un epoca ispirata tendone sul prato sopra .
Questo matrimonio aveva tutto.Una grande festa nuziale vestiti da sposa splendido .musica acustica dal vivo durante la cerimonia .polaroid .e naturalmente una torta ciambella di nozze per coronare il tutto !La giornata è stata perfetta e l'amore tra Olivia e Matt era indescrivibile .. Ancora una volta .pura perfezione e ispirazione Fotografia
: Sarah Bamford Fotografia | Doughnuts : Athelstone Bakehouse | Fiori ( di origine ) : Adelaide Central Markets | Fiori ( di origine ) : Adelaide Central Markets | Venue - cerimonia e il ricevimento : Seppeltsfield
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-corti-c-49
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=118
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
The priests could not be bothered to talk to me..
..as the Bishop took them off for tea..in their finery
Eating roast sham and drinking champagne..
..down by the river in the refurbished winery.
And this I felt as I knelt down to pray.
Religion is dead
It just doesn't pay.
And the rosaries become hypocrisies..
..this I understand.
It was never planned but the pomposity of ceremony..
..and the incense they burned
Turned..me cold.
I believe that God does exist..though the richness of the clergy..
..is like an allergy to me.
I want the church to be free for the saint and the sinner
And dinner for everyone.
Let charity begin from the place where it started.
Charity..alas has become so hard hearted..
..and it tightens its belt.
All this I felt as I knelt down to pray.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 7:22 AM UTC
better lock your doors
past the vibrated floors
of an argument gone wrong in bed
journey into the world
of the introverted bird
for some things are better left
unsaid.
unleashing your anger
piled into relationship danger
for not slipping the lock and key
best to lock it up tight
for things unsaid just might
be better to swallow down
in liquor and internal winery.
partake in these writings
where irritation comes biting
like fire ants in the summer breeze
"better left unsaid" flows with ease
another glass til it becomes more exciting.
just like that you're officially sunk
reserved, considerate and possibly drunk
probably in that same old bed
thinking of which book is unread,
still pondering the possibility
that there's a rule so silly
as
"better left unsaid."
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 12:09 AM UTC
It was very standoffish
back in the forties
still
I wish I'd been there.
Not so different today
just a new way of being
in and seeing things in
a different way.
*****
a torpedo
from
Saucelito
killed time in
the winery
a fine fellow he,
but down there in the canyons
loose cannons
abandon
all hope.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 3:12 PM UTC
a crumbling asphalt road
is the only way up
winding amid wild slopes
young brush and vinyards
heavy with grapes
in the distance
we see the evening sun
catch bare white mountain peaks
on the hills before them
glitter little towns and villages
the air is mild
chestnut trees
keep dropping their fruit
the farmer's restaurant
announced downhill
is closed
so is the church
a German shepherd dog
silently
lies watch over the winery
behind a cast-iron gate
the castello
turns out to be
a not very impressive ruin
advertisement and reality
seem to have grown
far
apart
what makes me write
is the quiet of the hills
through which we walk
the sight of the full moon
we enjoy
with my hands
cupped over your *******
our togetherness
* * *
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
For Berlinski
<X>
it's so true, can't believe it though,
this fact so well known, my cells fibers denied it asylum,
mocking me with a berating ****** single-cell-syllable of
shut-up
my runted eyes never spake this confess out loud
but here it is,
a silent truth rutting onto the **** mirror paper-white screen
where the pixels do my screaming pleasing easy and the
goldie oldie ***** stains, asking "you again?"
silence reverberates, like a tree falling in the forest,
the screen where I live, holy matrimony 90% of everyday
for better or worse, still crazy, the years get longer and the
the poems stretch out, ******* sag, and pseudo-crazy making me
lazy tired
no shy guy me, but the word waste of pointless,
sends me silently screaming to the bedroom where under covers
I count threads. herding words, making pleasure gutter noises,
that can only be heard by the audio surgically implanted
in a human chest, and the dust mites
*but the blunt i smoke stimulates the nervous brain system and the gibberish comes furiously fast, trying not to burn the sheets
that just were laboriously added up to soft and silky when served with a side of naked girl and discovered that I talk hugely stupid when stupid and ****** oh so common, and
the s-words cut bluntly and satrap sharp where there and when the plain sentences become bread knife sharp and the poems gestate in 9 minutes because nothing is blurred and all use Exit 74 on
the interspatial, intracellular inter-pet
fully formed, in finery, winery celebrated, spilling wine on those sheets and now I am cursed cause words are the master,
leaving me just the mature, shy crazy boy, the muted tool;
oh god, dear god - Oh GAWD!!!
please let me be still crazy till long after my
bleached bones rumble,
"boy, it is time to be in that in that valley"*
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
It's like we were destined for each other but weren't meant to be together.
Like we're playing tic-tac-toe but you keep giving me x's and I just go "oh".
It's like I want to believe you don't care,
but how can I even come to that conclusion when my breath catches in my throat everytime I hear, see, and feel you...
when I haven't even given you a chance to play devil's advocate.
It's so much easier when people reject you, harder when they remain silent.
Like two trains, we stay parallel on our tracks, so close but never touching. So close, but never touching.
It's kinda funny how that one thing that makes you happy also made me intoxicated so that my mind could be fuzzy and I could finally get the courage to talk to you.
It's kinda sad how you don't even have to say a word to make me ***** several, carving me like a pumpkin while my poetic
seeds spill out, one by one.
So honey, I'm waiting for the day where we can be amidst the hills of a luscious italian winery.
Your suntanned arms stained with the very soil that nurtures those sweet grapes, sipping barolo from our overpriced wine glasses,
even though I've hated red wine all my life but you put the red back into my life, so naturally I came to love it.
Waiting.
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
Drove 75 miles each way
To see Colbie Callait,
Somewhere in Connecticut,
That was back
In 2009,
Maybe 2010,
Maybe 2011.
Enjoyed it immensely,
Other than
The only thing
Older than me
At the concert
Was the building
It was held in.
And everybody at work made fun of me.
Took my woman
Downtown to the
High Line Ballroom
A few years back,
Edwin McCain,
He sang
I'll Be.
It was fine,
Other than
I was the tallest person
Standing on line.
Last year
Danced on a conga line
Led by Pink Martini,
At Carnegie Hall.
Ain't embarrassed to admit,
They dragged me from my front row seat,
Kicking n' screaming,
Hope nobody was videotaping!
At the Beacon on Broadway,
Saw Paul Simon and
Straight No Chaser,
And I would do it again in a
A Capella second.
This year,
High up at Lincoln Center,
Overlooking Central Park and
My city sparkling,
Saw Ingrid Michaelson singing,
It's OK.
She was giggling,
Cause it was so fun, for her,
To act so grown up.
Her parents and sisters
Even came to see her.
Sometime ago saw Marc Cohn, singing,
Don't remember when, don't recall,
Walking in Memphis,
Even tho both of us were at
City Center on West Forty Third Street.
At the City Winery,
In NoHo
Don Felder did Hotel California,
Went to the backstage partee
Cause I was around when
he first penned it,
When he was still part of the Eagles.
For an old geezer,
Born in 1901,
I'm pretty cool,
Despite the occasional mistake.
But I know better than to go to see
Justin Bieber,
Way too cool for that,
So those ticket to
Taylor Swift,
Ripped,
Having never seen
the light of day,
I think I even pretended to
Throw them away...
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
red rock of cody how you shine red rock of cody your all mine from the north fork to the south fork to the winery were I pop the cork your special in my eyes I hope the spirit of the west in you never dies o red rock of cody how you shine red rock of cody your all mine my heart is on your mountains my spirit is in your lakes cody you always give and never take let me be for ever in your loving embrasse o red rock of cody how you shine red rock of cody your all mine
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Just the memories of her,
make his winery full;
he gets inebriated at will,
drinking it drop by drop.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 8:01 AM UTC
Ameliorate me
Ambience of high nod
No fortuitous meanings
Landslides of alien snod,
Furtive ways
Are all to many
I seeketh a day
A fullness
Of plenty
Futile romantics
In frugal pinch
Judicious tis they are
Worldly *****
Juxtapose notepads
Yet different touchstones
Tentative beasts
Prowl no homes
Terse one shalt be
With all affection
Guns given as presents
Slave turned more peasant
Tirades of clownery
Winery's fail
Hidden like documents
Heart impaled
Corroborate manifest
Wilt shine its light
They've lost their path
All in fright
Arbiter's come bountifully
Devils dance
They've forgotten the ways
Of sweet romance
Inherent to pleasures
Instead of others
Lost all kinship
Sister and brother
Paradoxed discourse
Spoken on route
They forgot the lonely beggar
Prodical sons in doubt
Polemic they'll be
In times unfortune
Burning with lust
Lost to distortion
Forbear thou shalt do
Wherein thy ruins won't topple
Genres of permeating growth
Diseased muffles!!
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
I don't work for a tangible currency
I slave for digital binary
01101000 01100101 01101100 01110000
While I scribble poetry
Emptying my personal winery
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
~
rivlets form beneath his feet,
where sun-parched dust
begins to weep, as it has
ten-thousand times before;
water’s endless cycle courses,
to the valleys from the hills;
retracing paths from end to source.
how many lover’s bodies
have been washed anew,
in streams of cleansing flow,
in this flood that ever cleans?
how many runner’s skyward faces
turned to welcome cooling rain;
or young girl’s pretty dresses
river-laundered; or young lips
taste of heavenly wine?
how many farmers bent a knee,
to offer grateful homage
for a gentle early sign, of
this whispered blessing,
awak’ning slumbering seeds?
have you e’re considered this...
these refreshing drops so sweet,
distilled in heaven’s winery,
bear every moment sensory;
a show of nature’s finest.
drops and sprinkles carry
every tear of grief and joy,
humanity has every cried.
a cistern gath’ring mem’ries,
like the tide gathers shells;
awash in collected tears,
caught up in heavenly swell.
oh spring that ever cools,
oh well that ever quenches...
to water we are drawn to go;
our immersion deep,
in rainfall’s drenching flow.
to its sound we drift to sleep;
caress to calm and soothe the aches;
lakeside dip for tired feet;
it's thunderous roar the soul awakes.
~
*post script.
water... so many forms, all around us, yet none is really new... only renewed!*
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
I was a gypsie from the sixties
A bandit of robbers train
A theif of jewels
Gold heirlooms and diamond doubloon
Hopeless romantic turned insane!!
I was cryptic as a monster
A myth of fairy tale
Eating moss and blue sky winery
A frog a snake and snail
I barefeet trotted
Amongst hippies and yippee freaks
A writer from the beginning
As Plato of mine country Greece!!!
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
We all go through this
Life alone.
From the moment our
Consciousness peeks out the door,
Our perception transforms,
Into Pisces... the water broke and
Out poured your psyche.
As unlikely as it is you'd
Think this was lucky huh?
Well I don't think its funny that
God blessed us with suffering.
Stressed out because, well
Sometimes life's a ***** and
Strife can dig a ditch between a
Family and the next regime. Its
Warfare here, at its refinery.
Progress is missiles launched with binary.
Success is swirling liquor at a winery.
Emissions test 400 parts per million
But Americans don't measure in Celsius.?.
We made it here
All on our own.
With hard work
We built a throne.
Having fled here
From our homes.
Wed rather burn
Than change our tone.
Its too late to get the color back
The reefs are bleached
No need for the anorak,
The polar ice caps are basically
A beached whale gasping for air,
And don't ask Japan where
Fukishima dumped its affairs...
Its become apparent that
Nobody really ******* cares, so
I worship death.
We all deserve despair.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
I know your pain, I met it long ago.
I just wanted you to know that
I’m here to hold whatever comes.
I know your pain; I met it long ago,
When my steps became as empty
As the bottles of red wine of my winery.
I know your pain; I met it long ago,
Right after the smile I used to frown
Crushed down to the cold floor.
I know your pain; I met it long ago.
Believe in those four little words,
Believe in the scars I bear.
I know your pain; I met it long ago.
She used to be tough as it seems,
And the tears grew as rivers inside my eyes.
I know your pain; I met it long ago.
And wherever you go it may go with you,
But never forget I will always be there to fight beside you…
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 4:46 PM UTC
I have been beside her
in joy and love.
Been inside her
in joy and love.
I have seen straight into her soul,
stared awe-struck in love a million-fold.
Been sent further than I knew you could go beyond control
by the sweet succulent scent of her soul
(it is trails & rivers & bamboo
& cooking & kissing & always true
& music & wild wonderful lover
& absolutely amazing mother
& blue eyes which made mine bluer
& spinning fire & adventures
it is staring into the sun without going blind
it is the One Love i waited my entire life to find)
i worship and weep at an altar of forever remember
where we bike and hike and soul-stare-share,
make love anywhere
everywhere
sharing a shower
or a counter encounter,
fling frisbees by our beach scenery
before flinging footballs at a winery,
toss pebbles at windows
before she curls my toes,
clown horn swarm her iphone
as rock n roll ring tones
rock n roll my real phone,
fall asleep holding her
happier than ever before,
dream of years of days of seconds with her
each somehow better than the one before,
and awaken to the miracle of her
even happier than ever before!
Then in a dead dream
never to be our reality
(aborted before my belief dream
actually became our forever reality)
i somehow play guitar,
become Yur miracle musician poet star,
and in a perfectly uncontrollable embrace
You scream & whisper as You kiss my face,
and as we make each other *** & then some
and tremble at the power of what we've become
we are dazzled by discussions of the future,
of our family and activities and Love so pure!
Eventually i wake up
why?
i hate when i wake up
cry!
Shannon
oh Shannon
my Shannon
the One i waited forever for,
why did You show me the sacred shore
only to **** me and leave me bleeding in agonized gore
You are the Love of my life,
i'll always wish You were my wife!
& with Z-O-E
we were a family :)
**** You killed US,
crushed and swept away the dust.
You loved me one day,
the next You threw me away...
The 3rd day of February
is when i ceased to be me.
There are sporadic moments
where i'm almost clint
**** mostly i'm merely a regression
into deeper darker depression....
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC