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Wine (Love Poem)
Wine is for laughing
Wine is for talking all night
Wine is for living life out loud
Wine is for making us beautiful
Wine is for all-night conversations
Wine is for getting together again
Wine is for ‘never again’ tomorrow
Wine is for sleeping like a baby
Wine is for telling the truth
Wine is food for love
Wine is friendship
Wine is fresh
Wine
Can
Be
The
One
Perfe ct
Companion
At the end of a long day
poem by Ian Beckett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One that hath wine as a chain about his wits, such a one lives no life at all.
When Flora had O'erfret the Firth
QUHEN Flora had o'erfret the firth
In May of every moneth queen;
Quhen merle and mavis singis with mirth
Sweet melling in the shawis sheen;
Quhen all luvaris rejoicit bene
And most desirous of their prey,
I heard a lusty luvar mene
—'I luve, but I dare nocht assay!'
'Strong are the pains I daily prove,
But yet with patience I sustene,
I am so fetterit with the luve
Only of my lady sheen,
Quhilk for her beauty micht be queen,
Nature so craftily alway
Has done depaint that sweet serene:
—Quhom I luve I dare nocht assay.
'She is so bricht of hyd and hue,
I luve but her alone, I ween;
Is none her luve that may eschew,
That blinkis of that dulce amene;
So comely cleir are her twa een
That she mae luvaris dois affray
Than ever of Greece did fair Helene:
—Quhom I luve I dare nocht assay!'
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As it is the characteristic of great wits to say much in few words, so small wits seem to have the gift of speaking much and saying nothing.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Flora had O'erfret the Firth
QUHEN Flora had o'erfret the firth
In May of every moneth queen;
Quhen merle and mavis singis with mirth
Sweet melling in the shawis sheen;
Quhen all luvaris rejoicit bene
And most desirous of their prey,
I heard a lusty luvar mene
--'I luve, but I dare nocht assay!'
'Strong are the pains I daily prove,
But yet with patience I sustene,
I am so fetterit with the luve
Only of my lady sheen,
Quhilk for her beauty micht be queen,
Nature so craftily alway
Has done depaint that sweet serene:
--Quhom I luve I dare nocht assay.
'She is so bricht of hyd and hue,
I luve but her alone, I ween;
Is none her luve that may eschew,
That blinkis of that dulce amene;
So comely cleir are her twa een
That she mae luvaris dois affray
Than ever of Greece did fair Helene:
--Quhom I luve I dare nocht assay!'
I Am Your Convenience
Have you lost your wits and gone mad! ?
Those are 'my' friends you just insulted.
'I will admit to the going mad business.
However...
That losing of the wits bit,
I need them to hang on to for future excursions.
Besides...
If it was not for my wits,
I would not have been able to convince you...
I have gone mad.
Now would I? '
You are doing this on purpose,
Aren't you.
'Doing what on purpose? '
Trying to drive me crazy!
You want everyone to believe,
I am the one that is really the nut case.
'Hmmm...
Are you?
And you are the one behind the wheel too.
What else do you want me to admit?
I'll do it.
I just want to get home safe.
After you dropp me off,
You can go anywhere you want.
And...
Keep your eyes on the road.
Unless you 'do' want me to drive.'
I should have left you.
'And what would that have proven?
I am more popular with your friends than you are?
And you would not have had an excuse to leave.
Other than the one of you having a headache.
And it was time for us to go.'
You are an embarrassment.
'No!
I am your convenience.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Couplets on Wit
I
But our Great Turks in wit must reign alone
And ill can bear a Brother on the Throne.
II
Wit is like faith by such warm Fools profest
Who to be saved by one, must damn the rest.
III
Some who grow dull religious strait commence
And gain in morals what they lose in sence.
IV
Wits starve as useless to a Common weal
While Fools have places purely for their Zea.
V
Now wits gain praise by copying other wits
As one Hog lives on what another sh---.
VI
Wou'd you your writings to some Palates fit
Purged all you verses from the sin of wit
For authors now are so conceited grown
They praise no works but what are like their own.
poem by Alexander Pope
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He who doesn't lose his wits over certain things has no wits to lose.
quote by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quhen thy neighbours house is on fire, take tent to thy own.
Quhen Taylours are true, there is little good to shew.
Quhen the belly is full the bones would be at rest.