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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
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A Satisfactory Reform
A merry burgomaster
In a burgh upon the Rhine
Said, 'Our burghers all are
Far too fond of drinking wine.'
So the merry burgomaster,
When the burgomasters met,
Bade them look into the matter
Ere the thing went farther yet.
And the merry burgomasters
Did decide the only way
To alleviate the evil
Without worry or delay
Would be just to call a meeting
Of the burghers, great and small,
And then open every wine cask
And proceed to drink it all.
'For,' they said, 'when we have swallowed
Every drop that’s in the land,
There can be no more of drinking,
It is plain to understand.'
So they called a monster meeting,
And the burghers, small and great,
Drank and drank until they were too
Tipsy to perambulate.
But there still was wine in plenty,
So, in sooth, the only way
Was to call another meeting;
So they called it for next day.
Thus from day to day the burghers
Met and swallowed seas of wine,
And they vowed the reformation
Was a mission quite divine.
And today the worthy burghers
In that burgh upon the Rhine
Still continue their great mission,
And still swallow seas of wine.
And they vow they will not falter
In their great reforming task
Till the last drop has been emptied
From the very last wine cask.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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The cask can give no other wine that that it contains.
A lord without land, is like a cask without wine.
When the cook is roasting for the butler, woe to the master's wine-cask.
When the wine runs to waste in the cellar, he mends the cask.
A cask of wine works more miracles than a church full of saints.
As a good wine must be kept in a good cask, so a wholesome body is the proper foundation for a well-appointed inner ground.
quote by Johannes Tauler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Amontillado
Amontillado
Fortunato, I am called.
My friends rate me a connoisseur.
Tonight I wear a jester’s garb
for the feast day of misrule.
Tonight is fine, the wine flows free
With honeyed sweetness on my lips
My headgear rings with happiness
as I enjoy another sip..
Montresor came to speak with me
He wore a mask and monkish gown.
I shook the hand he offered me.
We spoke about a cask of wine.
A cask of sherry, dark and sweet
Amontillado- so he claimed
My friend had paid a premium.
Wished me to judge and share his gain.
He thought he’d ask Luchresi’s help
But that man is no judge of wine.
Give him grape juice in a cup
And Luchresi would exclaim “How fine”
I took his arm and off we went,
Not knowing how this night would end.
I went quite willing to my doom
with this fiend I thought a friend.
Montressor’s servants were away
Leaving he and I alone
He poured for me a warming glass
then led me to the catacombs.
We sampled others of his wines
to keep the cold and damp away.
I coughed and could not catch my breath.
But from my goal could not be swayed.
In the darkness of the tombs
Among Montressor’s ancestral bones
He victimized my drunkenness
I found myself chained to the stones.
I quickly learned it was no jest
I screamed in vain- none heard my cry
As he with brick and mortar built
this prison tomb where I will die..
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Psalm 122
I will worship you in Spirit and Truth
My delight is to come to this place
The place where you dwell in your sanctuary
Where we lift up our eyes to thy Face
And together with my brothers and sisters
I shall come before thy throne
You're the bright morning star, the Son of God
You're the Christ, the chief cornerstone
This place that I find you is Spirit and Truth
It dwells in the heart of men
The New Jerusalem, the heart of God
Of its glory I shall write with my pen
And the house of David lives on forever
And we dwell in the holy of holies
We dwell in the midst of your burning heart
In this place our spirits are free
poem by Frank McEleny
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The Cask Of Amontillado
The cask of amontillado
Lead vocal: john miles
By the last breath of the four winds that blow
Ill have revenge upon fortunato
Smile in his face Ill say come let us go
Ive a cask of amontillado
Sheltered inside from the cold of the snow
Follow me now to the vault down below
Drinking the wine as we laugh at the time
Which is passing incredibly slow
(what are these chains that are binding my arm)
Part of you dies each passing day
(say its a game and Ill come to no harm)
Youll feel your life slipping away
You who are rich and whose troubles are few
May come around to see my point of view
What price the crown of a king on his throne
When youre chained in the dark all alone
(spare me my life only name your reward)
Part of you dies each brick I lay
(bring back some light in the name of the lord)
Youll feel your mind slipping away
song performed by by Alan Parsons Project
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Drinking Song
It goes against my conscience
To drink a lot of wine,
But the wine will take care of my conscience
I've told you time after time!
So I think I'll have a skinful
And drown my mortal pain,
And though you may think me sinful
I'll do it over again!
(I like to sup a glass or two,
It is the drinker's folly,
It stops him being sad and blue,
In fact it makes him jolly!)
So get thee to a nunnery
And curse the demon drink,
A life of wine will suit me fine
Whatever you may think! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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In Vino Verities
Think of it as a thirst for Truth
That can’t be quenched by dry Vermouth.
Those souls who in the bottle find
a sauce of solace for troubled minds.
Because I can conceive of wine,
Somewhere there grows a fruitful vine.
Existence made certain by concept possible-
an essential premise Ontological.
From the grapes sweet nectar flows
To please the palate and charm the nose.
Its mysteries bring blurred speech and vision
At bottle’s bottom they find religion...
Some seek their Truth on distant peaks
From Fakirs dressed in linen sheets.
Some in bare ruined choirs dwell
With thoughts of Heaven spiced with Hell.
Still others have declared wine evil
An attitude I find Medieval
Their wine grapes meet a sadder fate
reduced to raisins on a plate.
From Vine to press, from field to glass
A boon companion to Life’s repast.
Red or White, no cause for Schism
A sommelier hears your catechism.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Truth Through Repetition
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poem by David Keig
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To-Em-Meps ‘The Unmoving Cloud
I
The clouds have gathered, and gathered,
and the rain falls and falls,
The eight ply of the heavens
are all folded into one darkness,
And the wide, flat road stretches out.
I stop in my room toward the East, quiet, quiet,
I pat my new cask of wine.
My friends are estranged, or far distant,
I bow my head and stand still.
II
Rain, rain, and the clouds have gathered,
The eight ply of the heavens are darkness,
The flat land is turned into river.
'Wine, wine, here is wine!'
I drink by my eastern window.
I think of talking and man,
And no boat, no carriage, approaches.
III
The trees in my east-looking garden
are bursting out with new twigs,
They try to stir new affection,
And men say the sun and moon keep on moving
because they can't find a soft seat.
The birds flutter to rest in my tree,
and I think I have heard them saying,
'It is not that there are no other men
But we like this fellow the best,
But however we long to speak
He can not know of our sorrow.'
poem by Ezra Pound
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