I can no more think of my own life without thinking of wine and wines and where they grew for me and why I drank them when I did and why I picked the grapes and where I opened the oldest procurable bottles, and all that, than I can remember living before I breathed.
quote by M.F.K. Fisher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
I Grew My Hair Out
I finally grew my hair out.
I had tried before, but it frightened me.
It grew large, thick, black and wavy,
The hair my ancestors gave me.
They wore it long and free.
I finally grew my hair out,
And a friend said 'You look like a Greek god.'
And I said 'Which one? '
And he said 'I don't know. The chubby one that drank wine.'
And I thought about red wine
And the delighted laughter of women
About the hooves and horns
That I'd hidden inside my head
And had forgotten about, before I ever knew them.
But they were there all along, waiting.
Then I grew my hair out.
poem by Edward Allen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There are many great wine producers from all over the world making fantastic wines. Italian wines especially are making an enormous comeback after sometimes being labeled as inexpensive jug wines.
quote by Rocco DiSpirito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Went
I was not bound. I let myself go completely; went
To those indulgences, half actual,
And half were turned about in my own brain;
Went into the illuminated night;
And drank strong wines, as when
The champions of pleasure drink strong wine.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Sleep
she was a short one
getting fat and she had once been
beautiful and
she drank the wine
she drank the wine in bed and
talked and screamed and cursed at
me
and i told her
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Specifically Picked And Selectively Chosen
There will always be the ones,
Specifically picked and selectively chosen...
To voice their opinion about the comparisons between,
Plums and pears or grapes and lemons...
In timely debates with attention given,
To get many to see the similarities.
There will always be the ones,
Specifically picked and selectively chosen to do this...
As long as it is known those listening will become outraged,
With their tempers raised to boil...
As they demand why they had not been told,
There was never any difference in presentation or taste.
There will always be the ones,
Followed by those with an absence of thinking done.
And believing anything they eat to digest,
Will benefit their best interest.
Caring less if the design of it,
Is to get their minds whipped into a frenzy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stewball
(yellin / rinzler / herald)
Old stewball was a racehorse
And I wished he were mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine
His bridle was silver
And his mane it was gold
But worth of his saddle
Has never been told
The fairgrounds was crowded
And old stewball was there
But the betting was heavy
On the bay and the mare
Oh, way up yonder
Ahead of them all
Came prancing and dancing
My noble stewball
If I bet on the grey mare
And I bet on the bay
And if Id bet on old stewball
Id be a free man today
Oh, the hoot owl she hollers
And the turtle dove moans
Im a poor boy in trouble
Im a long way from home
Old stewball was a racehorse
And I wished he was mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wisdom doesn't automatically come with old age. Nothing does - except wrinkles. It's true, some wines improve with age. But only if the grapes were good in the first place.
quote by Abigail Van Buren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Saturnalia
He picked up his cigarette
With his nimble hands
And dropped his malaise
On his nimbus smile
He moored his trepidation
Amidst looming trees
Sated with voraciousness
Gaunt as his mortality
They tread a rivulet
Of agog prancing fire
And picked up his ashes
In his sinewy veins
And fanned his qualms
In a tacit realm
He plucked out a thorn
Riveted in his rib cage
And stomped on the fertility
Of the garden in his hands
Unsullied but squalid
Lanterns in blossom
While its tangled roots finagled
With the cajoles of the heart
The saturnine seethes of flame
Tingled the oceanic eyes
And he picked up his glass
And drank its serrations
He swathed his bleeding tongue
With a rasping sedation
He picked up the moon
Fallen from the night
He cried for its unrivaled doom
And the mirroring blight
He plied the gossamer
And the desiccation of the sea
But he never grew pale
So he picked up a star
To hung a chandelier
And flicked on the light
Of a transient thrill
Denying oblivion's shrill
In a ravine of coiled lynches
He picked up himself
And squandered it away
And there was no fear
Just a stark demise
poem by Norman Santos
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Summer Chimes and Summer Wines
Listening to the summer chimes,
Of summer sounds of summer time,
Bringing all that nature is,
That shows and sounds like,
Summer chimes,
Chimes of soft winds,
Chimes of soft river streams,
Sounds that say of that time and season,
That summer time sounds so sweet,
It rings the sounds of summer chimes,
With rays of sunlight streaming by,
Summer chimes with summer wines,
Can be the momentum interludes of summer times,
When summer time is to be,
There in natures places,
Full of bloom and hidden places,
Where,
Listening to the summer chimes,
Of summer time,
And sitting and drinking,
A summer wine,
With the summer chimes,
And summer wines,
With summer and its nature sounds,
Bringing out the musical chimes,
Of summer sounds,
Along with summer chance,
And the per chance that evolves,
Bringing summer chimes,
With summer wines,
Of true summer chance,
With love intwined,
And summer wine,
So if per chance,
To meet again,
That evolves and begins,
From summer meets,
Bringing that summer chance,
To summer chimes,
With summer wines,
That begins and lasts,
Within in the hearts of those,
That let per chance happen,
And fall in love,
Then it will continue all year long,
For those that took the chance,
In summer chance,
And let the per chance,
Take it course,
And win,
For love to hear,
The summer chimes,
Sipping summer wine.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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We ought to do good to others as simply as a horse runs, or a bee makes honey, or a vine bears grapes season after season without thinking of the grapes it has borne.
quote by Marcus Aurelius
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fruit
You, in that lemon dress
Me, an emotional mess
But i broke out of my zoo in style
What else could I do
But smile
- You filled me with something better
I always kiss your letter.
When we made love
By strawberry field
Do you recall what we revealed
When layers of our life were peeled
And we lay naked in the sun.
We drank wine
From grapes of love
Oblivious to everyone.
I stroked your orange hair
With passion
Coloured by the sun
With fashion,
Changing hue with every hour
Arranging you, like heavenly flower
Amid sweet meadow green
Apple of my eye
Serene.
Fruit of a love
Where youth had been.
poem by Kevin East
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Wine Story
An Abridged Story of Wine
The bottom of the nave used to be a lake's bed, but one night,
when moon was white as search light and the sky maroon,
the lake vanished. Dead fish and toenail clippings at the bottom,
but the soil was rich, and the people who used to fish for a living,
planted vine which bore healthy grapes, but grapes fermented
and wine was discovered. A drink that made them merry, they
sang, slapped flat stones together and made music.
But if drinking too much they ended fighting and used stones as
missiles, and given to arguing about the quality of snow that fell
the year before. In clay pots they sold red wine and became rich,
till Moslems came, forbad the making of wine, they planted pale
yellow orange trees instead. But the juice of sweet blue grapes
has an unstoppable allure it fills heart with music, the production
was moved to hidden dells in Alentejo. When Arabs, defeated by
Christian hordes, fled; Iberia had abundance of red wine but also
sugary orange juice.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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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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Life, Candle, and Wine
How much is too much a pain after pain,
In a tight fist can hold again and again;
On a prowling face, how long is too long,
For someone to suffer the agony of ageing;
Like a candle lives by the lit of its wick,
Slowly burning through dangers of wind,
Its soulful light will soon become weak,
To send scents of some kind to think;
A barrel of wine is sweeter when aged
To perfection in an excellent time;
To hold and wait is worth awhile
Of knowing how much is too much;
A life could trade from candles and wines,
By arithmetic lift of arrogance,
But life like candles will short-lived,
And all the wines will be emptied.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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He shall separate himself from wine and strong drink, and shall drink no vinegar of wine, or vinegar of strong drink, neither shall he drink any liquor of grapes, nor eat moist grapes, or dried.
I opened a restaurant that had nothing but California wines.
quote by Paul Prudhomme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wine Me Up
(faron young/billy deaton)
I'm the center of attention in this bar room
Cause i've got teh biggest heartache of the year
And each night those swingin' doors reach out to me and draw me in
'cause they know each night that i'll be back to wine me up again
Chorus:
Wine me up turn me on and watch me cry for you
Lately drinkin' warm red wine is all i want to do
I never know how tight i'll wine me up 'til i walk in
I don't care cause i'll be back to wine me up again
I'd like to thank the folks who raise the grapes way up in california
And i'm hopin this will be their biggest year
'cause scarlet waters all that's left to keep me hangin on
That's why i'll try to wine me up each day and night next year
song performed by by Gary Allan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love On The Vine
I came home yesterday
To the love that I left behind
It seems Ive been far away, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
I guess I just ran away (I just ran away)
Tried to see what I could not find (what I could not find)
Its been a one act play, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
And I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Ive been wasting time (wasting time)
With this old heart of mine (this old heart of mine)
Working it overtime, ah, ah, ah, ah
Just another blue day
Like the ones that I left behind
I know its easy to say, yeah
But I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Oh and I know that the berrys ripe on the vine
And I know that the grapes will soon turn to wine
Yes I know Ill be there just in time to love you
Love you on the vine, oh on the vine
Love you on the vine, oh on the vine
I love you on the vine, oh on the vine, ah
On the vine, oh on the vine ...
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The sweetest grapes are picked from the vineyard of friendship.
I sung sometimes
I sung sometimes my thoughts’ and fancy's pleasure,
Where then I list, or time serv’d best and leisure,
While Daphne did invite me
To supper once, and drank to me to spite me.
I smil’d, yet still did doubt her,
And drank where she had drank before, to flout her.
But oh while I did eye her,
My eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire.
poem by John Wilbye
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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