Freedom
he drank wine all night of the
28th, and he kept thinking of her:
the way she walked and talked and loved
the way she told him things that seemed true
but were not, and he knew the color of each
of her dresses
and her shoes-he knew the stock and curve of
each heel
as well as the leg shaped by it.
and she was out again and when he came home,and
she'd come back with that special stink again,
and she did
she came in at 3 a.m in the morning
filthy like a dung eating swine
and
he took out a butchers knife
and she screamed
backing into the rooming house wall
still pretty somehow
in spite of love's reek
and he finished the glass of wine.
that yellow dress
his favorite
and she screamed again.
and he took up the knife
and unhooked his belt
and tore away the cloth before her
and cut off his balls.
and carried them in his hands
like apricots
and flushed them down the
toilet bowl
and she kept screaming
as the room became red
GOD O GOD!
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
and he sat there holding 3 towels
between his legs
no caring now whether she left or
stayed
wore yellow or green or
anything at all.
and one hand holding and one hand
lifting he poured
another wine
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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King Death
King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sate where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal-black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
There came to him many a Maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine;
And Widows, with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
The Scholar left all his learning;
The Poet his fancied woes;
And the Beauty her bloom returning,
Like life to the fading rose.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
All came to the royal old fellow,
Who laugh'd till his eyes dropped brine,
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledged them in Death's black wine.
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
poem by Barry Cornwall
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Ode to Karen and the Summer
June wore her green dress, long her favorite color
the color of her ancient Roman clan
Roman Green
June wore her green dress...as my finger traced a soft essay
upon your perfect back
June wore green
Karen wore blonde
and all around us was light
the solstice was the turning point- solstice curve
poignant as the course of the sun through our summer bodies
the season of the short-lived beings
dead through the dry folds of winter
to flood to life in green vigor
I'm green as a frog, green as any new bug rushing or Mayfly lingering
June's nephews, July and August, were lulled to boredom
by wine and soft days
and left us the blessing
to wallop and play in the gardens
Karen on a summer sidewalk
or a tv show
or a dream in the light
or green eyes
poem by Jimi Doyle
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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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Wiped Out
Wiped out!
I went to a party, just so smartly, cool as cool could be
I knew I could make it, knew I could shake it, lose some fancy free
So I went to the table and reached for a bottle
And poured me a glass of wine
Took a few sips and looked around, I was feelin fine
But an hour along, comin on strong, I was gettin drunk
The next thing I knew I looked at you, I was blind as a skunk, I was
Chorus:
I was wiped out, I had my lights out
Was fallin right out, cos I was wiped out
Through the smoke-filled room I caught your eye
And I think that you caught mine
And I knew in a minute or maybe less, it was just a matter of time
Then you started to move with such a groove, stronger than sneakin slow
Then you looked at me with your big blue eyes, they had such a glow
Then I took your hand and tried to stand and ended up sittin back down
Then you smiled at me and gave me a wink, how quick I lost my frown, I was
Chorus
So I looked at you and then I knew that we were gonna have some fun
So I thought to myself, wine was out, we should switch to rum
So without a word, and like some bird, we flew to another place
And pretty soon we were in some room stretched miles out in space
The room was turnin, we were burnin, things became a haze
It seemed that already I had too many, firewater caused the blaze, I was
Chorus repeats out
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pour The Wine
In the dim lit room
it was hard to see.
But I knew it well
and walked to the table
eventually.
The waiter approached,
a tray in his hand,
two long stemmed glasses
just as we planned.
We'd been meeting here
once every year.
We drank to what should have been,
although it was very clear
we could never leave
our other life.
I had a husband.
You had a wife.
Too many kids
whose hearts would break.
Too many problems
were at stake.
So this meeting
became our tryst.
Over and over,
we couldn't resist.
You came through the door.
I watched you approach.
You came with a gift,
a beautiful broach.
The wine was poured.
We smiled and talked,
raised our glasses
and then we walked
out into the night
to wait for next year,
hoping and praying
we both would be here.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Night I couldn't Win
Why why why why why
A glass of wine to celebrate
Followed by many more
The day that I was to graduate
I wish to not remember at all
The wine it flowed all day and all night
My glass was never empty
Too drunk was I, so I turned out the light
At around 11.20
Here is where things begin to change
Where everything is at a loss
The atmosphere is a little strange
I felt extremely lost
A man had followed me to my room
His intentions were dark and evil
My hand reached out and attacked with a broom
But too late, my attempt was feeble
One hand gripped my wrists above my head
The other ripped open my legs
I cried out loud but then he said
‘AGAIN AND I’LL MAKE YOU BEG’
Beads of his sweat merged with my tears
His dirty weapon hurt me
I never knew I could feel so much fear
For someone who I had once flirted
Please make him stop
Make him end it now
Make it fall off
Make him leave without a sound
My pleas they were in vain
And when the monster eventually left
He left me in agonizing pain
With bite marks all over each breast
And blood oozing from every bruise
His message to me, as he got up to go
And did up his zip and put on his shoes
Was a smug grin that filled me with woe.
How could I let this creature so vile
Cause me so much anger
He entered my life for just a short while
But when he left he took my laughter
He took my smile, my love, my care
He took them with a twisted grin
Memories haunt me, and this is why I share
The night I couldn’t win
poem by Miss Bojangles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Invitation.
She invited Joey
to her apartment
on the second floor
and as she opened the door
her dog came
barking along the hall
Shut up Bonaparte
she said
Go away
and the mutt walked back
with its tail
between its legs
to its basket
under the table
and she ushered Joey in
and closed the door behind her
and said
What would you like to drink?
tea coffee coke beer?
Coke will be fine
he said
and she told him
to go sit in the lounge
and once he sat down
he looked around the room
and on the small table
by the sofa where he sat
was a photograph of her
and her husband
taken on their wedding day
she dressed in white
and smiling
and he in a black suit
like a hit man
in a mobster movie
and she came in
with his coke
and set it on the table
by the sofa
and then went out again
swaying her behind
which made him smile
then she was back
with a tall glass
of white wine
and she set it down
on the table beside him
and sat down
and began talking
about the night
he had met her
and her husband
in the bar in town
and how she had invited
him over to meet her husband
and he had bought them
both a drink
and while her husband
talked to his friend
she had flirted with him
and made him laugh
and how after that
they'd all meet
on Friday evenings
in the same bar
and her husband
had invited him
to their place
to play chess
and he remembered
how he used to play chess
holding off letting
her husband win
so he could stay longer
and see her more often
and then she leaned over
to get her drink
and she put one hand
on his thigh
and reached over
for her wine
and he smelt her scent
and the brush of her hair
as she leaned over him
and having her glass
she leaned back
her hand still resting
on his thigh
and that look of mischief
burning in her eye.
poem by Terry Collett
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Bottle Of Red Wine
(by bonnie bramlett and eric clapton)
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
I cant get up out of bed
With this crazy feeling in my head.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
You hear what I say?
Gonna love you anyway.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
I went to an all-night get together
And everyone I knew was there.
Had the love that would last forever.
Everywhere I looked, I saw you standing there.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
I cant get up out of bed
With this crazy feeling in my head.
I said get up right now, oh oh.
I said get up right now.
Feel so bad this morning; got a terrible headache in my head.
Do me a favor, baby, do me a favor please.
Please get up; get your man a bottle of red wine.
Get up, get up; get your man a big big bottle of red wine.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Touch Of Your Hand
On the day that you were born
I touched your hand so chubby and warm.
I touched your hand when you were one
and helped you walk my beautiful son.
I held your hand when you were two.
We ran, your favorite thing to do.
I held your hand when you were three
as you climbed on my lap and smiled at me.
I touched your hand when you were four
as the ocean touched our toes at the shore.
I touched your hand when you were five
walking you to school but when we'd arrive
I felt the tug of your hand from mine
and I knew that we had crossed a line.
I looked at you and released your hand
and said'it's okay I understand.'
As I walked back home I cried some tears
thinking of all our hand holding years.
Holding your hand became sporadic now,
when you were feverish or I felt your brow.
I held your hand a few times as a teen
but always alone so it wouldn't be seen.
I held your hand after you said, 'I do.'
We danced together just me and you.
After some years went by my son
you held the hand of your little one.
And so the times of your life turn around
and now that my hand is old I've found
you take my hand and help me walk
and as you do we intimately talk.
And it takes me back to that bright early morn
when I held your hand so chubby and warm.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Whats She Like
Whats she like when she turns around to kiss you goodnight? /
When she wakes up in the morning by your side? / whats she like?
Whats she like? / the yellow moon or the deep blue of the sea? /
Do you feel the same way you did when it was me? / whats she like?
Oh Ive been holding on / Ive been holding on for far too long /
Ive been holding on / Ive been holding on much too long.
Whats she like when youre making love and stars are in her eyes? /
When youre looking for the answers in her smile? / whats she like?
Oh Ive been holding on / Ive been holding on for far too long /
Ive been holding on / Ive been holding on much too long / too long.
I never knew I could love somebody the way I loved you /
I never thought Id be the broken-hearted /
Well, nothing hurts you like the truth.
So whats she like when she turns to you, when push comes to shove? /
When she whispers in your ear that shes in love? / whats she like?
Oh Ive been holding on / Ive been holding on for far too long /
Ive been holding on / Ive been holding on much too long /
So whats she like?
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Reckoning
My mother was carried to heaven
On the day that I turned six,
She died of tuberculosis
Spitting blood in a coughing fit,
She'd been so ill for a long long time
That I couldn't recall her smile,
My father, he just grumbled, said:
'Your Ma will be gone for a while.'
'She's gone to sing in a choir up there,
Who knows how long she will be? '
But I saw the coffin that carried her out,
The hearse and the burial tree,
I watched as it sank down into the ground
And my father just left it there,
Went off to visit my 'aunt', he said,
A woman with long, blond hair.
I stayed at home, such a lonely child,
And went to a place in my head,
Where mother was fit and without a care
She laughed at the things I said,
My father left me alone a lot
So mother would tell me, 'Shush! '
We'd laugh and giggle when he went out
But talk in a sort of hush.
I played outside at other times
Where the grass grew long and wild,
I'd catch the skinks as they darted past,
I was always a curious child,
I'd bring the Sleepy Lizards home,
My father didn't mind,
He said I could keep the pets I caught,
I thought he was being kind.
But then one day he came on home
With this 'aunt', who moved right in,
He said they were married now, so I
Should call her 'Mum', not Jen.
I scowled, and went to my room to cry,
My mother was looking sad,
She said, 'just do what your father says,
I'm your Mother, but he's your Dad.'
This Jenny, she was all right at first
She tried to make me smile,
But I was feeling rebellious then,
And turned my back for a while,
I kept my rabbits and guinea pigs
And fed them out in their hutch,
But Jenny came out to look at them,
And she didn't like them much.
I knew, she wrinkled her powdered nose
And said, 'Oh pew! They stink!
We'll have to find you a hobby, one
That's pure and clean, I think.'
I heard her talking to father, say
That she thought I was rather slow,
She wanted the garden tidied up
So my animals had to go.
It was just about that time, I think
That my mother said goodbye,
She couldn't stay in that house, she said,
It was time for her to fly,
She left me alone in a great big world
So I brought a Lizard inside,
And put it under my bedclothes
Thought it a perfect place to hide.
When Jenny made the bed, she screamed
And shook me like a rag,
She went and got a kitchen knife
And a plastic shopping bag,
She made me put the Lizard in
Then she took the bag outside,
And stabbed and stabbed 'til the Lizard bled,
'Til my Lizard friend had died.
'Now bury it! ' she said to me,
'And don't you ever dare
Bring filthy animals into this house,
For if you do, I swear...'
At this she put the knife to my throat
And stood and watched me scream,
I saw the hate in her powdered face
It was like an awful dream!
Whenever my father left the house
She'd always scream and shout,
Knock me around for the slightest thing
Then drag me, throw me out,
Lock the door so I couldn't get in
And give me nothing to eat,
She said if I told my Dad on her
It would only get me beat.
She killed my rabbits, cooked them up
And served them from a pot,
She gave me a crooked, evil grin:
'You'd better eat the lot! '
I found myself in a black, black rage
Inside, at the things she'd done,
And hoped that my father would go on out
And buy himself a gun.
He never knew what she did to me,
I never would dare to say,
I knew that she'd get me on my own
And then there'd be hell to pay,
So I stayed outside in the barren fields
And found me a hessian sack,
Then went for a hunt with a long, forked stick,
It was time to get her back!
I waited until he'd gone away,
Was gone two days or more,
Then bit my tongue as she raved at me,
Spat hate from the kitchen door,
The morning came, and there wasn't a sound
To come from that angry head,
And I will never regret the day
I put a snake in her bed.
10 March 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Green Eyed Lady
On my wine glass
there is an eye the
color of green,
like the oceans
where the mermaids
dream.
I almost broke
this wine glass
with my bike,
making the
hairs on my
arms begin
to spike.
The bar handle of the
bike did miss,
the Green Eyed Lady
without a glitch.
Shelly, who,
painted the
Green Eyed Lady
did confess
She blessed
this wine glass
like all the rest.
Now I know
Why,
Green Eyed Lady
is still by my side
whenever I want
to drink my red wine.
Written by Christina Sunrise on April 4,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Green Eyed Lady
On my wine glass
there is an eye the
color of green,
like the oceans
where the mermaids
dream.
I almost broke
this wine glass
with my bike,
making the
hairs on my
arms begin
to spike.
The bar handle of the
bike did miss,
the Green Eyed Lady
without a glitch.
Shelly, who,
painted the
Green Eyed Lady
did confess
She blessed
this wine glass
like all the rest.
Now I know
Why,
Green Eyed Lady
is still by my side
whenever I want
to drink my red wine.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on April 4,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yellow Roses
Hello you said the day we met
Handing me a yellow rose
You asked me out
And to your surprise
And to mine I said Id go
I thought it so romantic
And I found you sweet and bold
Though wed only met
I still said yes
To a single yellow rose
And for years to come
You were the one
To sleep with me at night
To laugh and talk
And share my thoughts
And hold me when Id cry
And on every occasion
And for no good reason to
A big bouquet or a single yellow rose
Was sent from you
Chorus:
Yellow roses
The color of sunshine
You loved me at one time
Why did you have to go
Yellow roses
Are you sending your new love
My bright yellow rose buds
I still love you so
I never see a yellow rose
That I didnt think of you
Its still my favorite flower
Though the yellows turned to blue
The day you left my teardrops fell
Upon your farewell not
You said goodbye like you said hello
With a single yellow rose
Chorus:
Yellow roses
The color of sunshine
You loved me at one time
Why did you have to go
Yellow roses
Are you sending your new love
My bright yellow rose buds
Oh I still love you so
Yellow roses
The color of sunshine
You loved me at one time
Why did you have to go
Sweet yellow roses
Are you sending your new love
My bright yellow rose buds
I still love you so
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What might Have Been.
And you stood there arms folded
In that street in Dubrovnik wearing
That yellow shirt and that moustache
Like some Latin lover with other people
Passing by while you posed for some
Photograph and you thinking of that
Courier dame who came to your room
The day before because your brother
Said you were sick and she sat on your
Bed in her short skirt and said how are
You now? And all you could raise while
Lying there was a small smile and you
Said feeling pretty bad and she touched
Your brow and looking so sad and the
Photo shot done you go back to the table
With the glass of wine and that paperback
Book on Schopenhauer and the hot sticky
Afternoon sun and you wondering if the
Courier dame would have been a good lay
If you’d been feeling better on a different
Day and your brother said lets’ go see the
Sights and you finished the wine and began
To tour the city musing on the young courier
And the missed chance saying to yourself
Walking the streets oh my god what a pity.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Absence
i have long waited
for this time
when
you cannot seduce
me anymore
like no matter what
you do
whether you spread
your legs
at 180 degrees
or lick the muscles of my
legs for
a day
all these
cannot cause a tremor
to my
layered existence
i have long waited for this
time
when i become a wall
and you wilt
as a vine
when you are but a
forgotten tendril still
fighting for a hold
in my trellis
now that time has come
and i am calling some of my friend
to dine and drink with me
and we had
a good time
recalling what you have done
to me
i told them you ruined me
and i was like a house that fell down
on the ground
dynamited
and then they all left me
when the wine is all consumed
when the food is nothing
but left-overs for the dog
now it is just me and my dog
and then the dog is asleep on the rug
beside a door
that i have not closed
somehow, i am back to this emptiness again
and i still wonder
how can i ever be a void to be filled again
like an empty glass still wishing for
the pouring of
the old wine
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Litany
You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.
poem by Billy Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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