Repost~Winespeak

WineSpeak

Playing at love poured out in a twist stem crystal glass

clear ruby,with notes of cherry and madagascar vanilla bean,

I’m here to sing them straight from your lips, drinking in a kiss

heavier than the outlaw tang of saddle, earth and tobacco,

far sweeter, sunnier than cranberry, red current, ripe raspberry

chambered blackberry, or clamoring, astringent key lime.

I'll crush the garnet red fruit and bitter black together

tilt back my head and toss them down, the taste

teasing to a lingering earthy finish

(tangerine and nectarine)

with just a bit of pepper and

restrained use of oak.

It’s all nuanced

fragrantly

integrated

with

waxy

apricot

spice

bright green

apple

acidity

(and pears)

dusty

fruit

on the nose

of living

with a round

lush

mouthfeel

against

a mossy

background,

(no kiwi)

aged

to finish

short and dry

with perhaps a little heat,leaving behind

a fleeting hint of licorice and clove over wet stone.

A vintage year for pinot noir, chenin blanc and the occasional lover.

January 2011

Reposted October 2011 for  FormForAll   at dVerse Poet's Pub

Disclaimer: all these analogies and terms are commonly used in the world of wine critique. I simply rearranged them a bit in a silly shape to entertain myself (and hopefully the reader) on a very dull day.

Transition~dVerse Poet's Pub

The crew at the new poetry watering hole, dVerse~Poet's Pub couldn't wait for opening day (July 19th) to start the party, so they're laying down the paintbrushes and inviting everyone to their Under Construction link-in. The following poem is my BYOP* contribution to the festivities. (I have a lava lamp, too.)

Click here to get your hand stamped and enter the Pub.

*Bring Your Own Poem

A Bad Hoss, Charles Marion Russell, 1904

Transition

You graciously fed me

redneck breakfast, 2:00 am

at Jody’s Night Owl Café;

a short stack of trouble,

scrambled brains

on toast and hash

browned  heartache

on a  plastic plate.

You  spent your days with

a hammer in your hand, but

you thought you were

quite the cowboy.

When you noticed I was a

trick rider and a straight shot,

you said I could be 

Sweetheart of The Rodeo.

But I took one look at

what you had racked up

in the chute,

that kicking, twisting

neutron bomb of a bull

you wanted me to ride,

and I decided

to get gentrified.

You got the cold ones, 
the juke joint and 
the sad country song. 
I got a crisp Merlot

on a round table 
with a crimson

cloth, lavender 
candlelight,

Miles Davis on the box, 
and a wild-eyed 
leftist poet

in a bohemian pub,

who says that 
kissing a woman
is better 
than drinking flowers.

July 2011

 Some optional musical accompaniment, in the spirit of dVersity:

Here's the Miles:

And here's the saddest country song I could find

Apparently there was a hippy in the group as well:

Image: A Bad Hoss, by Charles Marion Russell, 1904

Charles Marion Russell [Public domain], via wikimedia commons