Quotes about vintage, page 10
Art of Cloth
From fiber, to spinning wheel
From thread, to weaving mill
From textile, to sewing machine
Cloth is continuous ceremony
Whether knitting, whether embroider
Whether patchwork, whether bead work
The beautiful batik, the intricate songket
Cloth is concentration lesson
The strata symbol, the politeness norm
The body art, the cover part
Wedding dress, black tie suit
Cloth is human civilization
From skin, to fabric
From corset, to mini skirt
From blue jeans, to legging
Cloth is history record
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poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Wine Bibber
I would rather drink than eat,
And though I superbly sup,
Food, I feel, can never beat
Delectation of the cup.
Wine it is that crowns the feast;
Fish and fowl and fancy meat
Are of my delight the least:
I would rather drink than eat.
Though no Puritan I be,
And have doubts of Kingdom Come,
With those fellows I agree
Who deplore the Demon Rum.
Gin and brandy I decline,
And I shy at whisky neat;
But give me rare vintage wine,--
Gad! I'd rather drink than eat.
Food surfeit is of the beast;
Wine is from the gods a gift.
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poem by Robert William Service
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A Drink
With glass, I am a man – or so I think! –
A role to play when blessed with courtly drink:
A gin or two, then vintage port or wine
To pep me up and gift me with a shine.
I know it’s false, as I now must depend
Upon my daily shots with open end.
Insidious, it all becomes routine
To beg a drink each day for self-esteem.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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If I Could But Roll Back Tyme
If I could but somehow…
Roll back time
Could I once again
Feel your warm breath gently brush my ear
If I could but hold you once more
And feel you were mine
Feel the beat of your heart
In holding you near
Feel my lips once more…
Brush against thine
Could we once again whisper
Words we wanted to hear
Wouldst that again
I could call you mine
Would that I were able
To kiss away your sweet tear
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poem by David Whalen
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A Toast
See this bowl of purple wine,
Life-blood of the lusty vine!
All the warmth of summer suns
In the vintage liquid runs,
All the glow of winter nights
Plays about its jewel lights,
Thoughts of time when love was young
Lurk its ruby drops among,
And its deepest depths are dyed
With delight of friendship tried.
Worthy offering, I ween,
For a god or for a queen,
Is the draught I pour to thee,--
Comfort of all misery,
Single friend of the forlorn,
Haven of all beings born,
Hope when trouble wakes at night,
And when naught delights, delight.
Holy Death, I drink to thee;
Do not part my friends and me.
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poem by George Santayana
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All I Remember
Your world collapses A name shies of comeback
breaks the water for bare bones unaligned you
hunker down for the happenings didnot fit
in the shoes of black magic it was a damned
reversal of the pygmies to become tall the old city
dies on the hill young steps start a never ending
descent of the wheels can you stop this vintage flow
in night king was sitting without a glass
rolling stones were laughing after the conversation
and the sons of soil smashed the barriers
after the illumination cacti become prominently displayed
in the jungle of weeds wearing nightgowns of thorns
two headed snakes lapping up the milk from the teats
of a moon the cow jumps on the hemlocks amidst
the cries of children of tomorrow
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poem by Satish Verma
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1/2 Boutelle du Vin!
SHE
When i opened my first boutelle du vin
you was on your second round
like you said: a slight and dusty bottle
But you sip your full wineglass so pleasently!
Telling me nonsense words of love
I talk some advantage of you
Asking you about your past
how many loves i have to ask.
But you are not 2 Chardonnais still
Rich, full-bodied and voluptuous!
and stare me with your liquid rouge look
just when are 1 bottle and twoo!
HE
Like the red blood the vintage told
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poem by Mirna Morgan
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Real Pain
You are lost- in faded colours of summers smile
- memory
The world we had now locks me out.
I tear and strain in desperate style
You drift away, I scream and shout
My blood dries in the vein
True love just means real pain.
You are lost until moonbeams send you from the skies
To cut my soul with a razor edge
That moment that i close my eyes
I stand upon the lonely ledge
To watch us fading in the rain
My thoughts so beautifully insane
Find true love only to feel real pain.
I find you when our film does run
In dreams we had
Now left with none
Your voice resounds down telephone line
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poem by Kevin East
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Ad Nepotem
O NEPOS, twice my neigh(b)our (since at home
We're door by door, by Flora's temple dome;
And in the country, still conjoined by fate,
Behold our villas standing gate by gate),
Thou hast a daughter, dearer far than life -
Thy image and the image of thy wife.
Thy image and thy wife's, and be it so!
But why for her, { neglect the flowing } can
{ O Nepos, leave the }
And lose the prime of thy Falernian?
Hoard casks of money, if to hoard be thine;
But let thy daughter drink a younger wine!
Let her go rich and wise, in silk and fur;
Lay down a { bin that shall } grow old with her;
{ vintage to }
But thou, meantime, the while the batch is sound,
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poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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A Drinking Song
poetry flows from my heart
the way wine gurgles
into this fine crystal glass
dancing with the moon
clinking to a lonesome night
the riveting sublime light
sparkles like the beauty of verses
sip by sip the light flows into me
line by line spirited verses
oozes from my heart
the essence distillled from
matters of heart and soul
my love, would you pour me wine
vintage wine from that bottle
that has caroused with time
to give us its real wonder?
through it i see the beauty
of the world as verses flow
from a seasoned heart that has
twisted, whaltzed, swung, rocked with time
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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