Quotes about sip, page 5
you and I, and the cat
we shared a cup of coffee- you and I,
as the cat looked on.
you had two lumps of sugar, a shot of cream.
mine was black.
I thought to offer cream to the cat; he’d like that.
and then you smiled.
you peered across the rim of your upraised cup, taking a sip,
scrunching your face and smiling through the steam as it
rose from your milky, sweet coffee,
and I forgot about the cat.
he purred.
quickly, I put him outside,
knowing his familiar purr, a purr that soon
would escalate into a full-blown howl
that demanded my attention and some cream.
I wanted only to savor the contented sweetness of your face,
perfectly formed for my delight, but
you felt sorry for the cat.
I had been abrupt, insensitive.
“Why can’t the cat be allowed to purr, even to howl
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poem by Hm. Nes
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Shuffling Among the 'Nots
Shuffling among the 'nots'!
Those who have,
Can keep what they've got.
I like the nonchalants.
They seem to have...
Lots of moxie.
The 'haves' seem to shell out a lot.
All boxed in and slick like foxes.
The 'nots' don't mind downing shots.
From a bottle that's passed to a neighbor,
Who labors.
While the 'haves' always want to cop!
And sip champagne with caviar nonstop!
Shuffling among the 'nots'!
Those who have,
Can keep what they've got.
I like the nonchalants.
They seem to have...
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Courage in the Glass
Courage in the Glass
Outside the bottle it's scary, thwarting all I aspire
Inside it's blurry liquid courage is what I desire
Touching my lips with the first sip makes me smile
For now I know where it will end in a short while
The moment I feel the warmth sliding down my throat
Oh it is so gloriously deliciously hidden in my waistcoat
With that first sip everything seems so clear
It knows just how to vanquish all my fears
Walking will be impossible but the world is at my feet
Who cares I am strong now my life it's so complete
Today, I'll show them all, I won't be thought of as a loser
I watch them snicker for in secret they all call me a boozer
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poem by James Casey
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I Try to Deliver Those Lines
I try,
But sometimes deny...
Any attempt to do poetry justice.
I try,
To deliver those lines...
With exquisite meter and rhyme.
And with a subject that produces content.
Keeping within a topic that is well defined.
But there are times,
I am not seeking correctness when I express.
My mind isn't calibrated for premeditated stress...
To toil away in a standardize acceptance.
That is as difficult for me,
As knowing the difference between cheap and fine wine.
However...
If treated with a glass of champagne.
Everything I bring into creative focus,
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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As Winter raged
Winter was at war.
Her subterfuge:
Crumble grey-white flakes upon the scene.
The air, dead;
Dead too, the sound –
Blunted by the whitewash.
Motion, dead –
Bluing chill saw to that.
Everything ground to a halt –
Like an empty train, crawling, seizing;
Eventually to die sprawled along a ghosted platform –
A lifeless plain of concrete.
I still had far to go –
Or so this brain computed
– Tried to –
Inside my own raging storm of white noise,
Howling in its desperation.
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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I'll Eat The Fish
I use to like it well done not rare.
Prepared tenderly as if one cared.
I had to have my steak well cooked and baked.
I use to slice it into pieces split,
With fried potatoes...
And some wine to slowly sip.
But when I changed my diet I got into fish.
And I discovered baked fish was quite delicious.
That was it.
And today there is no beef for me,
I'll eat the fish!
I use to slice my beef into tiny pieces split.
But when I changed my diet I got into the fish.
That was it.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Romance Of A Budding Flower
ROMANCE OF A BUDDING FLOWER
Melvin Banggollay
You look me in the eye
with passion full of fire
As I look at your eyes
with a burning desire.
then you hold my face
as I remove your necklace
with my gentle tender lips
while you sway your hips.
You kiss me a long while
with your lip's burning fire
that really made me smile
for your going more than mile.
You pull me in your bed
with our lips still weld
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poem by Melvin Banggollay
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Fresh
Magical twisted river winding through the land before time
Silhouettes of lovers dancing on the sands
The birds first break of chourus into the morning light
And the first kiss of the sun on trees extracting from them glorious shades of green
Fresh is the kiss of the young lovers as they stand holding hands
Fresh is the morning breeze briskly brushing through their hair
Fresh the first sip of crystal waters scooped lovingly into his hand
Fresh her lips pressed against his in an embrace of innocence
The scent of her more than any man in his lifetime can imagine
His masucline features more than any young girl could resist
As they press themselves closer together entwined they realise
On this first day of forever this is the beginning of time
New love and creation set forth on this day of days
The whole world seemingly new and refreshed with most astounding simplicity
Carefree as the wind they walk together
This is eternity this is the beginning this is the end, this is their time
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poem by Nikki Hays
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~ Sousedouse Dipdouse ~
Humble submission:
[Rabindranath Tagore (RNT) at old age wrote many romantic poems / songs on Ashrama Balika [hermitage girls] …here I’ve made a paradigm shift…
In UK I watch at ‘closeangle’ the voidness of many retired widowmen …they’ve pension and other amenities…but voidness in mind…eagering heart to get solace…psychic… from someone… and my empathic sharing … it led me to portray this poem ~ niv]
~ SOUSEDOUSE DIPDOUSE ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
December 21,2009.
In your twilightage
Lay heart for caresses
Discover fluffy edge
Glide with my psychic sledge.
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poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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Love and Combat
'I've had my sip of tainted time, ' she said
'wasted hours of questions
asking if you love me
perched in some Pity Pub
on hard benches
listening to old country tunes
red dress on
heart like a fist
my best face in the bottom of a glass.
And yet you still had a hold me
like grandma's faded crystal
you held me in your hands
and drank so deep of my youth
drained it to the very last drop,
spilling lots
And now you back sitting here looking for another sip.
Call me stupid
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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