1

Wine is bottled

poetry

Wijn-poëzie bundel Exclusieve Proeverij Filosofisch Genootschap Ganymedes.

Mark Roelfsema & Jamy de Groot

2

Lady Chablis

I'm the Lady Chablis. Hear me roar.

Hell on High heels from head to toe,

only to emerge at night;

when the stage lights shimmer and my admirers cheer.

I am a legend.

I am the diamond you place on your wife’s hand,

I shine exquisitely.

Only animate on stage.

I am not a performer,

I am a goddess.

Elevated like an angel on my podium,

The mirror my sanctuary,

the audience my breath.

I dismiss those who assign me as “it”.

I am not a tranny,

I am not an incomplete puzzle piece

of a body you see as perfect.

I am beautiful.

On occasion I do plummet from the heavens.

My body beaten, my breath broken,

3

engulfed in blood and tears,

I stand up.

To endure the pain others commit.

The roar of the applause keeps me breathing.

I see my stage in the horizon of the Savannah sun,

my throne,

my sanctuary,

my palace.

I’m home.

I want to dream, and I want to live.

I stand up.

I am beautiful,

I am Lady Chablis.

Hear me roar.

Drinking Song, On the Excellence of Burgundy Wine

My jolly fat host with your face all a-grin,

Come, open the door to us, let us come in.

A score of stout fellows who think it no sin

If they toast till they're hoarse, and drink till they spin,

Hoofed it amain

Rain or no rain,

To crack your old jokes, and your bottle to drain.

Such a warmth in the belly that nectar begets

4

As soon as his guts with its humour he wets,

The miser his gold, and the student his debts,

And the beggar his rags and his hunger forgets.

For there's never a wine

Like this tipple of thine

From the great hill of Nuits to the River of Rhine.

Outside you may hear the great gusts as they go

By Foy, by Duerne, and the hills of Lerraulx,

But the rain he may rain, and the wind he may blow,

If the Devil's above there's good liquor below.

So it abound,

Pass it around,

Burgundy's Burgundy all the year round

Chateau Neuf du pape

<Musical intermezzo>

……

Flame on, I'm gone

I'm so sweet like a nice bon bon

Came out rapping when I was born

Mom said rock it 'til the break of dawn

Puttin bodies in motion cause I got the notion

Like Roy Cormier with the coconut lotion

The sound of music makin you insane

You can't explain to people this type of mind frame

Like a bottle of Chateau Neuf Du Pap

5

I'm fine like wine when I start to rap

We need body rockin not perfection

Let me get some action from the back section

……

“Body movin” (Hello Nasty) Beasty boys

Condrieu: Pure Gold

To an Unlabeled Bottle of Viognier

You boast an American vintage of 2001,

packed with Colorado minerals and busting with Rocky Mountain

sunshine.

Young and bold in your assertions of florals and flint,

you remind me of a duded-up cowboy

high on horse sweat and liquor and the perfume

of globe-breasted Gunnison gals with bright blonde hair

and come-hither hips poured into denim.

Oh, I taste your wry masculinity reminiscent of whiskers

that scratched my young neck under a full-to-bursting moon.

Your boisterous fruit fills my nose, your bawdy, bulging grapiness

so up in my face you cry out for grilled mahi mahi

slathered in dill mayonnaise, crowned with rings of red onion

on a crusty Kaiser roll. You see? You want to boast your American-

ness

but you court cultures of Polynesia and the very Teutons who

overlorded your ancestors,

and you forget who I am. I knew your great-great-great-great-

great-great-great-great

6

grandfather, made love to him on the banks of the Rhone,

fed him only Brie and baguette, the occasional pear and

blackberries picked

by the side of that dusty road outside Condrieu,

and I wonder what he would think of you today, so yippee-ai-ay in

your glass saddle.

To test you, I eat one fat, twisted lariat of a Chee-toh, the biggest

hammer I can find

in my pantry today

and you, you insolent brat, you

slug

me

back.

Well done, my friend, well done.

Your forebears would be proud.

This poem appeared in Mad Blood, Issue #2

Rioja: IMAGINE !

Having a Matisse colour my wall

or an O'Keeffe in my hall !

A learned ode from Emily

or chatting with Adelaide,over tea.

To talk of art & poetry ..

for a while..just you and me

7

A glass of wine..

Rioja ,fine

and a piece of Brie..

beside the sea

To listen close to your voice..

read those ' favourites' of my choice

Brian Strand 2009

I Am An Aged Dusky Man, Like A Bottle Of Bordeaux Wine...

I am an aged dusky man,

like a bottle of Bordeaux wine,

The older am I,

The Stronger my tipsiness,

I am packed in old Jeroboam bottle;

May be in old filthy bottle,

Yet soul is fresh vigorous,

inebriating wine;

My soul is prisoner under cork,

Once is released,

gravity is at height;

Squirt my wetty aroma,

exhilarates all for fun;

My body may break or perish,

Even may leave me helpless,

Yet am Bordeaux wine, loved by all,

8

They all know, more the older am I,

More the tipsiness I have;

I am an aged dusky man,

like a bottle of Bordeaux wine;

Sadashivan Nair.

Barolo The King of Wines and the Wine of Kings”

Aaaaaaah. Barolo. Dark red Italian blood. Heavenly body.

Heady Aroma.

The sweet wine touched my lips and then he kissed me.

What happened next would be a scandal, since he was a married

man.

The affair did not last long; surely for the best.

But Aaaaaaah Barolo, when I can afford its price,

Now tastes bittersweet with memories of forbidden passion.

Laura