There was a lot of spitting,
A hum of nuanced expletory,
I thought they must be kidding,
It tempted me to write this story,
Les connoisseurs, et sommeliers, les expert,
Among them I’m invited,
Not need myself exert,
Just drink, I’m so delighted,
A table set for gracious guests,
With biscuits truffles and le brie,
To eat it all I do my best,
And best of all it’s free,
Monsieur Pierre, le sommelier,
One could think him uppity,
With his nose stuck in the air,
But to sniff the wine you see,
It reminds me of my pooch,
He too sniffed everything,
But less so for the hooch,
Than find another fling,
In my case though, my nose is broke,
Not near of far do smell a thing,
Unless I stick it in to soak,
Into venera vin,
Then a strange thing happened,
I wonder how it was,
Some tasting near the end,
The next glass smelled of gas,
No, no, no one near me then,
Again, I held it near my nose,
Swished it round and round again,
To high test it was close,
The sommelier, my friend, and my relation,
Now watched me quite perplexed,
Quietly, did he remark, it is the fermentation,
Here go, try this one next,
This young lady next to me, in her critique,
She held the golden liquid way up high,
Turned to me said she, it reached its peak,
And gives a thoughtful sigh,
Then this rose’ called holy cow,
I swished, and swished, and then,
With some authority somehow,
Said I, it tastes of Highland glen,
To add weight to my remark, it is the weather,
I smelled and smelled again,
For sure it’s Highland heather,
And a tiny bit of barley grain,
Quizzically she looked at me,
Might also be the oak I said?
Resting in its bed,
For sure some taste set free,
Pineapple, passion fruit, a tropic touch,
St. Pierre, his halo shining,
Head tilted, ecstatic, but not to much,
His nose the glass divining,
A flash, he looked at me as if a stranger,
I looked to heaven with big eyes,
This holy water from a manger,
French pear, innocent, no lies,
Anjou, I said, but not too hard,
Mixed with Angels breath,
Where Jesus did his part,
When water into wine he’d bless,
Such fluency in lingo Franca, strong,
Surprised him much, and then,
Gently notched my bod along
And mumbled Highland Glen,
Politely, but with fervours trust,
His elbow neath my arm, my ribs,
Outside then he said, talk we must,
Most jovially he quips,
My friend I though, the jig is up,
And sure enough it was,
In my deceit I had been caught,
I wondered what the cause,
His glasses down like a professor,
Stern he looked at me,
Like some body guard aggressor,
Mad he was, as I could see,
Look here he said; just cause your good with words,
This is not a class of poetry,
Or even fun of sorts,
Serious business this is, can you not see?
Yikes, was he worked up,
Said I, my nose came back I think,
While still he would not stop,
Then sheepishly said I, it might have been the drink,
Once again inside, more thoughtful now,
Again this lady she came near,
Not to intimidation would I bow,
Nor I give in to fear,
Sure enough it seemed to work,
Such tongue you have, such taste,
For now put in your mouth a cork,
Let’s leave here and make haste,
Come she said we have a talk,
With bottle and my arm in hand,
She then took me for a walk,
Refuse a lady, that I can’t,
I remember it well enough, was it a week?
Tongue tied now, I cannot say,
I remember fun we had, dancing cheek to cheek,
And speech therapy we’d play,
Oh la la, Oh dear, Oh yes,
The words that I remember,
Such words we would caress,
That stirred from burning ember,
In vino veritas they say,
I say, ain’t that the truth?
It leads the tongue to play,
Some sweet words, some uncouth,
Holla, my friend, where have you been?
I thought you’d died, and gone to heaven,
How near the truth he was it seem,
Oh my, one week past eleven,
To each his own I’d say,
Be it poet, connoisseur or both,
If with your tongue you play,
Or even with your nose,
Do not forget I heard it say,
As Jane and I would not,
It’s how the game you play,
The next time, we’ll try pot,
So dear poet friends of mine,
I say it loud and clear,
Have some pot, or have some wine,
Some Coors, or even beer,
Sniff the air or sniff the vine,
And if your nose is so endowed,
Other scents that are so fine,
From sniffing not be cowed,
For the proboscis gives such pleasure,
If you have such luck,
Probing hidden treasure,
Like me, in gates of paradise it stuck.©16/05/2010
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Regis
ET
Wow - leaves you reeling as if we had drunk right alongside you.
Great images.
~D.
Georg
Kudos!
John
Love,
Sage
Peace,
Dayvid