Rossi Wine
-
- Old Skool Pax
- Posts: 286
- Joined: Mon Nov 13, 2000 9:01 am
- Location: Madison, WI
Rossi Wine
I am no buddha
only puking wine
the buddha could hold his
right down
to the last sip
the buddha could hold his wine
hugging porcelain disgrace
on the floor with shame-
and ignorance and shame
the buddha stole my wine
and why not
he can hold his
red awful mess
the wine coming up
with hands and chin on cold floor
book of mahayana
on the table
I look at it and sigh
tuesday hangover
on rossi wine
the buddha has the last sip
only puking wine
the buddha could hold his
right down
to the last sip
the buddha could hold his wine
hugging porcelain disgrace
on the floor with shame-
and ignorance and shame
the buddha stole my wine
and why not
he can hold his
red awful mess
the wine coming up
with hands and chin on cold floor
book of mahayana
on the table
I look at it and sigh
tuesday hangover
on rossi wine
the buddha has the last sip
Rossi Wine
and buddha blesses you!
- mccutcheon
- New York Scribbler
- Posts: 4996
- Joined: Tue Oct 03, 2000 8:01 am
- Location: NYC
- Contact:
Rossi Wine
buddha was a porn star
Rossi Wine
Jack i too have drank rossi wine. I had the one mad by fancis Ford coppala. I hope he didn't squash the grapes himself.. I watched Barfly because he produced it and it seemed like a perfect match. My wife came hope from a christmas party drunk and we fucked and shed didn't remember it. God i must be good..ryan
- mccutcheon
- New York Scribbler
- Posts: 4996
- Joined: Tue Oct 03, 2000 8:01 am
- Location: NYC
- Contact:
Rossi Wine
Jack? are you in rehab? Jack rehab is for quiters. Who wants to sit in a circle spilling the beans of drool?
Rossi Wine
you mean as of late? No, as a matter of fact I haven't drunk it since I wrote that.
Rossi Wine
just out of curiosity McC,that poem you wrote, "Fresh", is it by chance about a particular tall blonde aspiring geologist by the name of Kelly who went to the same high school as you, but a little younger? The one where you get a few drinks in her and she "loosens" up a bit?
Rossi Wine
happy new year. i missed mine.
Rossi Wine
he rosie- wow , i'm reall y messed up presently..... i mean, i havent been this drunk in like a year, jesus christ. i shoud stop talking aout christ...one of my better frinds is a chirst devout...... and i patronize him, even though it is so hard to believe. damn girls, 45,000 and i would love to fuck anyo of you all, shit the mathematics is like 5-1, and i still cant get a date, i'm so sad
jack
jack
- mccutcheon
- New York Scribbler
- Posts: 4996
- Joined: Tue Oct 03, 2000 8:01 am
- Location: NYC
- Contact:
Rossi Wine
go to sleep.
Rossi Wine
jack, are you okay? a little sloppy. better stay off the sauce. kisses
Rossi Wine
Pablo Neruda on wine, and he throws some other stuff in there too:
Ode to Wine
Day-colored wine,
night-colored wine,
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
wine,
starry child
of earth,
wine, smooth
as a golden sword,
soft
as lascivious velvet,
wine, spiral-seashelled
and full of wonder,
amorous,
marine;
never has one goblet contained you,
one song, one man,
you are choral, gregarious,
at the least, you must be shared.
At times
you feed on mortal
memories;
your wave carries us
from tomb to tomb,
stonecutter of icy sepulchers,
and we weep
transitory tears;
your
glorious
spring dress
is different,
blood rises through the shoots,
wind incites the day,
nothing is left
of your immutable soul.
Wine
stirs the spring, happiness
bursts through the earth like a plant,
walls crumble,
and rocky cliffs,
chasms close,
as song is born.
A jug of wine, and thou beside me
in the wilderness,
sang the ancient poet.
Let the wine pitcher
add to the kiss of love its own.
My darling, suddenly
the line of your hip
becomes the brimming curve
of the wine goblet,
your breast is the grape cluster,
your nipples are the grapes,
the gleam of spirits lights your hair,
and your navel is a chaste seal
stamped on the vessel of your belly,
your love an inexhaustible
cascade of wine,
light that illuminates my senses,
the earthly splendor of life.
But you are more than love,
the fiery kiss,
the heat of fire,
more than the wine of life;
you are
the community of man,
translucency,
chorus of discipline,
abundance of flowers.
I like on the table,
when we're speaking,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.
Drink it,
and remember in every
drop of gold,
in every topaz glass,
in every purple ladle,
that autumn labored
to fill the vessel with wine;
and in the ritual of his office,
let the simple man remember
to think of the soil and of his duty,
to propagate the canticle of the wine.
he won his own little Pulitzer in 1971 -- a swinging seventies man? He gives me butterflies!
Ode to Wine
Day-colored wine,
night-colored wine,
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
wine,
starry child
of earth,
wine, smooth
as a golden sword,
soft
as lascivious velvet,
wine, spiral-seashelled
and full of wonder,
amorous,
marine;
never has one goblet contained you,
one song, one man,
you are choral, gregarious,
at the least, you must be shared.
At times
you feed on mortal
memories;
your wave carries us
from tomb to tomb,
stonecutter of icy sepulchers,
and we weep
transitory tears;
your
glorious
spring dress
is different,
blood rises through the shoots,
wind incites the day,
nothing is left
of your immutable soul.
Wine
stirs the spring, happiness
bursts through the earth like a plant,
walls crumble,
and rocky cliffs,
chasms close,
as song is born.
A jug of wine, and thou beside me
in the wilderness,
sang the ancient poet.
Let the wine pitcher
add to the kiss of love its own.
My darling, suddenly
the line of your hip
becomes the brimming curve
of the wine goblet,
your breast is the grape cluster,
your nipples are the grapes,
the gleam of spirits lights your hair,
and your navel is a chaste seal
stamped on the vessel of your belly,
your love an inexhaustible
cascade of wine,
light that illuminates my senses,
the earthly splendor of life.
But you are more than love,
the fiery kiss,
the heat of fire,
more than the wine of life;
you are
the community of man,
translucency,
chorus of discipline,
abundance of flowers.
I like on the table,
when we're speaking,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.
Drink it,
and remember in every
drop of gold,
in every topaz glass,
in every purple ladle,
that autumn labored
to fill the vessel with wine;
and in the ritual of his office,
let the simple man remember
to think of the soil and of his duty,
to propagate the canticle of the wine.
he won his own little Pulitzer in 1971 -- a swinging seventies man? He gives me butterflies!