Is it the wine making her tipsy,
Or the way he holds her gaze,
How he leans close and listens?
Even when she speaks in whispers,
He hears what she has to say.

The calypso music swirls her dizzy,
Or is it the wine making her tipsy?
They dance on the cold night sand,
Kiss in the blush of dawn,
A thousand lifetimes in one day.

His depth of darkness drives her on,
His mania whirls her crazy–
Or is it the wine making her tipsy?
Maybe she was sent to save him;
Maybe they’re both past damned.

Promises broken, promises made:
She grows giddy with his fusillade
Of excuses, but she understands.
Is it the wine making her tipsy?
Maybe just the clock’s soft ticking.

She drinks alone in her kitchen,
Windows misty, grey rain dripping;
Her mind circles ’round his mischief–
The walls go crooked, dipping, slipping…
It’s just the wine making her tipsy.


I’d like to thank Kiwinana for sharing her lovely poem yesterday and introducing me to a new poetic form Anapeat, which in turn inspired this poem.

11 responses to “Tipsy

  1. Beautiful and sad mixed so well together.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “Windows misty, grey rain dripping”…this is such an evocative line in so few words. I also like the rhythm of it. We’re having a day like that today on the east coast.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Lovely, so happy you wrote a poem using the Anapeat poetry form, I can see you enjoyed it. Have a great day.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I like this format. Seems to have its own delightful challenge. Which phrase? How to make it repeat and make sense? I like your solution, and the fact that the ending can be interpreted two ways (at least for me).

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Moar Paula poetry!


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