I stumbled upon this poem, written by Wyn Cooper, that is comprised of phrases used by super-critic Robert Parker. Thought that you might enjoy reading it -

Reading Parker

The whites taste of anise, quinine,
quartz, pears left to bloom in
Provencal sun—reds masculine,
broad-shouldered and hedonistic
in a superexpressive road tar
candied red cherry kind of way

unlike the slow road to Beaune
this winter afternoon, the only
smell the Opel’s heater on our feet
as we drive into a life we hope
will look like this: sun-drenched
gravel covering a base of chalk,
what the earth is made of here
that makes its wine last so long.

copyright Wyn Cooper 2010

Maybe Parker’s pen is being used in the wrong medium. Cheers!