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It seems that football and beer is a  much More desired plan today
Than words spoken from the heart or wisdom... or art of the grey,
But what can I say?
I'm too passionate about it,
I can't give up...

Shadows of the past coming to remind me that once upon a time I was quite okay with everything...
As long as I was myself and I was mine not someone elses...

I guess I grew up and I prefer another path... Something that makes me feel complete... myself...
Art beer and football (as long as I am myself I can be okay with everything, can't I)
Mark Wanless Jan 2021
ashes in my mouth
drank wrong beer can oh shitsky
drink up brother drink
Thomas W Case Jan 2021
Back in my bone crushing
poverty ridden days,
I collected cans for nickels;
enough cans meant ***** and
smokes for the day.
one morning I came across
an empty can of beer, it said,
Dead Irish Poet Beer.
i thought, how odd is this?
Just then, a car blew by blaring
a Van Morrison song.
I thought, ah yes, but he's alive.
I didn't take the can for the nickel.
I left it to its green garbage
can grave.
Owen Nov 2020
I have never been considered
a city, or country boy.
More a godless jesus of suburbia
with better intentions
than the next guy.

But recently
my eyes have been opened
to a different way of living
where the country songs
all hit home.

A life of community,
honesty, and substance.
Where a stranger wont feel alone,
but like family, in a beer and a half.
and the warmth in my chest
is not only the whiskey,
or the bonfire.
It's a girl's smile,
the smell of barbeque,
diesel, or the rain in the woods.
Its the sound of a truck,
a guitar, boots on dirt,
the rock and roll.
Its feeling alive.

Where hard work pays,
and southern hospitality
reigns.
Where the rolling hills,
fields, forests,
and grand skies leave you
with no words

It's freedom.

I get it now.
I was raised in Wi, in a college town, so there was always a good blend of country and city. But I've been living in the south for 2 years now and the country is growing on me.
Aaron Nov 2020
Writing a poem for the sake of writing a poem.
I’m feeling emotions. More than ten.
Emotions that numb the toughest of men.
Even after all these exercises on Zen
It still feels like I’m falling apart at the hem.

But it’s all good! Isn’t it? I’m here.
Living through it with fear
Just ordered a double gin and some beer
But the mere feeling evokes a tear
and leaves me kneeling at the gateway of those emotions.
Dripping all over me like hot lotion
Without commitment or devotion.
And everything feels like it's slow motion.

So apparently it’s normal. To feel things.
They say all the stings and the pings are worth it
because we’re not supposed to be perfect,
and ‘these feelings need to be nurtured’.
*******. It’s all a bit perverted like a lie that's murmured.
This ******* feeling is so determined that I can't win.
If I do, I'll be singed and pinned
Even though I haven't actually sinned.
Yet I'm the one writing this poem. Not her.

Where the **** is that beer?
So I wrote this. This poem. Here.
Dereaux Oct 2020
Strange thing about beer.
The emptier the bottle is,
the heavier it gets.
Claudius Sep 2020
I go to order a drink to help me forget
As I look at the menu one catches my eye and all I can remember is what you were wearing when we first met
Samuel Adams printed across your chest
and now you're all I can remember when I'm trying so hard to forget.
My twin flame I will stop chasing if you stop running. It doesn't taste the same since you left.
That Girl Aug 2020
I enjoyed dancing with you while you were drunk.
I was stone cold sober.
Unless my prescriptions counts as a high.
I got drunk off you.
Your hands around my waist.
It actually feels like you want me.
But you’ll forget about this in the morning.
Until then I’ll enjoy you slurring sweet nothings in my ear.
Your lips touching mine.
I've never drank beer but I’m guessing it taste like your lips.
Maybe I'll start.
Pockets Aug 2020
Beer for breakfast
Liquor for lunch
Drunk by dinner
Out by 1
Pockets Aug 2020
I'm back to not sleeping again
I'm back to doing drugs without my friends
I'm back to nothing
An empty room
An empty bottle
A full head and ashtray
I wish I could close my eyes and go to bed
But I just can't
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