"boozers" poems
We, the people of this country, in your eyes are:
babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers,
beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars,
bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders,
bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners.
That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads
keep us down, put us down, push us down
subjugate us, belittle us, berate us.
We, the people of this country, in our eyes are:
butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers,
cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers,
taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers,
music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers,
plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders,
boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers,
designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators,
dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers,
doctors and nurses and all the emergency services.
We are the People, the reason you are where you are now
you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow
locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers
and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses
this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff
its time to stand up
and say enough is enough.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
He’s a spoiled rich kid
In the land of the one percent.
He feels no remorse for
Those who can’t pay their rent.
He’s popular with fools
And a bunch of toothless boozers
All the while laughing
And calling them all losers.
The favorite son of the GOP
Says nothing with specificity.
He just makes vague promises
He has no idea what his platform is.
He only knows if he stirs up hate
He will win certain delegates.
He won’t be held to the fire
Half-truths work for him just fine.
He’d prefer you not inquire.
Nobody makes him toe the line.
He is paraphrasing fascism
Like he’s the one who invented it.
It’s like Germany in 1930s
They could have easily prevented it.
The favorite son of the GOP
Says nothing with specificity.
He just makes vague promises
He has no idea what his platform is.
He only knows if he stirs up hate
He will win certain delegates.
Here’s the way to make it
Work the best for a new dictatorship.
You take the populace along
On your traveling one-man ego trip
After your party has published
Scurrilous big lies about the opposition
Then spread a lot more rumors
Which gives the voters their ammunition.
The favorite son of the GOP
Says nothing with specificity.
He just makes vague promises
He has no idea what his platform is.
He only knows if he stirs up hate
He will win certain delegates.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
The Milkman Cometh
It could be Margie or it could be Pearl
bringing us our refreshment we trust
though we are all old dead beat boozers
we still enjoy sweet cookies dunked in lust
we waited for Hickey for as long as we could
to get this party off with a bang
but we've waited long enough I say
time for a grand toast gosh dang
Rocky gave us the okay to get started
but he asked us to leave Cora alone
she was busy baking a surprise cake
for the captain who was finally coming home
Hickey finally shows but wont raise his glass
says he sees better now that he's sober
but he couldn't take the kiss from her lips
and quickly began to disrobe her
got milk they all yelled as the night wore on
the police finally shut it all down
the chocolate had been spilled everywhere
the news was all over the town
Gomer LePoet....
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
(truck-drivers, bar-boozers, loser-bar yokles, blue-collar rednecks will all love this smash hit song!!!)
Rockin country genre
"Big Mouth Surgery"
(by david John Clare)
(rockin' country drunk hick juke-box mix)
Wow! She sure does talk a lot... could almost cause a riot
But we don't get... just what she's trying to say
We could hear her fine before... when she used to be quiet
Guess all them new school-words get in the way
We took her to see... a gypsy-psychic-magician
But he wanted more... than we could pay
So we took her down to see... our local town physician
And here's what old doc... had to say
Boys...
"She needs Big Mouth Surgery"
Her tongue is on the blink
She just talks, sqwacks and talks some more
'Cause she don't know how to think
So please don't be stallin'
Her brain is now corrupt
Can't you see that she has fallen'
And she just can't ''shut-up!"
Big Mouth Surgery
Cause no pills seem to work
Hurry please now doctor
Before she drives us all berserk
Big Mouth Surgery
But will it work without a doubt?
Better make it a lobotomy
Before she starts to shout!
(solo)
Our reputations are expensive
While her talk is **** cheap
You just can't tell her nothin'
'Cause a secret she can't keep
No one seems to know
What the fuss is all about
We're just waitin' for her brain
To catch up with her mouth
She needs Big Mouth Surgery
Her mind is on the blink
She always talks, talks and talks all day
Why can't she just please stop & think?
So please don't be stallin'
Her head is all corrupt
Can't you see that she has fallen'
Her fat-mouth can't shut-up!
Big Mouth Surgery
We need to find her a shrink
Hurry please there doctor
Before she drives us all to drink
Big Mouth Surgery
She's heard north, east, west & south
Who gave her brain a laxative?
Got diarrhea of the mouth!
Big Mouth Surgery
No pill can take effect
Hurry please now doctor
She is a mental wreck
Our minds: she made us loose
Her words: just seem to ooze
It's so hard: to take a snooze
We just drown all-day in *****
Beer, Whisky, Wine & ***** . . .
To wash away our ear-ache blues!
Yip Yip Zip Lip! ...Yee Haw!
(c) 2009 David Wayne Clare
CLAIRVOYANT MUSIC / BMI
all rights reserved
in perpetuity
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
Ones and Zeros
In the online digital world
Every boy and every girl
Are villains and heroes
Who knows which?
Son a of a *****
The truth is lies
Wrapped up in disguise
We want to believe
Electronic love we receive
Is not there to deceive
The flirting
The sexting
The online molexting
**** pic rejecting
Encrypted ascii code
Sent through internet nodes
Wireless whispers transmitted
Thoughts of endearment committed
Fact are conveniently omitted
Lies are ruthlessly submitted
Straight jacket
Packet hackers
Hijacking a loving heart
Holding it ransom is their art
Scourge of the community
Harassing
Surpassing
Any level of dignity
Players and haters
And the masturbators
The downright crazies
Acting like timid daisies
The cheaters
Defeaters
And quite possibly
Wife beaters
The losers
The boozers
Mentally abusers
The popular sexter
Who may not be a her
Quite possibly a guy
But will vehemently deny
The whiner
Data miner
The ********* seeking minor
The scammer
The Christian Damner
Super **** grammar
All thrown in together
With the digital picture collector
And still we’re looking all around
For love to be found
In a world of made believe
That anonymously deceives
We are ones seeking zeroes
Running into villains dressed up as heroes
Hearts shredded and deleted
Retreating and defeated
Yet somehow we try again
Hoping for something less than pain
We are all a little bit insane
Playing the online dating game
One’s and Zero’s
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
You call me alarmist
Because I say what I have heard.
You call me socialist
As if it were a ***** word.
You call me communist
Like this is nineteen fifty two.
You make an epithet
Of anyone who contradicts you.
You call me coward
Because I hate war so much.
You call people ******
If men should hug or touch.
You call people terrorists
If they don't worship your way.
You seem to hate the poor
Wish they would just go away.
You have a list of names
You use instead of using specifics.
You have a list of behaviors
You consider to be extra terrific
Like making fun of races
And calling starving people losers.
Make laws against cannabis
While you are a bunch of boozers.
You use Christianity
Like membership in the Rotary.
Won't take your credentials
To be verified by a legal notary.
You hide your profits
And brag about your successes
And become homicidal
If you get anything but yesses.
It's a sick world you sell
With your hate filled speeches.
Surely this is not what
Your spiritual leader teaches.
There is so much disdain
And even evil in what you do.
Let us all hope and pray
Our kids don't turn out like you.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
Let the neon lights speak for themselves.
They'll sing my eulogy, I know that for sure.
"What a bright man he was,
always making sure we illuminated the downtown sidewalks
for the boozers and the streetwalkers to see.
See? He wasn't so bad after all-
he helped ease pain".
When you bury me,
bury me with my favorite drink,
and nourish the soil with *****
Dec 22, 2011
Dec 22, 2011 at 2:33 AM UTC
Was Annabelle just a woman in Poe’s dream?
Was there really an angel on Janet Frame’s wooden table?
Did Emily Dickinson really wear white for the rest of her life?
Was Dante just a bitter ***** to tell people about a red man with horn’s on his head
Didn’t think it was Halloween too soon on the corner of his calendar
I resembled all the traits these writer’s made of their spoken lives just like Bukowski
If he did live in many rooms and lost his brain cells in bottles
Maybe in the afterlife Burroughs will give me pointers on drugs along with Thompson. Meeting Rimbaud ask him if he ever was in the closet. Took an eyeful of literature before high school, made friends with boozers, losers and psychopaths. Don’t quote me because I cherish them so much I know I’ll try to make it like them soon, dead yet my heroes they remain alive
WRITE ME OFF WRITE ME OFFF Write me down there’s no pen and papers around scrawl on the wall have a purpose to write them all
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Is love a game?
Are there winners and losers?
I know it creates liars, cheaters and boozers
But it also creates romance, hopes and dreamers
The good with the bad, the angels and demons
Is love a game?
Can you forfeit your heart?
Is there a finish line? Where do you start?
Who keeps score and who decides?
Who is in charge and who is along for the ride?
Is love a game?
Are there MVPs or all stars?
Can you get injured? Can you leave with scars?
Blood, sweat and tears, nothing compares
To finding that one person who truly cares.
The ultimate touchdown, run and jump-shot
The hardest battle that you've ever fought.
Is love a game?
Who is your competition?
Yourself, your lover or other women?
Are there personal fouls? Can you get ejected?
Do you get two shots if you feel neglected?
Is love a game?
I want you on my team.
I pick you first- just you and me.
I know we can finish in first place,
If you can just look me in the face
And tell me that you want to win,
That you want to knock down that final pin
We keep getting spares, it's always the same
You keep me asking is love a game?
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
So it’s about half ten
And my then friend, Ben
Is walking with me to the shops.
We chat **** about lit
As we’re acquainted through college.
So together we’re relatively
Secure in the knowledge
That at least we can agree
On poetry.
As I flip my wrist
To look at my watch
I turn back to notice
That Ben has stopped.
He’s gazing amazed at
An open front door
That’s bustling with boozers
And music that soars.
“Let’s crash it!” Ben demands
Like the house party fascist that he is,
But I have to admit
That my state was somewhat ufit
To be called ‘responsibly sober.’
So with a heavy eyed grin
I say “OK, let’s go in”
And together we both wander over.
As we move through the ranks
Of the bodies that flank us,
Past the guy with a guitar,
That we could hear from afar,
And the girl who sits just there by the wall,
Twirls her hair whilst absently staring
Into a beer,
We stumble upon the kitchen.
Here the music is nearer
And after an hour passes,
Along with some clear glasses
Of spirits and wine,
We think we’re fine
But then, it suddenly hits me.
We’re crashers, I remember
And as if our agenda was destined to fail,
We would now have to bail,
As just when we make a mission
Out of appearing exempt from suspicion
As if by intuition, some bloke asks casually:
“So how do you guys know Dave then?”
Ben decides to aid by looking artfully away
Whilst scratching his *****
So it seems to me
That the responsibility falls…
“Dave!” I say, looking absently away,
“We go way back make man,
Holidays in Cornwall and that,
Y’know, caravans?”
The bloke goes away,
Presumably in search
Of the mysterious Dave,
And so I turn to Ben and say “Go mate!
We’ve been made!”
We bolt for the door past the prep lads,
The muso and a chap on the floor,
Ben’s grabbing bottles and **** as he goes,
When I hear a voice ask aloud
“Hey Dave do you know those two?”
Hiding our faces we pick up the pace,
Pushing our way to a tidy escape.
We burst out the door and onto the street,
Finding it hard to stay firm on our feet.
Despite getting myself caught on the garden gate,
It has to be said,
Best party to date.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 1:31 PM UTC
our local hotel
is a great gathering place
it is a fine place
for the boozers to congregate
after a schooner or
an eighteen gallon keg
all of the patrons
are smashed
out of their heads
many are unable
to walk a straight line
and some flake out
on the foot path
to sleep overnight
the beers is made
of the best hops and yeast
that's why the drinkers
partake of a goodly amount
our local publican
has happy hour on Friday nights
and the customers
gorge themselves
with plenty of free *****
usually by half past ten
all the drinkers
are hanging over the bar
they can hardly stand up
after consuming so much ale
it is always
dry weather
at a bush hotel
that is why
there is such
a thirsty clientele
the local watering hole
has heaps of liquid amber
on tap
so if you are in or around
our parts
drop in and have
a pint with us
as we wouldn't want
you to die
for lack of refreshment
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
Tip tap tip tap.
Diagonal shadows dance across the steering wheel as the relentless rain forms and overflows.
A moments silence.
Chrome flickers under the street light.
The shooter cocked and ready.
An innocent marked man sits upon a bar stool merrily sipping a pint of Guinness in the pub.
Sticky patterned carpet under foot from many a spilt beer.
Scented ***** wafts out of the boozers pores towards the masked assassins.
A couple hog the fruit machine, the jackpot only a pound away.
10 shots ring out leaving the punters ducking for cover.
Ears pierced by the noise.
Screams.
The assassins shadows are gone long before anyone could bear witness to the terrifying act.
Body slumped, but alive.
Burnt fleshy smoke emanating from the slug holes in an innocent mans abdomen.
Pint toppled adding another stain to the collection on the old carpet.
Wrong target.
Wrong man.
Wrong bar stool.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
CRESENT OF SINS
full and half empty bottles of beer;
scattered broken glasses,
deranges the cracked brown hued floor
music gales from an old c.d changer
inebriated guzzler mumbles in incoherent murmur
denuded nubile cavorts merrily
their sleek oiled frame shimmering in the fuzzy light
ghoulish **** silhouette walks in fluid and sinuous manner
fog like smoke chokes the room
marijuana and cigarette smoke amalgamates
swirling up merged into an eternal marriage
heels clad trollops clatters in the room
swaying their assets provocatively
boozers gapes intently with hazy eyes
raising their neck in unison
they ogle at the lure with entranced lust
two vague humanoid shapes lurks in a corner
moans escaping in raspy staccato
musk,booze,drugs defines this room
besotted species lie on filthy squalid floor
vocalizing dirge melodies
lost in muddled blur
dancers prances up and down
crushing cans and glasses in spirited tempo
yelling their lungs out
as the music drown their voices and worries
deep in the gist of the city
irrational rants emanates from every angle
sundry light floods the clear night
as merry goers sip cheap and expensive liquor
sloven hookers milks cash from patrons
the night conceal this cresent of sins
everyone is on a business
the party continues
the music get more stentorian
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[{chronicles of the dumb speaker}]
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
I was always lonesome even in a boozers bar
The boozers seemed forever to be in another room
I could never really be in that room with them, I'm always on the edges
The voices sometimes were sweet kind , friendly,like good mood music,
But the mood music turns hard, ugly, coated in a grey gloom.
Happiness is quickly overtaken and grabbed by its neck and sent to its doom.
Im on the edges in a crowd laughing, talking like the rest, but my voice my sounds are not heard.Im alone in a boozers bar
Pat Rooney 2014
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 6:58 AM UTC
A lonely town full of losers
Cheaters, takers, and abusers
Junkies, flunkies, and the boozers
A lonely town where people are going nowhere
A lonely town down in the valley
Where the people and the roads are crumbling
The people and the buildings are vacant
A lonely town
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Red is the mist that too often descends,
Beige alas the colour of my teeth,
Tan, sadly I only ever burn,
Orange my fake perma-tan
Black my mood on a Monday morning,
White are the lies when I ring in sick!
Blue are the films I secretly watch,
Cerise, not a clue but sounds lovely!
Purple my boozers nose,
Scarlet somebody, from Gone with the Wind I think,
Violet missing an ‘n’,
Cream strictly rationed because of my diabetes!
Green my perpetual envy,
Tangerine, something else to hate at Christmas,
Burgundy, sorry ******* at geography,
Lilac, far too trendy for me!
Azure are the skies I miss from childhood,
Sapphire so very precious!
Cerulean, now I am being a ********
Yellow the starting gun for me to run away
Indigo, when my snooker potting is on fire!
Pink, the ball I always miss,
Navy, something the Swiss don’t have,
Chocolate, something the Swiss do have
Brown the awful jumpers Mum used to knit,
Russet, used to be a tiny English County?
Emerald, a lovely girl I once dated,
Aquamarine such a delicate sea-sick tint
Puce, or do I mean puke, something I do after a skinful
Maroon rhymes with macaroon!
Crimson, I guilty blush when I pass wind!
Grey (never gray!), my hated school uniform
Ruby, any glass of port in a storm!
Auburn, I really love her films!
Lime, lovely with gin & tonic, especially in Vienna Harry! ** **
Turquoise bruises, no stranger to these after a few too many
© Robert Porteus
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 10:14 AM UTC
People often ask me ' do you have a wife ? ...girlfriend ?
I tell them that i'm single , yes ..i know it's not the trend
But i would much rather be happy and live alone just with my cat
Than be with a controlling freak or a boring.... lazy tw@t
I often act quite silly , spontaneous and free
Happy and uncomplicated ...marriage ?...not for me !!
Don't get me wrong , i love to love and do so with my heart
Genuine , affectionate ?...i've been that from the start
Trouble is ..i've met too many fakesters , selfish users
Money grabbing nasty gits , lazy, boring , boozers !!
Lie-ing turds , compulsive flirts & one's that are not true
It's not a case of you & me , it's more like ..you & you
One day i'm sure i'll meet someone that feels the same as me
And none of this will matter ...then lovers we shall be
Until then i guess i'll stay as one and live as i see fit
You see it's as the saying goes..'if it's not broke..then don't fix it.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 7:36 PM UTC
So Just Like My Namesake...
In... “ The Great Escape “...
I’m The King of... The Cooler... !!!!!
Kinda Like... " Rick The Ruler "....
A TRUE School Type Mover...
TOP NOTCH Rhyme Producer... !!!
With Tunes That Are Cooler...
Than McQueen In His Scenes...
As Yup... " Virgil Hiltz "...
Showing Nazis I CHILL...
When They Try To Instil...
Ideals That Spread War...
Where Division’s The Cause...
Because I Stay COOLER...
Than Yes... " Ferris Bueller’ ".... !!!
When It Comes To These Tutors...
Whose Thoughts Should Be.....
....... NEUTERED....... !!!!!
That’s Right NULLIFIED.... !!!!!
Just Like Norton’s Guy....
And American Types....
Whose Actions DEFY....
REJECTION of FIGHTS...
Because They’re Still TIED....
To... SUPREMACIST Minds.... !!!!!!
Whose Vibe’s To *** - ide...
Based Upon Colour Lines... !?!
While I Deal In Vibes....
Where Tribes UNIFY... !!!!!
No Matter What Colour...
Or **** They STAND BY... !!!
Because I Am COOLER....
Than... Racist Wrongdoers... !!!!!
I Move With MORE Coolness...
Than Those Who Pull Shooters... !!!!
... MILITANT Armies....
Like Those In Zimbabwe...
Now OUSTING Mugabe... !!!!!
Political Parties.....
Who DO NOT Move Calmly... !!!
So I’m Cooler Than THEM... !!!!!
These Government Heads...
Who Cause Heads PROBLEMS... !!!
As Well As... DISTRESS... !!!!!
Because They Use POWER... !!!
To Use Cladding That Showers...
Like... EXPLOSIVE Gunpowder... !!!
So I’m COOLER Than Towers....
That In Just A Few Hours... !!!!!!!!
Became HOTTER Than Plotters...
Whose Movements Get HOTTER...
Than.... SUICIDE BOMBERS... !!!!!
I’m The COOLEST of Jotters...
About All This NONSENSE.... !!!
ABUSERS Whose Movements...
HOT UP... Certain Collars... !!!!!
Who Took Time To... HOLLA'...
About How They BOTHERED... ?!?
Producers And Movers....
Who Seem To NEED... “ Coolers “... !!!?!!!
To CONTROL Their LOOSENESS... !!!!!
However Some Coolness...
Is NEEDED Like Shrewdness...
When It Comes To The CLAIMS...
That Are Made Nowadays...
... SO MANY Games... !!!
That People Now Play... !!!!!
The Type That Have RACKETS...
And Strings That Pull Jackets... !!!
On Puppets And Slaves...
Who Seem To Get Brave....
When It’s LATE In The day.... !!!!!
To REFUTERS I Say...
CALM DOWN Now Okay... !!!
I Suggest You Stay COOLER...
Than London’s Commuters...
When TERROR Becomes....
What HITS It’s Stations... !!!!!!
Or Cooler Than COUGARS...
Who Move Like SEDUCERS...
When Their ONLY Future...
Is *** With OLD Suitors ...
Boozers And Schmoozers'... !!!
Whose ***** LOST IT’s Rooster.... !?!?!
So NEEDS To Use BOOSTERS...
Like..... ****** Users.... !!!!!!
As I Said... This Poem...
Should PROVE I’m NO LOSER... !!!!!
I’m Just A Producer...
of Rhymes That Are Shrewder...
Than SCOOTER Type Looters... !!!!!
Who’s... SICKER Than TUMOURS... !!!!!
And Like... " Steve McQueen "...
When It Comes To Rhyme Schemes...
Don’t Let The Rest FOOL YA.... !!!!!
I’m THE KING of What’s...
........ “ COOLER “.......
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 1:09 AM UTC