"burbon" poems - Hello Poetry

"To the Afterlife; whether or not it exists!" "I disbelieve in the concept of an 'Afterlife.'" "Well, what if there's excellent ***** in the Afterlife?" "In that case: motherfuckin' Sold!"

0

Sep 14, 2013

Sep 14, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

Selling the notion of a potential "Afterlife" to a fellow Agnostic Friend as a Toast prior to Shots of quite ******* good Burbon on this beautiful late Summer Saturday Afternoon in Heptember:

"To the Afterlife; whether or not it exists!" "I disbelieve in the concept of an 'Afterlife.'" "Well, what if there's excellent ***** in the Afterlife?" "In that case: motherfuckin' Sold!"

4

Vibes caught static between snares hips swinging searching for music that played their truth. The bass line wasn’t just music it was breath pulling ribs apart to let the rhythm in Fingers slid down necks like frets pressing into chords that hummed notes down thighs in time Wanting too blow saxophones Spitting all over the reed Jazz isn’t something you hear it’s something that happens to you cymbal crashed piano keys Play confessions no hymn would dare too black and white blending spilled burbon over smoke-stained wood Feet tapping out codes no one else could decipher syncopated riff breaking patterns breaking rules The off beat gospel you couldn’t write down. The room swayed with them walls leaning in leaning closer to the crescendo the saxophone came in it was a third hand tracing lines down spines nobody dared to blow before. This is jazz: argument turned foreplay rough pull dissonance before harmony slips in like a satin sheets you weren’t ready for. Hands hit bodies like drumsticks slap rolling inhale percussion moaning muted horn solo They weren’t just feeling the music; they were becoming it beating out solos on each other’s skin. The sweat smelled like vinyl records warm grooves pressed into the air spinning slow spins catching sparks needle skating over scars was a minor chord that somehow still felt major. learning how to recognize itself. Passion spilling out her mouth scotch over his mahogany wood The rimshot of her sigh Improvision improvisation of his kiss Scatting sound echoing from lips His horn hit her high note one that split the room in half she leaned closer saying “Do you hear that?” But he wasn’t listening to the music anymore. He was listening to her pulse that slick heartbeat drumming solo against his wrist. This is what jazz does You don’t just play It consumes. becomes the air the walls sweat the skin It’s the music you don’t hear but feel right there in the space where your ribs can’t hold the notes. Jazz doesn’t end it just fades into the background waiting for you to join again

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Nov 25, 2024

Nov 25, 2024 at 7:13 AM UTC

emc4life

Jazz Becomes You

Vibes caught static between snares hips swinging searching for music that played their truth. The bass line wasn’t just music it was breath pulling ribs apart to let the rhythm in Fingers slid down necks like frets pressing into chords that hummed notes down thighs in time Wanting too blow saxophones Spitting all over the reed Jazz isn’t something you hear it’s something that happens to you cymbal crashed piano keys Play confessions no hymn would dare too black and white blending spilled burbon over smoke-stained wood Feet tapping out codes no one else could decipher syncopated riff breaking patterns breaking rules The off beat gospel you couldn’t write down. The room swayed with them walls leaning in leaning closer to the crescendo the saxophone came in it was a third hand tracing lines down spines nobody dared to blow before. This is jazz: argument turned foreplay rough pull dissonance before harmony slips in like a satin sheets you weren’t ready for. Hands hit bodies like drumsticks slap rolling inhale percussion moaning muted horn solo They weren’t just feeling the music; they were becoming it beating out solos on each other’s skin. The sweat smelled like vinyl records warm grooves pressed into the air spinning slow spins catching sparks needle skating over scars was a minor chord that somehow still felt major. learning how to recognize itself. Passion spilling out her mouth scotch over his mahogany wood The rimshot of her sigh Improvision improvisation of his kiss Scatting sound echoing from lips His horn hit her high note one that split the room in half she leaned closer saying “Do you hear that?” But he wasn’t listening to the music anymore. He was listening to her pulse that slick heartbeat drumming solo against his wrist. This is what jazz does You don’t just play It consumes. becomes the air the walls sweat the skin It’s the music you don’t hear but feel right there in the space where your ribs can’t hold the notes. Jazz doesn’t end it just fades into the background waiting for you to join again

144

He is scraggled, bathed only by the suns light during the hours of his slumber on Miami dewed, morn soil. He sleeps off the night before, though he is not reminicent of it in his dreams, as his slumber is no longer dreamt, but devoured by the nightmare of life, and nights and days have begun to slur into one another untill one becomes another, and vice versa. The empty bottle in the bag was dumped miles ago on the side of a road no longer remembered, and the facade of the beggar was dropped long ago, as the face of hope was rendered. The known knowledge of his future demise does not scare him, as the only friend that brings him peace is the one that will destroy him. But he is alright, as the short lived calm of his decent into the burbon torrent is his way of riding his nightmares, and as he drinks his way away tonight, honey, he knows, this truely is all there is. a.r.

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Apr 4, 2013

Apr 4, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC

aly-raines

Miami

He is scraggled, bathed only by the suns light during the hours of his slumber on Miami dewed, morn soil. He sleeps off the night before, though he is not reminicent of it in his dreams, as his slumber is no longer dreamt, but devoured by the nightmare of life, and nights and days have begun to slur into one another untill one becomes another, and vice versa. The empty bottle in the bag was dumped miles ago on the side of a road no longer remembered, and the facade of the beggar was dropped long ago, as the face of hope was rendered. The known knowledge of his future demise does not scare him, as the only friend that brings him peace is the one that will destroy him. But he is alright, as the short lived calm of his decent into the burbon torrent is his way of riding his nightmares, and as he drinks his way away tonight, honey, he knows, this truely is all there is. a.r.

20

Cathartic condition Far from bliss A foolish decision Clearly a miss Soulless revision No shelter in this Into remission Into the abyss A clip full of kisses loaded She shot me down Like an animal goaded I hit the ground And on my venture Herds and flocks of birds in frocks Fathom long legs in knee high socks No longer I contain or diverge the rocks From bieng coloured and framed by burbon stocks.

0

Dec 17, 2013

Dec 17, 2013 at 2:31 PM UTC

james-joseph-dann

The cycle

Cathartic condition Far from bliss A foolish decision Clearly a miss Soulless revision No shelter in this Into remission Into the abyss A clip full of kisses loaded She shot me down Like an animal goaded I hit the ground And on my venture Herds and flocks of birds in frocks Fathom long legs in knee high socks No longer I contain or diverge the rocks From bieng coloured and framed by burbon stocks.

19

I have lost myself to A man with no name I found him while Searching the stars The sun and moon I could never get enough of him The longer he grows The shorter he gets He is infinitely invincible In a never-ending loop No one and nothing can Stop him Every time I fall asleep In laggard or lament He drinks deep rusty burbon Until wasted He doesn't wait around for anyone Yet he is always there, like an Omniscient god He is in his own dimension One you cannot sense (Yet you preceive) He is a healer He is father of all In all times Springtime, wintertime Summertime, fall

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Jun 18, 2016

Jun 18, 2016 at 9:17 AM UTC

Sageshortcake

Father Time

I have lost myself to A man with no name I found him while Searching the stars The sun and moon I could never get enough of him The longer he grows The shorter he gets He is infinitely invincible In a never-ending loop No one and nothing can Stop him Every time I fall asleep In laggard or lament He drinks deep rusty burbon Until wasted He doesn't wait around for anyone Yet he is always there, like an Omniscient god He is in his own dimension One you cannot sense (Yet you preceive) He is a healer He is father of all In all times Springtime, wintertime Summertime, fall

27

I always see them in dark shadows and whispers of uneven conversation I stand steady as always. Unsteady hand may you bare one last confession do you care to reflect the image we no longer recall. Raindrops apon empty streets bare a haunting tone ive grown numb from such feel and loss. You ask to see my soul but would you stay for just a little while befor? Im ash of flames once bright embers are all that remain. lovers are markers ive long since seen fade in a perfect sunsets pain please will you stay to care for the child in the clown and the old fools emptyness will wash that pain as storm's clear my past to heal my pressent if you will. They never see i am but trash in the gutter a stain soon to be forgotten from thought. We may embrace for a second please dont ask if im okay. Sometimes stars no longer shine but skies seldom fall. Winters of turmoil echo in empty chambers often called thought. And the burbon my cast to sheild a wound I refuse to heal. Fools often regress so as you pass i understand no wave just a look through ive grown to except. Oceans apart will you stay if not for one last drink asked as a child begs a parent just till Im asleep. I see them in shadows faces once known to many and cherished by me . Old ghosts surround and as I prolong i understand i must join them even the blind can see. And as to my back it paints a farwell to a never to be filled door. Tommorow they come to chase the past for even i must one day give up my seat. To fast ive lived now slow must I die. Faded watercolors still cast images that caress the heart of another who will understand the yerning to stay. Stars under darkest night understand one less burns . We are but canvas so may mine be relived by fires glimmer of soon faded light

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Nov 30, 2011

Nov 30, 2011 at 4:44 AM UTC

john-patrick-robbins-aka-gonzo

Old Ghost's And New Friends

I always see them in dark shadows and whispers of uneven conversation I stand steady as always. Unsteady hand may you bare one last confession do you care to reflect the image we no longer recall. Raindrops apon empty streets bare a haunting tone ive grown numb from such feel and loss. You ask to see my soul but would you stay for just a little while befor? Im ash of flames once bright embers are all that remain. lovers are markers ive long since seen fade in a perfect sunsets pain please will you stay to care for the child in the clown and the old fools emptyness will wash that pain as storm's clear my past to heal my pressent if you will. They never see i am but trash in the gutter a stain soon to be forgotten from thought. We may embrace for a second please dont ask if im okay. Sometimes stars no longer shine but skies seldom fall. Winters of turmoil echo in empty chambers often called thought. And the burbon my cast to sheild a wound I refuse to heal. Fools often regress so as you pass i understand no wave just a look through ive grown to except. Oceans apart will you stay if not for one last drink asked as a child begs a parent just till Im asleep. I see them in shadows faces once known to many and cherished by me . Old ghosts surround and as I prolong i understand i must join them even the blind can see. And as to my back it paints a farwell to a never to be filled door. Tommorow they come to chase the past for even i must one day give up my seat. To fast ive lived now slow must I die. Faded watercolors still cast images that caress the heart of another who will understand the yerning to stay. Stars under darkest night understand one less burns . We are but canvas so may mine be relived by fires glimmer of soon faded light

27

yet another savage tragedy ravages, emotionally, the trap queens in bandages screaming to their bae’s about the vastness of calamities blunt tips glow showing smoke blown extensions flowing growing tired of liars on the youtube seeking gifs and snap-chat besties to wrestle with the cultural festivities being given proclivity to policy lunacy – smart phone glued claw hand and shrewdly planning to revamp the system with hello kitty ***** twisters and metrosexual waterfall trips… it’s truly a pip these auto-tuned post baby-boomers no relations to crooners thinking the sooners are only Oklahoma…. My youth tirade is partly a parade like a brass band on Burbon playing unafraid –

0

Mar 17, 2016

Mar 17, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC

s-lyman-temple

kids today....

yet another savage tragedy ravages, emotionally, the trap queens in bandages screaming to their bae’s about the vastness of calamities blunt tips glow showing smoke blown extensions flowing growing tired of liars on the youtube seeking gifs and snap-chat besties to wrestle with the cultural festivities being given proclivity to policy lunacy – smart phone glued claw hand and shrewdly planning to revamp the system with hello kitty ***** twisters and metrosexual waterfall trips… it’s truly a pip these auto-tuned post baby-boomers no relations to crooners thinking the sooners are only Oklahoma…. My youth tirade is partly a parade like a brass band on Burbon playing unafraid –

27

the ****** grieves ****** for the feeling of total abandonment before discovering how not to abandon herself the alcoholic grieves Burbon for the bitter sweet for how it made him feel before the hangover the gout, sclerosis the love ****** grieves the innocence the dream, fairy tales, the endorphins before enough was never enough the *** addict grieves for another and another before the clap, syphilis, despair before too little became too much the gambler grieves the green the shiny stuff at the slot machine before the house was gone woman gone, reason gone smug gone the crone grieves for youthful ignorance awe, suspense, naivety, anticipation before the burn, betrayal, fact wisdom the dying grieve for life energy, breath, the past before the unknown, surrender the letting go the letting go that's how it goes

0

Nov 14, 2017

Nov 14, 2017 at 10:55 AM UTC

tara-liz-driscoll

Grief

the ****** grieves ****** for the feeling of total abandonment before discovering how not to abandon herself the alcoholic grieves Burbon for the bitter sweet for how it made him feel before the hangover the gout, sclerosis the love ****** grieves the innocence the dream, fairy tales, the endorphins before enough was never enough the *** addict grieves for another and another before the clap, syphilis, despair before too little became too much the gambler grieves the green the shiny stuff at the slot machine before the house was gone woman gone, reason gone smug gone the crone grieves for youthful ignorance awe, suspense, naivety, anticipation before the burn, betrayal, fact wisdom the dying grieve for life energy, breath, the past before the unknown, surrender the letting go the letting go that's how it goes

31

spark up the lighter feel it burn the tip of your thumb light up the demons inhale their love blow out all your worries in a puff of tobacco smoke fell yourself succumb into their fake love crack open the bottle feel the burbon burn as it trickles down your throat let the warmth of distorted happiness engulf your soul pour out the pills of hope let the pretty colours cause you to overdose sit back and feel the numbness shut down your body a false moment of freedom make your addiction a romantic affair the most epic marrige you've already maded the vow 'till death do us part, my love.

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Oct 16, 2017

Oct 16, 2017 at 9:07 PM UTC

frankierowl

swan song "lover"

spark up the lighter feel it burn the tip of your thumb light up the demons inhale their love blow out all your worries in a puff of tobacco smoke fell yourself succumb into their fake love crack open the bottle feel the burbon burn as it trickles down your throat let the warmth of distorted happiness engulf your soul pour out the pills of hope let the pretty colours cause you to overdose sit back and feel the numbness shut down your body a false moment of freedom make your addiction a romantic affair the most epic marrige you've already maded the vow 'till death do us part, my love.

24

I wanna write a song with lyrical meaning but don't know what to sing 'bout tonight. S'pose I be a selfish man and sing 'bout yo love More like the lack thereof tonight. Them lights overhead replace faces with blur as I watch them consume shots of burbon. S'pose I be a sympathetic man, sing 'bout the hurt That's be hitting them towns Rural n urban. s'pose, I just go on home now Watch the Sun divorce this town as it takes all it's colors with it. (shrugs)

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Jul 21, 2014

Jul 21, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC

francisco-dh

S'pose...

I wanna write a song with lyrical meaning but don't know what to sing 'bout tonight. S'pose I be a selfish man and sing 'bout yo love More like the lack thereof tonight. Them lights overhead replace faces with blur as I watch them consume shots of burbon. S'pose I be a sympathetic man, sing 'bout the hurt That's be hitting them towns Rural n urban. s'pose, I just go on home now Watch the Sun divorce this town as it takes all it's colors with it. (shrugs)

12

The elixir of life Chased down my throat With cheapened words For your understanding Chased down my throat Like some bottom shelf burbon I know I'll be recycling soon. Yet- Still I drink it Still I say it Knowing it's all coming back on me. (One way or another ) I suppose in life, this is how I learn But- Do we ever learn? (Don't think so my friend, just don't think so) So I'll sit here Drink my drink Say my words Saying That we'll never learn Cheers to never learning again Cheers to never hearing your thoughts again As I choke down these words Chase them with spirits Suffocate with the real hopes Filled with lies Of cheapened words Just to satisfy your ego.

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May 28, 2016

May 28, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC

garyb

Just to make you happy

The elixir of life Chased down my throat With cheapened words For your understanding Chased down my throat Like some bottom shelf burbon I know I'll be recycling soon. Yet- Still I drink it Still I say it Knowing it's all coming back on me. (One way or another ) I suppose in life, this is how I learn But- Do we ever learn? (Don't think so my friend, just don't think so) So I'll sit here Drink my drink Say my words Saying That we'll never learn Cheers to never learning again Cheers to never hearing your thoughts again As I choke down these words Chase them with spirits Suffocate with the real hopes Filled with lies Of cheapened words Just to satisfy your ego.

31

I can remember the way touch feels I can feel you tracing my spine I can feel the hot water from a shower The sweet kiss of a lover on my breast Fingertips skating down my body. That song connected me to that night Scolding hot water The burning caress of burbon over my cuts Tile so cold growing into my flesh the pulsating water from that song Now summer in a new place Rocking myself into a lull For real this time That song cam on Eyes closed unable to open as if cement was poured between the lids For reals it brought me back I felt the water I felt the tile I felt the steak knif all over my arms Every new tune I played with the strings I made from my own pelt I felt every taste of steel Burbon running from chin to chest splashing on my new soon to be scars Cracking my eyes open Small smirk on my face Sick twist I love every second of that memory.

0

Jul 11, 2017

Jul 11, 2017 at 11:47 PM UTC

Wide-eyed

Hot

I can remember the way touch feels I can feel you tracing my spine I can feel the hot water from a shower The sweet kiss of a lover on my breast Fingertips skating down my body. That song connected me to that night Scolding hot water The burning caress of burbon over my cuts Tile so cold growing into my flesh the pulsating water from that song Now summer in a new place Rocking myself into a lull For real this time That song cam on Eyes closed unable to open as if cement was poured between the lids For reals it brought me back I felt the water I felt the tile I felt the steak knif all over my arms Every new tune I played with the strings I made from my own pelt I felt every taste of steel Burbon running from chin to chest splashing on my new soon to be scars Cracking my eyes open Small smirk on my face Sick twist I love every second of that memory.

27