"daiquiri" poems
The American said: let's drink the words.
She was so right.
A loquacious gin & tonic
An acerbic Darwinian daiquiri on ice
A French martini disrupted not stirred
A mojito muddled in abstinence
A Belfast bomber & brimstone
Love on the Rocks with perpetual dissent
*** on the Beach with a dash of chilli & lime
***** scorpion splashed in ironic ascension
Dark *** stifled by the sting of a disturbance
Love scented petals infused with tequila worms
Salubrious shots of Sambuca
Absinthe toasted in lunacy flakes
This is my bar.
Choose your poison wisely
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
in the
pit I'll
visit tonight
with her
said the
yellow *******
of cordial
and skylight
in Monserrat
she ought
to treasure
my Abacab
with séance
with her
quilt of
resilience that
she'll muddle
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 11:21 AM UTC
I want to lay in a hammock,
feeding my fat *** which never looks out of shape
no matter how many deep fried treats I feed it.
I want a sensual message
from a hunk who's always seen and never heard,
eager to please and good on his knees,
and also good with a hammer.
I want to kiss personal responsibility goodbye,
with a sip of a have-you-tried-this daiquiri,
wearing a mocha it's-my-birthday bikini.
©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
I'm dreaming of a malibu sunrise,
of days spent in the high-rise,
where the food is filling,
and the drink flows freely.
Where cares, like clouds,
float on the train of the sky,
where the sun shines bright,
and the ocean breathes salty.
I've worked dank, dreary hours,
in a dark and dreary city,
with dim and dreary people,
and I deserve something more.
I desire my malibu sunrise,
where folks treat you well,
where men are friendly,
where women are lovely.
Where dreams, like dogs,
bound along your side,
easy to meet and play,
easy to hold and touch.
What I want is time
to recline downward,
get comfortable,
and truly relax.
With a popcorn-book
and a daiquiri in hand,
my eyes can close and
see my malibu sunrise.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC
Say but a word
And I'll draw my sword
To defend your honor
Even if I'm a goner,
Give my life
For you to avoid all strife
Because I care
And they'd all die who would dare
To disrespect you
I'm really one of a kind boo;
Don't you believe me?
I guess I'll let you wait and see
But I'm not holding my breath,
I welcome death
To bring rest to my soul
But I'll have a death's toll
To admit to;
Justice I served; pay it's due,
My love is endless
Even if you cared less;
This is love's mystery
Like a surprise daiquiri...
© okpoet
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
It's a rain cocktail on a grey beach
and not a bikini as far as the eye can see.
A lone surfer paddles into a breaker fifty yards away
never acknowledging my presence.
In my diluted rum-banana daiquiri, a cherry floats
wishing she would show to tie it's stem with her tongue;
a talent she once was so fond of showing off.
Gone are the silly days we'd spend here in the sun,
laughing for hours that passed too fast, digging moats
for our castles in the sand.
I guess she'd grown up with the coming of autumn.
My calls went unreturned but
I thought she'd meet me at least one last time.
Now I sit alone on this towel wishing I'd brought an umbrella
as water pelts my shoulders and head like wet bullets.
In a land of perpetual summer,
a day in Malibu never seemed so long.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
When I turned sixteen, I brought a girl home drunk and stumbling
A day later, I was interviewed by the government criminal investigation
Two months later, she was disowned by her parents
Last I heard, she's at a rehab in Florida
It's been a long time since I've seen her.
When I was fourteen, I hid cigarettes in my backpack, and lighters in my wallet
Used to sit in the middle of a basketball court and watch my stress float away in a noxious grey cloud
I stashed my twelve dollar pack of coors in a bush behind the half-wall
It's been a long time since I've seen those.
I was thirteen when I found a papercutter in the drawer of the art room.
Took it home with me, fell asleep to the sound of it scathing in and out of its sheath
I once got so frustrated I wanted to slice my throat with it
I threw it out the window
It's been a long time since I've seen it.
When I was fifteen, I went out with friends and got wasted on chocolate liquor
Two weeks later, *****
the day after, tequila
and the week before, strawberry daiquiri
I don't remember much.
It's been a long time since I've done that.
When I was thirteen, I wrote poetry to sort out my emotions
It's been a long time since I've done that...
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
Theres no better place I'd rather be than here, now
I know at times I'm hard to read and can come off nonchalant.
At times like this I'd lay my head on your shoulder and drift off
into the topic of any and everything.
Acknowledging the hello that leads to perhaps my favorite getaway.
The acquaintance of head to shoulder.
A declaration of perfect vacation.
A daiquiri of various flavor, nothing hidden from view.
Close but far away from distraction.
The embrace, resonating in the shutter of your voice.
A silver spoon to a bowl of thought.
A reflection mirrored in an half eaten spoon of sherbet.
Holding spoonfuls of you in my eyes.
Wondering about in each layered flavor, no longer restricted. rippling in wave after wave of melting mountain.
Orange and green.
Belonging to one another in a way never thought possible.
Unfolding deep in a valley found between ears
You and I, becoming like clouds in the horizon.
You and I
Laid on a silver spoon
Dipped in a bowl of thought.
Half eaten
Side by side without a single thing to do
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
Alcohol tastes like watermelons
and it reminds me of the sweetness
coated upon your lips.
Nothing left but a cold tile floor,
memories put under the spotlight
induced by a glass or two or three
of strawberry daiquiri
that bring the breeze back to me.
The feeling of the wind
cascading through the rolled down windows
of your '08 Honda,
and the goosebumps on my legs
that you smooth over like bubble wrap.
Your hand is warm,
a little clammy as the temperature hits 75
and your lead foot pushes 95.
You're wearing aviators and a white shirt,
2 buttons closed, 3 following an Open Door Policy —
the color matches my porcelain skin,
and The Temptations sing
the closest thing we'll ever have to
a first dance.
My fingers waltz around your palm,
the only parts of our bodies
following the reckless pursuit
of our minds.
My love for you just grows and grows
You smirk and set free the adorable school boy laugh I fell in love with;
you look over at me,
but I can't focus on your singing voice —
oh-so-beautiful to my ears,
but oh-so-lacking in talent.
This —
wow.
This, is the first time you've ever
told me you loved me.
My hair doesn't get kisses from the wind
when I feel trapped inside.
The fruit isn't as sweet as your charm.
The wine isn't as deep as your grey blue eyes.
The adventure to the bottom of glasses,
the bottom of bottles,
isn't as captivating
as getting lost with you.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC
somewhere in summer, where red cherries sat in a bowl, glistening, and where her skinny lemon bicycle
and her daiquiri ice top sat discarded, aside
—somewhere in her summer she grew up.
it was in between caressing winds and delicious sunlight,
sparkling through windows, drawing locusts on her face, his face.
it was somewhere before summer had started, rising;
it was somewhere after summer had ended, profound sadness.
it was summer herself, joyous and hopeful and alive and buoyant,
it was in the middle of touches and kisses and sighs that she grew up.
italy, 1984.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
GETTING AWAY FROM IT ALL
Death in a deckchair
wearing life-coloured glasses
on an around-the-world cruise
Life on a Li-Lo
wearing death-coloured glasses
not drowning but waving
Death sipping a daiquiri
Life slurping a milkshake
both playing deck quoits
the H.M.S. Universe
sails into a sunset
ahead...an iceberg called God...or Nothing
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 5:09 PM UTC
gentle water
lapping the hull
bossa nova
clinking glasses
a tickle
of the piano's ivory keys
and you're lost
in giant strawberries
of a daiquiri
dribbling down your chin
onto your palm frond top
and shorts while you
swing and sway
poolside
tomorrow Ocho Rios Jamaica
but today sun and sea
tonight the crown stars
and a ruby juicy
fingernail moon
Whit Howland © 2019
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 4:54 AM UTC
Saw a man leave
and return a
lady
with a blond curly wig
did he feel better
in his own skin?
when he tried to
order a daiquiri
but I could only give him
a *** on the beach
his initial defeat
became infinite retreat
into some woman
whom no one
ever knew
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
She caught
you fair and
Square
The never____
((Singlehanded))
(Jingle Cock-pit landed)
The napkin
crossed legs
Married
her favorite drinks
((Uncrossed or divorced))
Bachelorette
Never drink
and ride her
Corvette
50 unlisted shades
green drinks
Spiked
Too envy_______*
Personality can win
One *** single
Emmy
So Cool and collected
He's so hot saturated
Her College Humor
Mom got ulcers
Such a bust of
tumors
Bring on the
Buzz Feed
Amazingly enough
Drinks are our
Drug need
Single she had ti
Married to regret it
Amaretto went
Solo
Card game
Played upon like the
City Ghetto
In your mouth
Smirnoff___Off the record
The turn-off
He tried to win her
Such Sweet nuts
The olives Italian
Hey Juice horse
Stallion
The
Gala Ha
Ha baba
Shrimp and sheep
Pretzels lime twist
This is NY
we never sleep
Dogs Yen of Yorkie
Liqueur lime
his crime
Gala Forgie
Quicker and
City slicker
One drink
to pick Fergie
Big Daiquiri
Hot stuff singer
Never a
solitaire game
He got stiff
Frangelico
Of the Pinnacle
The ***** Princess
Lost her dress
Playing Russian
Roulette
Magically Mike
Came all over
Collette imaginable
His drink was
the hottest rated
Never by one
Bad drink
Sip to your drinks
Gala party tricks
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
I've got an eclectic taste; everyone who knows me better than they can throw me will say it
(Those that can throw me better than they know me are giants
And they aren't allowed to exist too near me;
I'm a Halfling.)
But my tastes are eclectic, and my album choices range from "Ten$ion" to "Merry Christmas"
My palate asks for potato salad, then daiquiri ice
I love the way Trainspotting wraps up nicely and how T2 comes along and undoes the work of the previous film-- ruins it
And then I love The Grand Budapest Hotel for being well-kept and neat
I have a range of tastes that don't align, that don't make sense.
But with you, my eccentricity ends and my choice is flavorful.
I choose you and you are not an eclectic choice.
You are the sense in my senseless choosing, the centre of the fractal whose patterns are too convoluted
You tie me all together in a nice, neat bow and here I am
Standing on a mound 5/2 of a year thick.
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 5:16 AM UTC
when the nicotine from the black & mild
and the extra shots from the extra pina colada daiquiri downed
(because who can pass up two for one drinks on tuesdays)
and the taste of his bearded lips on mine
finally wear off and subside,
I'm forced to feel the ache I've been so desperately trying to numb and push away
Sometimes things don't work out just the way you thought they would
and not everything that appears to feel good feels good
and ending things seems sad then fine and freeing to teetering on the line
and tongues don't line up but single file is for preschoolers anyway
and happiness is an illusion and a concept I can't grasp
because the idea and the craving of having your hand in mine gets me through the night still but while I held it I felt like my father with arthritic joints and I couldn't ball my fists tight enough to show you how you caused them to lock up and then how you rubbed your thumbs across my skin like medicine traveling beneath it and how you released all of the tension and increased my levels of serotonin.
when the lights go off and my keys begin to click I am overwhelmed with the fear that that i'll never find another pair of hands like yours.
I don't want lipstick stains on the same page I wrote my thoughts down on.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
it’s a daiquiri colored morn, countlessly
as I, gazing never tiring, of a vista I’ve seen,
awoken to, endlessly changing, voyagers of
birds and boats, the redecorating minimalists,
moving pieces on a latticed shadow lawn
the Sun eastern, asking the trees to turn and bow,
hence the shadows their branches cast are a waffling,
hopscotch pattern irregular, so jumping from/to
yellow-green sunspots, the children are delighted by a
new game, moving to and from and between an ever
changing crazy chessboard of light-patches unsquared
described, written of, yet here I am, once again, a servant
despairing, looking for new combinations of superlatives,
though I never spoke before of it as a vista,
until today, wondering why, perhaps because
it’s here, one lives, one doesn’t conceive of being
part and parcel of a vista, humans, just visitors,
pawn observers, gallery visitors, art appreciators,
transient hobos after forty years, truthfully claiming
that they’re merely still, passing thru, passing by
9:40 am, respectable hour to meander over
to the throne room, the four Adirondacks, them,
the year round poetry nook authorities, are equal
sunned, shaded, simultaneous, stately shadowing,
observing, advertising as perfect for composing,
willing to make verbal suggestions, rhyming notions,
especially when the poem pays proper obeisance
and so it does, and so it is, as you can clearly read
9:53am Sunday Jun 14
Year of the Pandemic
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
a ritual
warrants retribution
to hale
to connive
this practice
midst a
dire sequence
reserved for
her to
comprehend misgiving
with era
of hot
democracy through
she is
this strawberry
daiquiri but
amid rattan.
Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 9:36 AM UTC
I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.
I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.
It was a part time job,
I knew that intuitively.
I don’t mind house cleaning, heaven cleaning.
It’s calm work, kind of Zen.
Are we supposed to think of religions in heaven?
At first I scrubbed on my hands and knees.
The floors are soft in heaven, like golden gym mats.
Then I thought of it, and suddenly I had a swiffer-wet mop,
just like that - and the pad never wore out.
After a while, I had an iPod, and AirPods too.
Then a daiquiri - a banana daiquiri with a pastel rainbow umbrella.
They make rapturous daiquiris in the hereafter - they never run out.
‘Heavenly,’ I thought, snorting out a dizzy laugh.
.
.
Songs for this:
The River of Dreams Billy Joel
If the Lord Wasn't Walking By My Side by Elvis Presley
Jul 7, 2025
Jul 7, 2025 at 4:30 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
Under London
brain off
auto on
avert eyes
cut ties
In a cocoon
soon be there
soho square
life is rife
in the
West End
under London
this son's protected
eyes directed
at the floor
can't be any more than a bystander
when the seats are full.
Workmen and Women
all swimming downstream
I go with this flow, it's
the glue you get used to
the one that I know
smell it?
I can.
No one high
they all try
to be
inconspicuous
can you see them?
I can.
A swarthy gentleman who
smells of paint
a lady who ain't
what she seems
a tannoy
announcing,
mind the gap
doors closing.
Dreams
a beach so close
I could reach it
daiquiri
dearie?
a
bolt from the blue when
lightning hit you
a meadow
a hedgerow
a time to sit
and watch
the grass grow
but it's time to go
Soho
I walk to the sound of it
in the mood for it
now.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 2:24 AM UTC
Heaves of Gas
I sing the bodiless electronic
Manly working man blank verse flannel shirt
All gone now
Pajamas and video games
Cupcake competitions instead of schoolyard tug-o’-war
A gap-toothed grilled-cheese sandwich singing under the sea
Bi-polar bears alt.yawn Revolutionary Proletarian Art with
Selfie Sticks
Banana Daiquiri Republic
Must be nice to be a thinker all great
Adored by all, and subsidized by the state
Made in Nicaragua by free-range artisans, I think
Re-Presentation
Rhinestone tattoo flipflopped knee-pantsies and a cartoon tee
Die, Webinar, Die
Up the Revolution you can’t make me clean my room
Machine against the rage on the cosmic app
Renewable green sanctions
Double-double boil and bubble a froth’ed mocha decaf with a
tinkling of Cinnamon
We are the drones we have been waiting for
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC
The waves are my kingdom
The sun is my throne
Yet my sand castles melt
In the sea all alone
As the shores that I tread
Come to life as I flow
Like the tide in the wake
Of today's undertow
As the mermaid horizons
Still glimmer and swim
Through my slipstreaming eels
Of electrified whim
Yet none of them sing
Of my shipwreck lament
Just lull me like sirens
Of impure intent
With bellies of plastic
And coral reef bleach
Just piña coladas
And daiquiri speech
As I'm fed to the sharks
And Laurentian Abysses
To drown in the shallows
Of ignorant blisses
To one of Poseidon's
Atlantean blood
I ride hurricane steeds
And I rise with the flood
For my bottled up message
Was hers all along
The ocean my muse
Is my blue and grey song
And onward it drifts
To a tune of the breeze
Inside is a tempest
Of her symphonies
I compose in the skies
With the calm of a storm
So come take a dip
'Cuz the water is warm
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 4:53 PM UTC
The echoes of the distant sea gulls float gracefully to my ears
As the memory of the shoreline kissing my feet takes me to the tranquility there.
The pearly sand sifts through my unclothed feet
And the salty breeze brushes against my cheeks.
The yearning for a place I've never been.
My silhouette owns piece of the blanketed sand,
A frozen daiquiri cools in my hand.
Polarized Cat-eyed sunglasses hide my awe-struck gaze
Of this place that I've only seen
In my dreams on particularly bleak days.
An Adonis glazed in dark caramel
Glides towards the water, unaware that I'm staring I could tell.
His chiseled abs like ornaments below his broad chest,
My head drops as I envision laying there for a rest.
The shadow of a man I've never seen.
But I can't deny this feeling,
This persistent tabanca
For a place I've never been and a man known only in my dreams.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 7:50 AM UTC