"daniels" poems
Thought I'd have a cuppa
to assuage my carnal thirst
I didn't know what I should drink
who I should have first
I thought of my friend Jack
Daniels to his friends
Life of the drunken party...
But it's only 9am
Then I thought of Harvey
who'd come in from the coast
But i really do not like him
'coz he's a milquetoast
Ah! I know who's perfect!
Tho I could be wrong
But he's tall, dark n handsome!
So very hot and strong!
He's uplifting! RICH!
He makes my heartstrings tug
He is bold yet mellow...
... and that good lookin' MUG!
Yes. I think I'll try him
he's got get up and go
He's the deep and "brew"ding type
*he's my cuppa joe!*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/23/2016
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 1:16 PM UTC
What a guy!
What a player!
On the field he was the slayer.
The only son, the one to watch.
The one who others tried to match.
He had the looks and physique
A grades at school for all to see.
Now he pays a heavy price
Drinks Jack Daniels every night
For all his life he was pushed
To be valour dictorum in the year book
He had problems so deep inside
He didn't want footballers thighs
He wanted silk and lace with heels
Not the college football kit
If he could have what he dreamed
He'd be a cheerleader on that field
As a boy late at night
He gave his mom a real fright
There he was in her clothes
His father beat him and killed his soul
Years went by and James was wed
So he wore his wife's clothes instead!
Till one day he bought his own
Shaved his legs and went out alone
He bumped into a group of jocks
Who beat him because he wore a frock
Now in the mirror he has scars
That match the hundreds still inside
For James outside to all of you
Was Jayne inside and then showed you
But now at 50 for him to late
To be reasigned and be just Jayne
Times have changed and so have views
If he wants to, let him wear Jimmy Choos
So if any friends I have Called John
Wants to be simply Joanne
Let me know asap
We can celebrate with a drink.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king
My friends all liked the Beatles
But, that was not my thing
I liked to hear the fiddle
To hear the joy burst from the strings
I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king
I remember me and Grandad
Listening to the radio
We would listen to the Opry
While my friends went to the show
Johnny Cash, The Gatlins,
Grandpa Jones, and Old Hank Snow
I was raised on country music
I just wanted you to know
I loved the feeling I would get
when I heard a country tune
Singing about trucks and girls
And a golden Tennessee Moon
Charlie Daniels, Jimmy Dean
The Judds, and Roger Miller
Willie, Waylon, Tom T. Hall
and Jerry Lee...the Killer
I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king
My friends all liked the Beatles
But, that was not my thing
I liked to hear the fiddle
To hear the joy burst from the strings
I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king
Country lost it's western
and Rock it lost it's roll
But, still old country music
Those tunes just made me whole
I learned all of the lyrics
And I love to hear them sing
I grew up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was King
I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king
My friends all liked the Beatles
But, that was not my thing
I liked to hear the fiddle
To hear the joy burst from the strings
I Grew Up on Country Music
When Rock and Roll was king
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
I say music is my medicine,
But sometimes I get addicted to this Adderall adrenaline,
My mind has gone deeper than the abyss floor,
The irony between good intentions and bad decisions,
Get me out of this mental prison,
I don't want to take orders from a politician,
But if you take a minute to listen,
You'll understand this vision that you're missing.
I bleed ink from these veins like they root through my brain,
A tree of perfect symmetry that I could never tame,
Every branch a connection into a new frame,
Everything is synchronizing like a symphony,
An epiphany, finishing,
She must be the bridge between my Ying and Yang,
Negativity diminishing by positive energy
Reflecting off the sensory,
I stop and don't dismantle this handle of Jack Daniels,
As if it has my questions answered,
And as the sparrow sits upon the branch,
Synapses snap in instants with a plan,
Tracing a line that brings me to the sand,
And the island, the silence,
Sitting softly over the sea's sinus,
Puts me in a content setting, grand,
And when my body corrodes,
If my soul is up for purchase,
I'll remember the day when God and I had conversations in Churches.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
that night, i wore a polo shirt.
i thought *hey, i'm going to a friend's
dorm, no need to dress up, right?*
so i wore a polo shirt, a yellow and blue and pink
thing. i'd bought it from a charity shop
only weeks earlier, when i was still exploring
a new university town
and finding not-so-hidden gems;
and sure, it was three sizes too big
but it was comfortable, and made me feel safe.
turns out, you didn't care about polo shirts
or tank tops. you cared about what was underneath
and i was drunk enough to let you - or,
well, not really let you, but i didn't need to dress up
so i wore baggy clothes and a smile
so i had half a bottle of jack daniels
and i had a nineteen year old point to prove
and i had a pill that you gave me
and i had - sorry, have - a therapist's bill.
but this isn't about you. i don't write about you.
i make a point of not writing about you,
actually. which is to say that i write about you
in a way that doesn't let you hurt me anymore.
i write about what i was wearing
(did i deserve it? in my 1970s male t-shirt?)
or what i was drinking
(it was university)
or how i tried to throw myself into a river
in the aftermath
(but i didn't, because i got thirsty, and i didn't
want to die thirsty, so i went home).
no, i'm writing about the polo shirt i was wearing.
cotton, i think. polyester, probably.
the amazing technicolour haze of am i sober enough for this?
who knows how many iterations
of the same lancaster charity shop
it circled through, old men with families
and wives and kids -
it probably saw birthdays and christmases
and, safely tucked in the back of a closet,
shielded itself from the almost-crisis of cuban missiles.
and then, me. a nineteen year old
branching out into the world for the first time;
a lover of poetry, maker of music, naïve and beautiful.
then, it was just a polo shirt, and i wore it
as long as it was laundered, for a month or so,
until december. not that i stopped wearing it
because it was cold. it just reminded me of hands
and hands and hands and
**** how many hands can a man have?
how long will i have to feel them?
i didn't shower the day after, just slept.
a hangover, right? just a hangover.
and then, when the hot water in my dorm
daily ticked on, i washed every inch of myself
to get rid of you, and your foam banana shower gel
that your mother probably told you to buy.
so, what compensation do you owe me?
what price should i put on things?
you touch it, so you pay for it.
one charity shop shirt, three pounds please.
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 10:55 PM UTC
The Donald went down to Georgia
He was lookin' for a state to steal
He was angrily blind 'cause he was way behind
And he was lookin to make ah deal
When he came across this Q man
Sawin' on Twitter and layin' plots
And the Donald jumped upon a hickory stump
And said, "Q let me tell you what"
"I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a Twitter tweeter too
And if you'd care to take my fare, I'll Twitter follow you
Now you lay pretty good tweets, Q, but give the Donald his due
I'll bet a Tower of gold for your soul
'Cause I think your tweets are cool"
The Q said, "My game's phony, and it might be a sin
But I'll take your bet, you won't regret
'Cause my tweets'll ensure you win
Q, fire up your phone and type your Twitter hard
'Cause Hell's broke loose in Georgia and the Donald deals the cards
And if I win, you get this shiny Tower made of gold
But if you lose, the Donald gets your soul
The Donald opened up his cell and he said, "I'll start this show"
And fire flew from his thumb tips as he tweeted just for show
And he pulled his thoughts across word streams and he made a evil hiss
And a band of MAGAs joined in, and they tweeted somethin' like this
When the Donald finished
Q said, "Well, you're pretty good ol' Don
But sit down in that chair right there
And let me show you how tweet's done"
"Biden's in the Basement", run, boys, run
The Donald's in the Whitehouse having fun
Ivanka's in the West Wing makin' dough
Jared, do your thoughts bite? No, Don, no
The Donald bowed his head because he knew that Q could tweet
And he laid that golden Tower at the ground of Q's feet
Q said, "Donald, just don't concede if you ever wanna win again
I done tweeted you once, you son of a *****
Cuz my tweets will make you win" he played
"Biden's in the Basement", run, boys, run
The Donald's in the Whitehouse having fun
Ivanka's in the West Wing makin' dough
Jared, do your thoughts bite? No, Don, no
Dec 7, 2020
Dec 7, 2020 at 8:07 PM UTC
First Kiss (Manchester to Miami)
Rachel was a 19 year old student who attended the
Royal Northern College of Music, located in Manchester UK.
Manchester was considered the arts, media, higher education
and commerce mecca of north central England. Bordered by the
Cheshire plain to the south, and the Pennines mountain range
to the north and east. The famous River Mersey ran along the
southern side of Manchester. Rachel was packing for winter
holiday with some of her classmates, to the warm beaches of
Miami Florida, for a week long stay in the sun, far from the
often dreary weather that settled over the UK this time of year.
Not only was Rachel looking forward to the warm weather and
sunny skies but she was looking forward to meeting up with Daniel.
Daniel was a 40 something musician, beach bartender, handyman,
who lived just outside of Miami. They had met on a poetry website
seven months prior, and had established a warm friendship.
They communicated almost daily threw emails, chat sites
and through poetry exchanges. Their friendship had become
more romantic in the last month or so, talking that silly love talk
that new lovers used, and Rachel finished off every meeting with the
initials AKTY at the end. AKTY stood for angel kisses to you,
as Daniel liked to refer to her as his angel. they both were very
excited about the chance to see each other, face to face.
Rachel knew that the majority of Daniels poetry was slanted
toward the romance side, and she knew from their conversations
that he seemed to be educated, gentle and romantic. She was,
they were, both looking forward to spending an evening together,
holding hands,caressing each other, looking into each others eyes,
and..... that first kiss. Kiss kiss kiss kiss
hard rock guitars, lights and smoke
Kiss, that first kiss, this is what, loves all about
kiss, your sweet kiss, makes me go crazy, scream and shout
your kiss, that angel kiss, can't live with out it, you drive me mad
one kiss, just one kiss, from your sweet lips, blows my mind real bad
don't know how I got by before you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you you know i've been
crazy, I've gone crazy, just can't get enuff, of you sweet baby
dreaming, got me dreaming, every night baby, I don't mean maybe
every kiss, like your first kiss, sets me ablaze, you know it takes me higher
another kiss, I want another kiss, turn the flames up like a funeral pyre
don't wanna try to get along without you
never want to try it no never again
my darlin angel I adore you,
since I met you been waiting for that first kiss
Gomer LePoet
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 8:58 PM UTC
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
This song it ain't bout country things
Like pickup trucks and cars
You'll never find me writing
About getting drunk in bars
There's no mention here of Taylor Swift
or The Charlie Daniels Band
I wouldn't write of how the banks
are taking our farmland
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
I don't know **** 'bout Redneck stuff
like hunting dogs and guns
I wouldn't write of Daisy Dukes
showing off some hot babes buns
I won't write 'bout the Opry
I don't know all that stuff
Of Minnie Pearl and Grandpa Jones
And Mr. Roy Acuff
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
There's nothing here 'bout Bourbon
or of Racing through the fields
I don't know much about farming
or crop futures or of yields
I listen to The Rolling Stones
Trace Adkins I don't like
Lady A can go away
Kid Rock can ride his bike
You won't hear much about Zac Browns Band
or of food thats Chicken Fried
I might go to a hoedown
If I'd just up and died
My music, it fulfills me
It makes me who I am
But I'll stay away from country
songs, Cause I don't give a ****
No Oak Ridge Boys or Hee Haw Here
Hank Williams I won't buy
I'll never buy a Dixie Beer
It's a drink I'll never try
I won't sing about Kentucky
or of a Texas Yellow Rose
you know this aint no country song
Good god I hope it shows
There's no mohter, dogs or applie pie
no fishin' in the dark
No Everything is Beautiful
No songs by Terry Clark
I'm really open minded
My friends they are the same
We won't buy country music
To us it's just so lame
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
I won't mention stuff you'll find
in songs by Nashville bands
There's nothing here about
watching football in the stands
I'll never write a country song
Cause country just ain't fun
Oh crap I just read this thing
And I think I just wrote one
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 10:33 AM UTC
One shot two shots three shots four
Five shots six shots seven shots floor
Tiny bubbles in my whiskey
makes me happy makes me feel frisky
seven and sevens on the rocks or sours
whiskey has some magical powers
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 2:20 PM UTC
The war
between the lilies
and the Jack Daniels
is mounting
with death and life
in a struggle
and the lilies
are poisoning me
with beauty
as I drink
the Jack Daniels
to end in misery
so the struggle
continues.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 6:44 AM UTC
We loved them because
they loved to create.
A tailor and a builder.
made art from nothing.
Left a legacy.
Constructed beauty
from seemingly nothing.
Oh boys,
Our tailors and our builders,
Without you, we’d be sleeping just fine.
He blew her mind
Made her consult
With her old dear friend
Jack
(Daniels)
At hours unmentionable to civilized people.
Who indeed made her feel better
but also made her feel
Worse in the end.
He could talk real pretty things around my head
And I was hooked like a fish
It’s been 4 years and I’m still not free.
I’ve never met anyone so broken
And yet so comfortable with his millions of pieces.
He taught me to take the lenses off
And embrace this life, this love, this way.
Everything that happened before
Is over.
Tomorrow is just what we’re calling 12 hours from now
And oh, won’t those 12 hours until then
Be ******* glorious.
He molded her
Into a volcano.
The kind you see in middle school art class
That the kiln hardens
and it becomes supposedly unbreakable
Until one day, you find it has been chipped all along
[You did that to her, you know.
Broke a piece off her without even knowing it.]
Now that we’re older
they suddenly saw us
When before we were just the backing cast.
Made things that belong in the deep
Accessible to us without fishing lines
Now that’s just a cruel game to play.
It’s funny that it was
a tailor and a builder
who gave us the courage
to not need
to be built or tailored
anymore.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
Priti Patel's quote on EU migration - whatever it was...
list of common surnames: cropper, cross, crouch,
dabney, dalton, daniels, eads, easton, eccleston,
fairclough, farnham, fay, gardner, garey, garfield,
haight, hanes, hailey, ibbott, irvin, isaacson,
jack, jackson, jacobs, kay, keen, kelsey,
lacey, lacy, lamar, macey, mann, marchand,
neal, nelson, neville... sure pati japati patel -
i'll be an albino in Gujarat
if your play the sitar in a sari;
but your name sounds a bit migrant
revealing, what a weird 'back of the bus'
you seem to stand on -
you want the Mongolians resurrected?
i swear we were being ousted in line
of what Queen Sheba said to Solomon:
'olive skinned throughout the geography
and the unwelcome green men on
sponged-knickers creaming for an ******
a french dessert...'
yes pretty prior, you found home on a
continent when half of the european nations
didn't practice colonial antics -
i guess it's easier to pick on them.
but with a Patel surname you sound british
already, the great experiment worked
the anaesthetic of former colonialism
numbed via recreational Ketamine use
really numbed the skull and jaw mandibles -
i hate, i hate being conscripted into
post-colonial affairs of "why it all failed"
what a waste of the urban hubs of
Manchester or Liverpool -
where once artistic expression thrived -
i hate these post-colonial societies,
it's as if they were castrated en masse,
and they're wondering why no one has a permanent
suntan in scandinavia - maybe the raw herring diet -
cinnamon up your *** magician's trick with
space between fudge of digestion, disappearing trick
but then the cough that blinds you sweetly -
i guess post-colonial nationalism wanted to
listen to non-colonial nationalism -
a former migrant like pretty plated smell
olive skinned exploited inversion of angers
but dunked a footstep into a trip-up
with non-colonial nations -
a bit like the greek bail-out - pretty patel
is a name least likely associated with migration;
you teasing the beast out?
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
Goodbye Bottle Bandit
What a face she had . Shaped like a heart with a heart shaped mouth
with the most beautiful head of hair
you ever saw.
underneath it all a fragile, beautiful soul
She was funny
she was classy.
She was smart
She was the kind of woman who would force homemade cheesecake on you
and things us swamp Yankees had never heard of - like artichoke gnocchis
She was mine for a while,
or I was hers
you could never really own a girl like that.
And I know she loved me.
But Jim beam and jack Daniels were the real men in her life
Only now do I understand
Something I could never understand
Something nobody should understand
How a girl Buddy Cianci once said was the most beautiful girl in Providence
Died alone sitting upright on a couch.
One of her men in her hand.
There were men in the past who are used her and abused her
I don’t wish them ill
but I don’t wish them well
She once said that her mother was her only friend
I said “what about me?”
What about you? She said.
I’m your friend .
No, you’re my man .
I was proud to be .
Until those two southern boys edged me out.
Truth is I’ll never understand
Neither does her mother
I hope nobody understands .
I don’t wanna live in a world where people understand that kind of thing .
Bottle bandit .
My bottle bandit.
Jan 9, 2024
Jan 9, 2024 at 9:05 PM UTC
Lime green freezer pops
Swigs of senor Jack Daniels
My body gets hot.
-------------------------------
Jacky versus wine
Will fight to the death tonight
Victor gets a home
---------------------------------
Baby-making songs
(The world tastes like raspberry!)
Jazz flute Godzilla
-------------------------------
Little black cell phone
Glows modern techno at night
Rad leaks in my brain.
(I am now a spidercorn!)
---------------------------------
Idiotic cat
Sole bane of my living room
You should've been a dog
--------------------------------
Woman and man-thing
Flame haired goddess of cleavage
Mid-coitus phonecalls.
---------------------------------
Two shots of whiskey
One sibling revelation
Long night of country.
--------------------------------
Blood-baths, hair stylists
****** eye for the dead guy
Joanne: **** the man.
-------------------------------
A nice hairy man
Smirnoffs, beer pong victory.
Did I do a bad?
----------------------------------
I am drunk on you
And on you conversation
More than on the beer.
---------------------------------
Whiskey sours, full.
Half-nude swimming with strangers.
Attraction repressed.
----------------------------
Oh my pretty beer
You so inspire my mind
I can't stop giggling.
-----------------------------
Hank bones on the wall
A sad tale of pretending
Oh no! Demon feet.
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
I met the devil many times
didn't drink his beer for free (like Kris Kristofferson#)
or beat him in a fiddling duel (like Charlie Daniels##)
but he wasn't trying too hard to hide
or convince me he didn't reside
in all our hearts at one time or another
Instead, he allowed me to see his (and my) wicked ways
and make me afraid that at the end of my days
if I failed to follow a prescribed and sacred tradition
I would land in the ****** world of perdition
this loathsome chap serves a purpose indeed
and those who have the interminable need
pray fervently each and every day
hoping to keep this imp at bay
but without him and his miscreant acts
we would be stuck with unimaginable facts
like bad things happen without a reason
and nobody is guaranteed a winning season
So if you meet him on some dark and lonely path
(as I have many a time)
fear not you will incur his wrath
for without him there would be none to blame
and we alone would have to feel the shame
for all the woe that is the world
(#Kris Kristofferson wrote a song in which he states he didn't beat the devil, but he drank his beer for free--##Charlie Daniels had a tune where he has a fiddle duel with the devil--I believe Charlie wins in the song)
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
i've had wild turkey-
kinda gamey
but it'll do in a rush
i've had jim beam, too
along with a little kush
but- jack daniels kicked my ***
and knocked me on my ****
this thanksgiving
i'm going with plain old turkey
cuz i'm smarter and braver
if god will only grant me the serenity.
11/27/14
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
There is this girl I know
She used to be happy and carefree
She used to laugh and dance
Always seeing the good things in life
In people
Always receiving good in return
Until she stopped receiving good
She received pain
And suffering
And loss
She tried to stay happy
She really did
Then she meet him
He made her scared
He made her quiet
He made her behave
But in the worst way
He left
But she didn't fully come back
Her smiles were a little more forced
And her laughs a little less real
Then he died
She cried
He was her grandfather
They were close
She broke
Time healed her wounds
But they would never close completely
Leaving a gap
Making it easy for someone to slither in
And break her
Then he came
He made her strong
But only when she was with him
He made them one
Attaching hooks in her still open wound
She said no
He said yes
Then he left
She was now half there
But no one knew
Cause she didn't tell anyone
She still hasn't
Her smiles were now plastered on
Her laugh a little more harsh
Then she left
Without a word
Leaving her wondering
What she did wrong
Still to this day
She doesn't know
Now she's here
Pieces being held together
By cigarettes and Jack Daniels
By a pen and notebook
Leaving her smile in pieces
Her laugh in the dark
And her heart destroyed
But no one knows
Cause she hasn't told anyone
But when I look into the mirror
And see her staring at me
I know we never will
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
Well I like the taste of Whiskey, but today it was just a disguise.
The reason I’ve been drinking, Is because she said goodbye.
She turned away from me and she walked right straight to him.
So I called up my 3 amigos Johnny, Jack and Jim.
Chorus
Johnny Walker, Jack Daniels and Good old Jim Beam,
Whenever I need them, they’re here for me,
They’ll drown out the hurt and dry up the tears,
And do in one glass, what takes 15 beers.
So I don’t drink Bud, Miller or Coors light,
I go straight for the whiskey and knock it out right.
So I got in my truck and headed for the creek
Pulled out my pole and I started a streak
15 bass and a couple of brim
Then I started thinking about her and him
Her in his arms in the back of the truck
I started damning all of my luck
Walked to the yeti and popped open the top
Nothing in there that would make it stop
Drove to the house and opened the door
Those three bottles where there on the floor.
Johnny Walker, Jack Daniels and Good old Jim Beam,
Whenever I need them, they’re here for me,
They’ll drown out the hurt and dry up the tears,
And do in one glass, what takes 15 beers.
So I don’t drink bud, miller or Coors light
I go straight for the whiskey and knock it out right.
Woke up in the morning with the light creeping in
Sitting in the chair right where I had been
Phone started ringing; my head was pitching a fit
Recognized the number, so I answered it
She said she was sorry and that she had been wrong
She started crying, saying she wasn’t strong
I’d heard enough, I was trying to mend
I told her no, goodbye, so I pressed end
Sat back down, phone ringing again
Decided to spend some more time with my men
Reached on down picked em up off the floor
One more time I wouldn’t need her no more
Johnny Walker, Jack Daniels and Good old Jim Beam,
Whenever I need them, they’re here for me,
They’ll drown out the hurt and dry up the tears,
And do in one glass, what takes 15 beers.
So I don’t drink bud, miller or Coors light
I go straight for the whiskey and knock it out right.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
mantra and insolence hand in hand
intercepting the idea of the baby boy crush applying to me like kinetic sand
barbie dolls at the marriott
saccharine jewels in the sewers rot
with
the old girlie i had a tap on
lipstick peeling away like a deteriorated vinyl record's song
let the angels waver, barter, become sicker
and quote 'say anything' as if it's a 90s sticker
have vomit-stained carpet posted
and
uploaded to the black market webs
caption it ****** me"
and let the media do the rest
tired of these wicked games
isaac position me with rachel some day
at the mosque, eve and ann is scratched out into the old testament books
pack the bags
let's go
the hilton's booked
etch and sketch situated on the train tracks
along with two birds together
feet lazily dangling
bargaining with god to finish them over
****** denial, toothbrush stuffed in the dog's mouth
ran down the line, kissing him to the south
lost the baby girl along the way
let the dirt do the talking
gargled some milk and jack daniels honey
in large arms, lucid dreaming never seemed so calming
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 7:54 PM UTC
Drinking at the bar, I suppose it was that time of night
When the Drink itself starts doin' most of the talking
And the guy says "I've been through the **** man, in this life, I've waded knee deep through it... the deep ****
And the other guy says "What **** you talking about ?"
So he told him, yea! He spins out his tale of woe
Of hurts and grievances, injustices and false accusations, bruises and batterings received both physical and mental
A whole sorry catalogue of troubles, of fights and quarrels, anxieties and illnesses, struggles with various multiple monsters..."
When he's finished the Other says rather dismissively "You call that **** that ain't **** that's ******** Sure my **** was bigger than that, much bigger
The **** I went through, Man! Some of the **** I seen...indescribable man'
So then he starts to spin his tale of woe... more ****
And when he's finished the Other comes back at him saying
**** You call that **** that's horseshit!
My **** was bigger than that, much much bigger!!
Your **** it's just... it's just *****
And so, there they were the two of them, at the bar arguing to and fro
About whose **** was the bigger
Till suddenly over in the corner, out of the shadows, with his face half obscured
This man, he clears his throat rather loudly
Causing them both to momentarily stop their bickering and look over
He then slowly raises a glass of JD (Jack Daniels) to his lips and takes a long sip
Then he says "What do you know about... the **** ?
Huh! (said in disgust) You don't even know what **** is
Why, my shit's bigger than both your two ***** put together"
Then he smiled a menacing smile and said "You wanna hear my **** story"
So he spins his tale of woe, a real shitstorm...
A real Moby **** of ****
The others they listened in awe
When he'd finished, One said very impressed
"Man!..Man That's... that's some ****
Then another said "That's Big **** !"
And another "That's real Elephant **** Man!"
Then silence reigned in the bar
Until one sighed and said wearily
"It's all **** this ***** isn't it?
Nov 23, 2022
Nov 23, 2022 at 7:53 AM UTC
I think I’m crazy
But it’s a feeling that comes and goes
You say I’m lazy
But I really don’t think you know
I’m somewhere in between
But I don’t know what you think I mean
When that old Jack Daniels gets me down
I see double
But I love you both the same
If I'm in trouble
Then please let me explain
The drinks were two for one
I didn't think that I'd come undone
but that old Jack Daniels got me down
You're my lady
And we really did have some fun
So I'm thinkin' maybe
If you would kindly put down that gun
You and I could talk
Or maybe just take a little walk
Cause' that old Jack Daniel's got me down
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 3:22 PM UTC
Budweiser cans lay on the floor like empty mortar rounds,
the smell of Jack Daniels as potent as battlefield blood.
Weekend wars where we fight ourselves for pleasure.
Waging conquest on the banal.
Losing limbs and liver for a life less ordinary.
The air in my apartment is stale like cigarette butts,
buried in mass graves in an ashtray over full.
Weekend warriors where we battle for a new fix.
Waging conquest on the week day.
Losing steady vision for a life less ordinary.
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
Cigarettes and *******
Sliding through my body,
I ache in pain and pleasure,
My heart is beating fast,
My mind is moving slow,
Drunk on Jack Daniels,
And secretly wanting to go.
Over and out and overboard,
I'm tried of the need to come alive,
Tired of losing four times out of five,
Reflection is shattered,
Soul is battered,
Cigarettes and *******
Hate them, hurt me, want them.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:47 AM UTC
Worry is a scurvy rat
It is a man's main bane
It chews on your self esteem
It nibbles at your brain
It will take your precious time
Your energies will claim
It will hobble your very life
It will make you lame
You may try to capture it
But that is all in vain
Doubt is like a cancer
It eats at your bones
It takes breath from your very lungs
It turns your mind to stone
It makes you feel incomplete
It makes you weep and moan
Under it's all-nagging pain
You will retch and groan
It is resistant to all cures
And you cannot atone
Fear is like a little death
It turns the heart to straw
It strikes like a rattlesnake
With poison in its maw
It's like a fascist dictator
Who makes the harshest laws
It can take your greatest strength
Make it pernicious flaw
Like a sadistic doctor
With a large chainsaw!
How can a person battle
Worry, Doubt and Fear?
How can our lives get better?
How can we have cheer?
Jack Daniels has no answer
It's not Budweiser beer...
It may be elusive
At first just like a wraith
But once you have a hold on it
*The answer is our FAITH.*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/27/2016
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
Yeah it's Jay, Mr. Self Saboteur,
Fill the bottle up thats what I got the bottle for,
Self fufillin' prophecies got me on the floor,
Drinkin' is the reason but it got me wantin' more,
Not a variety of sobriety when I'm shoppin' in the store,
Got me thinking what's the reason I'm coppin' all this for?
Jesus blood stains up on the sheets,
No Zzz's when I sleep,
All my cups filled up with alcoholic drinks,
So I'm up in that Anonymous,
Cup in hand, hungry hippopotamus,
Sayin' to the man, "I think we need a little Ciroc in us"
I've got a problem, why you think I'm stoppin' cuz?
My names Jay and the liquor's messin' me up,
Every night fellin' closer to Aaliyah,
Saw my reflection now I'm lookin' at the reaper,
Experiment with liquor so fill up my beaker!
Hand on the Bud Light,
Fuckin' with my love life,
Sippin' on the suds like,
Toast to the tough life!
This phenix burns,
Born in thorns with alcoholic horns,
Lookin' at the bottom of the bottle,
Askin' my self if my heart's this hollow,
What do I do? Toss it or swallow,
Well that is a problem for the Jay of tomorrow,
Tryin' to deal with the ills of my convictions,
Sippin' on the liquid of my sickenin' addiction,
Yeah ma, loosen up my inhibitions,
Binge drinkin' means no intermissions,
So welcome my beloved inebriation,
Cup to my mouth instead of conflict confrontation,
Sippin' on the liquid that is toxic to the nation,
Women gettin' twisted my ironic liberation,
If I drink too much I'ma keep it up,
Pinky finger up,
Worried my liver's not weak enough,
Speech slurred so I won't speak to much,
But my mouth's wide open talkin' greek and stuff,
Opps I made a mistake,
Trade Jack Daniels for tonights date,
Gotta live with the consequences that I hate,
Choosin' liquid over women that I try to sedate.
Seems like I'll never get them back,
Well I'll just have to find love within the cup that's in my lap,
So this is a toast to all the alcoholics,
Put up an empty cup, just a little symbolic,
Sacrifice love for a chick that's nymphonic,
And realize it was fine before the Hypnotic,
****
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC