"drams" poems
214
I taste a liquor never brewed—
From Tankards scooped in Pearl—
Not all the Vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an Alcohol!
Inebriate of Air—am I—
And Debauchee of Dew—
Reeling—thro endless summer days—
From inns of Molten Blue—
When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove’s door—
When Butterflies—renounce their “drams”—
I shall but drink the more!
Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats—
And Saints—to windows run—
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the—Sun—
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1001
The Stimulus, beyond the Grave
His Countenance to see
Supports me like imperial Drams
Afforded Day by Day.
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The Kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man,
seeking goodly pearls; who, when he had found one,
sold all that he had and bought it.—Matthew 13.45
I know the ways of Learning; both the head
And pipes that feed the press, and make it run;
What reason hath from nature borrowed,
Or of itself, like a good huswife, spun
In laws and policy; what the stars conspire,
What willing nature speaks, what forced by fire;
Both th’ old discoveries, and the new-found seas,
The stock and surplus, cause and history:
All these stand open, or I have the keys:
Yet I love thee.
I know the ways of Honour, what maintains
The quick returns of courtesy and wit:
In vies of favours whether party gains,
When glory swells the heart, and moldeth it
To all expressions both of hand and eye,
Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie,
And bear the bundle, wheresoe’er it goes:
How many drams of spirit there must be
To sell my life unto my friends or foes:
Yet I love thee.
I know the ways of Pleasure, the sweet strains,
The lullings and the relishes of it;
The propositions of hot blood and brains;
What mirth and music mean; what love and wit
Have done these twenty hundred years, and more:
I know the projects of unbridled store:
My stuff is flesh, not brass; my senses live,
And grumble oft, that they have more in me
Than he that curbs them, being but one to five:
Yet I love thee.
I know all these, and have them in my hand:
Therefore not sealed, but with open eyes
I fly to thee, and fully understand
Both the main sale, and the commodities;
And at what rate and price I have thy love;
With all the circumstances that may move:
Yet through these labyrinths, not my grovelling wit,
But thy silk twist let down from heav’n to me,
Did both conduct and teach me, how by it
To climb to thee.
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the empties
of the week
hold guard over my room.
they stand
like brave sentinels
and we watch the sun rise together.
bottles, cans, flasks, drams
these are my friends,
the empties
of the week.
sunlight burns
off of tinted brown glass
and i am alone,
except these are my friends,
the empties
of the week.
Pabst (7)
Coors (4)
Magic Hat (12)
Sierra Nevada (6)
Heineken (8)
Jack Daniel's (3)
Tanqueray (2)
Jameson (6)
Crown Royal (2)
Wild Turkey (5)
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 7:11 AM UTC
I will never "love" again
or get butterflies inside
after asking for a pen
or asking for a ride
flirting up a storm
and making my heart grow warm
I will never "love" again
or pretend I know what it means
to have someone "never leave" Then,
stifle my future dreams
drams of never being lonely
of "loving" you only
I will never "love" again
or listen when you say
"Babe, I am always here for you"
and then watch you walk away
with Her
she must have claws and fur
I will "never" love again
or so I seem to say
but somehow after "finishing" I begin
my search for someone who won't walk away
I fall in love "once more"
just like I told myself before
I will fall in love... I think
as I stare into your face
and forget to blink
I find myself longing for your embrace
I yearn for just one chance
for us to dance
I just fell in "love" with him
as I react from the fall
and see my sights are grim
I realize I am not in "love" at all
after he leaves me like all the rest
I clean up my tears and look my best
And start all over again.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:10 PM UTC
Dear Friend, it has been long, how do you do?
The season's turn, are lonely for you gone
No doubt you have some tales of Love, of fun
But distance turns my heart from red to blue
Lady, belle, beau babe, you are a light
Of majesty towards which I must fly
For you are dancing in a freer sky
Than that which cloaks me in the darkling night
The devil haunt and topple my sky which
Brilliant, bright with dreams, by tortures crushed
But when with you the memory of him hushed
For you bring Love, for you superior witch
For you I beget sweet and tender psalms
Would regale thee hours long with drams
Let's see the world from Tokyo to Amsterdam
Be forever happy, forever young
At Heart, never such a passion sung
By saints or angels from illustrious tongue
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 1:54 PM UTC
The moon waned yellow
On green bough slip
Flowing water to putrid wine
Upon evil lips
Eyes cloud hazy
With cobweb veil
Dark soul shudders
Horned demons sail
Hands shake and tremble
As magic drams do fetch
Loneliness lays heavy covering
On a marked doomed wretch
Honed fine sharp edge
The heart will slice
Rest in black silk coffin
Blood cold as ice
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Tammy M. Darby
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 11:55 PM UTC
Dear Mother did you know that you beget,
A flower in my Heart that doth my pain abet,
Watering it for life with loving rain,
Soothing it with lullaby refrains,
Tending to its stems and to its soils,
In which it is with Loves light deep embroiled,
A seemly sight are you with watering can,
More qualified and skilled than any man,
To nourish the ****** diamond of my Heart,
For thine affections the gift of gorgeous grace impart,
Such a daughter never wants for more,
But may in ignorance for more implore,
Yet grateful am I for transcendental blossom,
Kindled in my mind for all your wisdom,
Your perfect care and sweetest charity,
That stokes the gift of love and amity,
When the sky collapse, with thunder bolts,
That strike upon my heart and give it welts,
Dear mother from her bedside duly raise,
To tend to me, and so I offer praise,
In worthy, sanguine, devoted Psalms,
For you mother a million alms,
And a hundred million drams,
Knows Love cannot be count in grams,
Dutiful and diligent on her way,
Dear Mother you assuage my dismay,
Be forever aura sent to heal,
Dear Mother, hear my Love, earnest appeal.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC
The local Kirks will acknowledge that prominent and pagan song on the twenty-fifth day of this first month of monstrosity, whilst witches consult around dark artistry, as we sing this song of yesterday and remembrance.
I have ensured that the roof of our cottage is thatched with straw, whilst the howling winds from the West coast echo her disapproval against the face of solidarity.
We must keep the demons out.
Oh, brother of olden Scottish folklore, I beseech you to give credence to the culinary order, where degrees of freedom announce seniority in this customary ritual of contemporary history.
I will hold my knife in a ritualistic manner and ensure that the guests are satisfied with culinary festivities and drams of Scottish prowess.
Oh Thomas, if you dishonour your wife on the Ayrshire coast, the volume will increase and the flickering light of the candle will ***** out.
I love your look, therefore you can cross my bridge of sensual clothing, as it conforms to the ancient proclamation:
Weel done, cutty sark.
Are you committed to this order?
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC
Breathe, breathe on.
let's sit across from each other
so we can
breathe
each other in.
I can smell the pheromones
in your hair
from the next room over
I'm listening to
you
pack the last of your
things
and I'm asking myself if you're really
trying
to make that much noise
or if you're just
******
and you shout that I'm being an *******
and start to leave
and I wonder if you can smell
the *****
on my breath
when I say
"bye."
and I wonder if you really misheard me when I slurred it
or if you just wanted to hear me say
something
else.
And I wish there were something else I could say
to make everything better
and put you on the other side of that closed door
so we could sit
and breathe
each other in
and get high
on the tension
on the pheromones
on the *** stained on my breath.
But you're not.
You're outside
and I'm inside
and I can't hear you breathe
or sing
or cry
or say our names
separated by a miles-long ampersand
or whatever it is you're saying to whoever you're saying it to.
and instead I'm just getting high on cheap cigarettes and cheap ***
thinking about
everywhere
that's not the bed I have to sleep alone in tonight
thinking about
everywhere
you could be riding that bicycle.
thinking about
anything
I could have invented to say to you
but it has all been said.
So breathe on,
and I'll try to do the same
between the long drags
and drams of cheap *****
and in time, maybe
there will be
something
to be said.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
fumbled getting the key in the
lock. took ‘bout five minutes
before i heard the tumblers click –
nesting in the notch’d metal.
with gentle press, i swung the
door open. light hit me, blind’d,
as my perception bled in constant
to the left. nothing seem’d to have
it’s own place, or space.
i would turn my head from the left,
and the world would be right’d.
stop’d movement,
world bled left, and
i went for the couch.
“Where have you been?”
the maternal commandant.
“Where. Have. You. Been?”
out.
my left-most body
felt stretch’d, felt warp’d.
out. i’ve been out.
“What’s wrong with you?”
a seconds pause.
“Are you fuck’d up?”
she’s got me.
“You are fuck’d up,
aren’t you?”
how obvious.
dialogue never left mind
through mouth. knowing better is
ninety-percent of the solution.
of the problem.
“Who are you?”
her voice rising.
“Where is my son?”
her voice peaking.
“What have you done with Cole?”
he’s taking a break from this,
this… this reality.
he need’d some time.
she huff’d indignant, and turn’d
to return to a yellow-lit kitchen
where she hosts a friend.
both ****** both drunk,
both lost to me through slurs.
But I am your son;
bleeding left, pupils constrict’d.
But I am your son;
bleeding left, sour-smelling breath.
I am your son.
bleeding left, falling right, falling into
the darkness of a thousand-year sleep.
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
TREMBLED HEARTS
In my visions, I see many things
that come to me in darken dreams;
I see many darken knights
taking flight for their lives
something isn’t right,
with their own sight,
I had seen all joy departed
and left them all broken hearted,
then they must open their eyes
while they walk in awaken dream,
life isn’t what it seems;
the sand is hot so is the cooling place
to all those that lost their faith,
drams by day
dreams by night
so many taken flight like a kite
into the deep dark night,
woe to those they call an outcast
but those will fight back,
Oh, the eyes are cast
A spell is on the making
To all spirits that are slowly sinking,
While they look back at their own ill past,
Loneliness taken down their souls
Now it’s time to let it all go
Don’t come to thee stand boldly,
Storms ride the tide that comes at night,
trembled hearts that come from far
Just to lead you deeper in the dark.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
TREMBLED HEARTS
In my visions, I see many things
that come to me in darken dreams;
I see many darken knights
taking flight for their lives
something isn’t right,
with their own sight,
I had seen all joy departed
and left them all broken hearted,
then they must open their eyes
while they walk in awaken dream,
life isn’t what it seems;
the sand is hot so is the cooling place
to all those that lost their faith,
drams by day
dreams by night
so many taken flight like a kite
into the deep dark night,
woe to those they call an outcast
but those will fight back,
Oh, the eyes are cast
A spell is on the making
To all spirits that are slowly sinking,
While they look back at their own ill past,
Loneliness taken down their souls
Now it’s time to let it all go
Don’t come to thee stand boldly,
Storms ride the tide that comes at night,
trembled hearts that come from far
Just to lead you deeper in the dark.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 6:32 PM UTC
the needling breath
of forested speech, an echo
of the way we bend
the drive to appease
the mouth of serenity
revives the scant scent
to take inward
in drams of swallowed tithing
spiraled blood writhing
spread of skeletal
rise, of ancient hymns of birth
rooted vibration
the WHO in the hollow drowns
the wonder of the stretched ear
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 10:26 PM UTC
fumbled getting the key in the
lock. took ‘bout five minutes
before i heard the tumblers click –
nesting in the notch’d metal.
with gentle press, I swung the
door open. light hit me, blind’d,
as my perception bled in constant
to the left. nothing seem’d to have
it’s own place, or space.
i would turn my head from the left,
and the world would be right’d.
stop’d movement,
world bled left, and
i went for the couch.
“Where have you been?”
the maternal commandant.
“Where. Have You. Been?”
out.
my left-most body
felt stretch’d, felt warp’d.
out. i’ve been out.
“What’s wrong with you?”
a seconds pause.
“Are you fuck’d up?”
she’s got me.
“You are fuck’d up,
aren’t you?”
how obvious.
dialogue never left mind
through mouth. knowing better is
ninety-percent of the solution.
of the problem.
“Who are you?”
her voice rising.
“Where is my son?”
her voice peaking.
“What you done with Cole?”
he’s taking a break from this,
this… this reality.
he need’d some time.
she huff’d indignant, and turn’d
to return to a yellow-lit kitchen
where she hots a friend.
both ****** both drunk,
both lost to me through slurs.
But I am your son;
bleeding left, pupils constrict’d.
But I am your son;
bleeding left, sour-smelling breath.
I am your son.
bleeding left, falling right, falling into
the darkness of a thousand-year sleep.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
I am Paul
Means nothing 'at ALL
But that is me
just for, you if you are, the girl
of my drams.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC