"guzzle" poems
We wander, we wander,
By moonlight, I ponder,
Whilst sailing my ship towards that shimmering star!
How we who are pirates, so willingly wander, both hither and yonder, no matter how far…
Methinks to myself, “Not a bad life to lead, no longer a slave to the land like before…
The wind at my back, so utterly freed, to seek out adventures, on any fair shore!”
“Why do it?” Methinks, as I stand on the prou, the breeze on my face, lightly tossing my locks,
For any a man would be called crazy now, for braving the sharks, and starvation, and pox!
Is it the gold, that calls me to sea? Where hurricanes howl, and sturdy sails rend!
Or is it the freedom that calls out to me, and gold is not more than a means to an end?
For me, ti’s the freedom, to do what I love, to sail by the light of the stars up above, And stand on my deck, under moonlight, to ponder, how we are those pirates who willingly wander…
My ship, a fine lady, a handsome thing too, a good set of guns with a competent crew, her holds full of treasures, and finest apperal, and row upon row of *** by the barrel!
So drink in the morning, and drink in the evening, and I would be lying if I didn’t say, We guzzle the *** from dusk until dawn, and me-thinks I’ll be sipping it all through the day!
Then we dance on the deck, for the music is playin, the chilly night breeze has our ship gently swayin,
And off once again, for we willingly wander, “But why?” Says I, as by moonlight I ponder…
Wouldn’t we like to at some place belong? Would dropping our anchor for ever be wrong?
Perhaps there’s a place with a temperate climate, and someone to care for a salty old pirate?
But till that day comes, I shal willingly wander, and whilst I’m the captain, by moonlight I’ll ponder…
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 9:19 PM UTC
between the concrete river
& the park where the bums share a bottle
wrapped in a brown paper sack,
there is a cul-de-sac of plastic houses
holding hands & sharing manicured lawns
wooden cars that don't even make any smoke
drive down gray asphalt streets.
fathers that tell mothers they have jobs
wear down street corners sharing beers with the bums,
like they already are one.
all these paper families rubbing shoulders
until everyone has paper cuts.
going home to dinner around a table full of paper love.
suburbia is flimsy
paper towns shining white
smiling neighbors & shared lawns
paper people slowly falling apart.
couples with their tongues down each other's throats,
midnight in supermarket parking lots
dribbling beer in the backseat
they bought off the bums.
they say,
I love you, I love you, I love you.
until she leaves for a paper husband
& he leaves for a paper wife.
now they live on two separate cul-de-sacs
with the same cutout love,
as the parents they despised.
& when they have kids one day
they will tell them
*never kiss before driving,
never befriend bums,
or guzzle cheap beer in backseats,
or on park swings.
& never settle for a paper husband
or a paper wife.*
remembering the love
that was flimsy,
but never paper.
100,000 miles away from where they grew up
& 3,000 miles away from each other
3 kids each & plastic houses
rubbing shoulders & sharing lawns
living in a paper thin suberbia
chafing under their paper love.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 3:09 AM UTC
The big angry things sling vocal feces
Fleshy phallus-pumps close at hand, cooing
Guzzle guzzle ethanol
Inebriated petrol-baby
"Smash the atom!"
"We're too late, we're too late!"
Tar (quick) sand *****
Big angry things drown
"We gotta gotta drill!"
Penetrate the Mother with a steel ****
Oedipus laughs
As the boulder, finally
Crushes Sisyphus.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
**** men, guys, dudes, boys... in fact anything that walks on two legs and has a ***** between those two legs, or any other kind of elongated genitalia for that matter.
**** the simple ones who guzzle beer and scream at other men in a small box
**** the sensitive ones who weep at the intensity of their emotions to you
**** that cool ones who speak in a language of esoteric band and brand names
**** the intellectual ones who have their opinions shoved so far up their **** it bleeds out their mouth
**** the business types who's cool indifference is callous
**** the health-conscious gym-working-out ones who's 9pm bed time leaves you star gazing alone
**** the hippy ones who's lofty, hot air talk leaves you with a nasty feeling in your nose like you need to sneeze but it is stuck inside
**** the ones who are "different" but an trip on the bus is more entertaining than their recycled conversation
Last of all **** the decent, hard working, ones who have girlfriends that are non-flaky, pulled-together, skinny-organic-soy-latte-drinkers, only-wear-Karen-Walker, I-have-no-daddy-issues, law-majors
**** it all really
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC
Stupid infidel!
Transport your riches
To the lands of the believers.
For petroleum...
To make
The cellophane wrapper
That you will throw away,
When you buy a new mobile,
Even though your old one still works,
And you eat your mcdonalds,
And listen to Nicki Minaj
Infidel *****
And drive in gas guzzle car,
As you throw the cellophane out window,
And sext your girlfriend.
And crash your car into telephone pole.
Wasting your life!
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
Kisses up and down your body
Lay cuddle start to feel naughty
Game of footsie under sheets
Probing strobing generating heat
Take my finger direct me to the good
Sun rising like my morning wood
Juices flow feel the wet
Anticipate pounding you're about to get
In your thighs staring deep in eyes
Inhibitions fly
Everything we try
Comfort there is no fear
Nibble whisper in your ear
Lap explosion need no muzzle
Sip it slow then take a big guzzle
Pulsating pleasure fills your body
Consistent pace no longer spotty
Caressing scars with healing bars
Pen will stroke till seeing stars
Let us strum like a song that's sung
Twisted like our tangled tongues
We are honey bees
Smoking trees
Tantric trigger squeezed..
Buck my shot
Push to last drop
Contorting from ******** shock
Rub G spot get three wishes
Only need one its your Morning Kisses..
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
As I rounded the hill
Face to face with the still
That I'd only heard rumors spoke of
With no one around
I sat myself down
And proceeded to sample the stuff
As sweet as honeydew melon
Got my feet to a geling
Made me feel like I did in my youth
Sat with a dumb gaze for a while
Then got the biggest of smiles
When it came to me what I should do
So I went with my plan
And opened a stand
Right there on the mountain side
When word in the forest got out
I never had any doubt
That all of the critters would be stoping by
You should have seen them all guzzle
As the squirrels ordered doubles
Then proceeded to tell wild nutty lies
It was quite the fiasco
When they brought out the cowboy hats and lasso's
As the party went well into the night
They paid in nuts and berries
Which was fine by me
With them I made different flavors of shine
In flavors I made 32
So I wouldn't get sued
By Baskin-Robbins who has 31 at this time
From all the flavors I made
Boysenberry was the fav
The raccoons made up a dance called the boysenberry crawl
Which was a big hit
At the discotheque
The beavers built in the early fall
We made a deal
I would sell them my swill
For a little piece of the pie
We were all getting rich
I have to admit
It's quite the relationship, the beavers and I
Of course the beavers got greedy
You know how beavers are needy
Couldn't leave well enough alone
Figured they had the right
Who's going to pay for these lights
That make this the best disco in town
They started charging a cover
Which didn't go over
As well as they would have liked
Plus they doubled the price of the *****
Which left little food
On the woodland creatures tables at night
Things went from bad to worse
When they started to curse
Me, "The Man" for the troubles they had
I barely made it out alive
By the skin of my hide
When I packed and hit the road mighty fast
Things had been going so well
Before it all went to hell
And me and my still were forced to leave
Now still to this day
You know why I always say
That famous line, passed down in time
"Leave it to Beav"
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
The Lung.
The broken bone branches hang heavy off knuckled tree. As cold and uninviting as wrapped meat in cellophane prison cells and those sweating milk bottles left on doorsteps. Women cry with the blackbirds as day breaks, rousing their reluctant nests.
As the shadows trawl in from chicken farms and slaughterhouses, across the squalid estates and past a debt collectors party. A ***** drinks his soot like coffee and waits for another years tide to retreat. Holding pith less ambitions and unmentionable qualifications, stewardess pass, uniformed thoughts and averting faces..
The rusty playgrounds sink into the fermenting wood chips, and a plastic bag runs through the scene; only to commit suicide in the oil ribbon canal. The chemical clouds thicken into a duvet of sky whilst arrows of a natural sun run home with tears of fear on their hot faces.
Down here the street lights flicker, and the patched uniforms drape off children sick with the flu that hit the school like a plague. Herding like cattle into the classrooms, to learn about the natural world
that is most unearthly to there reason.
Lunch bells ring from factories and the sky has drained to a sick -off white. The chip shop sells butties with no sauce nor bun, which machine like men guzzle and slurp.
The car parks lay stagnant in the distance and pigeons too fat to fly lay droppings on the bronze statue of a crying hero. As the roaring stops from the factories and high visibility coats are hung, the sky bruises and the men fill the pubs, until wives with children hung on washing lines drag there sweat soaked frames to the table, only to indulge them in a row.
Night creeps in, bringing with it the hooded figures that flutter along the streets. Music plays from a vacant building and seems to brighten the night.
A silhouette is seen standing on the edge, watching the busses bellow run like migrating snails, filled with the elderly and too young.
Cigarettes infest the streets creating a carpet of ash and litter. The city survives, remaining grey, never blinking, never heard.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 6:20 AM UTC
Grey-Green-Red-Brown Dawn
stains right through a.m. sky
so the atmosphere
looks weird today.
The forecast calls for heat again;
that silent, seething drum that beats
the blood-drenched dollar sky--
beats out a March of Ages--
beats us copper lumps to shape.
The shelf we Occupy on this drifting
westward continent, constructed from
the flesh that fell from our fathers' hands,
from the bones of distant lands
becomes a dusty storage closet
for the corpses of our days
Our days--aha.
That's supply and demand, kid.
What's a life but flesh-time?
And what's time if not money?
Nothing!
Nothing is anything
but money.
You. Are money.
Like time.
Sleep well tonight. And set your clock.
You gotta work to buy their robots
that **** Mid-Eastern skies
(and Midwestern ones alike)
Sink real slow beneath the surface
of that rising ocean of noise--
growing louder--hot air melting ice caps.
Watch that boiling, acid ocean
roll in on the tide and sink
beneath the waves of noise--
of monotone voices--
sawdust seasoning on cardboard--
crying, "These colors don't run!"
and, "Stand your ground!"
and for fun, when bored, answer the
Call of Duty.
It's that silent, seething drum
beating 'gainst THE TERRORISTS
while we deny the summer heat
as we sweat in SUPERBOWL SUNDAY dreams,
Like it beat against the COMMUNISTS
through all our TOP GUN weekends,
Like it drums up portraits of
vampire fanged IMMIGRANTS
and ILLEGALS
while we guzzle our BEER
and sweat beneath those acne-scarred skies
on the FOURTH OF JULY.
Sleep well tonight
And set your clock.
Don't wanna be late for work,
to buy their robots that **** Mid-Eastern skies
(and Midwestern ones alike).
What's that hum outside your window tonight,
whirring, buzzing
droning
beneath the blood-drenched dollar sky?
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
There was something heartbreaking in his gaze.
Looking into his eyes
Was like watching every good and perfect thing in this world
Shatter.
It was as though
All the stars had fallen out of the sky
And splintered into glittering fragments all over the ground.
It was as though
The sun and the moon had collided,
Raining shining pieces all over the earth.
Looking into his eyes,
I felt my very being
Shattering,
Being pulled asunder by his loneliness.
And it was exciting.
I felt my heart quicken,
Pounding fast with the prospect
Of watching the world end over
And over again.
I knew this was the kind of loneliness
That gnawed at the world from its foundations,
Prowling like an un-mourned soul
And, in its brooding solitude,
Whipped up the howling winds that keep children up at night.
In all my sun-drenched life,
I had never seen a darker being.
I had never been this intoxicated by a mere gaze.
I had never known a bitterness so strong.
My world was all sweet harvests and smiling flowers,
But when he touched me,
It felt as though I'd stuffed my mouth with dandelion greens.
My taste buds protested but my body thrilled,
Reveling in his Armageddon eyes.
His fingertips were ice,
Trailing down my goose-pimpled skin,
And I knew I was the first hot-blooded woman he'd held.
I wanted to add fire to his shattered soul.
I wanted to watch the fragments of the world
Smoldering when he looked at me.
I wanted to feel his fierce loneliness grab me by the hair
And set my heart aflame.
And he did.
As I watched the heavens colliding,
I offered all the heat of my veins,
And he drank it in like the gods guzzle nectar.
He slipped his arm around my waist
And ferried me across the River Styx.
So I watched the world end,
One soul after the other,
Cooling slowly from revelry
To bitterness
As he burned with borrowed flames.
I dreamed about supernovas,
Stars exploding out of the sky.
I'd been so quick to trade sunshine for his eternal night,
Never considering that I'd be getting nothing in return.
I wondered if my gaze had begun to shatter.
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 6:48 PM UTC
I knock back water bottles
And drive down the empty highway
My eyes focused on the fuel gauge
Pull into the gas station
Pay too much for too little
Whatever, its only money
I'm almost there
Countless miles behind me
Fuckfuckfuckfuck
It hits me
My brain goes into overdrive
Every possible reality plays out in my mind
All of them detached from reality
I think with such certainty
I almost say hello to my breakfast again
I pull over
I put the seat all the way back
And stare out the moon roof
All the clouds look like you
I guzzle down another water bottle
It helps disperse the biblical disaster that is my stomach
I reach tentatively for my cell phone
I dial your number seven times before i get the ***** to call
You answer.
I panic.
You sound good.
You tell me you miss me.
Fireworks. Marching bands. The key to the city
I answer calmly. That i will arrive shortly
We hang up.
I drive faster then scientists thought possible.
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
I’ve been waking up early lately Not intentionally, though the days do seem longer It makes me wonder what my body is scheming It has plans for me of which I am unaware I wish I knew them Then maybe I wouldn’t get up so reluctantly, guzzle black coffee, and sit here while some arbitrary words unfold in my mind The usual I feel the urge to record them It’s like psychological regurgitation, this typing I suppose it’s cathartic Worthless probably, otherwise But it’s the only thing other than running and smoking which keeps me sane I’m addicted to dopamine and now I’m down my usual quota because my *** life is at a standstill Maybe that’s why I’m up so early **** I feel psychotic at times like this I know I’m not but my observations of others’ behavior tells me otherwise They’re happy, or at least seemingly so Or, at least they have the nerve to ***** about how sucky their life is out loud for everyone to hear Which isn’t getting them anywhere I, on the other hand just sit here quietly and write about it Which isn’t getting me anywhere either so why the **** am I waking up so early, I mean ****
At least let me sleep in.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 8:59 AM UTC
cold metal
blue ,silver and white
sour citrus funkynes
smells like stank trees of ebola town
burp guzzle guzzle wallow
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
Kiss me good-bye until the thunder stops clapping,
until the moon starts glowing, until we all crawl
back to the fireplace, where the logs are burning
and the kids are laughing. Take me to the underground,
to a place I’ve never heard about.
Make me forget how I’ve hurt you.
Ask me questions, even if I can’t give you
all the answers.
Please accept my excuses, even if they’re useless.
Drink coffee with me, beneath the terrace,
as the smokers vape, and the drinkers guzzle.
Tell me what you love about the sunshine
that peeks under the rainclouds.
And tell me to stop,
if I’m talking too much.
Because I can listen to you speak,
on this cassette tape, over and over.
Press play.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 2:42 PM UTC
slit of the wrist
pop of the pills
once you do it life doesn't go back
sip of the whiskey
finger on the trigger
BAM
you're dead
are you happy now
now that its over
you sure aren't forgotten
put the knife down
put the pills in the bottle
spit the whiskey out
and release the trigger
the pain is real
I know that
but the pain for everyone else will get worst
if you say good bye to this world
so keep your head up darling
there's no need to fear
if anything bad happens
I'll be right here
stay strong
be safe my dear
it'll all be okay
no need to shed a tear
so don't pull the trigger
or pop those pills
don't guzzle that whiskey
and don't slit your wrist
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
Walking around Widener bookstore
Brown bag 40oz in grip on the first floor
Hurricane
my life and future funneled life a twister whimsical whirlwind
down the hatch guzzle guzzle. Oh, Christie! How are you!? can you see I am a mess? I know Youtell my Chinese girlfriend from our study abroad you saw me a mess in the bookstore. SHe is now heartbroken in chongquing. see ah ha
later im just returning books to get dope money.
LAter
Oh, I see you are stocking that Stranger Camus
Langston Hughes
English 102
I drift in my own “end of summers night”
still dreamin’
still falllin’
Dropping, stumbling, the house of German exchange professors
Sequestered on speed *****
Welcome to Chester
Corpse exquisite
the Bride resides in physics-compartmentalized-drawers
hiding refuge from the storm
He was Alone
( Most of the time he got weirded out easily)
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:53 PM UTC
The people to the left of me want to get married, but not to each other. Mawwiage is a funny word. Gopher? Potato. Crawdad. Wobble. Jiggly bits. Harmonica. Put your arm on it, cousin. Guzzle. Doozy. An ornery snool. Troglodyte. Haysoos was a troglodyte, that's one of the most hilarious sentences I can think of. Dudebro and ******* are nice. Dankrupt. Barbie. The urban dictionary gave an example sentence using Barbie: if Barbie is so popular why do you have to buy her friends? Perhaps if I memorize that line and say it, I'll get a half second of laughing, showing I have the value to entertain others for about two seconds. That'd be a nice feeling. I'd feel peach-fuzzy. A woman is standing with a rainbow of candy in a ziplock bag. I can't make this stuff up. Life is so incredibly fascinating. Just kidding. But really, that's some bright stuff on display in her transparent bag.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
Stomach ulcers wait for me
acid reflux looms
Bloated Belly
Backend bother
Doctors waiting rooms.
And still I wolf down whiskey
and guzzle gassy stout
and wake at dawn
a can in hand
in the middle of a roundabout.
For whats the point of living
if living is a chore
some love life without drinking
I find I enjoy it more.
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 9:22 AM UTC
I drink to the java they put in my cup
Brazillian or Turkish I guzzle it up
Starbucks to Borders just pour me my brew
I need that caffeine or my poet is through
'Fore I’m snoring away in a Manhattan minute
Fill up my mug with my potion poured in it
Those dark little beans are my favorite booster
I'm up to the task like a Rhode Island rooster
Phooey on tea leaves and colas with fizz
I’d cry to the heavens, is that all there is!!?!
With no mud or jamocho my words have no pomp
And no lovely check from old Wergle Flomp
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 10:27 AM UTC
There's a dark wolf
behind my heart--
licking chops
ready to feast on the future
and guzzle the night nectar of what will be.
His smokey wings agape,
drawn to fly in to the moon's uvula.
The ash black fur smells of burnt strawberries.
A pale bobcat spectre leans
behind my mind...
smells like a gin bath...
looks over its shoulder
longingly gazing into the murk-muck,
that is.... the past.
Lavender eyes, and patterns of dirt
on its sopping cold fur.
And here I am,
between the two...
a silent meditative fox
under the cherry blossom,
the breezy moment twirls the desert red fur,
nature's hum drums and strums the heart
as it grows into a lotus reaching for the burning sun.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Slander wears no muzzle
Fragmentation
Void of couth
Shove born from a nuzzle
Insinuation
Shoddy sleuth
Guilt turns into guzzle
Fermentation
Robbing youth
Scattered jigsaw puzzle
Imagination
Pseudo truth
No lies can bind the hearts of all
No anger heals the scars of all
No ale can hide the shame of all
No eye can see the truth of all
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Let me make your life easy
Now that you making so many efforts
To end mine
Guns, Pistols, Bombs and your own body
So considerate , so kind.
So let me help,
Let me whet my trepidation
Lacerate my flesh, from inside
Let me batter my silly quivering, numb
Let me assure them ,they will be insensate
It is only a matter of time.
Meanwhile,
Tell me how would you like it?
Mere flesh soaked in ****** quagmire
Silent in death , heeding to you instruction manual
Or
Crisp shrills rising in cacophonous notes
Reciting curses in quandaries, jabbing your fiend inside
Or
should i use my imaginations
On 'how to ruin my own life?'
So behold and hold
My veins from the end
And haul towards your side,
Twist to cause added agony
Or may be crush my lungs
To hasten me out of my life
See my insipid blood splatter
As it draws tattoos of attainment on you
Hear it gurgle
As you guzzle it out of my body, as if some wine
Nevertheless,
It won't evoke any poignant feeling
Even if you realize in the end
You and i are same kind.
So drown me deep, so deep in the pool which is red
Sorry again,if you were expecting blue,yellow,green or may be white
Descend me twice the force
If i brawl or condemn against your peace of mind
Hear the music of my diminishing gasps till the end
And move on , tattooed and vindicated.
-Pallavi Goswami
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
so alone.
killing all the monsters.
shoe boxes and closets.
don't forget under the stairs
in my best friends coffin.
missing.
missing out on life cause I'm scared of death.
wanna die so hard sometimes
it's hard to catch my breath.
wanna try so hard sometimes i stumble.
gotta tie my shoes.
cause these monsters in my head are on the loose.
lose.
lost causes and empty hallways
remind me of even lonelier days.
when i used to sell that stuff for fifty a gram
when everyone had a hand taking
but no helping hands.
when everyone seemed to know that master plan
and now everyone sits with their hands in the sand.
use to wanna build dreams out of these sand castles
use to wanna go outside and wrestle
with these monsters.
ya they're all here.
chillin in my bedroom forcing me to dream fear.
and the worst of it all is i let them all in
the saddest part of my life will be when they win.
but I'm not complaining.
nah. me ... never.
i guzzle gasoline.
breathe fire.
I'm a fuel injector.
monsters, more like drama.
sad times more like commas,
in my written book of life i never asked to live
wanna go back in time and tell mommy not to have this kid.
too ****** up now it's time to escape
the monsters inside are flowin on the page
gotta pick 'em back up and take 'em home
with me and my poem.
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 8:25 PM UTC
This bottle,
its bones creak
like mine
with each step,
from here and there
and back again.
No matter the sweet
alcoholic chatter,
even upon a third leg
with every guzzle.
Amidst each passing,
euphoric hour
our bones connect
it, me,
together becoming one
with dear life
as we,
both tenderly age
the same,
within a release
of a ******
intimately graced,
aboard the confines
toted highly
ascension into,
a solemn
intoxicated heaven.
Mirrored in sweet
delectable togetherness
interwoven tightly
of harmonious,
chardonnay shadows...
©Michael P. Smith
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC