"guzzled" poems
It was the watermelon diet, he said
That's what killed me
A lie as ripe as the freshest rind
Listen to the man
He was there at my deathbed
Though he never cared for my diet
It was the watermelon diet
not some virus
That consigned me to the Gods
The watermelon diet
Why now do they doubt my exotic pallet?
They've turned a blind eye to everything else
until now
For months, I guzzled nothing but sweet watermelon
Fat mounds of flesh between my greedy cheeks
The sheer volume of water left me bloated
Before I shed an immense amount of baggage
What else could be to blame?
Enough of your questions and on to the cremation
We'll see whether watermelon burns immortal
It began in Africa- no lie there
And comes in seedless varieties
I never planted mine
Though I wasn't want for trying
I can still taste the bitter juices as I lay here in my crypt
An artful coroner smelt a rat
Or a chance- to prove his mettle
Never heard of any watermelon diet
This is Palm Springs not Papa Nu Guinea
A sample of tissue foiled our grand conspiracy
Same thing that got Rock Hudson
But they kept a straight face
Kept to the story, mindful of my legacy
I'm not just any ******
Takes something grand and elaborate to dispose of me
An immigrant farmhand once told me “watermelon cure the AIDS”
And I believed him
At least that's what I'd have you believe
End
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
Spark kissed tinder
burst into flames
As men gathered in tight knots
Stitched up a street riot
Wood warmed and glowed
Militant revolution minds
The embers hummed with ashes
As city streets burned
Tyres and tubes were rolled
home brew guzzled
Fuelled the fires further
more streets burned
Water cannons hissed
As men aflame with anger
Lit fireplaces up alleyways
With burning brain torches
Taking the political fireplaces
To the palace of no return.
As soon as the government
Dissolved into a carpet bombing
puddle
The big bear
licked its paws.
Author Notes
The Revolution continues after a lapse of two months. Most politics start around a fireplace fuelled by alcohol and hate. Once lit the fireplace chatter
moves into the street and spread rapidly.
The Bear anticipates a breakdown of law and order and amasses its troops along the border.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
We wore torn blue jeans,
the holier the better,
pearl-buttoned shirts
& pointed Justin's
rounded out
our tough-guy
wardrobe.
We guzzled whiskey
& Crown
& told most folks
to kiss our *****
even the coppers.
The pretty lasses loved us
& some had bigger ***** than us,
they tried to capture our hearts
& make real men out of us.
Sometimes
they succeeded
& sadly,
sometimes not,
our common sense
clouded
by alcohol-laced
testosterone.
I lost a lot of precious time
trying to be cool.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
The battle is upon us
We can finally put ourselves to the test
Memories of the past still haunt us
We fight for freedom so that our minds can rest
Easy knowing that we took a stand
Against twisted beasts of human form
I hold my blade in a trembling hand
I'm ready to weather this mighty storm
*I thought i was a man ready to protect
but now i can't even stand *****
watching my team mates feet and necks
be crushed by these mountains of dreck.
I have't even started combat but i am seeing the light
now here one comes what is the point of putting up a fight?*
Most of us won't see tomorrow
Why is Armin so frightened?
Is he just going to stand there
And get eaten by a titan?
I need to protect him
He's one of the last things I've got
And I can't let a monster dissect him
My targets locked
I'm going in for the nape
This wretched creature
Will never escape
*Without being able to solve this place's puzzle
I will my life will end by being guzzled
By a ******* belligerent beast
Only looking for its next feast
How could we have a king when these monstrosities rule this domain
Our society might all as well burst like there's a flame over propane
It is a fitting end for this monarch's curious servent
being killed by the real king for being too observant
Hey I am a king too I guess... of cowards, my friend's blood is my moat
And their pieces of the mangled bodies will be my mink coat
Now I am slipping down this demons throat, it doesn't matter who I am
***** this... Wait what is this grabbing my hand?*
I won't let him go
What lies beyond these walls?
We've always wanted to know.
How could he surrender to fear?
The look in his eyes
We can't die here.
I'll trade my life to keep his going
As I slip into the belly of the beast
My sense of urgency is growing
All I see are the bodies of comrades who have tasted defeat
The light is fading
Why is existence so bleak?
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
Prometheus gave fire
to humanity and had
his innards guzzled
by vultures for it.
You gave me the sun
and I
unduly set myself
wholly
to the task of tearing
apart your insides.
Top to bottom, I stripped you
strip you,
will strip you
of all that makes you you and
I don't know how to stop
turning your yellow
to orange
to purple
to black
like my innards too. See,
I too once gave fire
to people and lovers and friends and
then
I set myself to the task of
tearing up apart
those various necessities that made me
me. Things like basic human kindness.
Simple rules like don't
involve yourself with so many girls
that you lose count while never losing
count. That sort of
thing, y'know.
Do you know how long I've been
trying to write you a poem called
Darjeeling? I've been trying for
so long that I drink coffee now.
I've been trying for so long that
when the restaurant menu finally
reads 'Darjeeling tea' for so and so
price, I don't pay it and order
some mediocre hot-chocolate instead
(and even a Strawberry milkshake. What
does that say about me, I wonder?).
It was lukewarm. It didn't scald
my tongue like you did.
I suppose it never will.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
T'was little fun
T'was a little town,
No virulent delirious runs
No irking sounds
As t'was a little dangling town
All t'was a feasible brew
No meanders to sought
No conundrums of anew
just wired timely things to rot
When all t'was a portent upcoming
For t'was clad and veneered
In a amicable sun-daze groaning
T'was a peaceful loop of mono-gradient seasons
and all to do was ponder
For t'was guzzled with reasons
T'was yesterdays jigsaw puzzle
T'was a nightmare in sun-light
But for now, let's retch our unknown dazzle
As t'was,
A flippant fuss
For what shan't be
A beguiling me
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 5:21 AM UTC
Waves from the beach match my waves for my drink
The waitress comes over and asks what’s my order
I said I can’t choose “I’m feeling like there’s clouds above me,
It’s been a rough few days and these double hotel rooms are bland and lonely.”
“Not a problem, sir. I know just what to get to make you feel *****
She comes back with a Hawaiian margarita.
It came with an umbrella which I set aside while saying thank you, Senorita.
I guzzled down the drink to reach the tequila faster,
But the wind picks up and it looks like a disaster.
I ask for one more, with the umbrella.
This fairy godmother returns with another margarita.
The buzz has transformed me like I’m Cinderella.
I leave a 20 at the table and walk towards the beach, ignoring the families with kids who all they do is screech.
Clutching both umbrellas, I walk to the shore
One of God’s many gifts for us to explore.
I never noticed how nice he made the decore.
Tequila is the only alcohol that’s an upper, or so I’ve been told.
But I enter the water even though it was cold
What happened next though was a story previously told,
My umbrellas caught air like Mary Poppins,
As I floated along the coast listening to Phil Collins.
The speakers down below blast the drum section from that one song,
And I stayed up there for I don’t know how long,
But when I descended,
My pain was suspended and my emotions were splendid.
So next time, when your mind feels cloudy and your thoughts are rowdy
Ask for a drink with an umbrella
You’ll soon find yourself smiling, cheesing more than mozzarella.
Sep 18, 2023
Sep 18, 2023 at 10:29 PM UTC
god flew through my coffee this morning;
an intellectual crow entered my apartment,
and it guzzled a sip of the holy brew
me? i didn't take notice, just took notes
a blind writer who seeks the extraordinary,
distracted by a strayed quest for himself
left eye red, the right one black, wolfishly
a tribe of suicidals shattered my eye sight
they were dancing in trance
they were singing in kid's voices:
"we forgotten who we are; our skins crumbling
we don't want to live inside your body; no!
we won't be your voice anymore; we be leaving
golemland is our destination, shelter of letters"
then, the tribe of suicidals left, depriving me of words
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 12:03 PM UTC
Crowds gathered and the noise of disobedience shook the neighbourhood whole. I was in the southern part of the city, where sinners sinned and the practitioners groomed the bars and off licenses solely to quench their thirst for liquor. It was almost midnight and hordes of young and old alike chanted and sung merry making song that rang through city; and what a noise it was. And it was on this night I met a lad who dressed as if the night belonged to him. A tall, slender fellow who hadn’t a care in the world. His Caribbean afro would bob up and down as we giggled to anecdotal stories of the past. We were rebels of the night, breaking away from the fragile unity that was the friendship circle.
A few stragglers in the form of Chavs had joined. Many of them formed bonds with the pretty girls, rivalling us out in the end. Deciding momentarily on what our next plan was, we split away from the group and continued midnight drinking into the Holy Lands. We could hear the barking of neighbourhood dogs tangle with the distant explosions of fireworks in the sky. It was beautifully chaotic. But as midnight sinners it was like music to our ears.
“I’m off mate, take care of yourself.” The fellow said as he guzzled his last remainder of his bottled Budweiser.
“You heading home, aye?” I smirked, clearly egging him on to stay out just a tad longer. But, this was to be it. With a hug and a good luck, he was off, towards the mystic backstreets and towards the Ormeau Road. I never caught the young lad’s name, nor did I ever catch his age. It was a strange meeting between the two of us. As if, for one singular night we knew everything about each other yet knew nothing at all. I recall sitting back down on the sidewalk and smiling, before looking up towards the decorative sparkly night sky. And, what turned out to be a spontaneous and random night ended up as a completed final chapter, to a superb little story.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 8:06 AM UTC
She was a spectacular tree.
People called her the flame of the forest,
for she was obviously striking, vivid and classy.
I need not narrate the superlative majesty
of the flame – tree, for one time or the other
we have all been breath-taken by her peerless glamor.
What matchless artistry!
I am here to quickly share
my ruminative gloom for that lovely assembly
of flower, leaf and wood, which grandly stood
in a grove of possibilities, and possibilities can be
such a torment, such a calamity.
❋
For years galore, caterpillars of choices
had been steadily eating away at her core.
They came from different directions,
at different trajectories,
with varied objectives
and fluctuating proclivities.
Sometimes, they came rushing in as family,
and sometimes they came slowly,
a little formally, a bit watchfully,
somewhat officially.
At times they came in fiery fascination
and yet, ever so often, they were charged
with marauding indignation.
Many times they arrived as blazing ambition,
but more often than not, combusted the flamboyance
leaving behind an ashen illusion.
Oh.....those craving larvae
of oblique, wily opportunities.
❋
The foliage was feverishly guzzled
till photosynthesis was no more possible.
From my distant window from where I had once
watched her variegated flair,
I felt the Poinciana moan in simmering despair.
❋
With biting sensitivity, I still look on, a tad tearfully,
as she continues to tumble into conscious torpidity.
My words may slip and sway, as with each wilting leaf
after each withering floret, she progresses towards
an abject decay;
imploding methodically, and transposing gradually
from being the flame of the forest
to being a sprouting forest of flames.
Jan 22, 2020
Jan 22, 2020 at 9:11 AM UTC
I have not injected myself, felt the pulse
of illegal things under the bonnet of my skin
or swallowed a pill and let the room swirl
in colours from the mid-sixties.
I have not guzzled ugly orange drinks
until my liver aches to talk
and I erupt pints and shots
against sex-coated cubicle walls.
I have not had the awkward first
with one of my teeth knocking on hers
or a line of saliva in my stubble
that I perhaps should have trimmed.
Instead I drink tea with two sugars
and whizz through each channel
rather than absorbing stories for class
as best I can like a square of kitchen roll.
Instead I see streams of people from 20-whatever
take pictures with berries and apples
to remind themselves who they are
and remind me they still breathe.
And instead I write what I don't know
for if not every word burns black then dies
and so I continue to fight the other me
who will not turn, walk back the way I just came.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
no one is around
i walk down the streets of a vacant wasteland
forgotten, discarded, tattered
red cups drag across asphalt
with no force pushing them but the
tired alcohol stained breath of the wind.
this beautiful sunday morning-tainted
by the drunken cheers of last night
the life-poured, guzzled, shot
out of this place
death hangs over the streets while a
drunken hibernation swallows my
"highly esteemed" peers.
shattered glass cracks beneath
my feet as i follow the pathway
to my house; to my successes
this place…
this is home.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
We meandered by four-wheel drive
way up into phantom canyon,
got lost in the blm land,
parked forty-five degrees,
amongst the conifers.
We guzzled the golden brew
& in short order,
found ourselves
wearing our birthdays suits,
amongst the conifers.
For sure we had found heaven,
her gripping the roll bar
& me,
hanging on for dear life,
amongst the conifers.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
i've really messed up
my whole life now f
a
l
t
e
ring
slowly each moment pushed
on my heart a l i t t l e h e a v i e r
waiting for it to ...BURST...
and blow us all p
U
^^^^
i just don't know what could've been done+
preventing a storm :
only works when you know
it's going to come, coME, COME!
-not- when you're in the eye
•
tOo tOnGuE tIeD to speak
and just to hürt to try
ive gr0WN accustomed to
u m
the l p in the throat
the damming of ~water~ behind eyelids f c
the quivering of my reddened a e
and the knifē through the back to my heart
isn't it a shhhhhhame when pain is so common B O
and we learn HOW to T T
L E it up y
and where to store it so a
nobody se•es w
only .. to be hiding it a
from those who gave you heartbreak
$ !
and still they act surprised,
and condemn you
* * * * tops
when you POP off the ^^^
and DrrrüNK enLY g..g..guzzled them all
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 1:36 AM UTC
Ages ago, I danced
with a kind of devil
wearing leopard-spandex
through a tempest fire.
We guzzled spirits,
nuzzled in each other's arms
as we circled the sun,
whirled around the moon,
kissed every star
in the heavens above.
She put a hex on me
& I survived, still looking
for a white dove,
some peace of mind.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
We marched into the thick of town, laughing and hollering like
Jovial soldiers of the night. The sky was dark & poetic , as we succumbed to its drunken beauty. Night's like these were meant to be enjoyed, savoured- for what was yet to come, we could not escape.
Staggering around town like a drunken platoon, we ended up at the Ulster Sports Club, a place so decadent and mysterious we had to sell our souls in return for a one way ticket. But, it was worth every penny of it. With low hazy lights that aligned the corridors and a special style of liveliness like that of the 90's- we were on cloud nine.
Electro beats and foggy disco lights gave the place a retro vibe, as people of all ages and shapes boogied and grooved as they became slaves to the music. It was utterly beautiful. Beer was guzzled and shirts came off, as we staged an act of defiance against social conventions- this was our paradise, and rules were meant to be broken. And as the lights came on, a chorus of "One more song!" erupted. We staged a rebellion, for the night was not over yet. Eventually, the time to retreat came upon us, as we threw down our conquering swords to surrender. We grabbed our things, our bags and coats and made off; walking into the dead of night like soldiers returning home from battle.
Jan 1, 2020
Jan 1, 2020 at 4:12 PM UTC
Bailey sat at the kitchen table. stiring her coffee and staring out of a ***** bay window at an old apple tree covered in snow. "i guess that all of the birds have flown south for the winter." she sighed, hugging herself as the cold wind blew through her. "who cares about those disgusting rats with wings anways?" jacob rolled his eyes and guzzled his coffee down, finishing it all with one big gulp. "i do, they're beautiful." bailey argued. "you used to love birds." she continued. "i used to love birds... before you started feeding them all of the bread." jacob complained with a playful smile. "besides i love voltures and falcons." he smiled. "i feed the birds old bread that nobody wants... and of course you do." B ailey shook her head, grinning from ear to ear.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
An Island on a
Brink of collapse,
Leakages on our
national budgetry,
Cronysm and Inept
speeches seizes
Powerful seats.
Our national oil
Reserves Guzzled
down by twit Politicians
women Aspiring for
change by Denying
their Husband Conjugal
Rights.
Millions of unemployed
youths run Amok
causing a Frenzie
country-wide,
Anarchy spells Doom
across the
country.
State of Internal
security is a vital
sign for the Failure
of our current
Governments.
Reforms of national
cohesion and a new
constitution seems
like a Fantasy to
many Africans.
Our cumbersome
Judiciary procedures
discourages Investors,
so goes the Plea
of Desolate souls
in Africa.........
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:56 AM UTC
Start for the dart of the mart
Quarts of coolant guzzled down
A meal A break a heart that is no longer beating
Now the clouds are opened
And I see there was nothing there at all
Mind matters in the eyes prying for a cry
The little girl inside this one is no longer there
She has gone away to another place
I am sick I am tired I am a broken record atop a spinning player
Each hour that passes through this still place makes it seem as if nothing is real
As if the haze in mine eyes is the fog on a morning knolls break
Faster then any bullet we will die
Quicker then any hummingbird love will dissipate into a memory only captured
In torn and worn photographs
Kept by people that need something to talk about at dinner
At Christmas
At Thanksgiving
At times when the truth is so close
We all must shut it away
To go on is to prolong the fat fact that we winners are winding down a rocky
Rembrandt like
Painting of puke and bile and smiles which do not bring either happiness
Or heartbreak
Who is this person inside this mind that will not let me be?
Who put this brain inside of me?
Who allowed for these trials of touch and go to commence?
And who will be at the finish line when I am too exhausted to go on?
I am neither here nor there nor awake or asleep
I wander from the middle to the coast only to start wandering again
To be elevated from above the Earth
To be floating along
Is to see the world in the haze of which I speak which is Heaven
Where bugle playing baby angels sip on lemon cloud swirl drinks
Where death no longer lays its heavy hand upon any head
For He is there as well
We are all welcome to the corner market where behind door number two
Is a running river lined with no ***** pebbles
But broken fragments of dragon's gold
To take to this place is to lose your face for to drift one must pay
Yes
One must always pay
To play
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 3:43 PM UTC
Bitter wine in the tone of your voice
Falsely soothing and secure like laughing gas
With this rhythmic beat that lulls me
As I silently sip from your cup and absorb the parts of you
The fermented time spent in your arms
That reveals it's worth in the days stored away
Purple stained lips of pleasure left by your kiss
While I stumble off, dizzied by our bliss
Lost in the whirlwind of promises
Because you give me a faulty sense of self
With the cloak of guzzled dreams we've made
But when we fail the darkness lays it's vail before my eyes
So that tomorrow I forget the shattered glass
And become intoxicated by you again
Drunken with the bitter wine in the tone of your voice
Falsely soothing and secure like laughing gas
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 5:42 PM UTC
I have tasted her
a million times (or more),
guzzled her sweet,
sweet,
sweet laced-nectar,
way deep,
deep,
deep,
deep
inside my yearning soul.
I am intoxicated
on her delicious-elixir,
she is my only fix.
So she must,
she must know
by now,
I crave,
I choke,
I burn for her.
For these
are her hiccups
I release
forever.
And I do thank her
from
the bottom
of my drunken-heart,
for making me tipsy,
inebriated,
so ****** smitten
on her mouth-watering
cherry-concoction.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC