"heineken" poems
The forever-stench of hoboken
The most composed... undress
Loosened to a senseless smirk
Keep walking...
The prettiest eyes droop to a cool low
Posture is hard to keep with them shots!
Keep walking...
Messaging another senseful planet the boring absurdity of now
Watch your step!
Her fine italian dinner is inches away
Or is it fine thai...
It's vulgarity kills any sense of definition
Uh oh... now there are more puddles!
Keep away from those leaking lakes
Of sushi... sashimi... heineken... absolut!
Absolutely acceptable in this town!
Come on! We're almost out of it
Out of the town we were once so happy to visit just a couple of hours ago
When everyone was efficient, and not venturing *****
When communication wasn't fogged, but clear and easy
When men didn't dress like 14 year old boys trying to score at a house party
And women didn't give away their IQ so easily, heads slightly bent forward with a lack of direction
Maybe it was home, maybe it was danger, maybe it was fun
The zombie within arose with a wretched stench of alcohol
Yet this will never stop selling
People are sold this "treasure" of acceptance, rank, a strong sense of esotericism, all lies
Yet in reality, they are simple facades, regular people like you and me.
O Hoboken, you stink
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
We are Manchester. The City, The place, we’re hospitable people with a smile on our face. You can beat us, mistreat us, and blow us to hell. We have had it all before and we don’t dwell. We’re the northern powerhouse of the northwestern elite, Where the Geordie's, The Scousers, The Yorkshire’s retreat. The premier League, The Roses Cricket, The Heineken Cup Is a one way ticket. United and City two football teams with stadiums full, bursting at the seams.
We are Mancunians Of this fair City, The People, The Love, The old nitty gritty The worker, The Shirker, The Homeless, The immigrants, each one of these they are all itinerants. The Steel, The Cotton, long since forgotten the old smokey chimneys blew out smoke that was rotten. The Massacre at Peterloo. Local politicians just don’t have a clue. With all the sights this city has on show here’s something that people don’t really know. Manchester is where New Zealand Born Ernest Rutherford split the Atom.
We Are Manchester, The City, the Place, where Sir Humphrey Chetham has his musical grace a school of music with musical taste. And where a man with a paintbrush painted streets on boxes. I don’t think Lowry ever painted foxes. And A comedian from Collyhurst who was absolutely awesome, a real funny guy by the name of Les Dawson, and where a man from Chorlton on Medlock became Prime Minister back in the day. David Lloyd-George had a hell of a lot to say.
We Are Manchester and it's the place for me. And a proud Mancunian I’m glad to be. I’ll sit in a cafe watching people pass by. They are all in a hurry and I wonder why. I see a business man in a three piece suit, and the homeless guy that is counting his loot. There's the girl on the street giving out free papers she is smoking those ciggies that give off those vapours. It's pouring with rain and she’s getting wet she’s worried about money to pay off her debt.
We Are Manchester and this is our City don’t waste your time we don’t want no pity. We are Manchester we are steeped in tradition we leave other cities standing. There’s no competition. Where A man from Moss Side a Vicar not a Dean called Rev George Garrett invented the submarine. And where the great Anthony Wilson was a journalist & impresario and a man named John Nichols invented the great drink called Vimto. and so When he wrote “This Is the Place” I’m sure he did so with a smile on his face. We Are Manchester and I’ll state our case because we are Manchester and we are ace.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
All of the pencils in the drawer are broken
Friday Night I'm sick of being alone
Hopping off the curb in search of the killer
Sniffing out the house parties
They like the bass loud and it swells
******* us inside past ten parked cars
They freestyle about
Gun fire and blood on concrete
He said I didn't believe him
Cracked out beyond repair
He shows me the scythe and hammer tattoo on his left breast
I laugh with the proletariat
Cheers and some soul passes me the bottle
Cigarette smoke contained by plaster walls
I'm eight days sober
Don't tread on me
Says a ***** blond next to me on the couch
All strung out she is searching
Searching for a bent spoon and needle in the tall grass
Back yard a bonfire
Walking barefoot on broken
Heineken bottles strewn in the shadows
Popping molly and sweating
She called me a hick
Her dopamine receptors
Rubbed flat by heavy grade sandpaper
I called her nothing
I was too busy watching
The rats scurry against the wall
To their safe warm nest
In the insulation
A hand around my wrist
Milk white incubus
With breath like puked whiskey
I escaped through a hole in the couch
I fell between the cracked leather cushions
And slept with the rats in piles of pink
Fiberglass insulation scratching at the flesh
I slip outside through the cracked window
A woman stands at a console
Turning dials that cause the streetlights to dim
And bleed storefront windows fractals of neon
She asks me what else I would like to know about the world.
Someone tells me to get in and the door shuts
A sound like gunfire I perspire sweat with cough
Syrup scent peaking on the dark road to Okeechobee
I should **** myself or run barefoot again through your head
Where the forest floor is warm and the trees are alive always with birdsong
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
I could chug a ciggarette
Or I could chew some gum instead
I could keep reaching for the blade
Or I could just reach for the color pencils instead
I could gulp down a Heineken
Or I could settle for green tea instead
I could roll some ****
Or I could just paint a scenery instead
They say we're all addicted to something
That takes the pain away
I say otherwise.
We're all addicted to something
Just because we long for temporary satisfaction
We're all addicted to something
Just because we think it heals
We're all addicted to something
Just because, we made a choice
You don't sit there and say
" It's the only escape I have "
Because no, it's not
You make a choice
And that choice you make,
It defines who you are.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
Oh, hello there.
I managed to slip away from my previous adventure,
With the knight and his beloved.
My beloved, too;
I suppose.
I've stumbled upon a peculiar thing, though.
An olive tree,
In the midst of this lush underbrush.
It's quite twee,
If I do say so myself.
Although I'm more interested in the treasure below.
A pristine white glows beneath.
I twiddle with the branches a little to find a lovely treasure.
I sit down,
Outstretched my fingers towards the snow,
And carefully pluck at it,
Delicately brushing along the olives in the midst
Of my glissando.
Yohan Heineken, I believe.
A baroque composer.
My thoughts fluidly sailing as the leaves of the tree rustle,
And the snow echos as more olives fall upon it.
Like...an orchestra.
The olives falling unto the porcelain, I mean.
What a beautiful melody it creates,
And my fingers magically gloss along the porcelain,
Carefully molding the remaining olives into the crevices my fingers have made.
Oh dear, I've become too passionate for this!
I carry on anyways, 3rd Movement and all.
The Tempest...
A lovely play by Shakespeare & a dazzling story told by Beethoven.
Or simply a way to express my current emotions.
The wind carried the melody...
...to the ears of the waking princess.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
where are you when i need you most?
when the day has reached it's twilight
and the bitter night creeps through my house.
the pitter-patter of little feet has become
the stimpy-stomping of little monsters.
the chitter-chatter of nig-nig-nagging
is constant in my ear.
oh, heineken, heineken, heineken.
were you but a woman, i would flee this world
and steal you away as paris took helen.
we would spend day and night in each other's embrace.
i would sing praises and songs in your honor
and the world would stand back and marvel
at the love between us.
but, you are not a woman, but still i long for
the feel of your firmness in my hand,
your wondrous good taste chasing worry away.
i would drink you and all of your companions
and dance/prance/stumble to the bathroom
as if in heaven.
the pitter-patter would turn to clinking of bottles.
the chitter-chatter would turn to clicking of caps.
but alas, i am merely dreaming and sober.
and tonight you are in the hands of another.
tomorrow, i will venture and seek you out.
oh heineken, you will soon be mine.
mine all mine, the world will tremble with my
drunken laughter.
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 6:45 PM UTC
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
The 3 am twilight blues his sandpaper skin
A beast-like hue
she feels down
So he lifts her spirits
By the neck
Like a Heineken
“DO NOT call the cops”
His words sharp objects
He speaks machete fluently
I freeze
He ice skates on my childhood
Blades figure eights on my frosty irises
His face switches from blue to red
Like 3D glasses
I think of alps in the summertime
Defrosted mountains unveiled
Scooby-Doo villains
The much-awaited unmasking
One time he shoves her
And murders a generation
Her run-ons have become clauses
Short.
Incomplete.
Terminated.
I smell miscarriage on her breath
Now her voice carries
What her stomach cannot
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
Like a bouncing putty, I can still bounce.
Look at me, I can dance.
I am not drunk,
Just only a bit tipsy,
I am chemically off balance!
From roses to doses,
They did, they do and are done watering roses with alcohol.
Since I was conceived my blood is that much of methanol and that disturbs my devotion.
She had turned her womb, my temporary home into an ocean of *****
From which i was swimming in whisky,
As much as this is risky, I was sleeping on bedrums.
At times I woul'd feel drums booming such that my heart skips beats,
But still pump methanol, my source of oxygen.
She had turned her womb into a savannah biome,
My life was dry but still i survived.
What a beautiful galaxy within which I existed?
Made of Heineken stars and clip drift ropes,
That keeps on drifting and leaves me tipsy!
Like a bouncing putty, I can still bounce.
Look at me, I can dance.
I am not drunk,
Just only a bit tipsy,
I am chemically off balance!
I wonder if Black labels is the reason i am black?
If my birth in autumn would be ascribed to autumn harvest?
Only lucky Brandy is my name, rather than smin off spin.
Like a stranger in his own element,
For my first foot steps I waddled, twisted and turned.
For my first blood test, mother came back in mascara ***** tears
Not because I was positive neither negative but alcoholic.
my blood is invalid, that is the product of the woman in *****
Like a bouncing putty, i can still bounce.
Look at me, I can dance.
I am not drunk,
Just only a bit tipsy,
I am chemically off balance!
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC
I brought you here - You brought her here
To our abode - So I've been told
I did not know.....
and in our room?
She wore my clothes...
I had no proof - The proof I find.
Sorry won't get it - Not this time.
Adrenaline Rushing.
You try and touch me - You think I am weak
Real loud I speak - "Don't touch me now"
I am so frustrated - You could have waited.
You pull my hair - I slap your face
Now we are fighting - So I start biting
The fight ain't fair - My neck your choking;
I knee'd your nose -
Adrenaline Rushing...
I start to smile -
When I do that....I am not joking.
Ahm dusting that *** -
Police are called - They pull me off
They said I won -
Three police knocked me down
and turn their backs -
I feel a whack - and now I snap
You hit my Jaw; With a walking cane.
Cane broke, on my face
Adrenaline pumping-
I get up....
Half a cane in your hand...
You throw it down.
And start running-
Full throttle.
I am right behind you with a
Heineken bottle.
I catch you in the cut
bout to finish, whoopin that ****
You start to cry like a little cat
Making me, a female dog.
Adrenaline rushing..
But you ain't worth touching.
"Please" I say..."don't come back this way".
No make up *** for you today!
I am too weak... trying to forget
Things are bad- I call my dad.
"come n get this low level devil"
My spirit's vexed - For him there'll
be no make up ***
......ever,ever again... !
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 6:43 AM UTC
A stack of unread books
teeters, hovers
over the squeezed tube
of triple antibiotic gel
resting on my nightstand,
lying right next
to the empty cup of white monkey,
sitting on a Heineken coaster.
My electric blanket
is plugged in,
set on #2, while
my head rests
on stacked pillows,
a cool breeze floats over me.
Bastet keeps me company on papyrus
along with the raised canine
under the glow-painted
Milky Way, where
I weave stories,
minglings of half-truths
& real fantasies.
I get tired of loving the hand
& use my finger to
spread some if it
in verse, wondering
why my head buzzes me so,
or if a single soul can relate
to such an asylum,
my sanctuary.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
The aura around her
is hotter than sunspots,
she permeates pure-woman,
allows me private indiscretions.
I can twist her,
bend her in half,
partake in her heavenly assets.
She lets me take her to different universes,
I kiss her everywhere,
my tongue trickles
from her bellybutton south
where my mouth
lips her magic,
that’s a place I like to be.
There’s only one thing
I like better than this,
& it ain’t a cold Heineken.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
Jen, you worry too much about things beyond our control, but you need to know that we are going to be okay.
Your mind is as breathtaking as views from Table Mountain and your love is as beautiful as the Sistine Chapel.
Let’s vibe out and listen to Malibu by Anderson .Paak while reminiscing about the love that we’ll never get back.
I took six shots of Jägermeister, and apparently, I drank more but that’s the only part that I can remember.
It’s a new year and I’m sitting here listening to music while drinking Heineken and reminiscing about December.
I have been sharpening the edges of my pen to write about blunt memories.
Let’s vibe out and listen to Malibu by Anderson .Paak while reminiscing about the love that we’ll never get back.
We’ll never get back together but I can’t keep on losing you over complications that I’m unfamiliar with.
We must’ve met in the past life because that’s probably why I want to love you past life.
Jen, you worry way too much about the future that you tend to forget to live in the moment.
So every minute that passes by is a moment that you want to capture and post on Instagram and Facebook.
But I can’t judge you because sometimes I get lost in the whirlwind of vivid pixels and instant gratification.
I have come to accept that love is a part of me even when it’s apart from me.
Jen, you worry too much about things beyond our control, but you need to know that we’re going to be okay.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 5:37 AM UTC
I keep her clothing in the bed,
Fresh wet daggers of this concupiscent World. That is the standard. Don't you Hear it?
I watch the lamps and blankets singe
Cigarettes and Heineken
Nevermind, With the Lights Out
Everything is 'About A Girl',
And faking for no one.
'm too fuxked to know the difference
Stress is a knot that kills the young
I don't care about the other's wasting Their time isn't my business.
My sick is so short sighted. It carries a Black lighter inside its Gareth Pugh jeans.
Ann Demeulemeester top, Rick Owens Boots, an Obscur coat, Rad Hourani shirt
Henrik Vibskov socks, an MB999 tee.
Color is language for the body to read.
Inertia and energy protect me. I am the Opposite of a black hole. This vessel governs its own space, but I don't attempt To understand anything or any one thing.
This lizard brain keeps its ward and Wielding the almighty power of its Nightness, cosy's up near the Community of Death, Magic, and Numinous winter dirges, huffing Parfumes from her death-covered clothes.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
I don’t know what to tell you
I don’t know what you want me to say
Every weekend it’s the same
Same question
Same silence
Same feelings
Same darkness
Every time it’s an elongated silence from that question
The one I can’t answer
You stand next to me, looking down from our height different holding your Heineken as you slur your words to me
Do you love me?
There it is again.
That question.
How do you tell someone you love you don’t love them the same way they love you?
Our drunken nights and endless fights are like a boomerang thrown at the end of the night
Delaying its return every time
I’m sure I don’t want you
Is all I have to say, but I’ve kissed you and held you and dribbled with your heart
I am the ***** that has used you for the lack of embracement she is most needed of
I chose the wrong person
The wrong lover
The wrong time
You’re drunk with all these lies I tell you
Enamored by the ones you barely remember
From the memories of when I used to make you coffee
“You make the best brew” he says
But what he doesn’t know is that even my demons make good coffee
Even the heartless monster inside me has sweet kisses to give out
Even the ***** that I am can make you think she loves you back.
I’m sorry, I just never told you that.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Tea, Tom Waits & heavy rain
***** Bukowski & the understanding of pain
Heineken, Hunter S Thompson & slipping down the drain
Sunday morning coffee, on Dylan & dysfunction
Red wine, Heller & all the catch 22's
Black balloon, Morrison & mystery
Cobain. Davis & Coltrane.
Alive or dead.
What makes them GREAT?
Just that.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC
I was born little, and I grew up a little.
In a small house in Boston,
where I grew up with a mouth full of Skittles
in a town where it was so simple to get lost in.
9 New Whitney Street, constructed of brick and knee scrapes.
We grew and we learned how to say hello to each other without ever actually speaking.
We played hide-and-seek with our knee high socks,
because we found pleasure by slipping and falling to our favorite hiding spots.
It was an average life.
We danced through the streets to our favorite parks,
Each containing a strong color that we would each label through our child-like dialogue
Red park—Monkey bars & pull up contests
Yellow park—Tire swings & puke-infested children slides
Green Park—Two hour kickball series & poison ivy ankle blisters.
When they'd come home from work,
my mom would always come to my room to check that I was there,
and not out collecting memories in these colorful parks.
My dad would slam his face onto our couch pillow,
his frail body parallel to the sofa,
With an unopened Heineken in his palm and his eyes glared on Larry King.
They said hello to each other without ever opening to their mouths.
And on nights, when it would drop below freezing,
my mother would wrap the plants she made earlier that day into blankets,
and drag the tall ones inside.
On those freezing nights, my father would wrap the pipes with tape,
and allow them to drip throughout the night,
it was an average life.
Nothing more or less special than the families we were surrounded by.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
4/19/2015
dedicated to the girl I used to be
crushed right next to the
broken glass.
"*I don't write
nearly as much poetry
as I used to,*"
I tell her in the orange light
of the German café
this time it is shining in through.
"*Like you used to
before you were sedated?*"
No.
I suppose it must be the weather.
I remember dancing to morrissey
in my darkened room at 3:43 am
on a January tuesday,
it was a good lay, good lay,good lay
Like some sort of charicature of teenage one dimensionality
I remember picking up a half empty
Heineken at a dorm room right before
winter finals like some sort of charcature of teenage pretentiousness and
putting my tights on, "my mom thinks I'm shopping, cute, right?"
Old floor crushing my shins minute before like some sort of charcature of teenage indulgences
"Don't you sort of miss the cold?"
I ask, picking at the cake and
the girl I used to be this time last year
infinitely more innocent weeps at
confrontation
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC
I drifted along A1A,
sunken to Heineken depths,
my thumb at attention.
Coldplay had rocked the night before
& there were long ribbons of cars
trailing the byways.
I never realized how
unforgiving concert goers are,
six hours of hitching & not one bite.
I was even wearing a tie dye.
So much for peace & love,
the good neighborly thing.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
Cold, savory, watery, long nights, blah blah blah
do one and then eagle, eagle it out, extended body, proud body, better body,
spread, spread like can't believe it
ate late te ca tate
savor with character, meaning don't drink and drive
beer, cold, beer, yes
man, beer, cold, stoic, stone
battered, battled, tender living for, dying for, kratos and all of his gore
beers one hell of a ***** loving it more, confident and barley off limit
drink at 16, away with questions
Questions quietly dissipate, questions fly out door, drink given by gods for celebrate, sadness, sigh,
some do do do some don't don't don't then make group AA why why sway sway more more support support spokes spokes can't quite nicotine quit no smote mote vote, find given god chance
some go until the end of time, merry, fat, fine
beer, lovely, bubbly, headache, heartache, attack!! woah, take it back
Guiness with eggs at breakfast
pale ale with serious males
cider with lovers
gin for expression
whiskey for metal
wine for Bukowski, God **** his beauty, soul, **** ****
Heineken for pretentious men
One more, again
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
I don't know if it's
you or the Heineken but
My heart's on fire
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 1:42 PM UTC
I think I'm startin' to get that feelin' again
That sinkin' sensation followed by intense anticipation of the end I feel I'm facin'
The hell my life is based in
Then I meet up with my fear of drownin'
Thoughts not safe havin' come crashin' in
Will I ever learn or is this far beyond teachin' a lesson
Up against my dark passenger, the undisputed, heavyweight champion
And the challenger, in the blue corner noticably panickin'
Just some guy with a crazy look in his eye but no business challengin' his demon
My Hyde side stays undefeated while I've never recorded a win
Bringin' my mental discipline into question
Knowin' my armor's thin
Knowin' I've already taken one to many to the chin
It's constant whisperin' drowns out everythin'
Top tier manipulation allowin' the interjection of it's own spin
On this tailspin my doomed zeppelin always finds itself in
I feel like I should mention, it's not one, it's Legion
Not a friend, it laid claim and became kingpin
I could only watch like I was fifth in a five deep bullpen
No consent given, not even a conversation
Rushed past me like I was a doorman at a Motor Inn
And I stood there silent, broken, incapable of motion
Often thoughts and feelings are left unspoken
Paralyzed with fear, just standin' here like a dollar store mannikin
Behind a display of 151 and Heineken
Made it easy for it to find it's way up under my skin
I hardly even knew what was happenin'
Now I don't know where it ends and I begin
Not sure there's any separation
©2023
Dec 28, 2023
Dec 28, 2023 at 6:31 PM UTC
Walk the nature trail when it's dark outside and the children are fast asleep, tucked under blankets stitched by their immigrant grandfathers. Let your shoes soak in the muddy ground, collecting dirt and crushed leaves, as you walk deeper into the forest. The birds weep as their lullabies get lost and twisted in the shadows. A deer or is it a gazelle hurries across the dirt-trodden trail, leaping into the a patch of ancient shrubs. Somewhere, miles away from civilization, is a city running on the labor of your Vietnamese father, his hands caked in red brick dust and pollen. Currently, all that matters is that the tab of acid you've taken has settled in your belly, as you cross the corroded wooden bridge to the other side of the trail, where the young adults are playing the ukulele and drinking Heineken.
I am empty like the pill bottle on my brother’s nightstand.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 4:25 AM UTC