"johnnie" poems
In pubs with bar flies.
Kronenburg, Becks, Carling, Stella Artois and Fosters,
Dancing in our blood,
Utterly inured; we are endured by all:
The solipsism most profound.
And when Johnnie, Jack and Jameson join,
The sentimental and the morbid
Are conjoined.
And ****
In the custody of beer halls,
The shadows that draw, fade,
And calls – e’en Death’s! -- are put on hold!
No time; instead, before the last, another pint.
For in this hallowed inn,
Drinking what’s in the glass,
And espousing the glow within,
Cares regress.
No woes,
Or loaded psyches,
For when the pressure builds,
The best: a jet of yellow bliss,
Relieves the pain,
On Armitage Shanks' porcelain.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
The Lego men.
Sat in the toy box playing with their bricks.
Johnnie the little fella took them out to play
Daddy put a board in the garden just upon the patio.
What was just a piece of ply grew before Johnnie's eye.
He tipped them out onto the board.
Went inside to fetch a drink and get a spot of near noon brunch.
A thriving hive of industry, was hidden in his plastic box.
He came back outside and all was built.
Castles and gardens, palatial palaces.
The Lego men had built a perfect village.
Nobody knew they could.
Just a little shocked.
His little sister Jennifer, she hid behind the garden wall.
It wasn't the work of the miraculous Lego men after all.
Who would ever have believed that the toys came out to play.
(C) Livvi
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
Strange question indeed,
So I asked one and all;
Explain to me:
“What's a plumber's ball?”
Family and friends
Heeded my call,
But none could confine,
Refine or define it,
Yet Paul was sure
He could design it.
Still, none could satisfy
My caterwaul:
“What the hell is a plumber's ball?”
Does it sweat the pipe
Or wiggle the snake:
Can it clamp the ******
For Heaven's sake?
Could it snap on the cock-hole cover?
All these queries
Made me wonder.
Has it something to do
With hardness leakage,
Or ******** the ball-cock
To stop a seepage?
Has it anything to do
With a saddle valve dripping,
Electric eels,
Or two pipes mating?
And, I heard of male and female fittings,
And should I worry
If I'm standing or sitting?
If you're discharging the head
Or elongating the pipe,
Does the plumber's ball
Help it snug tight?
Is it in my tank,
Or in my bowl,
Beneath the floor
Near the drainage hole?
Is the plumber's ball
In the back of the truck
(Jeff laughed and said
One could rub it for luck).
I asked Michel
If he could tell,
He sensed it was something
He could smell.
I sought out Ray,
Perhaps he'd know,
But he was on call
To restrain a back-flow.
I couldn't ask Gary
For his wisdom and sense,
He was wigglin' the snake
To unclog a wet vent.
Henry, Rick, Scotty and Brian,
Gave shameless answers
I couldn't rely on.
It's not a crapper, tail piece
Or Johnnie-bolt,
Or catch basin, reamer,
O-ring or pipe dope.
So I searched the Net
With a fool's wonder,
And read of ball-checks,
Gas ***** and plungers.
I know it's too late
To ask Rolly or Ross,
For both of them knew,
And that's our loss.
And Ernie's gone golfing
So I can't ask the Boss.
With final resolve
I fell to my knees,
To pray St. Ferrer
With grace intercede.
His silence left me
In a state of depression;
Had Ferrer washed his hands
Of the plumbing profession?
So nothing could settle
My wherewithal,
I still didn't know,
What's a plumber's ball?
Suddenly, it hit me,
He's never wrong,
The Dalai Lama of dip-tubes,
I'll ask John.
Where others did falter,
John's a rock:
He knows the difference
Between a gas and ball ****
With a knowing smile
He embraced our Hall:
Here, good friend, is your Plumbers' Ball.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
I always feel my best with pulsing veins
of Absolut or Johnnie Walker neat,
or devil’s dust to take away my pain,
a thin syringe injecting hell’s deceit.
Though sorrow loses strength with needle sting
and moods arise with belts of liquid heat,
I know the tingling twitch will always bring
electric blood when morning comes to greet.
But still I struggle with the current’s craze,
euphoric numb that always plugs and sways
the battle in-between the nights and days,
the sunset hour with all its shades of grays
where all the choices made are surely wrong-
I wake at dusk and start my morning strong.
Sep 5, 2010
Sep 5, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
Nothing is going to protect us from the human condition
We can have fortune and fame
Be on the top of our game
We can be a rocker
in Lost Wages
We can be a woman with a small child
Trying to do welfare to work
We can dance the tango with a Friday night ****
We can be busted for another dui
We can be the head of the corporation
We can even be Paul McCartney
Michael Jordan
Kennedy may be our name
But nothing is going to protect us
from the human condition
I've gambled and won
I've gambled and lost
Millionaire wives die of cancer
Joanie's Johnnie gets SARS
Steve Jobs takes the last dive.
A truck driver falls asleep
A thirty seconds delay winds up catastrophe
So sorry!
Nothing protects us from the human condition
There are mine fields all around us,
most we don't even see
We can be in Mosul
We can be in Aleppo
We can be in Somalia
We can be in Mozambique
One ember, a conflagration
One breath of air, a hurricane
One drop of rain, water everywhere
Twisted Bill Cosby
his son
murdered while changing a tire
Your name can be Whitney Houston
mother and daughter
have died
Ronald Reagan's dementia
he didn't remember a thing
The list of the names
it never really ends
all that fame power and fortune
All of the pain loss and suffering
of me and you
Bad moods ain't seen nothing yet
There is no protection from the human condition
You can set me up another one
I'm drinking to
"how it goes "
I hide out
I come out
I'm probably like you
I don't know what I'm supposed to do
except
find slices of delight when able
There is no protection from the human condition.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
I am Phil
I am Phil
Phil I am.
That Phil I am
That Phil I am
I do not like that Phil I am.
Would you like to drink some Scotch?
No Phil I am. No I would not.
I would not like to drink some Scotch.
Would you drink Scotch on the Rocks?
I would not drink Scotch on the Rocks
I think it tastes like ***** socks
So get down off that Dewars box
I will not drink a Scotch with you
No that is something I won’t do
I might drink ***** might drink gin
But drinking Scotch would be a sin.
Would you drink some Chivas Regal?
I think Scotch should be illegal!
What is it that you do not get?
I just don't like the taste of it!
Scotch just doesn’t suit me well
I do not even like the smell.
Give me wine or give me beer
But don’t talk to me when Scotch is near.
Would you like a single malt?
I don’t like Scotch. It’s not your fault.
Would you try some Lagavulin?
I won’t drink Scotch; I’m not foolin’
I won’t drink Scotch all by myself
With you or anybody else
I hate the smell
I hate the taste
To serve ME Scotch
Would be a WASTE!
Well!! You don’t have to cause a scene
Just try a sip, see what I mean
It’s really not that bad, at all
Don’t drink the bar stuff, drink the call
All the ‘Glens’ are really nice
Drink them neat, add 1 cube ice
One ice cube brings out the taste
Two or more would be a waste.
Try just a sip, and you will see
Then you might drink a Scotch with me.
Oh Phil I am
Oh Phil I am
You wore me down.
Was that the plan?
I guess I’ll let my scruples slip
And try a Scotch – a tiny sip.
Sip. Sip. SSSSippppss.
Oh (licks his lipsss)
This is good. This is really good,
I think that I can taste the peat.
It’s not too smoky, not too sweet
It’s not at all what I expected
Now I’ve got my thoughts collected
My admiration resurrected
I think I like Scotch, Yes it’s true.
I think I'll drink a Scotch with you.
In fact, Phil, I just might have two!
Do you have some Johnnie Walker Blue?
PwL April 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
Oh! saturday nights spent
wishing for my father to come early
and tell me "I love you"
Sunday nights spent awake
waiting for his return
to drive me to school on monday mornings
How my mother, my little brother and me
curse the day he became best friends with John
Knowing John changed it all
all board games now in the back of our wardrobes
with dust on top of them
waiting to rot
Sometimes, I waste my birthday wishes
pretending they'll work out
wishing for my father
to have never met John
My little brother and me,
now replaced for slot machines,
gambling tables and spliffs
Give me a hint, dad
should I still call you like that? Nah.
Now I've met this "so called John"
and I do not like him
he makes me do funny stuff
His silhouette is bright
and he uses a cane
I don't like him, "dad"
Please stop seeing him
I know you say
he helps you to get through
but does he help us? No!
Maybe one day mom will have the guts
to sign that divorce paper
and hand it to you
I hope she do it soon
The saddes part is, when I asked you to quit John,
you said, No.
"Why?"- I said.
"Because Johnnie is the only one who tells me to keep walking".
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
Why do the best things end
before they ever really start
and the travesties of life
never come far enough apart
And that always bitter taste
is never washed away
by Johnnie Walker Red,
Minervois or Chardonnay
Why did the sun that rose each morning
choose one day not show
And leave me here in darkness
with no place left to go
Does this mean its gone forever
never to return
Will I never feel its warmth again
will I never feel its burn
Or like the phoenix from the ashes
will it rise again reborn
Over a freshly woven landscape
no sign of sorrow, fear or scorn
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 8:31 PM UTC
She says, "tell me more about you handsome"
I tell her I am Johnnie Alvarado, I am soul searching
She says, "No, tell me what makes you different from the rest"
I tell her I am expressive as the Italians,
I am passionate as the French,
I speak as **** as the Spaniards,
I am artistic like the late Pablo Picasso,
I play with words like captain J Cole,
I am as adventurous like "Captain Jack Sparrow"
I am handsome as the African men, but a rare gem
I am like Naruto Uzumaki I never give up
I am an African and I pride myself in that
I tell her I have a will of fire and that i am a museum full of untold tales waiting to be told.
She can't help but but say "You've touched me without touching me"
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 11:29 AM UTC
so ****** in the face of it
at the end of it, your perception
on the nose of it
this feeling in my nose
this tingling wall
this numby crunchy face on my face that blocks out the light and the truth and the life .... that's how it feels .... sorta
how crazy does that read?
i'll bet it reads ugly.
i'll bet it reads sick.
it should because its a description of drugs crazy people, ie. people like me take to try to feel less crazy
they make your god **** face feel like it jumped rebellious,
eyes, ears, nose, throat, turned traitor.
Escitalopram
Buproin
Nuvigil
Lithium Carbonate
Quetiapine
Abilify
Risperdone
Harpoon IPA
Johnnie Walker Red Label blended scotch whiskey
it seems there can come a certain special kind of time in a man's life,
when he can feel weird and lonely enough
to type a few words
and call it poem.
******* Bukowski.
this is his legacy. the possibility to do what I'm doing right now.
without that disgusting, self-centered fool
I never would have thought to try and write these weird feelings I'm feeling.
a little attention,
that's what strokes this need.
a few incidental internet readers,
to read this strangely pointless pontification
on the bits of sadness that are me.
i wish i could find an open field
and lay back comfortable
in the crisp cold air
and feel the stars shoot through me
my heart pounding in the dirt
and waiting for *** or sun or wolves or rain
or anything else you might call "love."
i wish for more death
or more life
I can't stay here.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
Today I went to my control panel and I uninstalled Love.
Thats right, I clicked add/remove programs, I clicked Love, I clicked uninstall.
But you know how it works, it didn't all get removed. Some "user files" got left behind and I'm supposed to remove them myself but I can't find where they're kept. I can find "the day you met me at the airport" with nooooo problem whatsoever. But I can't get rid of it because I don't know where its kept. So it haunts me. Same goes for "the closet" and "the mirror". Instant recollection. That used to be huge, that used to remind me that it was real and not just some dream I'd had.
But now its torture.
I though if I uninstalled Love then it would take all that with it and it would stop hurting.
But it didn't
and it hasn't
I should have uninstalled Love years ago when it wasn't being used and it just sat there doing nothing. It wasn't taking up any resources, it wasn't interfering with anything or slowing things down.
But then you came along.
And it sprung into action. Suddenly it consumed everything, it was running all the time and sure it slowed things down a little and sure some stuff didn't get done but it felt good. It felt so good. Every day felt like the first day of Spring and every night was spent dreaming of lying in your arms and it felt great.
But then the network crashed
the connection got broken
and while Love kept running it started to cause problems, its ground everything to a halt. It became like one of those viruses that just slowly chips away at your resources over time until you got nothing left.
After a few months and numerous attempts to get the connection back I finally admitted defeat and accepted things were over. And it hurt so much, too much.
So now I have no use for Love. Sure its nice when it runs ok but it crashes, every time it crashes. And I dont need that kind of hurt again.
So its gone.
Removed.
Uninstalled.
All I gotta do now is remove the fragments left behind.
And I'm pretty sure if I install enough Johnnie Walker I can flush those right out.
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 8:24 AM UTC
A warped neck on a Fender Strat , a broken bottle of Johnnie Walker Black . Torn felt on a mahogany billiard table , catfish fillets scorched on the fire , rendered inedible ..
A marvelous , precision tractor engine seized from loss of oil , a bumper crop of peaches killed by frost ..
An empty bottle of malt vinegar , wind blown lovely cherry pipe tobacco lost forever ..
Red ripe homegrown tomatoes shredded by hail , soft shelled pecans dropped in the well ..
First snowflakes of Winter melted on warm city streets , green grass left to die beneath a cloth sheet ..
Concord grapes dried on the vine , watermelon picked before it's time ..
Homemade biscuits burnt in the oven , true love within reach left undiscovered ..
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 1:36 PM UTC
My name is going to vanish into nothingness one day.
"Johnnie Woods" who wrote a few poems, a cluster of atoms that developed illusionary consciousness. And now this consciousness starts to deny itself. I'm writing this text, I'm thinking 'bout what I'm going to write, I'm thinking about me thinking about me going to write it. And I'm writing it all.
My poems are pointless and my words and thougts are abstract.
All poems are pointless. This website is pointless. Cries and sadness and emotions are pointless. Everything is pointless.
Don't go this way if you wan't to retain your sanity. Atoms. Atoms.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 7:34 AM UTC
life’s such a film
independent b movie
badly written
poorly edited
dialogue all too real.
starring me as the main character and
I am the producer
director
script writer
cameraman
and I plug it
to every Fallon out there.
and … scene
after his struggles,
the main character filters out
not in a blaze of glory
but noose in hand
rat poison and
Johnnie Walker on his breath.
He didn’t want to end up like his mom
but look at him now.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
I never new you very well,
All I knew was,
You were gay,
You were my uncle,
Your name was Johnny,
And that I loved you.
I don't remember much about you,
only that you were tall,
had brown hair,
and that you were kind.
I think,
You will be happy to know,
That you have a great niece named after you,
Her name is Johnnie,
She is four years old and very out going
When you died,
I remember being sad,
I knew that you death had been slow,
I knew you had died because something in your body,
failed.
The only thing I know about you,
Is that you died because of ***
I will never forgive that desiese
for taking your life.
I wish I could have gotten to know you more,
I love you.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:55 PM UTC
8/17/2014
Her name was Joy Jenny Jeffers,
known only really as Jenny.
I loved her for the way she’d sometimes
sit up in bed at four twenty three am,
the linen bunched all around her naked
knees,
and she’d proudly and dully proclaim
to her imaginary friend
perched on the wall:
“Frankly, Frankie,
I don’t
think this
relationship
is going
anywhere”
I’d laugh, call her a doll
“Oh Joy Jenny Jeffers,
I love you too much,”
with a slap, call me Jenny,
she’d plop back in the bed.
(This all happened
in the dark,
don't you remember..?)
I loved her for the way she would
put wildflower honey
in her black coffee
and one time, hungover, she poured in
canola oil,
which she drank anyways,
Which would prompt a swift
“Oh Joy Jenny Jeffers,
I love you too much,”
as i drank my St. John’s tea
laced with Bacardi.
I loved her for the way she hated
animals and music,
for the way she burned off a strand of
hair when curling it,
for the way she blinked when an eyelash brushed up against her iris.
I loved her for the way she said Frankly, Frankie, and I loved her the very same
when she started preforming old tricks
in front of new patrons,
when Frankly Frankie became
Frankly Johnnie or Frankly Helen,
I loved her all the same,
And in this i realised i didn’t love Joy Jenny Jeffers,
but I loved the way a certain woman
got an eyelash out of her way,
fixed her earrings when they caught,
comforted sickly children halfheartedly,
and I loved the way a woman went about waking up at exactly four twenty three am every night or morning to say
"Frankly,
Frankie,
I don’t think this relationship
is going
anywhere.”
With the linen
all around
her knees.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
Johnnie was not much of a talker in fact at times not much of a walker
He seldom caused humor, but he has brought death
Dressing in scarlet and Tuscan sun colors
So neat and straightforward or so I thought
Underneath it all was a facade
Removing my clothes and stealing a kiss
I knew the risks, but yet, I allowed myself to taste
I yearn to swallow the amber nectar's spice
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:02 AM UTC
Sometimes,
I feel I should drink my problems away
Heartbreaks
Losses
and many more to name
Warm liquid going down my throat
My lies are responsible if I choke
Screaming in my pillow
Troubling the next door widow
I am drowning in my sorrow
won't remember a thing tomorrow
I sit alone in this cemetery
With the Old monk and his friend Johnnie
In a void,
I let out a shout
I love this maze
Not long from now
I'll be a nameless grave
I sound so plaintive
yet I refuse to admit
that intoxicated me is so much better
In this situation
reality doesn't even matter
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:22 PM UTC
My dad taught me how to throw a baseball
And how to throw a football.
“Thanks, Daddy!”
Every time we walked back inside,
“Thanks, Daddy!”
He tried to teach me how to ride a bike.
Even though I fell…I lost count…
I still said, “Thanks, Daddy!”
Coaching track to little kids last summer
Brought back good memories from my childhood.
I remember Johnnie,
Little Johnnie with brown hair
And blue eyes
And the biggest smile a kid can have.
I see myself in him,
Minus the brown hair and blue eyes.
He always wanted to learn more of track
And I always wanted to coach him more.
“Coach David? Can you teach me the 200 meters?”
“Sure, Johnnie!”
He would answer with a “Thanks, Coach!”
I always see his mom dropping him off
And picking him up.
Every time after practice he would say, “Thanks, Coach!”
And all I can do is give a pat on his head
And say, “Good job, kid!”
Last day of the program, I gave him a medal
And you know what he said to me?
“Thanks, Daddy!”
I stood there as he ran to his mom
And I thought, “Yeah…thanks, Daddy!
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 1:48 PM UTC
/ donald trump is here?!
on these splendid, splendid isles?!
really?
where was the past week?
good thing that i bought
that johnnie walker red label
especially for the occassion -
without actually knowing it was
to take place...
i guess you might call
watching protests on t.v.
a bit like:
going to an illegal rave
party in an abandoned
industrial building
somewhere in
dagenham, or shoreditch,
or 'ackney...
britain is not getting what it already
wants -
i can understand blatant
flattery, and airs, monsieur,
monsieur bleu, rouge et blanc...
the one time that britain looks...
bedazzled?!
frizzy haired...
the sort of comic sketch
of a **** scene where the man wakes
up having sobbed himself
to sleep, in a disney cartoonish
way expressing frightened awe
and the words:
[what] the **** just happened?
'ave a tongue for a **** mate.
- honest to god though:
where have i been for the past week?!
i've paid attention to the football -
croissants, or, chequers?!
hmm...
oi! two face, what's
your gamblers' pundit?
- let the slavic sub-plot
'ave it,
if goran (ivanišević)
could do it, this ******* litter can do it,
given they reached the semi-finals
in 1998...
and believe me:
some people...
*are really jealous of the chessboard
representation on fabric, shh...*
or at least that's what i whispered
into the ear of lucifer,
hermitage's secondary
(only to achilles)
schwarz, mouse-catcher;
and if i'm wrong -
then i'm wrong:
but since i don't actually gamble using
money...
i tap into the emotional
excitment of gambling -
within the confines of expectation
of being right...
somehow, gambling,
but where what i bet with is... zeit...
and grooving to boris brejcha,
tantra of a DJ set...
**** me via my ears
and call me Sally...
nod nod nod...
(ten minutes later):
nod nod nod...
(15 minutes later):
nod nod nod (with an added
drumkit imitation of the whole
body starting to form a scary shadow
of a man sitting down
before a blank pixel screen
seeing letters and words appear
like a god might
see stars, and constellations appear
in the dark, dark: voooooooooo
'oid)
which is no proof that i made
a hiccup. /
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 7:13 PM UTC
Like a Siren calling me
Relentlessly to death,
The Liquor in my cabinet
haunted my every breath.
It started out quite innocent-
A dram sipped here and there-
Progressing ounce by ounce into
a sordid love affair.
A beer or three drunk at the game-
I was good company.
But drinking in the parking lot
made me disorderly.
Cold winter evenings lost their gloom
once my pints had been consumed.
I lost my wife and family
And live in rented rooms.
I had to get myself some help
To rise from my despair-
I sat in meetings at my Church
On a folding metal chair.
I have a mentor guiding me
He’s been to Hell and back.
He always takes my phone calls
when Johnnie Walker wants me back..
And so I will not drink tonight
Two weeks now I’ve been sober.
I spilled the drink into the sink-
I think, I hope, it’s over.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 10:57 PM UTC
The night is young, most lights are out. You're a sad one if at the end of the night you are without. You fail to flash flair if you dare have doubt. It's the nightlife and there are multiple exchanges. It's wild, the young are free and they don't fear the dangers.
The saaz hop pops and the syrups drop. Jack is swallowed, Daniel follows and sons feel like paps. The captain is shot down and Johnnie leads the way so even in the morning they'd keep walking. It's a feminine thing at the Red Square when joy and tears are shared. All feeling bubbly they smoke on hubbly. They reach their destination when the Three Ships land at the breeze of the Southern Comfort. The boys walking down the streets reeling say hi time and time again - but it sounds like Heineken. It is a thriller, she Miller, when she sinks and the body turns into an ocean.
These syrups, energizer potions, inspire wilderness. They get loud and walk proud as friend and he have fine girls for the night found. Scream "uhm-I'm still" for it is the beverage that tells - it is Amstel. High and drunk, in loose mode, the thought reeling in mind is "take off clothes" - play with pole. Sleep with the girl that he has stole. Stories of old, not for folks (only amongst peers are told). It is he weak a man, he who chokes. He who can't make it to the morning.
Drunk emotions are starting, it's time to head for the bed. And all the while, the thought reeling through their minds as they move side to side, is that it was no fantasy and conclusion that reel is real
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 4:57 AM UTC
That codeine buzz
Johnnie Walker high better in lounge than air
because you don't fly enough for them to love you
**** it down while you can.
Proportion pharmas well
No Xanax pre-layover
Nobody likes an airport sleeper
And only your mum catches wheelchairs
off planes.
Give me night trips,
hot hostesses
to while away the time
while I burn my life through
this strange jet-propelled existence
loving only freedoms expressed
between confines of steel.
Freedoms reduced
our liberty sharpened,
exalted with easy available power points.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC