"liquors" poems
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little ****** skirts!
There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.
But colorless. Colorless.
15.5k
In the storm-tossed
Chilean
sea
lives the rosy conger,
giant eel
of snowy flesh.
And in Chilean
stewpots,
along the coast,
was born the chowder,
thick and succulent,
a boon to man.
You bring the conger, skinned,
to the kitchen
(its mottled skin slips off
like a glove,
leaving the
grape of the sea
exposed to the world),
naked,
the tender eel
glistens,
prepared
to serve our appetites.
Now
you take
garlic,
first, caress
that precious
ivory,
smell
its irate fragrance,
then
blend the minced garlic
with onion
and tomato
until the onion
is the color of gold.
Meanwhile steam
our regal
ocean prawns,
and when
they are
tender,
when the savor is
set in a sauce
combining the liquors
of the ocean
and the clear water
released from the light of the onion,
then
you add the eel
that it may be immersed in glory,
that it may steep in the oils
of the ***
shrink and be saturated.
Now all that remains is to
drop a dollop of cream
into the concoction,
a heavy rose,
then slowly
deliver
the treasure to the flame,
until in the chowder
are warmed
the essences of Chile,
and to the table
come, newly wed,
the savors
of land and sea,
that in this dish
you may know heaven.
14.4k
Smoking weeds,
drinking hard liquors.
Party all night,
til day light.
Things that are new to me,
things who understand me.
When i'm feeling down,
when no one is around.
Gat Jose Rizal said
"kabataan, pag-asa ng bayan."
But society never guide me,
they don't understand me,
instead, they disowned me.
Now, people of this society,
who are you to judge me?
I beg you to please guide me,
because ignorance hit me.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
1753
Through those old Grounds of memory,
The sauntering alone
Is a divine intemperance
A prudent man would shun.
Of liquors that are vended
’Tis easy to beware
But statutes do not meddle
With the internal bar.
Pernicious as the sunset
Permitting to pursue
But impotent to gather,
The tranquil perfidy
Alloys our firmer moments
With that severest gold
Convenient to the longing
But otherwise withheld.
3.8k
On
The counters of poetry
I dock and lock myself
Then
I scope on the bottles of liquors seductively
And spellblind by their syllables
I took the shakers and hybrid
The Similes
The Onomatopeia's
The Nemesis'
The Near-Rhymes
And The Triadic-Lines
Then I gulp fourteen shots of Sonnets
From my paper-glass
And glug a paradox
Or a foil-sigh
Trice,
The knots
Bundling my eloquence
Will exonerated itself
And torpidity will cuff my consciousness
And the droplets remains in my paper- glass
Will impel me
To quest for myriad of them
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stock on a comedy chair
Then
When the
Limbs of time tread
Will I rush to the counter
Like the athletes at Olympia
And hybrid
The Blank-verses
The Alliterations
The Limericks
The Litotes
The Aporia's
And The Dysphemism's
And
Gulp countless
Yet measured shoots
Of Ballad,with my paper-glass
And unravel the oratories
Of sacred secrets,eclectic enchantment and regrettable reflexes
Aside,or injects the world
With my rugged pins of eruditions
Bestowed in me by the liquors of poetry
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I'm not drunk!
I
Will slur
With half an eye open
As if the other is broken
Stocked on a comedy-chair
Again
I will rush
To the counter,and hybrid
The Exaggerations
The Personifications
The Imageries
And The Caesura's
And
Gulp uncounted shoots
Of Epic's from my paper-glass
And
Eulogise my steam and wit
Yet,I'm drunk
And deeply drunk wholly
By a might that mortify me so much
That I've become a slave
In the awe of my servitude
Now and then
Will I weep and wail terribly
Each morning,each noon,and each night
For the great demise of myself
And for an emancipation
From the perpetual counter-cells poetry
I'm drunk,and deeply drunk by poetry.
Deeply Drunk
©Historian E.Lexano
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
matt’s hats tom’s tools & tobacco lou’s liquors fred’s beds dale's doors frank’s planks bill’s drills jane’s drains & panes chuck’s check cashing cheryl’s barrels hank’s tanks tina’s trucks & tractors walt’s asphalt sean’s pawn rick’s rifles mom’s guns terry’s tires charlie’s harleys rhonda’s hondas jim’s rims art’s parts gus’s gas mike’s bikes frank’s feed gwen’s pens ann’s cans nancy’s nursery joes‘s clothes jess’s dresses bert’s skirts steve’s sleeves paul’s shawls michelle’s shells & bells al’s pails & snails sam’s hams & jams patty’s pancakes phil’s chili don’s donuts betty’s spaghetti bob’s burgers alycia’s quiches jean’s beans jerry’s berries anna’s bananas andy’s candies cathy’s taffies tony’s ponies roy’s toys ron’s batons kim’s whims marty’s parties jill’s pills rick’s tricks alice’s palace debbie’s disposal dave’s graves
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 5:53 AM UTC
I've been where you are
In the darkness
Filled with night lights
Sweet liquors and scents
That dull the ache
Distracting you from your heart:
The heart that you hate
For loving someone far from reach.
I've felt the agonies
Of misunderstandings
When my words could not be heard,
And my soul remained unseen
Because I was drowning
In my own lies and stories:
Falling from my own heights,
A million miles above the crowds.
I've walked this path
That you're dragging yourself on.
I've held the hand
Of self-betrayal in a dark room
And wondered if I'd make it:
Til morning... til the light came.
I've been the one screaming,
Everyone thinking I'm laughing;
I've been the broken one.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
Ink and rabies flows in our veins. Copper cogs hold our eyes into place, and we can see the undulating liquors flowing like waters in a transparent waterbed, rolling back and forth with gravity.
Ink and rabies flows in our veins. They came with togetherness, in the same pen, passed along, gently, from one hand to another, a friendly enough gesture, cultured, combined, colluded into a single consciousness of tactful inks together, tactful links together, a single solvent.
They were once separate towns...separate people...until Radii Ink and Yuli Rab were together...
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
These ides have kept me thus far
Sustained, am I, eternal
By their food of self-sacrifice
The jester’s tasty wine
Imbibing insults wrought by fool’ry
Again, reciting the dirge for pride
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Despite the ru’nation
Hoist! Ye ru’nous hands
My repute in mortification
A fool by their and my demands
I see my shame, long shadow cast
In light of sobriety
Ignominy and truth of me
Divorc’d n’er they be
Still taste of cheap liquors, distilled society
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Full knowledge, have I
The disservice I do
Only time will heal the wound
To shy away, acceptance is
A lovely balm on par
My image in tatters, though brazen I be
The ides have kept me thus far
Let them laugh, for I know they do
Not to me, but within and among
I am your entertainment
The source of all your jeers
My life, a blund’ring show
I am an actor, my blight for years
A part to play, it’s pleasing though
To thrive upon your mocking and time
Comforting knowledge, that
A fixture, am I, your Thalia
The ides have kept me thus far
Erected austerity, enigmatic walls
Fortifications around me
Charged to keep the chaos in
My heart, it truly calls
I am not so noble
As the sun will attest
Know me as the ascetic,
See the shrieking eccentric,
Know me as the philosopher
See my wit pathetic,
Know what is outside is purely for show
See that is internalized, is
So ********* antithetic
Each and every time
I hide my face in shame
My pride and my name, my actions did thus mar
But I will heal, I always do
The ides have kept me thus far
This is my mantra, an empty cadence
A mist to latch on to
With every refrain of wretched debauchery
Each weekend played anew
Though I stay to bear the howl
Of my dissonant, ugly hymn
I listen to the hardened ones
Their failures but a din
I wish to change the thing I am
At least to those who know
I’ve heaved the chance to the icy mar
Onto the cracking floe
I feel the daggers of humiliation
Plucking at each stitch
I’ll just smile as though I like it
For in effect I do
But it’s becoming unbearable
The walls beginning to bow
Imperceptible, if my resolve she lasts
Though this is nothing new
But I’ll just grin and carry on, for
The ides have kept me hitherto.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
The dikasts had cast their votes,
and their votes had sealed my fate.
I serve as scapegoat for my city,
which has been in decline of late.
Banishment would have been death,
a lingering one for me.
So I managed to persuade them
to vote for the death penalty.
So now friends I become
a Hemlock connoisseur.
Others favor wines and liquors
but my poison is more sure .
To be sure, the juice was bitter,
and I drained it down in haste.
It is not the sort of beverage
for which one acquires taste.
I am, in truth, no Democrat
and My gods were not their gods.
My constant questioning annoyed them
which is why we were at odds.
The chill has reached my *****
and soon now I will sleep.
but one thing on my mind
requires that I speak:.
“Crito, we owe a ****
to Asclepius,.
Make sure it is paid
please do not neglect it.”
I cover my face over
as my heart slows and stops.
A mystic fog envelopes me
as the boatman’s ship departs.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 9:13 AM UTC
i want to be your angel
you bring out the sin in me
stuck in a k-hole when i'm with you
right where i want to be
lines that blur and lines that burn,
dark liquors make your stomach churn,
his tongue has never felt more right,
falling down the k-hole tonight.
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC
I am the sticky *** of bubble gum
clinging to the soles of your new sneakers.
I am the early morning hangover
from a night of ***** 12packs, and too many liquors.
I am the static of a dead line
during a phone call ended too soon.
I am the prickly sliver of grass
that popped your kid's balloon.
I am the creaky staircase
in your hundred year old house.
I am the shattered windows
and even the annoying mouse.
I am the chocolate ice cream cone
that you dropped on the ground.
I am the lump in your throat
when you try to talk but can't make a sound.
I am the demons
that live inside your head.
I am the hunger that's never satisfied
no matter how much you've been fed.
I am the scary thoughts
that keep you awake.
I am the long black hair
that you found in your cake.
I am the blemishes
that cover your face.
I am the sore ankle
that kept you from winning the race.
I am the tear drops
from breakups and heartache.
I am the one who tantalizes
when you make a stupid mistake.
I am the war going on in your mind
and the deadly games you play, too.
But now it's time for check mate:
will I die? Or will you?
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 3:05 PM UTC
Drown my sorrows
instead of myself.
My liquors top shelf.
She doesn't kid herself,
she's clinically insane
only alive for the game.
Sadness is all she gains.
She doesn't watch the rain,
she's too busy sleeping away the pain.
To keep herself sane.
She throws back the pills
with five in her grasp,
she keeps going and starts to laugh.
This is the way a psychopath acts.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Sipping on the sweetest of liquors
But poison soon to be
That fuels famous fools and lovers
with tears of a bitter enemy
Eventually the oldest friends
Will ****** that bottle down
Til throats dry up and tears don't flow
And then we'd rather drown
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC
Rock’n’roll radio died
Between gasoline riffs
I love Texan poker
She smiled with classic liquors
Realise that I want your lips
Gamble success where strangers bleed
Roadside taboo
Lay bare, please,
I want to give you one hot date
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
there were lights blazing to the east
but her eyes were fixed to the west
someplace out in that darkness he rode into the night
with his gun in hand to regulate the doubters
she lay in the aftermath of the gunfight
with her cards and flowers
wondering where she had gone so wrong
wondering if she would ever get that white picket fence
with the two kids and all the fixins of her dreams
dawn begins to do its silent dance
as she worried the edge of her dress
and looked so like a lost angel
fallen from grace but holding her own
she will make breakfast for the townsmen
and serve up the hard liquors
just a matter of time she thinks to herself
before he will come back this way
take her up to the bedroom with promises on his grin
and for a moment she will believe once again
that itll all change
he will take her far away from this place
someday she will have the dreams
but for now she slips the ring into her pocket
and gets back to work
someday
someday
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
**Tomorrow We will take death
Before we must Sacralize**
**We shall feast Last Sacrament
Liquors, Harvests Plump guts, Drunk voices**
**Divine Ghosts Eat,Drink,Be Merry
For Tomorrow We shall die**
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 8:57 AM UTC
Swift bee, the gilded messenger of bliss,
Begirt with golden stars of Heaven’s span,
What draws you to the clover’s gentle kiss?
Sweet nectars, that the strongest drinker can
Carouse with dreams and dizzy waves of sleep,
Or mocks the freshest breath of summer’s clime?
Swift bee, a flame-plumed star of black and gold,
Why do you with your mouth, completely reap
The liquors that each golden bud does hold,
And lulls with somnolence the might of time?
Oh, bee, you spread the tufted pollen clouds
Like nebulae of opal stars crossways
The delicate, soft digitalis crowds,
Which passionately garner sunbeam rays
Within their coral shells. I can’t express
How much your toil’s worth to coming spring,
And how so passioned glide your wings around
The purple, gentle harebell’s loosened dress,
And make, through pretty hums, spring’s hopeful sound
Oft too profaned by your most fearsome sting!
Oh, pretty hummer! Hearty worker! Bee!
I see you roaming round the garden’s bend,
Where sweet, white daisies wreathe a canopy,
And make you but a hearty, cheerful friend.
Swift bee, the aching, swollen heart of mine
Desires comfort where pain knows no ruth
The buds hold, like rich garners golden grain,
Ambrosia of the gods, dream’s honeyed wine
So bring and let dear bee, such moisture stain
My lips and warm my heart with spring’s bright youth!
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Dark nights trade lights between stars and skyscrapers
Bar liquors and odd favors, lingering thoughts to dry papers
In a laundromat where fiends stay at 'til they find their change
And exchange life stories of wars that are strange
To some, deranged folks pile up quarters for a dime
Peace, reminisce on simpler times before they hooked on crime
I, wonder when it was that their dreams started fadin'
Up late in corners are the insomniacs tradin'
Chemical mixtures in the same churches they prayed in
Now they seek aid in gateway drugs to unveil
The gates to Heaven after they've done jail
Sentences diminishin' what's left of their presence
In a sense, innocence leaves no room for vengeance
Against the cash that rules, souls, gold chains and jewels
Late nights in swimmin' pools of miseries and dues
Drawn in my notebooks on a midnight cruise
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC
In the early sun, a dew soaked swing set basks in rust as we play
I find your eyes at the window watching.
Smiling.
I am safe. I know this.
Concrete paints my knees red.
And you totter over with peroxide and a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
You'd find a path to the sun if only it stretched my popsicle lips into a smile.
I stalk home past midnight; a stomach gurgling with liquors I can't pronounce.
I find you on the couch flipping channels as your eyelids turn weak.
You approach me with a slap I was expecting.
Then a hug
Then a slap
Then a hug.
I am safe. I know this.
I'm panting with worry. My mind racing. Each thought like a poorly aimed bullet.
But you somehow find a way to extinguish them in your fists.
Until my smeary wet mascara stained cheeks swell into a laugh.
I am safe. I know this.
It is winter and you sense my eyes so flameless, fragile.
I am restrained by the presumptions of my fate.
My arms have been ripped from my sides so naturally you tear off your own limbs for my use.
Your appendage helps me to climb.
I'm out of the ditch. Because I am loved.
I am safe. I know this.
It is industrial where the stringent work. I cower at the mass of its stolidity. But even then I find you, the earths drippy clay molding to my quirky nervous and dissatisfied self.
Everywhere else.
I am safe. I know this.
And my dear mother.
You are loved. I hope you know this.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
It's funny how I spent lots of time writing about fixations
Without noticing those words written were already my pain killers.
And now, I don't have to stick with cigarettes and liquors,
I know they can burn parts of me like a piece of paper;
Poured with kerosene and match sticks to easily widespread a fire.
And as they burn me,
Hoping memories will also scatter flowing against the wind just like an ember.
But those times when I was still under your pressure,
I never felt compression behind these chests when we started to chisel;
I never felt sincerity behind your "I love you" and that's the ugliest thing I can remember:
When you kept on telling me that you love me but it was never genuine enough that it turns out to be a vine that's tying my neck that I need to sever.
You were my glorious endeavor,
But it turns out to be a game some thing you're good at,
And I'm sorry because I can't play your games because I'm a loser;
I'm a loser in a game of three's.
I'm sorry I can't flow your games of emotion because I get easily bleed.
I kept on telling people around me that when it comes to love I am a fragile being,
I befriended tolerance of emotional pain.
That when I start to hold the paper and the pen,
Your name and our memories comes out with a blood stain.
And I need to wake up from this beautiful nightmare;
And I want to escape from this mediocre love of ours.
Wake me up from this aesthetic grave,
I want to feel alive just like how I spent my time with my own self in the park.
My friends once told me to follow my heart,
But when I did, it tore me apart.
I will not blame them from my brokenness because I know they just wanted me to be happy.
I will just write about fixations till I can treat myself a better therapy
See, those nights when I was still crazy about you,
My friends despised me for forgetting them as a part of me.
They never knew I was battling alone because I don't want them to feel pity.
I remember that very night you told me you'll always love me more than you do to other guys.
And I can't put myself still,
So I have to sever 'us' and I'll be the one to say goodbye.
Good bye, my dear
You'll be categorized now as a history of a tragic fear
You put me into this fear where I can no longer identify a better atmosphere
In every angle of my room it gets darker and colder
My affection in sadness makes the room a little bit lighter
Because whenever I think of you,
It makes me feel dumb that I didn't listen to my friends telling me you were the liar.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
You can bleach your hair
Or cut it off with a butcher knife
All of this done by candle light,
In the middle of the night
Get him just drunk enough
On perfume liquors in the backyard
And whisper little things about
The parts of you made of glass
Trace his name across
Your open veins in vibrant reds
Mailing him dim lit photos
Of scar tissue evidence
Crash your car into the drive-in movie screen
Think about how things could have been
If you never let it slip
That you dreamt of his top lip
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
There are too many times where I’ve destroyed my body
In order to destroy my thoughts.
Too many times where I’ve added hard problems to my long term life
Just to subtract myself from the quick moment.
I’m talking about drug, alcohol, and cigarette usage.
I’m talking about those days where I want my mind to stop working so badly
That I personally picked a poison to start destroying it.
I’m talking about those times where I hated my reality so much
I swallowed down a pill in hopes that it would distort it
Momma told me that smoking kills
So I bought a carton of cigarettes to test if she really does speak truth or lies
No matter what substance I turn to life will always get more ruthless
Satan is always five steps ahead me
Whenever I even glimpse at the road to recovery
In order to find that slight view of happy
I pop another pill in hopes that this time the effects will last
I pop it in hopes that I never have to pop in another one again
I pop it knowing in the back of my head
This could be my destruction
Codeine is not known for curing mental illnesses
Yet I’ve convinced myself that it’s my only prescription.
And I drink until I can’t feel even the slightest of tinglings
Make sure to take my medicines with a hard shot of whiskey.
Because the longest suicide attempt takes form in addictions.
It takes the form of needles and unmarked orange containers;
It floats around in the smoke that your lungs bathe in;
And it fills up the empty liquors bottles that you keep on leaving.
You don’t have to cut up your body in order to **** it
All you have to do is poison the **** out of it
A cigarette a day keeps the your sanity at bay
Another liquor bottle meeting your lips helps get you closer to the apocalypse
The more you snort up your nose helps your body decompose
We don’t pop bullets in our heads
We pop pills into our immune systems
We somehow thought that a long, painful death
Was more appealing than a quick
We aren’t exploding our brains
We are slowly murdering them
Tiptoeing into the inside
And taking the nerves out one shot at a time.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 12:30 AM UTC