"moonshine" poems
Summer heat summer sweet
With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt
Birds n tha bees escape the trees
Please don't plant your seeds
But throw the leaves
Up n up
To get down and drop
Where the dirt pops
Ken keseys ashes
Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment
Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day
Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small
Tough love
Tough life
Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks
Swisher wraps over the curves
Got me feelin lucky like a charm
Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine
Till we hit the caribbean
Then Jack's got me headin for tides end
Early
Flush the bile outta your system
And spiral out of controls iron hand
**** responsibility, Apathy rules all.
Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey ***
In n out, fast n slow
Nicotine dominates
My senses are lost at Molly
That ***** finger ****** my life
Made me *** every time
This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far
I mean
What do you expect?
A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions.
Peace my brotha
Dandy danny says theres a way out
-side with the rap culture
Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill
The glass
Is too cracked to be see-through
West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders
Forever green is my state
Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your ***
Equality's the goal
**** race
**** sexuality
I see soul
Open up
Show me your beat
I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us
Quit
Obeyin the brand
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
I’m sick of hearing my life’s a haiku.
I’m into magic, love, and other sorts of things that are typically voodoo.
I’m half ***** from a half assed absent African baby boomer brat.
I’m half white trash.
Here’s a well formed of dried tears turned into something to sooth my canine teeth.
It tastes like Moonshine.
I can’t swim anymore, so I’m here drowning in a concrete pool.
Always, I look for the hell in you.
I sharpen my boot knife for ****** assault protection.
The first swipes for the plus 200,000 in counting.
The seconds for the 66 percent underreported.
The lasts for me,
the 29 percent victims aged 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, and 12.
We have a higher rate of risking everything.
For depression x3.
For committing suicide x4.
For post traumatic stress disorder x6.
For alcohol abuse x13.
For drug abuse x26.
You all think I’m crazy,
I’m not.
I sometimes get called
stupid, ugly, ***** and thot.
I’m in pain, in sorrow.
I can’t help it.
He did it.
No one can undo it.
What do we do about it?
I wont scream, I won't cry.
I’ll ask how he’s doing with glitter and tears in the corner of my eye.
And after he's done molesting me,
"Want to go grab some coffee or tea?"
Personally, I like the cafe down the street.
They sell good brunch with amazing croissants.
And after this is over,
I’d ask him how it was while he turned me over.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
deadbeat
by Natalie Elizabeth (Notes) on Thursday, April 7, 2011 at 10:42am
the knowledge i hold
neatly stacked inside my head
makes me want to *****
and laugh my *** off
disgusted
smells nasty like moonshine
fermented
rotten
taste bites the back of my throat
pulling up unwillingly, bile
clear bitter bile
turn my head and casually spit
**** kid you make me sick
but all i can do is laugh
pitiful
it came down to this
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
there's nothing like
jumpin' in a mountain stream
to wake you up to life
except maybe a swig of moonshine
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Every couple 'a years or so
Our family reunites
It takes a couple 'a years or so
To recover from the fights
A family like our'n
Doesn't party like most do
Ours gets a little out of hand
That's why we have so few
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's daisy dukes and forty Lukes
They're racing trucks and burning rubber
There's jugs of moonshine everywhere
And at least a hundred bubbas
There's a smoker fired for the food
the size of two large trucks
It hold 4 cows, and fourteen pigs
And at least a hundred ducks
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's pickled this and pickled that
And things you just can't swallow
That used to live down in the swamp
Way back there in the hollow
There's at least ten shotgun weddings there
And the groom might be rail roaded
But, the wedding isn't legal
If the shotgun isn't loaded
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's greased up pigs and muddy runts
And at least ten bobby sues
and when they all get greased up
You can't tell which is who
There's horseshoe pits for tossing shoes
And games of every sort
Most of them aren't legal
And would get you into court
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
But, it's the way we like it
Drinking shine and acting out
Tossing things that aren't tied down
And wrassling about
There's music there of just one kind
It's country and that matters
Any other sort of sound
Sets the crowd off like mad hatters
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
There's always someone who's so drunk
And it's normally the preacher
Last year we married him off
To the back up first grade teacher
There's Chevy trucks of every kind
And one covered in sod
Mary Lou showed her tattoo
"Jeff Foxworthy is my God"
It's the best time of the year for us
And it's sad when it must end
but, you gotta haul your *** away
When the cops come round that bend
It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
It was cold city night,
The hours with sounds dying,
It seemed life had escaped,
To the other side of the world,
I rocked for hours with my child in my hands,
I dreamt about her life to come,
Like I often did,
A little eased at the fever subsided.
As I slipped into the clutches of sweet slumber,
My head slumped down,
In what seemed like a blink of an eye,
My head swung up to search the sky,
Where the gold of the sun
Seemed to chase away the night,
But there was something not right,
The morning seemed to bring a sense of change,
Not of the good kind.
As I felt my child, burning up like the coming sun,
I hurried my way to the physician,
Like a saint he answered to my prayer,
Asked me to wait behind while he tried to cure my life,
I never realized until he gave me the handkerchief,
That with my baby I’d been crying,
Her cries echoing foul against my ears,
I’m hurting as much on my helplessness
To take care of my child,
Who is part of my flesh,
Part of my being on the verge of...
Part of my being that I brought to life.
I began to sing to my baby a lullaby,
“Don’t cry my child, I’m here right by you,
For you I sing this lullaby, so you may fall asleep.
In the moonshine, your face glows,
You look like the princess
A queen you’ll grow up into,
Leave me someday for your king,
But till then be with me always,
Even when you learn to walk,
My child, so I can fulfill your wishes,
So you’ll remember me always,
So I can protect you till your king comes,
So I can teach you to walk and run.
Don’t cry, you make me cry too,
Sleep now my child, tomorrow
We’ll begin anew, for you’re alright,
This discomfort will pass… Oh look!
It’s already morn, the sun shines bright!
I see you’d fallen asleep,
While I kept dreaming on,
Open your eyes my child,
A new day has come.
As I finish, I realize that you stopped crying,
But to my plea, you never opened your eyes.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 7:57 PM UTC
Unmoved by your arrival from the west coast,
ten thousand little things are different.
It’s October and the trees are on fire:
a forge that you won't notice, 'til you're gold.
Your Kicks don’t leave footprints on these cobbled streets;
even the children have old, leathery hands.
Try to paddle-board the Eno and the bass go belly-up:
that river’s for scattering ashes and making moonshine.
All they sell at Aldi is ethnic shampoo,
so now your hair twists like the roots you’ve lacked
'til now, because all you’ll ever need is two hands:
for prayer, and work.
Life moves on like a cigarette’s drag,
while somewhere Hope’s fiddle strums;
Take off your headphones and
go put your ear to an oak.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
Smelly Feet
In the sun, feel the heat,
and the odor of my smelly feet.
All people squeezing their nose,
from the cheese between my toes.
Shoes melted on the road,
smell spreading to the next zip code.
Even I'm wearing a gas mask,
sipping whiskey from my flask.
Feet burning as I start to run,
stick a fork in them, they're done.
Still a mile left to go,
I can see my feet as they glow.
Leaving melting skin far behind,
left sunglasses home and going blind.
Hot tar starting to melt,
I'd do anything for a conveyor belt.
Soaking feet when I get home,
Pretty soon, I will see bone.
My house is just down the block,
vultures circling as they stalk.
Getting worse is the odor,
laughing at me is the Caddyshack gopher.
The Rock wants to know what I'm cooking,
it's my feet, that is brewing.
The smell is spreading worldwide,
my feet are now Kentucky fried.
People cheer as I reach my door,
**** my feet are very sore.
Sprayed my feet with tough acting Tinactin,
burned so bad it melted the rest of my skin.
Soaked my bones in cold water,
never have I felt a road more hotter.
Sprayed Fabreze for about an hour,
then I took a long cold shower.
Moonshine and pain pills dull my pain,
it was my own fault so can't complain.
Now I wear special shoes,
my smelly ***** feet even made the news.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:04 AM UTC
Moonshine drinking
Pork rind eatin
Deer hunting
women chasing
tabacco chewing
Bass fishing
Rebel flag wavin
Pick up truck driving
Redneck!!
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
Because the thirst wouldn’t simmer; it ruptured cities into boils,
turned cultures into armies, an armageddon of cheeky stubborn Irish Catholics and thick veined Germans couldn’t imagine a world without their stout hearty headed pint.
Because white dry protestant angels thought crime existed in a vacuum, in a filthy saw-dusted saloon, the hub spawn of evil.
Because twice as many of those saloons were ******* by unlicensed blind pigs, not through free swinging doors on the streets, but in the domestic sphere; in the dark crept crevices of household sanctuaries.
Because bootlegging capitalist princes turned the industry into a stenchy liability with their home brewed distilled poisons. Alky cookers wrapped the commodity fetish and dubbed it moonshine.
Moonshine – spirits for the poor and blind.
Because this social reform was a moral reform lost in the oblivion of politics, lost in the timeliness of progressive spring-cleaning referenda’s.
Because the ragged, toothless class had to be scold, striped clean of their traditional barings,
because wisdom is everything and they’re spirits ran vilely wild.
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 6:57 AM UTC
"Redneck Family Reunion"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v;=jfHwg22ZqhU
(Verse 1)
A family like ours don't party like most
Ours gets a little out of hand
They're racing trucks and burning rubber
And tearing up all the land
There's jars of moonshine and daisy dukes
Everywhere you look
Ol' Bocephus on the radio
And catfish on every hook
(Chorus)
It's a redneck family reunion
Everybody has a good time
Eatin' all of grandma's cookin'
And drinkin' all of grandpa's shine
You're never gonna go home hungry
If you make it home at all
Yeah, it's a redneck family reunion
And everybody has a ball
(Verse 2)
There's horseshoe pits for tossin' shoes
And games of every sort
Most of them ain't legal
And will land your *** in court
4 wheel trails that will lead you to
Way back in that hollow
Don't you dive head first into that pool
You know it's way to shallow
(Repeat Chorus)
(Bridge)
It's the best time of the year for us
And it's sad that it must end
But you know it's time to head on home
When the cops come round the bend
(Repeat Chorus)
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
***Your home is still here, inviolate and certain.
Thank you, oh Lord, for the white blind light.
Jumped, ****** born to suffer.
Made to undress, in the wilderness.
Our love so found a safe niche
Where we can store up riches and talk to our fellows,
In the same premise of disaster.
Thank you, oh Lord, for the white blind light.
Let me tell you about heartache and the loss of God,
wandering, wandering a hopeless night.
Moonshine night, mountain village insane in the woods,
in the deep trees, in the deep trees, in the deep trees.
Your home is still here, inviolate and certain.
Oh, I want to be there, I want us to be there,
oh I want to be there, beside the lake, beneath the moon,
Cool and swollen, dripping its hot liquor.
I want to be there.
Thank you, Lord, for the white blind light.
A city rises from the sea.
Let me tell you about heartache and the loss of God,
Wandering, wandering a hopeless night.
Let me show you the maiden with wrought iron soul.
Out here in the perimeter, there are no stars.
Out here we're ******
Immaculate.***
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 12:51 PM UTC
I'm no good in a kitchen but, I can cook stuff all the same
Around here, say "the recipe" and most folks know my name
It hasn't changed in fifty years, and folks still drink it up
I've been making it with my granddad since I was just a pup
I"ve been racing cars through out these woods since before most learn to drive
I've been chased by cops and revenuers, I surprised I'm still alive
The funny thing, they know the route, and I always make the border
Because if they ever caught me, I would just cancel their order
Magic comes from our hard toil
Once it travels through the coil
We cook it slow on a low boil
It's cooked according to old Hoyle
It's magic in a glass
And it'll put you on your ***
In all the years that we've been cooking we've only moved on twice
Not because the cops found us, but because of all the mice
Grandpappy started cooking when the jobs round here dried up
And me, I've been his helper since I was just a pup
Everyone's on credit, we all live on iou's
There's still no jobs around here, there just isn't no good news
But, if folks round here need healing, we've got magic in a jug
Our granddads old elixir is a moonshine mountain hug
Magic comes from our hard toil
Once it travels through the coil
We cook it slow on a low boil
It's cooked according to old Hoyle
It's magic in a glass
And it'll put you on your ***
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 2:28 PM UTC
The gleaming moonshine on your hair,
fragmented star splitters in your eye,
your smile repainting supernova's glare
appoint you the ruler of my sky.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
Angels have wings
Well, it depends on your perception
When I first saw you I swear nothing could describe the connection
You looked into my eyes, saw my soul, smiled at me, reached for my heart then offered me resurrection
You asked me why my heart hasn’t been beating in so long
You took a closer look ,saw that it was falling apart and you sung to me a gentle song
And the sound of your voice filled me like air
The touch of your fingers felt like care
My broken heart now pumpin’ racin’ screamin’ cause the last time it lived
it lived in fear,
You tell me Angels have wings
Well, you haven’t met mine
Her kiss is like sunshine
Her soul is like moonshine
Strong, glowing , illuminating
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 2:26 PM UTC
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+ ☆ +
+ ⭒ + + +
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+ ⭒ + ⭒ + + ⭒ + +
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+ ⭒ + + + ⭒ + +
◒ + + + + ✸ ⭒ + + + ◓
+ + + + + + ⭒ +
+ ⭒ + + + + + +
⭒ + + + + ⭒ + + ⭒
+ ⭒ + + + + +
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+ ☆ +
◑
she pins stars to the ceiling of my dreams ☉ and makes milkshakes of meteor dust and moonshine ☉ in my day, she sleeps swaddled in a billowing blue counterpane of boundless reflection ☉ in my night, she dances a path to eternity ☉ leaving me breathless and in awe of her spiralling splendour
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 12:06 AM UTC
mornings I get up
early and watch
the night sail
into a water
bucket so I
can wash
over in
moonshine.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
Bittersweet,
lick the rim,
feel the chill,
on your skin.
Piercing liquid,
climbs down your throat
Yet lifting up,
in the room you float.
Your vision struggles,
to keep up.
As you tip the glass,
and begin to ****
And a grin streaks your face
But it lacks it’s natural grace.
Artificial happiness,
Results in bitter loneliness.
Regret always follows,
When the day strays to tomorrow.
Addiction keeps you faded
Far into the moonshine
You have waded.
The bad taste
Turns times to waste.
Your twisted into a wicked trick.
Whisky dreams come and go too quick.
But life keeps going
The pain,
still growing.
Without you even knowing.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
I'd be broke
no doubt
no one knows about the internet in the 20's
so my programming skills wouldn't get me very far
I haven't read enough about historic sporting events
to make any money gambling
I wouldn't even know how to apply for a job
would I have to use a typewriter to type my resume?
I could start a moonshining business
but I wouldn't know where to get the moonshine
I could predict the future for a fee
but I would be limited to things that happen in the distant future
perhaps I could write a fictional novel of a dystopian future
and just write my memoir of everything I can remember
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 6:39 PM UTC
It’s
a quarter past four
In the middle of
nowhere
With a
full moon on the
horizon
I just couldn’t help
Thinking it’s the
Perfect time For the
Wolves to roam wild
With that in mind
I
Tossed and turned
No matter what I did
I just couldn’t fall asleep
It’s
one of those nights when
You have too much on
Your mind it just wouldn’t
Let you rest
Until you put it
To rest
With no other option around
I felt like I needed to write
Just
to let some steam out
I
looked up to the stars
Above like a wishing Well
And with
Pen and notepad in hand
Poured
me some moonshine
In
the task of rising up to the
Stars above
And Sit back
Watched the moon
Merged with my shine
You
know it’s a great
Night when you’re aiming
for the stars
Mind racing
Excitement beginning
To build
Heart pumping
Pen in hand
Ready to write
Just
to realized
I had nothing in mind
To write
At all
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
Far narwhaled
silly monkey speared
aquatic creature cucumbered
another mammal tonight
On the fishing boat,
they reeled in both bodies
the monkey frozen solid
narwhal flapping harmlessly
They asked the monkey how it happened
his reply was this:
So they took his wide-eyed frozen stare
as for an admission of guilt.
his shock spoke volumes like
a speaker being blown out.
Tonight, the sailors drink moonshine.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
For all who have been wondering
Let me set the story straight
About the hillbilly holidays
Before it gets too late
We don't have an Easter possum
This tale is just a myth
It's a cute little bunny with a basket
To collect our Easter eggs with
And Cupid don't wear overalls
And fly around with a gun
He shoots them tiny little arrows
But we know it's all in fun
And Santa still has his reindeer
Not a horse tied to his sleigh
We leave him milk and cookies
Not moonshine like they say
The Tooth Fairy is not toothless
This simply isn't true
She always leaves us money
Just like the rest of you
And of course that leaves Thanksgiving
So what else could I say
We eat turkey like everyone else
On this Hillbilly Holiday
So now that everyone understands
That hillbilly is just a name
It don't matter where you live
Our holidays are all the same
Hillbillies are like everyone else
And there's nothing for you to fear
If you ever have anymore questions
Well, Ya'll come back now, hear?
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 9:04 PM UTC
A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,
Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ****** in the shambles of the moon,
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
behaved haughty and in disdain,
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
roving like noble patrolsmen.
Traveleres and trainees at sea
humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
volatile and toiling,
tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.
Hence the heroes heed
to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
in the murky shadows of doubt.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
Turkey hunting with his pappy
The dogs let loose into the marsh
Birds flew out, and guns went off
The end result was rather harsh
Willie Joe jumped first at nothing
Shot at turkeys in the air
First shot missed, but hit a target
He'd shot Jim Joseph in the ear
Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun
Jolene was all set for college
Had a baby on the way
One quick fling in the hay with Joseph
There was nothing left for her to say
Joseph stood and did deny it
Said that Jolene told a lie
Jolene's daddy got his shotgun
And with no wedding, Joseph'd die
Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun
The wedding went off without trouble
Both families were there in force
Jolene's dad had brought his shotgun
The best man was old Joseph's horse
The moonshine flowed like holy water
There was no jar that wasn't filled
And through it all, poor pregnant Jolene
Wondered who would end up killed
Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun
The preacher preached and people listened
Amened here and there throughout
A few well placed hallelujahs
Praise the lord was heard no doubt
All dressed in black with eyes just shining
He couldn't have done smiled more
For who in town knew that the preacher
Owned the gun and ammo store?
Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
And the preacher would refill the gun.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC