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"ouzo" poems
Giannis Antetokounmpo Drinks Ouzo In his Greek Freak Pumpkin Spiced Latte The grande size is $5.25 USD Salary of Giannis Antetokounmpo $24.16 million USD Per year One USD per meal (Meal Math) $24.16 million USD feeds 1,655 families of four per year GO BUCKS GO!
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Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 3:48 PM UTC
Bucks Starbucks
An altitude of ale A barometer of beer A circulation of champagne A depression of damassine An equilibrium of eau de vie A fractus of fenny A gust of grappa A hail of horilka An isotherm of icewine A jet stream of jenever A kilopascal of kirsch A layer of limoncello A metamorphism of mead A nocturnal of nuvo An overcast of ouzo A persistence of porter A reaction of rakia A storm of sake A torrent of tequila An updraft of unicum A vortex of ***** A winter of whiskey A disaster of drink
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Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 10:10 AM UTC
Drunk Weather
Let me tell you a true story of tragic love; And you had better believe it, for there's no lie. 'Twas on the Isle of Kos that I met Helga one day, Sitting in a taverna, sipping an ouzo. I sat down and we soon exchanged a word or two, Flirting and teasing 'til the sun sank in the sea. I suggested a walk on the beach (subtle move) Which is when I received a nice little surprise. She stood up in all her glory and then I found That she was well over a eighteen inches shorter than my humble self, A genuine short-arse with a prosthetic leg to boot Which promised me something rather special. Nothing put out, we ended up in my bedroom And I shoved my hot tongue right up her angelic **** "Did you like that?" I enquired (a gent as always) "It was repulsive," she replied with a slight sneer. And when we woke up together the next bright morn I found she had vomited on my bedside jeans, Before leaving me alone on the encrusted sheets. Unfortunately the jeans shrunk a bit when I washed the puke out And their exquisite tightness on my private parts Reminded me for several days of this amorous encounter. Was her criticism of my oral skills her unusual Norwegian humour? Perhaps she really meant to call me her Übermensch? Maybe it was sarcasm and got lost in translation So stimulated was she post-orgasmically. One horrid thought still remains - she might have meant it (after all, as Nietzsche once said so observantly "in revenge and in love woman is more barbarous than man."). And thus I am left with confused memories of that night: Her face was that of blond angel but her tongue was sharp And it really was a crying shame about her leg-stump Which wept slightly.
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Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
Memories of Kos, Greek Isle of Hot Love
Let me tell you a true story of tragic love; And you had better believe it, for there's no lie. 'Twas on the Isle of Kos that I met Helga one day, Sitting in a taverna, sipping an ouzo. I sat down and we soon exchanged a word or two, Flirting and teasing 'til the sun sank in the sea. I suggested a walk on the beach (subtle move) Which is when I received a nice little surprise. She stood up in all her glory and then I found That she was well over a eighteen inches shorter than my humble self, A genuine short-arse with a prosthetic leg to boot Which promised me something rather special. Nothing put out, we ended up in my bedroom And I shoved my hot tongue right up her angelic **** "Did you like that?" I enquired (a gent as always) "It was repulsive," she replied with a slight sneer. And when we woke up together the next bright morn I found she had vomited on my bedside jeans, Before leaving me alone on the encrusted sheets. Unfortunately the jeans shrunk a bit when I washed the puke out And their exquisite tightness on my private parts Reminded me for several days of this amorous encounter. Was her criticism of my oral skills her unusual Norwegian humour? Perhaps she really meant to call me her Übermensch? Maybe it was sarcasm and got lost in translation So stimulated was she post-orgasmically. One horrid thought still remains - she might have meant it (after all, as Nietzsche once said so observantly "in revenge and in love woman is more barbarous than man."). And thus I am left with confused memories of that night: Her face was that of blond angel but her tongue was sharp And it really was a crying shame about her leg-stump Which wept slightly.
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On a sound route map of the ‘70s, his church-trained tenor voice verging at times on falsetto led  hordes of people to go on holiday to Greece and Spain. It was romantic, Mediterranean, a perfect music background to sea, “The morning sun”, ouzo and sangria. Beverley, in the play  Abigail’s Party voiced devotion to Demis Roussos in her opinion: “He doesn’t sound fat.” Kaftan-clad flowing black hair: Demis was called “The Singing Tent” Such poetry in song will last forever.   Sing it again Demis.   Tobias “He had a superb voice. He was an artist, a friend. I hope he is in a better world.”     Nana Mouskouri. Lyrics Ever and ever, forever and ever you'll be the one That shines in me like the morning sun Ever and ever, forever and ever you'll be my spring My rainbow's end and the song I sing Take me far beyond imagination You're my dream come true, my consolation you'll be my dream My symphony, my own lover's theme (Ever and ever forever and ever) my destiny Will follow you eternally Take me far beyond imagination You're my dream come true, my consolation you'll be the one That shines in me like the morning sun (Ever and ever, forever and ever) my destiny Will follow you eternally Songwriters: Robert Constandinos / Stylianos Vlavianos
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Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 12:18 PM UTC
"He Didn't Sound Fat".
Yes! It's another "Barry Hodges" poem! Let me tell you a true story of tragic love; And you had better believe it, for there's no lie. 'Twas on the Isle of Kos that I met Helga one day, Sitting in a taverna, sipping an ouzo. I sat down and we soon exchanged a word or two, Flirting and teasing 'til the sun sank in the sea. I suggested a walk on the beach (subtle move) Which is when I received a nice little surprise. She stood up in all her glory and then I found That she was well over a foot shorter than my humble self, A genuine short-arse with a prosthetic leg to boot Which promised me something rather special. Nothing put out, we ended up in my bedroom And I shoved my hot tongue right up her angelic **** "Did you like that?" I enquired (a gent as always) "It was repulsive," she replied with a slight sneer. And when we woke up together the next bright morn I found she had vomited on my bedside jeans, Before leaving me alone on the encrusted sheets. Unfortunately the jeans shrunk a bit when I washed the puke out And their exquisite tightness on my private parts Reminded me for several days of this amorous encounter. Was her criticism of my oral skills her unusual Norwegian humour? Perhaps she really meant to call me her Übermensch? Maybe it was sarcasm and got lost in translation So stimulated was she post-orgasmically. One horrid thought still remains - she might have meant it (after all, as Nietzsche once said so observantly "in revenge and in love woman is more barbarous than man."). And thus I am left with confused memories of that night: Her face was that of blond angel but her tongue was sharp And it really was a crying shame about her leg-stump.
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Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
Memories of the Isle of Kos
Yes! It's another "Barry Hodges" poem! Let me tell you a true story of tragic love; And you had better believe it, for there's no lie. 'Twas on the Isle of Kos that I met Helga one day, Sitting in a taverna, sipping an ouzo. I sat down and we soon exchanged a word or two, Flirting and teasing 'til the sun sank in the sea. I suggested a walk on the beach (subtle move) Which is when I received a nice little surprise. She stood up in all her glory and then I found That she was well over a foot shorter than my humble self, A genuine short-arse with a prosthetic leg to boot Which promised me something rather special. Nothing put out, we ended up in my bedroom And I shoved my hot tongue right up her angelic **** "Did you like that?" I enquired (a gent as always) "It was repulsive," she replied with a slight sneer. And when we woke up together the next bright morn I found she had vomited on my bedside jeans, Before leaving me alone on the encrusted sheets. Unfortunately the jeans shrunk a bit when I washed the puke out And their exquisite tightness on my private parts Reminded me for several days of this amorous encounter. Was her criticism of my oral skills her unusual Norwegian humour? Perhaps she really meant to call me her Übermensch? Maybe it was sarcasm and got lost in translation So stimulated was she post-orgasmically. One horrid thought still remains - she might have meant it (after all, as Nietzsche once said so observantly "in revenge and in love woman is more barbarous than man."). And thus I am left with confused memories of that night: Her face was that of blond angel but her tongue was sharp And it really was a crying shame about her leg-stump.
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That's Ouzo, Not Oozo, Not Oozu, I've had a few.
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Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
Pom Ouzo
Staring in the mirror. What's staring back at me. A naked flower with falling petals. Bare and exposed. Clothed in streaks of green leaves. Vine I believe. Dolmades' with uncooked lamb. More likely mutton alternatively. Served up with ouzo. Staggering about in aniseed dreams. Feed your eyes. On what you cannot see. Fired from elastic catapult flying free. Cupids arrow missed. Guess he's always pi**ed. At the bottom of his list. In a filing cabinet somewhere. Let the world forget. No regrets. (c)Livvi MMXV
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May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
STARING IN THE MIRROR
.                                        a                                 p    pe    p                               e       ri       e                              r         ti         r                             i           f            i                            t         a   p          t                           i         e      r          i                           f         i       t          f                           a        i       f          a                            p        a    p          p                            e         e   r          e                             r           i             r                               i          t           i                                 t        i          t                                   i      f        i                                     f    a     f                                           p
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Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Ouzo
.                                        a                                 p    pe    p                               e       ri       e                              r         ti         r                             i           f            i                            t         a   p          t                           i         e      r          i                           f         i       t          f                           a        i       f          a                            p        a    p          p                            e         e   r          e                             r           i             r                               i          t           i                                 t        i          t                                   i      f        i                                     f    a     f                                           p
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