"quaffing" poems
This poem is by Norman Stevens in response to MY poem about HIM. Have made some minor changes.
In Willy’s Bar on High,
Sheltered from Cleethorpes sea and sky,
Paul Butters utters words of cheer,
While quaffing his pint of Willy’s beer.
He sets about his spicy meal,
Loading up for his evening’s sport,
When he’ll aim to be the real deal.
Owner Bill’s Angels prepare another stew,
To help down another “home –made” brew.
They nip outside for another “staff meeting”,
Paul says they’ve gone for a ***
But THAT I’m not repeating.
Throughout these capers,
Norman reads his informative papers.
Sipping his Nectar Beer,
He’ll leave in good cheer.
Norman Stevens
Assisted by Paul Butters
(C) PB\NS 17\11\2015.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
My body steeps in this hot sarcophagus,
Coated in fake butter topping.
I watch trollops quaffing hoppy-scotch,
Flipping wristwatches for moves to jump rope two-and-two.
Like when I was 10, and I saw this ***** white trash can of a man,
Fly out of a grocery store with a 40oz like he was Peter Pan.
But I knew deep down, in my swashbuckling soul of souls,
That Peter Pan got Wendy by being a gentleman.
So this fever, that has my mobile phone not shaking in my pocket,
I keep staring at every five seconds for you to call.
Is just another moment in my life to cherish, because if we should be married, And I want to talk. I'll just need to walk down the hall.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 9:29 PM UTC
*A full orange moon
Hung upon the horizons
As we were quaffing ale,
Bleeding funny talk
And thrilling tales
She thus asked me
Why I could hardly look
Into her eyes for long?
And being enveloped
By timorous clouds
I could hardly say a word
For her eyes glowed like*
"A couple of colliding galaxies"
*Hence could hardly
Bear the light before me.
© Kikodinho Alexandros
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 5:07 AM UTC
230
We—Bee and I—live by the quaffing—
’Tisn’t all Hock—with us—
Life has its Ale—
But it’s many a lay of the Dim Burgundy—
We chant—for cheer—when the Wines—fail—
Do we “get drunk”?
Ask the jolly Clovers!
Do we “beat” our “Wife”?
I—never wed—
Bee—pledges his—in minute flagons—
Dainty—as the trees—on our deft Head—
While runs the Rhine—
He and I—revel—
First—at the vat—and latest at the Vine—
Noon—our last Cup—
“Found dead”—”of Nectar”—
By a humming Coroner—
In a By-Thyme!
1.8k
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Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 9:47 PM UTC
The Jasmine smiles
her tiny ivory trumpets
curving upward like elephant tusks
miniature cream colored cornucopia
quaffing silver showers
from my garden hose
I blink though the fine spray
a rainbow apparition
ripples midair
“Look Ma...” I whisper gently
“a rainbow...”
my Mother standing beside me
in the garden...leaves her
Alzheimer’s world for a moment
remembering..........
God’s Beauty, Wonder and Splendor
Dedicated to my Mom who passed away with Alzheimer's 2/1/07
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
The handsome man entered the Pub hand-in-hand with his father, then sat in the far corner ******* his thumb and humming, whilst the chocolate ice cream he had demanded from Daddy was ordered.
Us regulars hid our sadness by quaffing our brown pints of Rev.James and keeping up the joking banter.
Then, came his mumbled song.....
“Balll uut eass swept -
Chimrrrrr, Chiirriica,
war is never won”
Church quiet, the village pub listened lips clamped tears swelling
***** cut swapped with eyes -
Chimerica, Chimerica,
war is never won”
As Steve, a veteran and hero of two tours in Afghanistan,
regressed further into childhood...
.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:30 AM UTC
No excess drink of beer and wine
Which sparkle and taste verily fine,
Thou my quaffing mouth,
Neither of whiskey nor of brandy
That does make feelings randy
And turns a gent to a lager lout.
Altogether
Transient merriment it giveth and succour
To the soaked jolly soul--much liquor--
I do, my goblet, gather.
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 3:18 AM UTC
There's a golden stair,
That leads to a realm but so fair,
Where we shall stroll hand in hand
Upon shores of the golden sand;
Whilst quaffing from nectar streams,
Streams of blissful eternal dreams;
Making merry all day-long through the night,
Till the bursting of the dawn light,
In lands perpetually free from strife,
But pervaded with unending life
Of mirth and everlasting joy,
That none canst never destroy.
Come ye, come with me, come with us,
To a golden stair I'm proud to call Jesus.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 11:42 AM UTC
And everyone's O'Toole
But in a bliss of ignorance
They fashion him the fool
For whoever saw an Irishman
Vesti-ing a luminous emerald hat
The size of a navvie's bucket
Upon a wirey titian mat
Or quaffing pints of soylent ale
for the Irish wine they can't abide
With phoney tears for the troubled years
whilst faking Irish pride
No, tis not O'Toole who is the fool
But every other class of twit
Who imagines that to dress in green
Bestows one charm and wit
For when Patrick's feast is over
And the clock past midnight ticks
your false fair weather Fenians
will disavow us 'Bastard Micks'
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 8:15 AM UTC
Chocolates, hearts and flowers are ubiquitous in the markets or stores
It is like a frenzy storm, like heavy raindrops rushing through the gutters
I am told at the big mall, it’s like Christmas Eve, where procrastinators
Are buying boxes of chocolate, flowers, candies of all kinds and colors
Candles, jewelries, intimate pajamas, and **** accessories for loved ones
Wow! Love must really be in the air or something different is quaffing
The oxygen, which is necessary and essential for our survivals. Something
Is in the fresh air, where the moon is full and craziness makes no sense
In this fascinating world, where babies are slaughtered and innocent victims
Are cursed, beaten, jailed and killed: I ponder and wonder. They don’t care
It’s is a show of tradition, not a show of unconditional love. I cannot bare
Not to say anything about what I’m witnessing and living. Bad dreams
Endure; they don’t last. Nightmares see the devil in the dark in your bedroom
I guess, hope and pray that Saint Valentine can improve the current events
Yet, I am afraid of the hypocrisy, which behaves like evil rats and pesky ants
Yes, I am confused, shocked and bewildered by so much extravagance for only one day
I write and pray that true love rains and reigns, and tolerance shines on Valentine’s day.
Copyright © February 13, 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 3:50 AM UTC
The Influence of Arborfield which is still On My Conscience
It's the guest room at Dun Jipping and I'm quaffing tepid tea
From a chipped pint *** with AAS that someone's passed to me.
And although I've tasted better tea I really can't complain
About this brew I'm drinking now, I think I should explain.
When young and given jankers (seven days and never less),
The powers that be would always make us work in officers' mess.
And if, while there, we'd feel the need to go and have a ***
We'd take off lid to tea *** and urinate in their tea.
And the cook would laugh and swirl it round, the steward serve it up,
Then he'd come back to kitchen and tell us who'd had cup.
But that was years and years ago, we squaddies then but brutes
And here no one's on jankers, and we don't take in recruits,
Thus this tea that I am sipping, uncontaminated tea,
Might be strong and tepid but I know it's free of ***
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 1:37 AM UTC
There is a Chinese proverb that says
Kissing is like drinking
Salted water
Because that act of drinking
Only increases the thirst
And with your touch
There are oceans in my lungs
There are waves of brine in my throat
Knocking into sodium crystals
That dissolve themselves
Against the roof of my mouth
But the sweetness of your voice
The syrup of your kiss and the sugar
Of your promises
Turn my tongue into
Atlantic City’s taffy
And the rushes of blood through my veins
Crest and break
With white foam
And I’m wary of the silver fins and ivory teeth
That must be gathering at the call of the red in the tide
But still I swim out farther
To take in all that I can
Quaffing rivers
Streams
Rain puddles
And oceans
Until somehow my thirst is quenched
Or until I simply surrender to your arms
Because a parched throat may be maddening
But your embrace calms the waters
That made sailors reach for sirens
And it’s a red sky at night on the ocean
As we lean in for one more kiss
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Manly cowboy,
wherefore dost thou art come?
Dashing in you come,
to village so small,
riding your steed,
quaffing back the mead.
Six gun shooter
at your slim hip,
gallantly giving to every young maid,
your hat, a slight dip.
Tall and manly,
maidens do swoon.
you most certainly not,
the typical cowboy goon.
Wild and western,
visions so free,
hailing from spaces,
so large and so rare.
Buffalos and bears,
never muss your hair.
Ever, so debonair.
Roaming foreign
countryside,
taking time to hear
a tale from a guide.
Your horse is awaitin',
so don't be a takin',
too much time,
writing silly ole rhyme.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 5:43 AM UTC
Earth Mother
Fairy Queen
Friend of a thousand years.
Attraction of mind
Regaler of times
Laughter, trickles of tears.
Associated memories
Like things endured
Growing with equivalent fears.
Years soon go by
History flies
Reflecting as similar mirrors.
Beliefs being different
Colour your way
Ignoring all of their jeers.
The Earth she does lead
The Mother does bleed
You encompass with loving cheers.
I’ve tasted your salt
I’ve tasted your bread
Quaffing more than a couple of beers.
My friendship I pledge
Till the Circle ends
Long past our separate biers.
Dan Gray - 2009
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
CAIN
By Ariana Reines
The city was humming gently under me
Like an adolescent quaffing deeply
from the cup of righteousness
Out of practice with my own world
I was looking at how someone else saw it
Longer than I realized
Longer than I care to admit
Those goggles left a mark on me
Then I stared at my own face
An invitation came with my face
To melancholy while Nature
Purred at the edges of my perception
And before me lay a broad road
Enjoining me to do of myself and make
Of myself according to the American
Tradition. Secretly I felt and knew
Things I had not perceived my body
Turning into secrets. In other words
I did not notice the mechanism
By which something within me noted
My experiences and apprehensions of ‘the truth’
Would not be met with favor if I spoke them
Which is not to say one speaks only to find favor
Only that unreciprocated realities have a boring
Way of haunting the cells
Pulling them somehow down
Like the countenance of Cain
Which fell one day and never rose
Again, and the fall of his face
Rhymed with the fall out of Eden
Leading to the first murder and the invention
Of cities, where we now find ourselves
Each tower the ghost of a farmer
Who failed to meet the favor of the Lord
<|>
Anne Boyer is a poet and an essayist. Her memoir about cancer and care, “The Undying,” won a 2020 Pulitzer Prize for general nonfiction. Ariana Reines is a poet, a performing artist and a playwright from Salem, Mass. “A Sand Book” won the 2020 Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award. She runs Invisible College, a study hall for poetry, sacred texts and the arts. This poem is from her next book, “The Rose.”
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 10:24 AM UTC
the maze
inside the rules of the car
you promise me that no matter what
insane or compromising thought might
have arisen from either our mouths,
there would always be the maze to keep us as friends- naked friends. ******* friends. hot, **** blonde and brown haired beasts summoning our human equity to arouse and arraign each other, each's other:
say,
drowning in internacional shipping bombings, lost at terminals, aboard flights.
noting our beasts
the minimalist pianissimo of black and white keys, the growing spirits of a Richter violin filling us up
with anti-matter, inside this hours black tideless extremes. this place's mooring soporific tinders. You placed this cart of humanness too close to the life you live
even say,
rules i wanted to know but
never have to practise in your absence
nowness self-less and losing to the light, losing to the ocean, each ounce of life is now vastly different
inside of me
where dead worms
cannot crawl
i continue to die beside your sprawl
where heavy night brings memories of
your skin affixed n entwined
each of your twelve unspoken names
each of these hours that won't be mine
and as this box of earth resigns
its peace, i wish never to have known
this haunting sea, where quaffing like
the enigma of misery
my secret voice cannot be free
my eyes cannot bare their sight to see
if ever chance should be
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 4:02 AM UTC
the fire blows me south;
a relinquishing resistance pulls.
Mountains part starboard and port side,
Gifting my tastebuds with an Eau rose river -
eroding the human udders.
The smooth meadows enchanted a rabbit-hole;
a salty surprise enriched my lime tree.
Quaffing the rabbits -
tasting of oak and the cause of my berocca and cheeseburger breakfast -
i ****** it dry.
The bosky acres loomed as Moses seductively parted the red sea.
A 9-volt battery shocked my insides,
as an explosion baffled my thoughts.
The thick butterscotch and oyster infused creek
trickled pass a warm apple pie scented bay -
seeping into her bitter sea.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 7:54 AM UTC
To compensate for (A -Z)
ineradicable alphanumeric
character flaws (i.e. mutations
of body or mind,)
and avoid amass
sing wracking up vexatiously
undesirable threatening class
action lawsuit against
Matthew Scott Harris,
which preliminary measure
taken to avoid disembarrass
sing said individual as
a majorly flawed individual
literal shortcomings of body,
mind and spirit,
the metier of writing doth encompass
a creative realm to trump
geomorphology, sans groundmass
at the unsolicited expense
(mine alter ego i.e. worst critic)
will gleefully find,
and expose grammatical,
misspelling, spelling,
et cetera errors to harass
glommed together with isinglass
hop, skip and jumping
to appear as a *******
whereat no respect
able collegiate lass
would give a fig about me,
one totally tubular royal morass,
which expert anthropologists
stumped asper nonclass
if eye able ****
sapiens mutant ninja turtle
case in point being his
wanting in height not e'en pass
sing the six foot mark
plus mental illness
perhaps traceable to
besotted cognitive damage
inherited predecessors
quaffing an overdose of quass
made obvious peering at resulting
Ct scan results viewed
via microscopic spyglass
revealing abnormal amygdala
automatically designating
his aptitude underclass
among average human
with mettlesome Zeusian brass.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
The beast of
Self destruction
Relentlessly scrapes at my soul
Straining
Lunging
To awaken me
In the dawn hours
A psychotic
Furious
Raging bedfellow
Wraps around my neck
Pumps chemicals of panic
Through my body
Quaffing my energy
Leaving me pale
Weakened and empty
The beast stirs
As thoughts keep me awake
At 4.30am
I try to soothe its howls
With a sweeter song
Lull it back to sleep
Lest I be drawn
Into the skin of the beast
To rage with its fury
Ripping to shreds
Everything I have ever made
To furiously tear, bite, scratch, seethe
Hurt
Hurt
Hurt myself
Hurt others
Energy drains from my body
Into the scraps of what is left behind
Scraps
Of things
I once carefully built
Now, scattered on the floor
I ,weakened by outbursts
Have shrunk
But the beast
Grows larger
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
a few hours tucked under
Egyptian cotton white sheets
fluffy duvet
and fur coats
doubling as blankets
waking on a cold, cold
winter night
hot tea for warmth
legs tucked under
crossed in prepaation for
silent reflection
for silence
clouds obscuring the
bright stars and
moon's radiant light
of earlier
always a struggle
stay up with the night?
go to bed with the
stuffed animals?
these night's feel
desperately empty
without the soft breath
the soft snores
the soft padding of
little puppyhead
imbibed waaaaay
too much red vino
the other evening
watching Downton Abbey
drowning sorrow?
or simply quaffing
great red wine at the
pace of a thirsty being,
lapping and gulping
quickly and greedily
my guess is the latter
a bulk of drinking issues
stem from the pace of consumption
later that night,
startled awake by
uncomfortable tummy
sensations
crawled onto the deck
and hurled with
great gusto
wine and food
sweet memories flooding
this mind..
reminded of many a night
the sweet puppyheads
did the same
Ah... the sweet freedom
a good throw up brings
the goddesses and gods
taking pity upon
this suffering sad soul
reprised the moment
again later that night
crawling out onto cold
frozen wood
magnificent stars
the vast heaven above
looking down
smiling and laughing
stars twinkling with delight
hurling away
laughing at it so
in the midst,
feeling so close to
my sweet puppyheads
as i did
funny,
the little things
the quirky things
that make us laugh
that bring great
peace to our soul
what a blessing from
heaven to find myself
out in the yard
on all fours
on a gorgeous winter night
feeling so close to those
i miss so
don't ever stop laughing....
and crying....
you'll short your system out
and then you WILL have real
trouble on your hands.....
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 4:35 AM UTC
(the smoker you are,
the drinker you get -
never vouchsafed by this
ill eagle non substance
nor amber liquids
of the dogs imbiber).
as a mathematical abbot
weeding thru bathroom rag
i.e. regular toilet tissue paper
prior to completing important
private business matter
on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
more revered than the king’s throne
molded from a gold ingot
which the heady Mary Jane
made more than hit token appearance
and quaffing
inxs of one hundred proof shot,
Nonetheless, boy gnome hatter
her inebriated state,
she still looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry
her attired in drag
at a joint where ****
banged on by the hands
of a phenomenal drummer
taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
while blowing fractal rings –
holy marcal scott
the immediate utterance
and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still
like stone wall Jackson,
who unfortunately got shot
unwittingly by his own
(confederate troops),
whose demise an awful blot
per the southern cause
during the civil war
and if anachronism
to receive medicinal aide
available instead
of primitive treatment he got
as well as other wounded soldiers
of misfortune on the battlefield
whose faith the any almighty
power could do little to save their lot,
yet availing my imagination
to twist time like that mobius strip
mortally wounded Rebels
and Yankees free from
facing death on a cot
might be successful hemp
entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip
cotton as king as export to trot
back to lady gaga who
scorches throats yet delivers bagged
illicit goodies with bo diddly squat
narcotic as sweet
as savory kumquat
palliative that hits the spot.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 8:02 PM UTC
The snobbish din of clinking cut-glass and a murmured ambient sound,
Of fine dining the Foie gras that seems so profound.
Seems like such a class divide from yesterday’s soiree,
Of the taste of fried chicken and chips that street food provided me, amidst its mad melee.
Tomorrow will be the oriental chimes to my ears and my palette of taste,
As I rate the **** of their culinary, taking my time and never in haste.
Never minding my late last night, quaffing exoticness in cocktails and dreams,
Amidst psychedelic lights, thumping music and frenzied screams.
For I am to decide the best of the best,
Of gastronomical delights that the nation offers, without a rest.
So awaken your senses and make ado,
For the show that’s a Tell All of the Top 10 in eateries and breweries, old and new.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
trump - hide and run for headline cover before armageddon
arc de triomphe interesting facts
if zee al chemist trump doth win go hide in the bunker
to save your ***
brace yourself as this don holed
confabulates that gold iz brass
and conjures prestidigitation
like spinning false hoods in2 truth - crass
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
a synonym force head fabricator -
will threaten democracy, thus be afraid
as this pompous voice quotes
from hiz playbook, which = a charade
the hard core truths, he
(who i liken to the plague) doth evade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
and dreams up fault of Barack Obama
for extinction of dinosaurs,
crucifixion of Jesus Christ
down fall of the Roman Empire,
or far tethered Fred Flintsone ca fetching an escapade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
yea...this rip pub lick'n presidential contender
evinces a psyche frayed
building and monopolizing castles in the sky -
nonexistent as a grade
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
school fib - or donning role
as play ground bully teaming with ivan
the terrible to dominate the greensward
in the above fiction, but...man
that loose canon dressing his
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
"make america great again" gag line - whar i ran
and mid eastern countries will rise
as one cheering him as star of global hit parade
despite any raging oppositional pandaemonium
birth er ring a conflagration
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
kenya believe the world acquiesces
to thine projected masquerade
blocking im grate shunning crowds -
which number of people rival in size
taller (if stack one atop thee other)
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
than the trump tower casino or high rise
with his signature - hm...mebbe funds provided
by drug lords, the swedish house mafia
or terrorist ties???
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
whom security details silence by tossing a hand grenade
sham on you Potemkin village people for quaffing draughts
from elixir purportedly to transform visage with trademark
swept back, wavy and coiffed hirsute.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC