"rootbeer" poems
There's Dasher and Dancer
Then Prancer and *****
Comet and Cupid
Then Donner and Blitzen
If you think these are reindeer
Then you would be wrong
And it's not crazy words
In some Christmassy song
See, they are my brothers
Don't anybody laugh
For these are hillbilly names
From Polecat Path
It's a place in the hills
In East Tennesee
On the top of a mountain
As high as can be
Here, Christmas is different
There's no reindeer or sleigh
We use an old covered wagon
It works better that way
We make toys in the smoke house
For most of the year
While smoking our hams
'Til Christmas is near
Then we load up the wagon
With granny on the reins
Her wooden teeth all gummy
With rootbeer stains
Now the wagon is pulled
By my brothers and I
We're plumb tuckered out
'Cause people can't fly
Well, you get the picture
About Christmas in the hills
It's a hillbilly adventure
On wagon wheels
Now there's much more to tell
But it's time to run off
'Cause we're loading the wagon
Your friend, Rudolph
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 8:16 PM UTC
Waiting for the summer heat to eclipse the somber thread of one day, an old man is gifted a brand new pair of sneakers.
Father, Son, Holy Ghost? The pinnacle of the "y" axis has paralyzed the saltiness of the old man's overcoat.
"Grand dad?" A young boy turns the corner and peeks in while the old man leans over in his chair to reach his feet and lace his sneaks. "You were breathing loudly and I was just making sure you're okay."
The boy continued, "cool sneakers grandpa."
This reminded the boy of a new student in his class who moved here from Scotland, or Ireland - he couldn't remember which. Guess what the new kid in my class calls his sneakers?"
The grandfather looks up and leans back, "he doesn't call them sneakers?" "Nope" the boy replies. "I would imagine he must call them shoes, or something like that."
"Not even close. He calls them 'runners'. He came into class one day with a pair of red sneakers and Miss Kerrington had him stand up in front of class to talk about them. She said that people in England probably call them runners as a nickname for running shoes."
The old man stood up with a groan and said, "That makes sense. It seems a bit odd, but I like it. As a matter of fact, I am gonna start using that to refer to all sneakers. What do you say we go for a walk around the block so I can break these puppies in? We'll stop for some rootbeer on the way home."
The two of them set out on their walk and the old man felt invigorated. As they continued, a light rain began and the old man said, "lets get to the store, this rain'll do damage to my new suedes."
When they finally made it to the store, the old man rushed in the door pushing his grandson out of the way. Upon his entrance his eyes met with the shopkeeper's. The shopkeeper's eyes shifted to the young boy coming in behind the man. At this moment the grandfather realized that he pushed his grandson aside in his haste to get inside the store and out of the rain.
The shopkeeper turned his attention back to the grandfather who shrugged his shoulders before gesturing to his feet with a smile and said, "I'm breaking in a new pair of runners. They're not gonna dry off as easily as he does."
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
He smelt like smoke
as he leaned away from me,
texting himself with my phone.
We left the campfire outside,
in our shoes by the door
our socks overlapped in a tangle of limbs.
In that leftover guest room,
on the bottom bunk of the microwaved bed,
I remembered why I thought I knew what love was.
He was tired and needed a nap,
I was restless and cold.
Trapped inside because of violent temperate rainstorms.
This boy owed me stubbed toes,
thorn ****** through my jeans,
nicknames and rubber soles.
This was the boy who had always smelt of smoke,
who knocked over dead trees for me,
who lied about being able to rock climb.
This was the boy who went swimming in the ocean
before summer had properly began
when it was still much too chilly.
I taught him a new card game,
he beat me at badminton.
We played capture the flag and threw pinecones.
We sold cookies on the side of the road,
ate dusty blackberries,
traded innuendos and bad jokes.
This was sea-urchin boy,
slug boy,
the boy with the bird's nest hair.
This boy grew taller,
dropped his voice like a used bus pass,
looked past the top of my head.
He laughed when i stepped in a mud puddle,
dared me to walk in bare feet.
This boy suddenly went mountain biking.
I talked extra loud, in hopes that he would overhear me,
offered him rootbeer straight from the can.
Ate pretzels and learned to read his mind.
We shared our childhoods like penny candies,
switching all the peach ones for strawberry.
we agreed these are the best years of our lives.
He layed beside me, underneath as many covers as we could find,
taking up too much space and he knew it.
my cartoon boy.
My hand-drawn boy,
With smoke coming out of his ears
moved away.
We didn't talk again
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
The smoking and drinking and snorting and fighting and drinking and crashes and drinking were not good for him.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One summer, when he was 16, everyday he would take a bottle of wine from his mother's liquor cabinet, buy a pack of cigarettes at the corner store, meet up with his friend Mario, who also stole a bottle of wine, and together they would ride down to the river and smoke and drink and swim. Everyday, for a full 1970's summer they did this.
And now he tells me, that at the time they were having fun and they were not worried about money or addictions or the future.
They were just having fun.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One day, in the dead of fall 1981, he and his friends Mario, Mark, ****** and John all got together at Mark's apartment on the corner of 51st and Diablo boulevard. They hit the town, drank, snuck into movie theatres, harassed girls and had a good time. They returned to Mark's apartment at 2 am and thought it a good idea to steal Mark's mom's new car. They decided to go to Reno.
Driving, as my dad put it, well above the speed limit on Highway 49, they collided head on with a big rig. There were no fatalities but my dad broke his shoulder and suffered a minor concussion. Mark's mom chose to not press charges nor did the driver of the big rig. The next day my father was back at work, refusing to adhere to the doctor's orders of taking it easy and wearing a soft cast, entrapping his left arm against his chest, climbing under cars, changing oil, and repairing engines.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One cold winter's day, in December of '82, my father's ever faithful companion, Mario, picked my father and his dog, Wimpy, up and they drove over to a small burger joint named Big A's. My father ordered two bacon cheeseburgers and a large rootbeer. Mario got the same, only with a single bacon cheeseburger. My father father gave his second bacon cheeseburger to his pitbull Wimpy.
My father was better to his dog than he was to his own body.
Now, my father coughs himself to sleep every night, and has chronic bronchitis. His liver and kidneys are shot and he plans to not live passed sixty. He will be turning fifty in two weeks.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Moby ****
may have been
a
big
BIG
fish
and Ishmael
didn't have it so easy
But I need, I dream
of the epitome
of a flawless
ideal
piece of whitefish
A Succulent Bite
A Taste of Right
Hand battered
Deep fried
A
crunch
into heaven
Mouth-watering
yet light
Next to
crisp
oh-so
crisp
fries
Draft Rootbeer
Foam
in a mug
of delight
Mmmm Mmmmm
Seafood
See, this food
tastes like hope
Up North
I salivate
thinking of its
taste
thinking of
perfection
Man
Oh, Man
They don't make it
like this
anymore
So
so
fresh
This piece
Creates a sense
of peace
Harmony
on your palate
It turns
you up-turned nose
down
to the aroma
of a fisherman's skill
Natural Salt
of this world
brings you to a world
of pleasure
in a nibble
A coming together
on my plate
Skin-lined
Red Skin
potatoes
Frothy
Quenching
Rootbeer
Whitefish.
Simple Things
I found this fine trip
Combined with waterfall air
to breathe deep
My taste buds
had
gone up in
smoke.
My tongue
realized with
surprise
the possibilities of life.
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 2:15 AM UTC
It just rained.
The sky is pale blue and
the wind is surely pleasing.
I might just think that the weather is perfectly made for me.
I see some tables and chairs,
some drinks and snacks,
some variety of people
I only see during this time of the day
and only during this kind of weather.
It's 6 PM and
it's almost as dark
as the deepest of the night.
The sky now is indigo blue
and the moon is already peaking.
It's smiling.
And god, what I'd do to smile like that.
I see drinks, I am holding a cup of rootbeer
while my friends hold a cup of red horse.
We talk about life, and how scary it is to live;
we talk about ending it, and the many ways we could consider trying;
we talk about enduring it, and how strong we are to have ourselves survive 'til today;
and we talk about staying, just because we're still here.
Though we're barely breathing,
we are here,
and just like the moon tonight,
with the cup of rootbeer in my hand
and with the cup of red horse they have,
we are smiling.
It's almost 8 PM and
the wind is still as pleasing.
It's touching my skin
and
it gives me a different feeling.
I see hands holding a grip to its last cup of beer;
I see eyes looking down, sleepy;
I see eyebags which I guess I can say as deep as the night;
I see crooked teeth;
I see imperfection.
Though we are as imperfect,
we are smiling,
we survived,
we're on our way home
with car lights reflecting on our faces.
We wave goodbye to the bottle of beer for two and my rootbeer.
We made it through the night.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
I'll tell you a story, listen to me
About a man who sailed on the high seas
This man talked me onto his great big boat
I hoped on the waves and crashes it floats
Oh Won't you come on this trip with me please?
The captain told me, I thought about it
He agreed to pay me if I did it.
You don't know how happy you have made me!
I can have a good crewmate over these seas!
Now, do you know how to use this sail boat?
There is a round object that seems to float.
Oh, If you know how to sail, tell me please.
Captain didn't like how i couldn't sail a boat,
Well then, i wonder how well you can float.
'cause I am the captain you want to please.
So you better learn how to sail in it.
Or else you will have to entertain me.
By walking the plank into the vast sea.
The captain said to me one day, not pleased,
Have you learned the ropes, how to use it
It would be a great surprise to give me
I thought you'd be more useful on the sea
But now I see you're useless on a boat
Perhaps you're useful for a root beer float?
He ordered me to make a rootbeer float
And no he did not ask with a nice, "please"
More like "I'm the Captain, I command it.
Now bring me my root beer, bring it to me!
I need something to distract from the sea."
That was the words the captain of the boat.
Turns out I am not cut out for the sea
I should never have gotten on that boat
Instead, i should've gone on a parade float.
But the man got me on by asking please!
Frankly, I'm getting sick and tired of it.
Says the tiny crewmate, that would be me!
In the end, we sailed the seas, all of it.
Just me, and the captain I had to please
I'm done with this boat, I'll see if he floats
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 10:11 AM UTC
Harolds rootbeer was warm but he was out of ice.
Josh said they never had any to begin with.
Harold searched the freezer desperately.
"I'm so ******* thirsty!"
Josh took out some popsicles and dropped them in Harold's glass.
"Problem solved!"
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
familiar faces
roadside challenges
laughter that never stops
we're following the stars around the world to the soundtrack of our childhoods in phrases of
remember when...?
remember when we were fearless?
remember when we didn't know who sang that song about the girl who would be loved but sang along at the top of our lungs because it didn't matter?
remember when we could fix broken friendships with rootbeer flavoured dum-dum lollipops?
remember when we were 14 and i made you call your crush?
remember how you cried into my arms when he didn't say "i love you" back and it felt like the world was spinning too quickly?
remember that summer when we jumped off that cliff?
remember that summer...
remember when
one day soon
we'll all have jobs
husbands
wives
children to look after
we'll say
Remember in college how we took that roadtrip right before graduation?
remember how we almost didn't make it back in time?
How many of us will remember in old age?
carpe
Carpe
Carpe diem,
he said to us
and we did
we seized the hell out of that day
CARPE DIEM!
we ran into the night, high on life, shouting
all for one and one for all!
CARPE DIEM, FOREVER!
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
This dream of consciousness will not end alarmingly,
though it leaves lines on Billo's face
smushed against pillows placed
strategically
The strategy?
To look tragically well put-together
to get her to lie in the bed I made hastily
Well - I say this, but the presentation's done tastefully:
Big blanket tucked
IN with style
OUT of luck since I've not been...
...touched in a while
I grinningly smile - it'll all be ok
(I'm not much for physical lovin' anyway)
...beyond hugging and kissing and getting to stay
for the night curled up close whispering "sweetie, sleep tight"
I've not got these dreams, but I've some aspirations
No sweetie, I'm not sweaty,
- I've no *** persperation
My room is too cold with the wind's drafty laughter
My bed is too cold since I've not quite yet asked her
to lie with me and lie to me that she is the one
and I will be won over,
over-nighting done right
...
Left to the imagination, day-dreaming's my vision
Pigeon-holing my gamboling gambling rambling
Not quite in shambles, see?
I get it: regretting is letting me settle into misery
"Mysterio the (not-so) great" is dutifully bound to wait
Patience is love doctors' medication - "Just wait!" they prescribe
and in time their patients' trepidation will end.
Inner peace outer space and I pace.
(without her face to grin at)
synapse fired
for nodding off on the job
**** awake, up for work
Woken, spurred
on toward spoken word
March forwards - four words
Reverse reverie never hurt
"But I don't dream!" I think
Does it stop me from trying?
From lying to and by myself,
in doubt in a drought
Good - buy myself a drink:
rootbeer, two shots of espresso
let's go, caffeine-Billo tag team
on the rocks, off the clock
(talk about self-deprecation, why don't you)
Chew on the cubes with contextual frustration
The drink's gone, I think long and hard at long last
ARRRG I yell in a fit mentally I'll
sleep on it.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
My wife brought home a little man
He really doesn't talk very much
He mostly cries and ***** his thumb
And he poops a lot and such
A lot of times he just stares at me
Well, I cant just let him win
So I stare him down, til he's crosseyed
With drool running down his chin
He wears this thing called a diaper
You know, like speedos for a little dude
Everytime I tell him to put on some clothes
My wife says, "Quit being rude"
He drinks his milk from a bottle
I tell him to grow up, and be a man
So I hurry and finish my rootbeer
To show him I can crush a can
I told my wife he's not much of a man
He can't even grow a beard
Then I caught them playing patty cakes
The one thing that I've always feared
So I finally accused my wife of cheating
She said, "You idiot this is your child"
I said, "I knew that, do you think I'm stupid?"
She didn't answer, she just sit there and smiled
Well, I finally grew accustomed to his face
And it just couldn't be any finer
As long as he puts some clothes on
And stays out of my recliner
Apr 14, 2010
Apr 14, 2010 at 4:27 PM UTC
It will always remind me of the
fabric on the seats of your
beat up Taurus (god I was so
scared of that car, of you), a
profession of love for Whole
Foods and the best rootbeer
I'll ever taste (you sat yours
in the cup holder between
us to grab my face and say,
"Hey, look at me. You're so
beautiful" before reigniting
everything with your mouth on
my mouth), a book of pictures
of New York City (the one you
said you wanted to buy for me
and snuck off the shelf and to
the counter when I wasn't looking)
that I can't seem to throw out
no matter how hard I try, and
you telling me "it's happening"
when I apologized for my lack
of meat-eating that was
keeping you from falling in
love with me. Tell me how
I'm supposed to move on,
please, because I'm having
trouble forgetting your details.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 1:46 AM UTC
a pair of
combat boots
by my bed
a glass of rootbeer
on my nightstand
your toothbrush
on my bathroom sink
your hands
in my hair
these are all the ways
that you love me
these are all the ways
that you remain
Feb 14, 2017
Feb 14, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
I enjoyed my cake, thanks.
Actually it came in the form of a rootbeer float,
&& i took it in by my self.
I noticed the chicka-dee-dee on the fence,
as I listened to a timepiece from another era.
It fiddled with the **** from a cigarette long since smoked,
and i wondered if it was hungry, or just trying to catch a buzz.
He set it down, i leaped to action,
Threw the **** away, && returned to my seat.
Thought the loud chirping was directed towards me,
but of course he was getting laid in the rafters over yonder.
The significance? Not,
but if only to break the silence
between lovers long since broken apart.
Fresh laughter, lightness, and.. and..
Long, long pause, and return to silence.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 11:58 PM UTC
My heart is racing
Was what I just said okay?
Are you okay?
A moment that would never end.
I’m just a concerned person
To you I tried to hug you to
To me I was blocking you from the rain on our smoke break
I’m sorry it was my idea to come to this place
And you hunny studs couldn’t talk to me much
Because I was always looking at something else to do
Every glance away from you I had
I’m scared and you don’t understand why
But I understand why not so when you said “I’m going home”
Just because you didn’t want to deal with me as the worst of plenty before
I was concerned you don’t like me
Even as a human being..
Convinced you don’t
So before we parted in the dawn before a new day,
a rootbeer lollipop in hand you said goodnight and I said goodbye . -Walmart employee
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
I put all your physical words in a box-
"you are ADORABLE" scribbled on a receipt
the book with the pictures of
New York City and the one with
the history of Christmas
the map from the pumpkin patch
your band's cds
a 9 volt battery
a button from the trails west
festival
a ticket to the show your band played at your dream venue
my ticket stub from This Is the
End
directions to Kim's house
the journal you gave me for
Christmas with a letter from you
on the first two pages
a napkin I kept hidden in my wallet with "you are very cute" written in your smallest print
a Virgil's Rootbeer bottle cap
from our second first date
(god did you know I had kept all those things)-
but I can't figure out how to package all the sentences you left swimming around in my head
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
I'm
s o
sure
that every
bit of my life
has led up to
me with y o u, that
we are not merely
two beings colliding
in the cosmos. It will
always be you that I
stumble on for, whose
words I'm sure could
cure even my
brokenness, who will
always be in control of
the t h u m p i n g of
my heart. And I am not
a s h a m e d of that.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
my favorite teacher in high school
told me that once you step in a
river, you and that river w i l l
never be the same. and i
wonder if we are l i k e that
with each o t h e r. do we
stamp our thumbprints on
people's chests, do w e
never f o r g e t the
omnipresent memory
ofthethings thatwere?
your t h i n g s are
swimming in t h e
gulf of mexico by
n o w, i assume-
that pathetic
letter a b o u t
h o w y o u
d r e a m e d
you would
losethelove
of your life
( m e )
forever
(you did)
is soaked
and bleeding
out of its creases-
but i will probably
always remember the
curve of your mouth and
the sharpness of your laugh.
i do not remember you fondly,
no never fondly, and i only ever
want to drink another virgil's
rootbeer if i can spit i t in your
face afterward, but i'm hoping
someday i will bleed like your
words and god i will fly, i can
promise you that. you did not
break me, you only taught me
t h a t hearts, t h e y need
styrofoam fencing- s o m e
padding but nothing like your
cement b l o c k s- and that i
deservebetter. ideserveorchids
a n d sunflowers, homemade
jam in the middle of the night
because us sleeping is out o f
the question and jesus *******
c h r i s t i deserve a heart that
has nobarriers. i want to bethe
r i v e r, stampeding i n t o
someone's life like the scariest
thing they've ever seen until i
have taught them everything
they could want t o know
a b o u t the ramones a n d
fleetwood m a c and painting
with your eyes closed. i just
want t o b e t h e river.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
Dad I loved you.
Your the only father I knew.
It should have been just us two.
Our memories are so few.
You showed me I could trust a tomcat or a puppy.
To pet him & make a buddy.
I still can't cook.
To find the right food.
Caravores are selfish, sick, & rude.
My vegan species is divided.
Separate dwellings unspecified are hided.
Recipes unconfided.
What is for lunch?
Besides rootbeer, cola, & fruit punch?
Is there no vegan chefs left?
Not enough vegan restaurants here.
Nothing close by or near.
To become extinct is something I fear.
Too many taverns with beer.
Vegan establishments this town & city needs to build.
In malls & shopping centers to be filled.
Vegans don't know where to look.
I want to write & publish a poetry book.
"Innocence Unattended" is my best work.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
but there are some
funny little things
that you probably shouldnt know
and i probably wouldnt tell you
like how i cant look at
sunflowers
because they really arent
happy
or how certain names seem
too heavy for me
to wrap my tongue around
there are some funny little things
that shouldnt matter
but somehow they do
like how my taste for rootbeer
turned sour
when a boy who loved rootbeer
broke my heart
or a certain song on my playlist
has gone silent for years
but still takes up 4 megabytes on my phone
there are some funny little things
that i hate to acknowledge
as important
because i dont want them to be
but yet
somehow
some way
they are too important
to let go of
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 11:15 PM UTC
1/30/2016
we spoke in the darkened auditorium,
waiting for a dance,
waiting for stories told wordlessly
I told her about that summer and how
although I didn't like you I remembered it vividly,
and how you woke up at unbearable hours and i did it for you,
so I would wake up every 2 hours just to make sure I didn't
sleep past my 7 am alarm
I was home alone that summer
most of the time,
we laughed when my parents told us
we didn't spend enough time together
it was extraordinarily hot that summer
i remember, it was like breathing into an oven,
We drank a lot of rootbeer, sat on the porch with sandwiches, and you brought me blueberries and tried to make me laugh,
And you usually suceeded-
I hadn't yet succumbed to
tearing my hair off and sitting
in the white room like later
and I swear I've aged so much
in these two years
but I got carried away
and I told her
I don't love you at all
but rising those chlorophyll mornings
I've never forgotten that,
I know not why-
maybe it was the light. maybe it was the heat, maybe it was my youth.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC
*Scratchy secondhand sweaters,
spicy apple cider, rosy noses, and cherry pie cheeks,
crunchy grass, orange sunsets with firey trees,
teddy bear suckers, rootbeer floats,
blood and guts on cobblestone graves,
Carving big pumpkins, cold tile floors,
flannels that smell like bonfires and breeze,
snails at fall fest, tiny pencil skirts,
the warmth of you lying in cold crunchy leaves*
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 12:22 AM UTC