"rums" poems
I found a book of wisdom
And read it through and through
To learn about a way of life
Taught by a great Guru.
He said the way to inner peace
Was there for everyone—
Just make a list and finish
All those things you’ve left undone.
I searched my own house thoroughly
And made myself a list.
I finished off these undone things
As I fulfilled my quest:
A bottle of Jack Daniel’s,
Three of my favorite rums,
Some sherry and some cooking wine,
A box or two of tums,
A box of chocolate cherries—brandied to give a kick
I’m now a mellow fellow
But I’m also terribly sick!
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 2:50 AM UTC
Rums got me runnin'
back into those arms.
Behind them
head light eyes,
lies
a different story.
This fifths got me
walkin' the plank.
"Captains" orders.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 3:56 AM UTC
The darkest hour
Is just before dawn
Maybe thats why
The rums always gone
A lush in the day
& a fiend at night
I just can't seem
To get it right
So yo ** **
& a bottle of ***
I think this poets time
Has come
As I drift off humming
A sailors tune
I'll be back tomorrow
& none too soon
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
In the valley of darkness, I shall not want
Though a hole resides where the heartbeat should be
The vessels still do their work
My lungs decay, black and smoked out
And my organs dry up from strong rums
And the things I hold dear become a desert storm
But I shall not ask for the help of dying trees
Whose fruit, though ripe, would leave me with less leaves
Or perhaps with more than I could bear
No, I stand on the mountains
The mountains we lived in, where the church sits upon the hill
I stand on the mountains and call for him
I call for him
and I know - without science or senses -
That he is near
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 2:18 PM UTC
GOD THE DEVIL AND BOB at easter
today it’s good friday and bob delahunty was going to church to have a
hot cross bun feast, and a hungry poor buddhist was going into the church
and asked bob, why do the christians like to eat over easter, what is it all about
and bob said, it’s a time where families, forget about their differences and share
a big celebration, with hot cross buns today after their service and then on easter
they will host family get togethers, where the kids are forced to hunt for eggs
that the parents hid in the garden, it is a very good day, and the buddhist man said
why can’t christians be nice to each other every day, like us buddhists ands bob said,
well, i guess your right, but life hands us problems to fix, like divorce and family quarrels
and battles that can’t be resolved, you see we are always away from loved ones and easter
is a way to keep updated on where our loved ones are, and then the buddhist asked bob
why can’t they scype every night and then bob said, buddy, no person really wants to do that,
actually, it is great to give families fun at easter, like sending kids on easter hunts, how radical dude
and have great hot cross bun morning teas, where we all can feast, yeah, if we did these things every day
we would get so fat, and kids will be so greedy, and we need every city in the land to pop
open the champagne corks, saying HAPPY EASTER DUDES, AND TO ALL A HAPPY FEASTING
you see easter if you add an f, could mean, the annual feaster, but we took the f away to make you feel great
and then the buddhist said, ok but what if you were fasting in a remote country and you had to knock
back the hot cross buns and easter eggs and bob said ok, yeah, if your fasting you must say no, i am on a diet
and the buddhist said, what if you went to a nightclub and got heavily ****** from vodkas and rums etc etc
and get too drunk on easter saturday, are you still expected to roll up to family get togethers on easter sunday
and bob said yes, then the buddhist said, how do you cope, HOW THE **** DO YOU COPE
this is how, you sing
god is the devil and the devil is grog
god is the devil and the devil is grog
god is the devil and the devil is grog
especially round easter time where drinking may send you back and forwards to the sink spewing
and the buddhist asked bob one thing, before he went to tiabet, he asked, is there really such thing as a devil
because every night i drink a whole bottle of wine by myself and bob said, well if the devil was grog i think
i am the devil, cause, grog is my cup of tea
and the buddhist went home and bob left saying this one word, misbehave, everyone who drinks grog misbehaves
and there is nothing wrong with that, bob said happy easter and went back to the devil’s hideout and the buddhist blessed him
saying, the devil, there is no such thing
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 6:11 AM UTC
It doesn't matter if you're set
Christmas always comes
Even if you do forget
It doesn't matter if you're set
Even if real ****** you get
On egg nog with five different rums
It doesn't matter if you're set
Christmas Always Comes!!
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 9:31 AM UTC
I wonder how I landed here ?
and that is for me to find out
-alone-
because nobody will tell
and maybe there is nobody to tell
but the ten 1000 branches of a giant tree
changing souls continually
maintaining thousand shells in turns
to lure the dold rums poetically
watching them swing from moon to sun
as if the same mariner sings all the time
to avoid the squall
including the one named the Bull's eye
who then would I be
why then should I be
my mind cannot tell
neither can this body
but a knowing only
which
I surrenders to
now
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
The moon rose up, the sky is naked,
His world is empty, the stars are faded,
He never gives up, completing his deed,
He’s looking for lost city, indeed.
He passed through deserts and storms,
Best friends were whiskies and rums,
Heart was destined to cold rooms,
That left him with aches and bruise.
Great walls on horizon, surrounded with high waterfalls,
Place reminds of paradise with its colorful butterflies,
He found his Atlantis, the mission is done,
The aches are healed, the pain is gone.
He woke up to see the blue sky,
Endlessly watch birds fly,
Eyes are open, where are the walls?
Where are birds and waterfalls?
Infinite desert is the only option,
This adventure was a blissful fiction,
Forget lost city, build your Atlantis,
Build your city of delighted fantasies.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
Writers block is like the feeling of
Dry-heaving at a toilet that’s not even yours because of
An unsettled stomach from 8 beers,
An unknown quantity of various rums, ***** and mixed drinks,
And being borrowed from bed for a beautifully burnt blunt.
Nothing seems to come out no matter how hard you try
Until you open your bloodshot eyes
15 minutes later
And something is there.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 6:12 PM UTC
I am the experiment.
This is my place.
This is my role.
The drug paints hallucinations of meanings around each single of these empty words,
that are naked on a notepad but belong onto a colorful clustersheet,
pityfully fallacy!
Can we, the two of us,
find the meaning of rhymes in here together?
We can engine the searches, only if we want to;
and talking about principles:
Well,
most of it, it's ego **** and I dare to write and spit on anything forbidding me my will I'm freely willingly willed to write
a *title now, within the flow, than out of it at given times, when it rims
and rhymes and Romes and rums.
*********
let me write when I want to, not if you could to, how dare you, I'm sensible and easy to brittle, don't pressure me with principles, you son of a dissociative spine itch!
- We were derailing. And still are. Rhymes so easy, reasons so far. Words I delete will never teach me memoriance.
Two tasks,
can't comprehend this nonsense, I slide on the blade of sentences that split my own illusive walls of honour I enhanced -
throughout the conversation with each myotherselves, perhaps
in advance, far before you knew,
this
that's
choppy-chopped chown-chauwn-to-grid-cheese-strings
¿point of view?,
while I faithe for making sense with my course of understandnessless mess of a what's a
what-a hard digest.
Feb 10, 2021
Feb 10, 2021 at 8:22 AM UTC
There's hole beneath me I can't quite fathom
Until I fell and buried me, then it became a tomb
Holding my very existence of what of my means?
Till' the end, so much questions bursting at the seams
Then I woke up in a dream where I'm still dying
Holding my breath with your air in my lungs, so suffocating
I realized the difference that there are none
Living or dying it doesn't matter just wanna leave and be gone
Off and out of this world far far away from your memory
Somewhere where there's a new me and you in reverse so happy
Together in a book filled with colorful words not in grey
Sometimes I question Love! Cause' it doesn't really know how to pay
Better days drowned along with me drinking gallons of rums
Efforts wasted sacrifices voided into an empty bottle of jams
Where it supposed to flavor the flame with sweetness burning
Not with bitterness of sorrow hate misery and so much aching
Now I'm done writing my complaints for today gotta drift away
I'll bury myself alive with questions of what tomorrow would say
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
Gaze not at your Christmas tree, nor the many wrapped gifts laid there beneath. For what ever they may be, the greatest gift of Christmas, was long ago bequeathed.
On that cold night in Bethlehem, was born him without sin, Emmanuel, the Promised One, did the people call him. O do you hear the angels herald and sing: "Glory to the King of Kings."
O, what priceless gifts have ye. Of which, how many may set your spirit free? Silver, Gold, precious gems and jewellery, though all are good within none salvation be.
So on this one night promise me, that you'll forget your hams and turkeys, sweet wines, rums and brandies. For Christmas should be more than a feast, festival, or fair, it should be a time of reflection of yesteryear; accepting one's losses, and appreciating one's gains. And most of all remembering Christ for whom, the day is named.
And I'll promise you, after all this pain, a Christmas that you will believe: Could never be the same!
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 7:33 PM UTC
On the fire lit night
when it's cold and you're tired
and you just want to sit down
and partake of some tea,
but the coal bunkers empty,
the miners are striking, so
you sit with your socks on your ears
to keep out the chill and the bills
keep on coming,
electric and gas and the tally man makes
one more pass to look through the letterbox,
you pretend you're not home.
On the fire lit night,
I have spoken to sailors who
have come into port,
downed a few dark rums and
caught up with the news.
When you have it
you don't want it
on the fire lit nights
I want it all.
On the waste ground the tricksters are
out tipping their refuse,
there are no bills for them,
the tricktipping men,
just the rot
what a sight,
wish I could watch
from a fire lit night.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
there's a parade full of biggs and goblins and bums
there's a shelf in the corner with gins and rums
there's a bite in the cake, where the sweetness lay
there's a bite in my throat, where the lord fangs prey
there's a fairy who sits and never tells
there's a boy who's been sent to all seven hells
there's big ears and hairy arms and floppy feet
and there's upside-down heads and kisses where the lips meet
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
While I wait for the kettle to boil and whistle its merry tune
I'll toil away like a sucker
hoovering up dust in my room.
I'd rather be watching Wimbledon
seeing for myself what's going on,
but I never paid the electric bill,
Still,
the room did need some cleaning.
When I get to get to five o-clock and the shadow comes, I knock back a couple of hot spiced rums before I begin to shave.
Generally I save the best 'til last and usually when I run out of
'Elastoplast'
(that's a trade name I wear on such occasions)
blood casts its own shadow and wanders through the water in the sink,
and I watch the shapes that it makes
until my eyes ache.
take a break?
nice if you can,
but I'm a
hard working
harder pressed man
so
i carry on
not watching Wimbledon
and waiting for five
to arrive.
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 10:40 AM UTC