"shaker" poems
XXII. TO POSEIDON (7 lines)
(ll. 1-5) I begin to sing about Poseidon, the great god, mover of
the earth and fruitless sea, god of the deep who is also lord of
Helicon and wide Aegae. A two-fold office the gods allotted you,
O Shaker of the Earth, to be a tamer of horses and a saviour of
ships!
(ll. 6-7) Hail, Poseidon, Holder of the Earth, dark-haired lord!
O blessed one, be kindly in heart and help those who voyage in
ships!
13.8k
It's as if I'm Poseidon
as I lay beside him.
I'm an earth-shaker,
a love maker,
heart taker,
and a staker of the ocean.
Concealed amongst a flock of lambs,
I tamed the horses
and I tamed my man.
But I am the mighty Poseidon
as I lay beside him
and drown him in my sea of deceit.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
Looks like you need a drink...
What'll it be, let me think...
One thing you should know, Little Miss,
I'm not a bartender... I'm just winging this...
Hmm...
Arc in a cocktail shaker
Filled halfway up
Throw Melz in the mix
Just a dollop
Let's see now...
Spoonful of rhymes
Make that a table
Few drops of Conor
If he's up and able
Almost ready...
A touch of Tea
Maybe a tad more
A dose of Frank
In a little pour
Just about done...
Cap it up
Shake that shaker
Pour it out
Top with Silver
Ahh...
In a cocktail glass
Now sprinkle with Dani
Let's not stinge
Sprinkle aplenty
There you go, Hon... Take a full swig
When you see the bottom, your pain wouldn't seem so big...
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
Someone stole the last piece of my turkey sandwich.
I bet the ************ put some pepper on it.
I hope it was pepper from that
***** *** pepper-shaker that is no longer see-through.
That ******* left me with one poker-chip pickle slice and
Those pieces of potato chips that you
Have to spear with a fingertip to eat.
That son-of-a-bitch!
I am sure he put mustard on that last piece of turkey sandwich;
In that delicate delicatessen squiggly pattern that is all in the wrist.
-And, speaking of wrist, that ******* forged my signature perfectly.
He even put another Lone Star bottle on my tab then
Neatly arranged the bottle caps next to four toothpicks.
*That suave ************
To honor him, when I get home
I am going to smoke his ****
**** his girlfriend and take his ****
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
How long the day,
Delivering letters to friends,
And cranky, bald dog feeders. Home
Is forward, past those poplars.
Always I’ve been in love with
Their almond scent, just as I catch
Past, dragging feet and who knows
How many heartfelt "Thank-you's".
Home is... where the wife is sitting.
She's not keen on laundry, but,
I’m an exception.
Always are my blue shirts blue,
She likes to make sure. Just in case I meet
With him; that carrion shaker,
Mr. Reaper.
“Hello.” I'd say, and tip my cap,
Along my silent nightly rounds;
Perhaps he'd humour me, if he could
See me. He's searching. For me? No.
That’s not right.
The lamps are thickest
In the dark, and that's just how
he likes it.
Even if I tip-toe, tip-toe, tip-toe around
Him, he'll still turn his hood toward me.
A courteous, creaking greeting.
That chill I get.
Matches only the fear
From losing fingers, as I push envelopes,
Catalogues, and restless dreams
Through many metal slats.
But even I, can't quite see,
When the sky turns milky-grey...
That perching, questioning hand
Placed gently on my shoulder;
Pushing down as I bend my back,
Kicking over milk-bottles, sometimes
accidentally. I shake it off.
Get to bed! I say to myself, mostly
Always, to myself.
Slap on some cream
And
Get to bed.
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 5:56 AM UTC
The making of a ***** martini is truly an art,
***** and vermouth are merely a start,
But follow my advice and you can depend,
On achieving perfection in the end.
First the martini glasses should be filled,
With a little ice to ensure they're chilled,
Your next step as the martini maker,
Is to put some ice in the shaker.
Next pour in the ***** a premium kind,
For the perfect martini, use the best you can find,
Just a dash of vermouth is all it should take,
For the best martini you can make.
For a drink that's smooth and never rough,
The next step I just can't stress enough,
Grab the olive juice and begin to pour,
And if you think it's plenty, pour some more.
Put the lid on the shaker and give a few shakes,
Just a few seconds is really all it takes,
Now take the glasses and dump the ice,
And add a couple olives, plump and nice.
Then over those olives you can begin to pour,
And then start to savor what's in store,
For if you follow this little rhyme,
You'll have the perfect martini every time.
11-08-10b.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 1:07 AM UTC
On A Diet
The country is on a diet,
drinking coke with no sugar,
eating burgers with no bun,
running on the treadmill;
it's powdered protein for lunch.
It's straight tequila in the evening,
a light head and guilty fries at night.
The country is on a diet,
doing yoga over yoghurt pots,
training their minds with sudoku and solitaire,
rubbing salt and condition into their hair.
It's 6 a.m. gym sessions,
it's squats on the living room floor,
the country is on a diet, my friends,
and so we have no time for truth, or war.
The country is on a diet,
avocado in the breadcrumb,
aspirin in the salt-shaker,
food numb on the tongue
and those slim-shakes always failed to deliver.
Thigh gaps and mind-the-gaps,
all these signposts for a cleaner living,
no dust on the shelf,
no bags 'neath your eyes to hide
the lack of sleep
and your ailing mental health.
The country is on a diet,
drinking tea with no milk,
eating carrot sticks with best-value dip,
running on the treadmill,
we never get too far.
It's straight tequila in the evening,
it's "anything goes" in the dark.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
some folks got it better than some
some people got it better than none
count my money like i'm countin' sheep
one eye open that's how i sleep
i got a big house and a fancy car
both of 'em got a hell of a bar
when push comes to shove mister talk is cheap
my three dollar shovel runs six feet deep
i'm a smooth operator
what's yours is mine
i'm a mover and a shaker
the devilish kind
start my percolator won't a drop be weak
born to be a taker
i'm playin' for keeps
feels so good
i'm so glad
i'm so bad
my old lady says she needs to be free
but no woman ever gets far from me
my backdoor baby told me she don't care
long as she's able to get her share
well i don't know about you and yours
this life of mine's worth fightin' for
man over yonder sayin' it ain't fair
hey i don't make the rules i just bring 'em to bear
i'm a smooth operator
what's yours is mine
i'm a mover and a shaker
the devilish kind
start my percolator won't a drop be weak
born to be a taker
i'm playin' for keeps
feels so good
i'm so glad
i'm so bad
eye to eye and pound for pound
fist for fist and round to round
i'm the one that gets the doin' did
and it's in season to flip my lid
last one to try me is dead and gone
don't even think of what you're thinkin' on
been there done that is on my mind
worlds unravel when i unwind
i'm a smooth operator
what's yours is mine
i'm a mover and a shaker
the devilish kind
start my percolator won't a drop be weak
born to be a taker
i'm playin' for keeps
feels so good
i'm so glad
i'm so bad
feels so good
i'm so glad
i'm so bad
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC
hickory nuts
and wind trees
are keeping
at the old buckle bay
light house corners and
shaker church craft
slip anchor on the southern tip
secret legions
and phenolic board
tuck in at gout dock
bands and nations
and miracle speak
fill in the center hall
sand hooks
and water domes
cover wharf road
***** bay toppers
and seven horse chugs
scatter the swollen upper deck
packards and pushers
and rusty back rails
skirt the night
lanterns and sterns
and navy gulls
steady on task
sand cakes
and drift wood
held tight on
the mystery tour
yellow tails
and tide pools
flat line
at royal reach
paddles
and cables
find ripples way
smugglers and smitties
take cover
from a
northern gale
down on
pocket shoal
there’s a graceful hue
~ they’re serving up
belons and xan…
it's time to get in
for a fill
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
The thing about dancing,
Is that it surely was invented post the 'mighty invention of music'
The might of music was such,
That the then tensile souls couldn't do much
And when some ******* back in the day
Thought he could probably get away
With being cheesy, without getting hit by a rock,
If he put down his words in a tune and wore a dancing frock
Whilst he was going at it on a cheese license, trying to compose a 'song',
This other bloke from down the road wondered where this
'sound' is coming from?
The music got to him, for he was the first to hear it apart from it's maker
He growled and stood up, to put his ale down in a magic shaker
And so he thought his colon would erupt
If he didn’t tap his feet to it with that ale he supped,
Completely unaware of the fact that shaking his head would be
soon to follow,
And so to speak, rest of his body, headed in a direction
that seemed perfectly hollow
And thus he made some gravity defying moves one after the other,
Hitting stacks of bread he just yelled, "Happiness rediscovered"
That piteous drunk soul was unaware that it would go on to
be know as ‘dancing’
If he were smarter or sober, he could have told it to the world himself with pride while prancing
What made him do it? Probably the music, probably he got laid twice the previous night,
Or his ex got divorced, yeah that would really end the fright
So he pounced on some meat and again shook his *****
Like he owed it to the world, like it was his duty
Whatever was the reason, in that magic season
The consequences of it gave us dancing & made mankind elevate
It was henceforth branded as a gesture to celebrate.
So let’s.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
Each day when I think of the way you hurt me
when my heart wrenches in pain.
I think of what I did to deserve this
When u know that there was no other way.
I don’t know why u can hold my heart ransom
Crush it with unkind gesture of yours
When I loved you so truly and madly and
didn’t think even once of the loss
U see it is I who stand to loose from what you’ve done
Cause for me there can be no one
not after what you have done
The doors of my heart have closed forever
Never will these open again for anyone.
For you this was just an attempt to see if your charm worked
For me this was a soul shaker, the one that changed me forever.
I resisted every attempt of yours
For your eyes scorched me day and night
Still I bore down your charm
and stood my ground alright.
Our chemistry was in the air you see
We could never hide it from prying eyes
Any blind man could have told
they way we looked into each others eyes.
I fought and resisted you for long
And thought I was strong
Till that fateful day when
I decided I would have it my way
But fate would wish another way
For the day I decide to part
That was the very day I lost my heart.
Your fun and jokes and childish pranks
Your endless teasing had me in splits
You knew very well that
it was beginning to grow in you as well.
A strange feeling of falling head over heels.
We were one and we did not need those words
Until you started expecting me to cross my limits
Limits I had set long ago, and you knew
I would never never cross them for anyone.
What did you want me to say, say that I love you
I already did it a million times
Didn’t my eyes say it all.
You knew you felt it too.
But now, I don’t know what’s wrong with you.
I am done with the deciphering
I am done with your cold ways
I am done with your pushing me around
I am never going to stay that way
For all that could have been done is done and over
My Lord, my energy’s drained and u have run me over.
I wept and cried and wondered why I deserved this fate.
You see miscommunication is to blame that closed the gate
For I cannot reconcile the same heart that rent sweet words
were tossing me out cold and dry.
I could not let u go for you were the sweetest thing my eyes beheld,
and I did love u truly, but you’ll never understand.
Its over now..what a mess!
The only prayer that escapes my lips
May our paths never cross again!
For I cannot afford loose my heart again.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
Back when no one spoke of love
because it was too hard to explain,
daddy use to tell stories at the dinner table
using salt and pepper shakers,
and mommy would listen
but I would not,
because children
did not listen to salt and pepper shaker stories.
Maybe if I had listened just a little bit harder
mommy and daddy would still love each other.
But I never listened
and daddy never stayed.
A few years later
daddy still told stories around the dinner table
using forks and knives and empty plates
to people who never cared and never listened
and mommy wasn’t around.
But I still was
and I was the only one to listen.
His stories weren’t of love,
or life
or anything anyone would remember tomorrow
or the next day,
but if I learned anything from those
salt and pepper shaker stories
and the fork and knive tales,
it was
never fall in love
and I never did.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
do you have a dark secret
my darling
a terrible brain
instead of nice ***** pink
girl things
you ache for ****** insertions
cutting edges
menstrual swab mouth plug selfies
while you pretend all is well
loving Mother Mary
at the church with mummy
knowing
deep down inside
your a ***** *****
god dam the boys look good
do you have the courage
to admit it
first to your self
and then another
or shall you live
muzzled
as you finger *****
obsessed with flying *****
and devils teeth
pigs nuzzling mud and ****
strewn at a *** trough
you love playing with fire
hot toes and ****
oh yeah
turn up the ****** heat
your craven desires
to be a **** toy
and then the pleasure
break me break me
twisted broken
little **** toy
if you could only find me
your
Lover
Linker
Licker
Sucker
Thinker
Maker
Shaker
Breaker
******
Burner
Cutter
Shooter
Impaler
the one who glorifies
your *** hole
insinuates kisses that tear
who adores your
midnight whimpers
howls of pleasure
cries for help
no safe words
bending bending
broken
mutilation gasms
you smiling
succubus
hobbling over
for another hard blow
your **** drenched
******* zinging
from razors play
blood red rivulets
falling on pretty feet
while good people
dream of angels
you dream of
big cocked men
and merciless gang bangs
a sweet ***** of Babylon
hard justice
cruelties ecstatic
being beaten to death
by 100 buttered *****
legs and arms piled high
and **** and **** and more ****
your holy trinity
no you say
there must be some mistake
thats not you
your on gods leash
burying yourself
in black rocks
crypt of normalcy
your goody goody goody
time to cinch up
veil of the nunnery
hinge on the death mask
no honey
theres no gorilla
in your cave
crushing girlie's soul
pride will out shine all
til last bloom is no more
then learn laments fury
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC
Like salt from a shaker,
she flowed into the room.
Sprinkling just a bit too much of herself.
Ruining the assumption of true flavor.
My taste for the bland is non existent
However; I need the seasoning to be just right
to taste such a delicate dish.
Nothing too over the top, but just right.
Lying on the surface, ready, waiting to be devoured.
Her mood changed when she saw that I had dropped the napkin,
Saw that I bent the fork,
dumping it next to the ice and wine.
And the waiter; that tight nosed ******
Shrugged and harrumphed his way to the kitchen,
Saying there would be no desert. No tasting this night.
She thought she had seasoned me well, and left me to bake in the chandeliers and crystal goblets of this place.
Alas, she fell short of the recipe,
Foreplay burned in an overheated oven.
Burnt to a crisp in her little black number,
and over salted in the assumption of her come hither look,
and my desire or the lack thereof.
Jan 3, 2011
Jan 3, 2011 at 8:27 AM UTC
Lover
Linker
Licker
Killer
Thriller
Sucker
Thinker
Stinker
Maker
Shaker
Faker
Breaker
******
Burner
Crier
Cutter
Perforator
Shooter
Impaler
******
oh I forgot cannibal
and
I'd love to have you to dinner
.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
A Salt Shaker Glass
*Just a folded piece of paper
In a salt shaker glass
Placed deep inside the cupboard
Hiding memories of the past
I would watch her as she'd take it out
To read the words it said
Then place it back deep inside
And slowly bow her head
She kept it in a shaker
Hoped salt would heal the wound
But each time she read the words inside
The pain would seem so new
That folded piece of paper
In a salt shaker glass
Was delivered from the courthouse
To set her free at last
A divorce from my father
Who had walked away from us
She folded and refused to sign
Till that day that I grew up
As I read that piece of paper
From the salt shaker glass
I thought of all she gave to me
And felt the love inside she had
Just a folded piece of paper
In a salt shaker glass
Placed deep inside the cupboard
Hiding memories of the past
A folded piece of paper
In a salk shaker glass *
Carl Joseph Roberts
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 7:12 AM UTC
Thomas, Tommy baby,
you are both hot,
and sweet.
Tom Cat you’re red hot--
when I catch you in your Tom Cat Strut,
sauntering across campus,
strolling like it ain’t no thing,
cuz it don’t meant a thing
if it ain’t got that swing baby.
So dig this, Tommy Gun,
you groove with the best of ‘em
when I spot you strollin’—
Your head, teetering left and right like a seesaw, boppin’ baby,
arms hangin’ loosely, swinging freely, wildly, go! go!
legs scooping forward in boisterous trombone slides--
Groooooove Tommy baby!
You’re Louis’s best blows--
ten feet from the mic and the Fives baby,
you’re hot, red hot,
any closer and I'll burn up!
Go!
But you’re cool, real cool,
and oh so sweet.
Super sweet--
in your beard like a pepper and salt shaker tossed across the table,
I look to see those rosy lips part,
and peep those pearly whites shinin' like the bell of Louis’s cornet
brandished in the air, under those ballroom lights--
you’re screamin’ Tommy!
Let me hear that laugh that shakes the room,
punches like Blakey’s bass drum,
thumps like Mingus--
T-Bird you’ve got that hard bop in your soul,
you’re gonna bop to the top TB,
into the third heaven where the angels fall in line to your swing,
that incessant strut that keeps the devil at bay,
Blow! Blow! Blow!
And I see you now Tom Cat,
up there in the clouds,
digging your way across eternity,
bopping and jiving, swinging and blowing,
in your faded khaki pants and worn tennis shoes,
loosely buttoned collared shirt,
tight rectangular glasses that glistened the bell of your eyes even more--
I gotta stand twenty feet away Tommy baby!
You glance down at me and wink,
rearing your head back to let loose that Mingus and Blakey
bottom-end laugh,
guffaw guffaw guffaw!!!
--so hearty and rich,
the backbone of every nervous first-year classroom,
and the sniggering seniors you continued to befuddle and dazzle
with your mysterious ways
and insatiable swing.
So blow, Tommy Gun, blow!
Go Tom Cat go!
Dig T-Bird dig!
Let loose Tommy boy!
Swing for us, swing swing swing--
Hot and Sweet, Tommy baby,
hot and sweet.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
Like sugar from a shaker, snow falls on Saul the baker
delivering steamy biscuits from the shop he calls his home
to a drafty run down mansion where the princess on her pension
can be testy with her tension, hence she's living on her own.
Today he took her order, "One fresh bagel, for a quarter
'cause I haven't seen the likes of one since I left my childhood home".
Well he'd never baked a bagel, but he's not one to finagle
and wanting just to please her, finds a recipe from Rome.
And he's thinking to himself, "I must be way out of mind~
no woman's gonna want a baker's life"
but he carries deep inside his heart, the will to be a friend
hoping someday she will come around and one day be his wife.
So to win her deep affection he packs up his best confection
takes his chances on the back roads, now iced over in the storm.
Finds her waiting in the foyer with her thrifty 5 cent lawyer
complaining 'bout the day old bread and... "this bagel isn't warm!"
So..... he heats it on the fire, 'cause her heart is his desire
but she won't accept the bagel for it's not quite the right form
And he's thinking to himself, "I must be way out of mind
no woman gonna want a baker's life"
but he carries deep inside his heart, the will to be a friend
hoping someday she will come around and one day be his wife.
So he runs back to his bagel board and pounds the dough and rolls a cord
and shapes the perfect circle to a bagel lovers dream,
He boils and then he bakes it and to her mansion then he takes it
piping hot but now she wants it with churned butter from fresh cream!
Well he's starting to get antsy but he knows the farmer, Clancy
whose butter is fresh-churned and known by counties far and wide.
He heads out to the pasture and he buys what he is after
and returns to find, 'tis so unkind, the princess, she had died.
The baker in his stricken state swallows the bagel off the plate
he calls the cops, pulls out the stops and serves the day old bread.
He gives the details more than once of how he ate the evidence
and though he thought his story bought, they arrested him instead.
"Tis a likely story", was the only thing he heard
although they'd bought his baked goods, they could not buy his word.
"The Baker is a Butcher", is what the tabloid said,
"better to take your bagel cold than take it in the head."
But all was not as it appears, she owed the butcher in arrears
and when they went to check her craw they found a hunk of mutton.
It ended all without a trial, the butcher he did reconcile
and posted "Pay the butcher now and do not to be a glutton."
And Saul was thinking to himself, " I must be way out of mind",
no woman's gonna want a baker's life",
but he carried deep inside his heart the will to be a friend
and it turned rather nicely as she willed him in the end.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
Cried the navy-blue ghost
Of Mr. Belaker
The allegro ***** cocktail-shaker,
"Why did the **** crow,
Why am I lost,
Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd?
The tropical leaves are whispering white
As water; I race the wind in my flight.
The white lace houses are carried away
By the tide; far out they float and sway.
White is the nursemaid on the parade.
Is she real, as she flirts with me unafraid?
I raced through the leaves as white as water...
Ghostly, flowed over the nursemaid, caught her,
Left her...edging the far-off sand
Is the foam of the sirens' Metropole and Grand;
And along the parade I am blown and lost,
Down the endless road to Infinity toss'd.
The guinea-fowl-plumaged houses sleep...
On one, I saw the lone grass weep,
Where only the whimpering greyhound wind
Chased me, raced me, for what it could find."
And there in the black and furry boughs
How slowly, coldly, old Time grows,
Where the pigeons smelling of gingerbread,
And the spectacled owls so deeply read,
And the sweet ring-doves of curded milk
Watch the Infanta's gown of silk
In the ghost-room tall where the governante
Gesticulates lente and walks andante.
'Madam, Princesses must be obedient;
For a medicine now becomes expedient--
Of five ingredients--a diapente,
Said the governante, fading lente...
In at the window then looked he,
The navy-blue ghost of Mr. Belaker,
The allegro ***** cocktail-shaker--
And his flattened face like the moon saw she--
Rhinoceros-black (a flowing sea!).
2.2k
You're good for me like penicillin.
But I haven't popped enough of you yet.
Sightings of you as rare as an eagle,
The rare occasion I feel like a human.
Your purity is beyond belief,
like the cleanest **** on the street,
Your skin is the smoothest white marble
You're like renaissance art
I would quit all of my bad habits
just for a day in your presence
I wouldn't need another sip of *****
or sweaty fumbling in the back of a car
How do I tell you how I'm feeling
With a keytar and shaker at your door?
Could I win a joust for you?
I would invent electricity if I could.
But that's it, you demigoddess
You're boarding now a flying syringe
******* the life of me with every inch
What's blood for if not for spilling?
To me, you are perfect, love
A hologram i'm not allowed to touch
My tangled heart with stay right here
and pump occasionally for you my dear
10.13.12 1:20 AM
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
I'm a Pattern Breaker
Pass the soul shaker
Rather be a maker
Then meet the undertaker
Study if you want to
Patterns we all go through
Taught false is true
Truth is in what we do
We all have answers
Still we get cancers
Create ribbons and banners
Get upset lose our manners
Soldiers take tours die in religious wars
Truth main battle fought behind closed doors
Toxic hatred spreading mental spores
Pollution melting ice raising ocean shores
Continue the pattern to **** is to win
Method is this madness our greatest sin
Each loss there's a cost animosity begins
An explosion of souls losing their skin
Governments construction to help us function
Built in corruption seeds of self destruction
Laws punish choices creating junctions
Living Hells..Prison cells youth feel the suction
Hmm now what's a Pattern breaker?
Funky new thought creator
Already know the later
Break the pattern of the hater..♏
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 8:08 PM UTC
I am a cloud breaker
because the sun is always with me,
tattooed on my back.
Even at night I can see silver linings.
I am an earth shaker--
cackling, quaking laughs crack surfaces
above, and so below
of flesh and rock like lava's burning, gurgling grace.
I am a light maker.
Warm words spark & ignite dried, dusty leaves
forgotten or ignored,
clearing paths for new gardens to feast upon the sunlight.
I'm a flow waker,
building bridges of effervescent electric irrigation
with hugs between our eyes and hearts,
nourishing, cleansing bodies.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
-
in order to
"poem"
___BIG___—
i must learn
to write
small...
s jones
2021
.
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 7:04 AM UTC
Devil's Dream
3/4 ounces of madness
1/4 ounce of insanity
1/4 ounce of delusion
1/2 ounce of darkness
1/4 ounce of incapacity
1/4 ounce of violence
6 ounces of nightmares
Combine all ingredients into a shaker,
Shake intensely for 10 minutes until thoroughly mixed up, strain into a high ball asylum unbreakable glass, top with gasoline, light on fire and serve.
This should make one hell of a drink.
Thank you for visiting Satan's Pub, please come back any time.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
When addiction runs deep,
Like the blood in our veins,
Its impossible to kick,
Unlikely to abstain.
For we are what we love,
And we love what we are;
It’s said that an apple,
From its tree won't roll far.
Her parents were junkies,
Generations gone by,
So deep in her blood,
It’d be cruel to deny.
I’ve found in resistance,
I beat my head on a brick,
So no longer at odds,
I embrace life as her fix.
“Honey, can you fix this?”
She says, smiling at the sale.
At the lamp I look closely,
It stands tired and frail;
It's brass tarnished dark,
Its wire is frayed.
In my head I say, “No," then,
“Sure babe,” someone else said.
Believing I’ve dodged one,
I breathe a sigh of relief;
We return to our Jeep, and
Drive away down the street.
Then I glance in the mirror,
And what do I see,
It’s that LAMP in my back seat,
Staring smugly at me.
*“This dresser will be cool,
In robin's-egg-blue;”*
Just describing the hue,
I see her almost drool.
*“Yeah, natural on top,
It's frame painted, then glazed...
You’re the best at glueing drawers!”*
She adds icing with praise.
*“Look, here’s a chair I found,
with pretty calico;
If you fix it's broken arm,
You’ll be my hero!
Cuz I am sure it will fetch,
Ten times what I've paid.”*
I’m a wage earner no longer,
She pays me in accolades.
That bowl with mustard yellow,
Picture frames of wood & plaster;
An old tin box, and this small broach,
A barrel chest with leather straps.
A jewelry box,
(A lover’s locket found inside)
Each purchase she makes,
Adds satisfaction, and pride.
Her addiction runs deep,
She’s my bargain-maker;
Not a corporate girl,
But she’s a mover and shaker.
Yes, she's my ******
And I am her fix;
Together we’re a duo,
"Can we peak in your attic?"
In my chair as I write this,
I feel something, turn and see;
And there pinned to the cushion,
Is a price tag poking me.
Now I’m nervous as a cat,
Wouldn’t want to fall asleep;
For fear I could wake up,
In the back of someone else's Jeep!
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC