"swigs" poems
What you don't see
is the way I wait,
watching her braid
worries in her hair
speckling small daisies,
my eyes like tumblers
gulping her in swigs
as she perches glasses
on the arch of her nose,
and then we'll take
a photo
to remark on how
we were back then
and now.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
And the cyclist said to the seafaring man that it was the best **** poison he had ever drank.
The seafaring man was uneasy, wishing that the cyclist would put the bottle down.
He had cautioned his friend in the past--
"Poison will **** you, you know. That's the very purpose of the stuff."
-- And the cyclist's reply had always been the same:
"Well, I've had two swigs, and it hasn't killed me yet."
Then three swigs, four, five....
"Yes," the seafaring man would press,
"But it makes you horribly sick every time. You've told me so."
The cyclist would give a peculiar look and say in a peculiar voice,
"I know what I'm getting in to. And it hasn't killed me yet."
Months later, the seafaring man left the cyclist's funeral either sad or disappointed.
He wondered if the death went down as an accident or a suicide.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
When the first sweet scent of summertime,
sifted through the sea-salt scented air,
so many things and everything
were bright, light and happy-go-fair,
the Summer Life with you was finally here.
As soon as our bare feet hit the wood bridge,
running from the road up over the dunes,
great grey seagulls squawked, dove and swoon,
we held hands together, one and one
made two,
dash-dancing across the shiny sand with you,
dressed and undressed in our Summer Life moods.
Colours like pinwheels spun like yarn,
flashed and clashed bright orange to blue,
you danced and giggled like a loon,
pulled me up and so close, so close
to you,
that I had to dance, I had to dance like a loon,
I just had to laugh and dance and laugh along with you.
How we played, we frolicked beneath the beachy sun,
belly-surfed upon the waves just for funny fun,
flicked flecks of sand from our sticky picnic lunch,
shared swigs from a big blue thermos jug
of fruity-fruit yummy punch,
sharing and caring beneath the Summer Life's sun.
By evening-tide the air grew cool,
you called me 'lover,' I called you 'fool'
-with a big ol' blanket draped over our shoulders,
we kissed and cuddled, growing much bolder,
falling flat back
upon the mighty mattress of sand,
feeling the mists of the waves licking our hands,
as the Man-In-The-Moon arose and shone,
to dance and laugh with us on the Summer Life's throne.
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 1:46 AM UTC
Lime green freezer pops
Swigs of senor Jack Daniels
My body gets hot.
-------------------------------
Jacky versus wine
Will fight to the death tonight
Victor gets a home
---------------------------------
Baby-making songs
(The world tastes like raspberry!)
Jazz flute Godzilla
-------------------------------
Little black cell phone
Glows modern techno at night
Rad leaks in my brain.
(I am now a spidercorn!)
---------------------------------
Idiotic cat
Sole bane of my living room
You should've been a dog
--------------------------------
Woman and man-thing
Flame haired goddess of cleavage
Mid-coitus phonecalls.
---------------------------------
Two shots of whiskey
One sibling revelation
Long night of country.
--------------------------------
Blood-baths, hair stylists
****** eye for the dead guy
Joanne: **** the man.
-------------------------------
A nice hairy man
Smirnoffs, beer pong victory.
Did I do a bad?
----------------------------------
I am drunk on you
And on you conversation
More than on the beer.
---------------------------------
Whiskey sours, full.
Half-nude swimming with strangers.
Attraction repressed.
----------------------------
Oh my pretty beer
You so inspire my mind
I can't stop giggling.
-----------------------------
Hank bones on the wall
A sad tale of pretending
Oh no! Demon feet.
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 7:13 PM UTC
You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier's rosy gleam;
You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear;
You lift it with your bay'nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam;
The very breath of it is ripe with cheer.
You're awful cold and ***** and a-cursin' of your lot;
You scoff the blushin' 'alf of it, so rich and rippin' 'ot;
It bucks you up like anythink, just seems to touch the spot:
God bless the man that first discovered Tea!
Since I came out to fight in France, which ain't the other day,
I think I've drunk enough to float a barge;
All kinds of fancy foreign dope, from caffy and doo lay,
To *** they serves you out before a charge.
In back rooms of estaminays I've gurgled pints of cham;
I've swilled down mugs of cider till I've felt a bloomin' dam;
But 'struth! they all ain't in it with the vintage of Assam:
God bless the man that first invented Tea!
I think them lazy lumps o' gods wot kips on asphodel
Swigs nectar that's a flavour of Oolong;
I only wish them sons o' guns a-grillin' down in 'ell
Could 'ave their daily ration of Suchong.
Hurrah! I'm off to battle, which is 'ell and 'eaven too;
And if I don't give some poor bloke a sexton's job to do,
To-night, by Fritz's campfire, won't I 'ave a gorgeous brew
(For fightin' mustn't interfere with Tea).
To-night we'll all be tellin' of the Boches that we slew,
As we drink the giddy victory in Tea.
2.2k
Distraught, with alien invaded heart
I partied with the night in my thoughts.
Dark, distant and silent as perceived, yet
She was candid, sweetness personified.
Let me taste swigs of wine from her cup
Sung me a lullaby of ethereal starlights
Dreams plucked from nights, she gifted
Weeded out nightmares deeply embeded.
On a dream boat chosen,I set sailed alone
To an emerald island at the middle of
the ocean,
And made up my mind never to sail back.
Adamant I was not to be out of that dream
Beloved, erotic, night conjured up for me
With the twist of her psychedelic finger.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 2:09 PM UTC
There are days of sun, and days of rain,
and days where the wind
will press your soul almost to extinction.
Let things be, that will be.
Real thoughts are mindless thoughts.
Thoughts of the heart, of the skin,
a wink of an eye, the blink of both.
All meaning exactly what they mean.
Just be yourself, your thoughtless self.
Be selfish, negligent, foolish, reckless.
Who cares! Be whatever you wish,
whatever you are able to be.
Just be you and accept you.
Then change, if you may.
We are made from changes!
Remember, there are days of sun, and days of rain,
and those special days where the wind made you grow.
So, be the sunflower that welcomes the sun,
be the tulip that merrily swigs from the rain,
be the overgrown grass that bends and whistles as the wind runs by.
Be a little of them all,
and, who knows, if you can,
dare to be more.
Poems are not meant to be explained,
but I will do just that.
You are your heart, your skin, your eyes,
but not your thoughts:
try to be your physical self, your thoughtless self,
and everything will always be alright.
You are the animal in you, the plant in you, the god in you.
You are all of these things, they are all you.
And you are so much more!
So, now, go on with your day, go on with your life,
and even go on, if you must, with your after-life.
But as you go, from now on,
tilt your head a little higher, and breathe a little deeper.
For, now you know: you are alive,
and that, in itself, is what’s divine.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 4:11 PM UTC
Edie strolled into the restaurant, her favorite place
as a child.
The diner was decorated in a 50's theme
and looked like it was a drunken night's
regurgitation of the one in "Pulp Fiction."
She sat down in front of her father,
who had been watching her ever since she pulled up.
"Jesus Christ, Edie. What did those shoes cost you?"
Edie was wearing a pair of pink heels with
Louboutin trademark red soles.
"Enough," Edie spat, with obvious contempt for her father's concern.
The waitress approached,
sat her plump buttocks on the booth
next to Edie's father and took their drink order.
Two coffees, two waters, and an orange juice.
"I want you to meet my new girlfriend, Edie."
"What the **** do you mean by that?"
"Have dinner with us."
"No, thanks."
Edie's father took a deep sigh.
"I know this is about your mother---"
Edie threw a ten on the table, and
strode quickly to the door.
Elvis, Marilyn, and Frank look-a-likes stared
curiously at her full-figure.
Edie sank into her car with tears rolling
down her cheeks.
She drove to a convenience store and purchased
two bottles- Tylenol and Jack.
She threw a couple swigs of each back and raced
towards the Turner Motel, where her next
client waited eagerly with a sweaty forehead and a
chest panting like a diseased dog.
Edie let it fester.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 5:52 PM UTC
too sweet
not like candy
more like raw sugar cane
dainty and honest
to the innocence of tastebuds
but grows stale and sticky
to the back of my throat
and all i can think of
to wash you away
are a couple swigs of listerine
and her mom's stash of *****
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
Her favourite night of the year approaches,
The veil between life and death will slip,
When ghouls, banshees and ghosts leave their coaches,
And the headless horseman leaves with the crack of his whip.
Sure, she'll dress like a vamp, wearing plastic fangs,
And she'll play her part well, at this new night club spot,
Just a few, well selected mere mortals will hang,
For this party appears to be all that it,s not.
When she checks in her cloak, with the strange looking girl,
She is handed a drink, from an ancient vessel,
"What is it?", she 'll ask,"Oh just give it a whirl",
So she swigs, not seeing the bottle necks tossil.
As a tingle is closing her airways so tight,
She becomes quite aware of what she's drinking,
And she looks out the window, to see fading light,
And the floor feels like quicksand, she's sinking.
Her host appears, chanting, and everyone follows,
They claw at her , like they were starving,
And feed on her blood, she is shocked as it flows,
As she sees on her wrists, all the carvings.
Such a need to belong, left her lying, undead,
Just so she could appear,so delightful,
Now she feeds on the weak, ****** girls in their bed,
Crawling back in her hole, in wait for nightfall.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 12:15 AM UTC
I saw this War Veteran on his porch yelling at this Hipster Kid who was tethered to his fence across the generational gapped front lawn, yelling back at him. And I mean, they got into it.
The kid wasn't doing anything really, just taking alternate swigs of foamy PBR and flat Red Bull and chucking the cans into the vet's unkempt garden, retorting Dylan lyrics and sentiments of Kerouac like the post-modern beatnik he was.
I couldn't make out what the Old Vet was saying. His voice was missing from probably smoking too many Benson & Hedges Black down in the trenches. I know he must have been saying something uncalled for, though, to get this Kid so riled up like that.
I'm not sure what they were arguing about since I awoke right in the middle of this altercation, hanging upside down on a bench in the park across the street. I suppose I'll just wait until the Vet goes back inside so I can go over and release the Kid and ask him what that was all about.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
Ms Dolittle was giving her cuppa a sip
Her beady eyes drowned in deep brood
Last night she didn’t get enough sleep
The morning found her in a grumpy mood.
She had never seen them in all her years
Though read or heard about sightings
Dismissed them as mere conjectures
The believers’ flight on fantasy wings!
It might be the moonlight playing mischief with her
The moon can fool with such eerie nightly designs
Or maybe had a peg too many she couldn’t remember
She wasn’t unaccustomed to swigs of grapevines.
Whatever, she saw it clear not imagined in her head
The silhouette of her husband on the curtained window
Something she wouldn’t wish away as merely moon-made
He stood there upright waving to her in the moon’s glow.
Ms Dolittle brave as she is didn’t swoon or pass out
Just lay there motionless without rising to the summon
It was her husband about that she had no doubt
For in a troubled voice it said, ‘Come on’.
So there he was troubled for not having her company
And it was precisely what was worrying her
She had no idea with him how she could be
She wasn’t yet booked for traveling that far!
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
There he is the little dude with the brown paper
bag Sticking out of his right back pocket.
Taking quick swigs and casting furtive glances
dude is taking major chances. You see.
He knows a lot about who shot John.
A little brown lid perched risky on his matted head
This cat has mastered Newton , he is a highfalutin Playa
real soothsayer. He tips another swig either that or blow his wig
just at the corner of irrelevant and vine. drinking cheap wine.
His blanket has long blown way down the avenue with
yesterday's news as Pork-pie charlie hums the blues counting
cop cars by the ones and twos. Hustler's delight on the far corner
trying to sell something that he never owned. A dip is a guy who picks your pocket.
Oh I see the golden glint of a small gold locket in his stealthy palm
Minutes before it was going south on fifth street tucked away neat.
Now the price of a fix. Pork-pie sees all tells all. That is why he
is missing some teeth well, one reason why.
He just missed his bus and is kicking up dust
Oh well miss one catch one. Old guy in burgundy slacks
Run down shoes slowed him down as he rolled on the ground stood
and dusted off. Charlie smiles then he doffs just another day in Paradise.
A fixture a mixture of pathos and primp
still thinks he is a **** but only when the
spirit hits from the ***** top green bottle.
Pork-pie charlie will never die he has a recruit in the wings
showing him things. Like the old soft shoe and
other tricks to fill up his hat.
Hey mister, you got any spare change.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 10:34 AM UTC
Liquor
Your lips tasted like liquor
and I was in a drunken abyss.
I took sips that turned into swigs,
and soon enough,
I was intoxicated.
The only difference,
between me and the other drunks;
I knew what I wanted.
You, with you lips of alcohol
and your scent of *******
And I was addicted
to your body
as your arms encircle me
in a little cage,
on Cloud 9.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC
well I was sitting out back underneath the stars
Take in a couple of swigs play a couple of bars
Wonder where the time went and who's praying for me
I know somebody's gotta be praying for me.
So I'm feeling faux pa and bored with friends
angry with neighbors lonesome crowded winds
blowin me down like an eight mile island
I can't see out of the car I'm driving
but I can tell the future's not exciting
I work tomorrow then I'll strum my guitar
but not much to keep me out of the bars
cept poverty **** and writing in cars
So now I'm sittin out back underneath the stars
Take a couple of swigs eat a couple a bars
Wonder where the time went praying for you
I'm Still on my knees just praying for you
Well I don't know what I'm talkin about
Just wrote a couple songs and I'm spit'n em out
Ain't worth $hit and my brains on drought
but I, Should I, Reason my doubt...?
I'll drop a couple of classes I'm going for broke
Hit my head on the bad lands buried the Pope
stuck my nose in the air like I was downing a Coke
When I woke up in evening I hadn't gotten too far
They took an empty spot next to me at the bar
So Sitting out back underneath the stars
Take a couple of wigs take a couple of cars
Wander in the barn house pray Mr. Blue
huffing the Gasoline Praying for you
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
monk jumps
trinkle ****** trane
criss crossin time
aboard idiocentric planes
whacky Hackensack moods
near my mysterioso home
round bout midnight gleaning
brilliant corner poems
hummin blue monk blues
i surrender dear
Bemsha swing cast away
Friday the 13th fears
melancholy ruby swigs
straight no chaser shots
just let's cool one
at the red hot 5 Spot
rollins and griffin jammin
hudson riverside house
Weehawken royalty bows
to a spiffy charlie rouse
we remember mintons
a vast creative flood
monk be boppin on stage
when in walked bud
red rooster clucksters
raising town hall roofs
consecrating spaces playing
Monk's hallowed tunes
"pianos don't play no wrong notes"
we heard Thelonious once say
his utterances on the upright keys
ingenious music maestro on display
Music Selection:
Thelonious Monk:
In Walked Bud
Marking Thelonious Sphere Monks Centennial
10/10/17 - 10/10/17
Orlando
9/28/17
jbm
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 6:36 PM UTC
After all the keys of *******
conversations of heartbreak,
swigs of liquor mundane,
and kisses from Maryjane
I swear I can drive home.
Numb, thinking of Love--
Snapchat your toys when we hang.
Won't reply to my love when you see my name.
Everytime you come back to visit
by the Murrieta cold mist,
you hold my hand and kiss my lips
like you're sick of it.
You told me you still got it for me.
But Girl, why do you dance when I cry?
Been around the beds at the UC
so give me meaning to why I still try.
I'm begging Honeychild,
****** of my eyes.
Dangerous with your lies--
****** to the real stuff,
Couldn't understand my love.
I'm begging Honeychild,
Show my you still got it for me.
I'm out in South County
driving under Orion's belt.
Call you when my drunk heart is for sell again.
"Please, please drive home" you told me,
Suicidal tendencies control me.
No more drugs,
no more driving like the street has me sprung.
But of the bumps that clumped my vision,
and drugs that sunk my conscious,
you were the worse
saying Novacane was yours.
A sad song, why can't you see I'm the one
feeling numb
on the ice cold lawn,
while you're filming ****
with no red light on.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
A friend of mine from Vașcău
Lovingly brings me homemade wine.
It doesn't have that touch of
Beautiful berserker my father's
Wine whispers of; it forms a warm
Woman's hand around your
Innerhead, while you draw slow
Swigs of sweet silk
Into the astral
Bloodstream of
Your soul.
It scares me.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
Hadn't seen my brother in awhile, I wondered if he’d something risky.
Instead I found him at home sitting alone drowning in swigs of whiskey.
The dark living room became his cave.
The couch acted as his grave.
How strange it is to see a man become a bottles slave.
Has Bourbon withered him away until there's nothing left to save?
Much time has passed since we roamed the woods and strolled along the creek.
Now it seems the creek has dried, the trees have died, and the forest looks bleak.
But somewhere out in the cornfield I can still here him speak.
Corn, the original form of the poison that makes him weak.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC
It was never meant to end this way
Especially since you left without your word
I felt like broken glass in the rain
There was always that moment you cursed
Your own friend, your own brother
He only loved you a little less than your mother
The quick successive turns you took
The swigs of beer you drank as you drove far
The distance between widened your noose
To allow you to breathe a little, like a door ajar
I don't know what I am trying to do
Because I end up losing you
Surely words can't fix the mess we've created
Surely it had been words that started to fray the jersey
Which had been hand-knit, lost now and demented
Barely able enough to speak a few words that are slurry
Hang in there and wait for me
I tried to help, but you wouldn't let me
Maybe this was how you wanted things to end
Like gravel scraped on my back
You wanted the scars to remain and deepen
Like salt in your tea I was too weak to even
Say 'Hello' when I past you at home
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 11:07 AM UTC
Tonight,
the drive took longer
than expected.
I was just going to the store
for four dollar whiskey.
We have argued for some time now,
and hold our breaths
when we crunch our food
in the morning.
We work: 9-5; and come home to laze
away from each other,
or to roar
about unkept promises
in the shared den;
We work: 9-5; and come home to laze;
to glisten in the beedled glow
of TVs
in separate rooms,
on separate couches,
on separate floors.
I have faltered,
and you have quoted.
I needed to get out of the house
because we have worked too hard
to shake it;
and screaming is a discomfort
we can bare
and that's no good
I've realized lately.
And the highway,
with its litany of bruises
and the brutality of a billion
dandelion reflectors
seemed like a blackening pavilion
for catharsis.
There was no one beside me;
the roadway pummeled
beneath.
It was a terrible silence.
I screamed in the ***** odor of night,
and whistled
in the hushing door;
paid for my little bottle of godliness
and took hard swigs
in a weed-laundered parking lot
of an abandoned Food Lion.
Crabgress crept up through the concrete--
breaking and burdening--
and drifted in suffocating meadows.
The empty grocery store has an opaque facade
and a shimmering tiny lion;
I am home.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 9:50 PM UTC
at first
youre okay with it.
push off, men;
the grog swigs sweet.
swimming, seasick
sloshing from can
to canteen
you should have stayed on shore
not left it.
she saw your slurring
through white-tailed eyes.
her top popped off
with the crack and rush
you know.
you gulped it down.
our only resistance
residue from cans
coming in drops
we
should
not
have
done
that
leaving in puddles
soaking your socks
you should have peeled off the wet
not stand in it.
she saw your recanting
through chopped-onion eyes.
her thoughts popped off
with the snap and blush
you wish you didnt know
you swallowed a howl.
her only insistence
how could you
you should have stopped her.
at last
youre only okay with it.
**** off, man;
the sounds sting, screech.
fiending, seasoned
coughing up mistakes
and headaches
you should have eaten lunch
not imbibed it.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 5:12 AM UTC
I am really sorry her younger sister,
Don't mean to spoil your fun but really,
You would not get to tease her forever!
I am really sorry her little brother,
Don't mean to take your artist away,
You would not get her to do charts!
I am really sorry her strict mother,
Don't mean to insult you but we'll elope,
You would not get to polish her by scolding!
I am really sorry her loving father,
Don't mean to question your upbringing,
You would not get to love her as much as me!
Oh my dream-most-real how I wait for you,
The brush of these twigs of the love tree,
I will gulp the swigs of tears belonging to you!
Oh my young inspiration how I love you,
The gush of the potion of our love is awaited,
We will have a toast of happiness each!
Oh my young companion how I require you,
The lush gardens of love expect us really soon,
Come to my street forever I wait for you!
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
I wandered blackout drunk lost
trading cigarettes for directions
from crustpunks who took swigs
from bottles of cheap plasticsugar alcohol
Muttering to myself in selfdefense
sublimating the toxic fire in my eyes
into soundwave echoes
bouncing off of plywood windows
and abandoned stolen cars
Angry limping at breakleg pace
down the heroinblessed streets
of yet another vibrant American slum.
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC