"swizzle" poems
oh honey ****
pen and ink **** star warrior
pretty little manga girl
twinkle wisp
with kung fu throwing stars
and triple steel samurai sword
that tear through others
made of pink taffy
and cherry juice fizz blood
moving like lightening
a flying gladiator
with dripping sweet rice
and tapioca milk shake *******
oh
you would taste so good to drink
out of a swirling sherbet punch bowl
with big blow job star goldfish
and hungry pink ***** lips octopus
drooling
sit on your face suckers
oh, fighter of one-legged midgets
the best part after a fresh ****
victory ****
to go down on them
their loli pop *****
butter ***** beautiful
springing through the top of your skull
cause you can't get enough
oh wow
happy hello kitty
***** plump plops
viscous
before the coup de grâce
as she twirls their chewing gum gizzards
with her little swizzle tongue
goo ga licious
before placing
what's left of their hose like glistening entrails
around her throat like a pearl necklace
only to get strangled with it
by double **** UFO boy
solar ******* hero of the universe
so hard
she spurts pineapple juice and *** donuts
out of pucker pie ****
**** banged cross eyed
like little girl manga never felt so good
addicted to cruel
whipped with a hella wet noodle
yes no yes no yes no
yes pleazzz
her big blue marble glass eyes
binocular kaleidoscopes
spring out on the floor
and roll around
turning into all seeing
anti-gravity magnetized
silver pin stripped spaceships
peopled by
evil omni ****** **** *****
screaming through eternity
in search of cosmic
tushi sushi
ogling wiggling ballerina butts
bubble gum for the eyeballs
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 3:36 PM UTC
I saw Jim at Two Amigos
Sitting at the bar,
Stick-handling a coaster.
He was a hockey star,
Showed it when he smiled;
His nose a puck.
He tells stories
Of blood freezing on ice,
Jersey pulls and sweat,
Body checks and corners.
He drives the zamboni,
Making the ice sheet a giant mirror.
The crowds cheer Jim
To get off the ice,
Let the game begin.
He speeds his machine
To the far end doors,
Vanishing down the tunnel.
He's just ordered a double boiler-maker,
Stirs his whiskey with a swizzle-stick,
And slaps back another shot.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 8:40 AM UTC
I left Jim at Two Amigos
Sitting at the bar,
Stick-handling a coaster.
He was a hockey star,
Showed it when he smiled.
He tells stories
Of blood freezing on ice,
Jersey pulls and sweat,
Body checks and corners.
He circles the Zamboni,
On memory's icy mirror.
The crowds cheer Jim
To get off the ice,
Let the game begin.
He speeds his machine
To the far end doors,
Vanishing down the tunnel.
He's just ordered a double boiler-maker,
Stirs his whiskey with a swizzle-stick,
And slaps back another shot.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
Susie Saviour is a Bond girl
From Weymouth-Turf-On-Sea
A swish, a sway; a fist, a fray
And home in time for tea.
She scuba dives for pleasure
Downdashious to her core,
But only when the flags are out
And never far from shore.
A beauty queen, a lisome lass,
A femme fatale, a flirt;
Serves martinis with a swizzle stick
This sweet assassin in a skirt.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 8:08 PM UTC
Darling
Caress my burdens
Watch me float away like the smoke from the cigarette you just bummed from the trumpet player
My wit will dissolve with the tidal wave of dopamine
Your friends laugh at my jokes
Later tonight you'll see another side of me
I'm really tired
And your eyes are cloudy
I'm apprehensive because you're being so nice to me
I really loved the picture in front of the tree
I really loved how you got down on one knee
My smile closes like a heavy velvet curtain
My eyes are the ticket stubs of something certain
Darling
Help me manage my burdens
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:28 AM UTC
The end of the cigarette
Burns off spaghetti strings,
While one eye is on the soup.
My shoes, which by the way
Are on my feet,
Swizzle and spin
As the thermometer bursts
From the heat of the kitchen.
The stars can be seen
Through the roof,
As the freezer lets off steam,
And I reach into my pocket
And pull out a rock,
Which I crush with my bare hands.
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 2:59 PM UTC
Ride your bike at night with no breaks & no lights
no street lamps in the country & PEDAL
as fast as you can so everything is a deadly blur
A MILLION MILES A MINUTE
believe that the road knows where are you are going
& that it loves you & that it is soft & that
'pain is just weakness leaving the body'
//meat-head bull shit//blah
I no longer wish to write like jazz
but to only be honest
alas, once again my hands are a opaque swizzle
of pink flesh & I find myself wanting to voice my
words with my bones & scream GALLEEB SHIMB CRANK ROARR-
EEEEEE like I always do
Friday night I danced in the dark with great humiliation
& not caring(much)drank down brown ale & talked to no girls
I realised that music was dying & what then but eatsleepdrinkfuckdeath again&again;&again;&again;
spoke of films I knew nothing about but nodded anyway
like I always do
once again attempting to walk the 25 miles home for lack of pockets & broke in to the train station where we slept & smoked under the milky light of no glasses.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 7:20 PM UTC
Fiery broth and witch's brew
Foamy froth and riches blue
Fume and spume and spoondrift spray
Fizzle swizzle shout hooray
Watch it sloshing, swashing, sploshing
Hear it hissing, squishing, spissing
Grandma better start to pray.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
It's the kind of fragrance
that brings men to their knees,
makes dreams come true,
raw,
primal,
the very essence of life itself.
You know it
when you smell.
It's an exlixir,
titillating,
better than the finest wines,
genuine intoxication.
I smelled it when I walked by
her,
sitting there,
the epitome of feminine beauty,
wetter than the Khasi Hills.
I could tell by the look in her eyes,
& the curl on her lip
as she sipped,
stirred her swizzle stick,
licking its tip.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
How To Know How to Crów
I only know…
how to crów…
and for that matter how snot to blów...
to flush Thee's I lids, filled with sóót…
and trample others underfoot…
and swizzle Lóg's inadequate mediocrity in beer…
and discontent so insincere…
to bake a subpar leaking **** insult…
of the egómania egó cult…
as self-serving accolade…
and act the quade, though never laid…
and dig a swirling dreck cascade…
as Carvó's paintings quickly die and fade…
within Thee's stinking I parade…
for three art and two art and one art for zero art...
We (I and Thee) can only obsess to tear HP apart.
*Original ('How To Know Not To Know') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
**** the fabric of it all
make it stretch wide open
(searching for a muse)
put your head in
take a good look around
(searching for a muse)
swizzle eyed like a lizard
open mouthed, gaping
(searching for a muse)
catching magic
on the tip of your tongue.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
Three days in - three days of school - and it’s like I never left.
In school, you can get oversaturated with screens. I like books.
They have a sense of permanence, they don’t glare back at you,
and I want something physical I can grip, markup and push off
the bed onto the floor when I get over it.
After three days of class, I’m asking (no one in particular), "Are we there yet?"
I can speed-read if I have a pointer - I use cocktail picks (swizzle sticks?) - you know, the little olive skewers you get in a martini? I have a collection from all over the world.
If I go to a bar and they have nice swizzle sticks, I’ll gather a few up. “What are you DOing,” Karen, (Lisa’s mom) asked me as I scarfed up several from patron’s empty glasses at the elegant, Refinery Rooftop bar in Manhattan.
“I have a TON of reading to do,” I explained, helpfully.
“Don’t even ask,” Lisa shrugged, rolling her eyes, when her mom looked confused.
The trick to speed reading is your eyes (and brain) pickup more than you realize and people tend to pronounce things, in their minds, as they read, which REALLY slows you down. So, you swivel the pointer down the page, following the pointer with your eyes, and Walla!
You can’t do THAT with a computer screen. You need a book, and when you have 2 or 3 hundred pages (or more) a night to read, you can’t just hold your breath and refuse - like a seven-year-old - can you? Seriously, I mean, can we? I’m asking - though it’s probably a little late (senior year).
Now, of course, not just any appetizer toothpick or fruit pick will do - the selection process can be rather byzantine. They must be a certain length, about 2 inches longer than my finger, so my hand doesn’t block the text, and square ones are the easiest to grip. Finally, if they have a little arrow-point on the tip? Well, that’s true love.
The problem is, I can get a little intense when reading and they tend to break. When my roommates hear me exclaim, “God **** it!” At 2am. They usually know why.
.
.
A song for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
Sep 1, 2024
Sep 1, 2024 at 5:09 PM UTC
1.5 oz Bulleit Rye
0.5 oz Gallo Extra Dry Vermouth
0.25 oz Mezzetta Olive Juice
3 dashes Angostura Bitters
Stir with
3 cold Mezzetta Garlic Stuffed Olives
on a Frankie's swizzle
Drink this and remember me
It is the depth of my sorrow
The shallowness of my pain
The blood of my anger
My testament
Bear witness
to the sins of my father
Writ in the ugliness of me
Drink this and shudder
It is my undoing
The unraveling of light
A consummation of the dark
Drink this and remember me
Feb 13, 2022
Feb 13, 2022 at 1:05 AM UTC
*A swizzle at dusk , a Wild Turkey rush , the crunch of frozen grass , the songbird hush , the Sun setting fast in the 'Bama blush
Oaks racked in the throes -
of numbing Winter
Morbid , gray day dreamscapes
The call to dinner*
*An Atlanta stove ,
Where coffee warms
A brass nutcracker , a bucket of pecans
Windows drizzled , the house would whistle
Columbus grits and country ham
Buttermilk biscuits with peach jam* ...
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC