"toddy" poems
I came along to your garden, to see your chillies growing
Unaware of what laid in wait, or what was really showing
There stood a glass a lidded drink, familiarity of knowing
If that's what I think it is, I don't want it overflowing
Do my eyes forsake me, is that a fluid from the body
Is that froth of a good beer, or from a head that's shoddy
Does it look like what it is, a very dodgy toddy!
Ghoulish drinks will turn you green, like Goblins are in Noddy
What the hell you thinking off, with water that's distilled
It smells like the local gents, so it should not be spilled
I don't mind a special brew, but this time I'm not thrilled
Unusual cocktails are okay, but not ones you have filled
Aren't beverages supposed to be, refreshing and thirst quenching ?
You say that it's good to drink, but really it's gut wrenching
An endless supply you may have, but it should be toilet drenching
Don't ever make a wankers drink, by using a fist clenching
You wouldn't want this drink on tap, it defies imagination
It's just the same as a lady, drinking her own ************
It maybe the water of life, but it's just urination
Aqua vitae is not my idea, of a real drink designation
Even just the thought of it, makes me feel sick and hazy
To drink a glass of this stuff, you must be ******* crazy
Well talk about recycling, or are you just bog lazy
Is Harvey Denton related, or do you live in Royston Vasey
People like to drink sometimes, is there something I have missed
You seem to have your own ideas, but with a certain twist
A brand new meaning you have brought, to getting yourself ******
Golden showers are one thing, but that's when your sexually kissed
There's one thing I'd like to know, so what do you say
Why do you think that drinking **** will keep the germs away
It cant be very good for you, it's an inside body spray
Your just drinking toilet water, hay Jay are you ****** today ?
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
Ban flu,
Man flu.
Aching head,
Bleary eyes,
Death lurking,
In disguise,
Under the bed,
What a surprise,
**** off Death,
I’m going to rise.
No I’m not,
I flop down,
Head cushioned,
In eiderdown,
In the curtains,
Face of a clown,
In medication,
Senses drown.
I’m not dying,
I am in a state,
Snot and phlegm,
I ******* hate,
No latent desire,
To **********
No appetite,
I’m losing weight!
I’m getting better,
Weak as a lamb,
A hot toddy,
A wee dram,
Man flu is real,
Not a sham,
Getting better,
The **** I am.
The fifth day,
What a-to-do,
So had enough,
Of feeling blue,
Death lost,
So go *****
Getting dressed,
I am its true.
Man flu,
Ban flu.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
I know it's out there somewhere
the elusive balm of sleep.
I've tried an evening toddy
and I'm running out of sheep.
Prescriptions drugs and sedatives
placebos, they must be.
Because my eyelids won't stay shut
there's far to much to see.
The REM my body craves
is like a hidden itch.
I know I need to scratch it
but can't FIND that son of a *****
And so I lie in darkness
and stare up at the fan.
I try to count rotations
while making up a plan.
The Sandman's on vacation.
I guess i'll read a book.
I listen to some sound effects
a breeze and babbling brook.
I may just have the answer.
A hammer is the cure.
But such a headache I would get!
That has no real allure.
Desperation beckons.
I'm teetering on the brink.
I'd give a lot for just a bit
( ten dollars for a wink?)
My eyes are red and swollen.
My jaw is sore and raw.
The yawns are coming faster now
there oughta be a law.
I'll see you in the morning.
Sweet dreams if sleep you can.
For me...I'll just go meditate
and watch that ceiling fan.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
People wish to be settled. Only as long as they are unsettled is there any hope for them.
-- Thoreau
My life has been
the instrument
for a mouth
I have never seen,
breathing wind
which comes
from I know not
where,
arranging and changing
my moods,
so as to make
an opening
for his voice.
Or hers.
Muse, White Goddess
mother with invisible
milk,
androgynous god
in whose grip
I struggle,
turning this way and that,
believing that I chart
my life,
my loves,
when in fact
it is she, he,
who charts them--
all for the sake
of some
as yet unwritten poem.
Twisting in the wind,
twisting like a pirate
dangling in a cage
from a high seawall,
the wind whips
through my bones
making an instrument,
my back a xylophone,
my *** a triangle
chiming,
my lips stretched tight
as drumskins,
I no longer care
who is playing me,
but fear
makes the hairs
stand up
on the backs
of my hands
when I think
that she may stop.
And yet I long
for peace
as fervently as you do--
the sweet connubial bliss
that admits no
turbulence,
the settled life
that defeats poetry,
the hearth before which
children play--
not poets' children,
ragtag, neurotic, demon-ridden,
but the apple-cheeked children
of the bourgeoisie.
My daughter dreams
of peace
as I do:
marriage, proper house,
proper husband,
nourishing dreamless
***
love like a hot toddy,
or an apple pie.
But the muse
has other plans
for me
and you.
Puppet mistress,
dangling us
on this dark proscenium,
pulling our strings,
blowing us
toward Cornwall,
toward Venice, toward Delphi,
toward some lurching
counterpane,
a tent upheld
by one throbbing
blood-drenched pole--
her pen, her pencil,
the monolith
we worship,
underneath
the gleaming moon.
2.3k
It smells like loneliness outside.
The smell of a hot dog on a grill after a storm,
mingled with propane and cigarettes.
The smell of solitary.
A string of “cold and broken hallelujahs”
no longer dulls the senses.
It’s senseless anyway.
I eat my brown rice in front of the sink
and I am reminded of the taste of Play-Doh.
It’s funny how loneliness creeps in on the wind,
the cars’ wheels in the rain,
the braking of the bus,
scuttling of squirrels...
Maybe a hot tea or toddy
(maybe something stronger)
will keep this autumn-ness at bay.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 10:25 PM UTC
First sun-warmed sand
First boots-and-socks-off beach
First ankle-deep stand in rushing water
First SPF rubbed on my face
First crocus pops up in the yard
(Delicately)
Nearby, a young father begins
to teach his toddling young
how to fish.
(Patiently)
Last high-country snowshoe
Last low-country woodstove fire
Last hot bourbon toddy
Last dreamy days of Pisces
Last longing for lost love melts away
(Finally.)
Early over the mountain
the nearly-but-not-yet worm moon
spies the confluence and I below.
(Knowingly)
Here at the place where things change,
the wild world fills me
and I devote myself once more.
(Wholly)
For one who is in love with the chase
And the glory of all things yet-to-be done,
The true rapture of Nature is in knowing
She is too Big, Wild, and Free to own.
(Like me.)
Mar 19, 2019
Mar 19, 2019 at 1:31 AM UTC
"Ähoy" a sudden call, that speaks so much ; looking up I see,
a face familiar for ages,up above the dark, sturdy Palmyra tree,
thirty feet high, amidst the lush canopy of thick green leaves,
his toddy tapper's gear, unchanged for generations, around his waist,
just a breast plate to protect from the rough trunk, while crawling up,
a broad smile, time couldn't wither, on that countenance.
An ancient avatar, he jumps out from a favorite story book,
of childhood, he animated a lot of memories of those times,
walking through the narrow path among trees,a loud "Ähoy"
would unexpectedly greet dad and I, from where the wind reigns,
unaware there is world above, ready to reach us, any time,
cut in to our animated talk on atlas moths with broad wings,
or amazing things, Malabar squirrels that fly from tree to tree.
"Ähoy! Raman!how'z toddy flow today? All fine?"
his voice booming from below, dad would cheer our friend;
more like talking to the wind and trees, pleasantly surreal.
"Ähoy"makes all fall in place, Raman hasn't changed a bit,
time flows only down here, up there it seems standing still,
my little village too has a trap, I suspect, time has no way to escape,
if it makes the river languid, no, Raman seems not to mind!
"Master" the old familiar endearment, "Ẅhat's the matter?
from here, above the clouds, I can see those brooding eyes,
The city, shall I say took all those smiles, you would gift
as a village boy , going to school with your chums, this way"
I know what comes next, fresh toddy served with love as an antidote,
right here under the tree, a brew that brims with memories
of many guilty pleasures of adolescence,can I ever reject?
No worry lines on that gentle face, Raman is ageless, cool,
we sit on a pre historic rock, that extends seating arrangement,
in to container, he made with braided Palmyra leaf,
Raman pours limitless love that for others would look like toddy,
to me this milky liquid, is a magic potion tapped from memories,
of a past that I thought has winged away from me but still here.
I gulp it and get transported to a time, I don't want to forget,
Now the wind, I can hear hums an old haunting tune,familiar
In mild intoxication, we chorus the wind's song on Palmyra leaves.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC
A hot toddy…a hot bath
Is the way she drew me home
To the steamy waters of love
All covered with foam
My Nymph of Nysa in white garments as tight as skin
Revealed piercing and protruding ******* within
With these bedazzled ******* all a glow
She led me to her fountains below
“Lay in my waters so I may bestow
Oil to your muscles from crown to toe”
Though weary from tumultuous day
Healing hands restored strength vigor to play
“Are you able Captain to fill my folds
So I may howl like the Sirens of old?”
Rising like Poseidon out of the surf
I placed her on my four columned berth
Opening wide her ivory legs she called for my girth
“Come, My Captain unload your treasures and bring forth great mirth”
A hot toddy…a hot bath
Is the way she drew me home
To the steamy waters of love
All covered with foam
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
One Sunday
On one of our many births
We
must become the Pappa and Mamma
of an ancient Nazrani tharavadu.
I will go in the morning
And return with
A kilo of beef meat
With bones
Two kilos of tapioca
And may be also a *** of toddy
From the toddy tapper.
While I slice the meat
You will crush the coconut mix
In the grinding stone.
I will come, now and then,
And wipe my face
In the chatta and mundu
Draped folds of yours.
Go away you shameless man
You will dub
The slogan of a coy mistress.
Meanwhile
I’ll drum quick rhythms
On your buttocks
Graced
With pleats.
The kids will see
You’ll repudiate, with your eyes
With the sun
Our bodies also will get warmer
Drops of sweat
Will make studs
On your
Nose.
With the fold of
My chequered mundu
I will wipe them off.
The sun will grow warmer
The toddy inside
Will simmer
In our bodies
An insatiable hunger will torment.
The aroma of
The beef curry with the coconut mix
That you cooked
Will drift into my nose.
Unable to control the craving
I will pick
Tapioca pieces from it and eat.
The hot bits will smolder my tongue.
“You Glutton”
You will then
Whisper to my ears
By the time I wash my hands and sit
Calling out to the kids
And you, to come for lunch
The 12.30 bell will ring in the church.
From that unexpected
Sunday
Which we spent
Stingily
We will set aside
Some memories
for the next creation.
Trans: Shyma P
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
Whenever you are feeling down
Turn on your favorite sound
Don't you know music soothes the soul
When your demons get you up and out of control
Just play those favorite songs
Get up and scream and shout let your body move around every beat you hear will clear so play along
That's right music soothes the soul
You feel no pain for a moment take control
Come get your fix for the day
Don't become his prey
Open your ears for a pleasant surprise
It won't be your demise
Let the music roll across your body
Let the notes sink in and sit back for the ride and have a hot toddy
Relax and let your mind go
With every beat that fills the air that surrounds you go with the flow
Let the music reach your inner soul
Get into the groove no more worries no more pain as you let the music bang
With every breathe hitting that beat
That's right baby no more pain let it sink in your soul and feel it in your feet
Feel the demon curling up wounded
your starting to feel relief crank up the sound make that devil run and hide
Saving your soul before you die
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
Calm.
There's a resounding calm over me.
The day was long.
You're not here.
But that's not to say you won't be again.
This hot toddy is perfection.
The only thing that could make it better is your company.
I miss you, but not painfully today.
Today I miss you comfortably;
In a way that says I'm adjusting to whatever this is.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC
Head to the body
Swallow hot toddy
A dash of narcissism
To make the throat burn
Make my insides churn
A dollop of ego
And I'm getting drunk
On your self-absorbed funk
All mixed in hot
I do it recreationally
Unconnected emotionally
We pretend we care for one another
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
It was a scam, a sham
The flimmiest of flams
There was more pork there
Than a Christmas ham.
It’s nothing but a racket
Stuff it all into a big packet
And put into a time capture
Leave it until the rapture
Where it can’t hurt anybody
Then, fix yourself a hot toddy
And laugh about how shoddy
Future folks will think we are.
They won’t be wrong by far.
They’ll marvel at how many
Candidates worth a penny,
Or less, showed up to run
Like the whole thing was fun
And better than a TV show.
How could they tumble for
Not that good of a governor
Didn’t know what lips are for
Or what to say on the floor
Yet some wanted her to run?
What fun the press had with
Filling up the internet bandwidth
With screeching permutations
Of tired old KKK reiterations
Of the wonderful Aryan nation
The South advocated before
We had us a big-ass ugly war.
It’s like they didn’t know they lost
And were prepared to pay the cost
To do it all over again, not just men
But women too, who shouldn’t do
Because they were not part of
The government to be started up.
It was rather Alice In Wonderland,
The fuzzy details of their whole plan.
Certain things were carved in stone.
Some should go back to an age of stone
And forever leave the real people alone.
Because they’d shout out now and then
That this world was meant for white men
To run and control and own. Nothing tribal.
They said it was written in their Bible
Which was obvious they never really read
Or they would know what it really said
About helping the poor, the halt and lame.
They went on doing harm in the name
Of the King of Passion and Rescue
Saying that was the wrong thing to do.
They insisted they could do what pleases
And it should have nothing to do with Jesus.
It’s all about who is rich and who is not
And who doesn’t need what they have got:
All the good land and the mineral rights.
The rest can just stay up nights working
Two jobs, maybe three, they didn’t care.
Those pundits had to start somewhere.
Let those dishwashers and caddies
Go get their own filthy rich daddies
To leave them accounts full of millions
So they could hire undocumented millions
To build their dynasties of marble and gold.
Really, folks. This story never gets old.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
Beyond rippling paddy, runs a river,
Across the river, is a verdant hill,
Atop its pinnacle is a palm grove,
Above the tallest coconut palm, sits a civet cat,
drinking toddy, inebriated dreaming a strange light.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 3:45 AM UTC
Gray skies
Icy roads
Slick sidewalks
Snuggling
Layered outfits
Netflix Hulu
Long johns
Gloves scarves
Cough sneeze
Soup spaghetti
Hibernation
Hot toddy
Homeless shelter
Hot meal
Help please
Half days
Twice nights
Stay warm
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
yo
yo
throw those old bags out the window
grab new rags like a big dog
act like you runnin the whole show
****** don’t know
banging on the street like rainman
counting yellow cars and scaring the children
building imaginary best friends
pretending that there can be no end
sending mass texts for *** to wrecked tricks
sickened by the life
wife in the hoopdee
******* bout, “I have to ***
rollin to the grocery
shopping spree
canned peaches
5 for one thirty three
***** that’s savings –
raving to the neighbor
weighing in on the best flavor
push poppin
no stopping
little kids with dyed lips
diabetes floppin
moppin up the messes
guessing at the next spin
lookin at my lady
rushing in for the next win
grinning sinner finishing dinner
and the spaghetti was so badass –
hot toddy under the gazebo
getting naughty with my hottie
drinkin a placebo
fo real though
bro –
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
Father of heaven has given command
To destroy your sin he does demand.
Grand ceremony of wisdom he does,
Still you wait for new favourable buzz.
You know sin is root of many sufferings,
Still here illusion does many coverings.
Breaking vices break bad thoughts here,
Feeling life feel you thrilling favour seer.
Sealing mind in concentration develop,
In righteous path lives all have to setup.
Envelop you make ready to send a letter,
Getting this, father in heaven feels better.
There will be no anxiety and also stress,
Destroy sin and decorate life in a dress.
Bless you will get of father will come joy,
Soul is conscious energy body is sure toy.
Pure mind knows this as soul drives body,
You drink wisdom nectar no time for toddy.
Father of heaven has given command
To destroy your sin he does demand.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
I'm at work on my day
off, drinking Toddy and
watching the spokes on
the city commuter bikes
glint in the windows
it's so weird to want
to be everywhere and
then nowhere, because
everywhere and nowhere
require the right kind of people
so when my mom asks if I want
to see a movie, if I want to go to
the gorge, if I want to go thrift shopping
I tell her that I am restless, that in 1909
subatomic particles were fired at a
solid object and passed through
that humans could possibly
vibrate fast enough to
travel through time
but might end
up liquifying
themselves
but that the
atoms in my
bones are
firing so
fast they
appear to
be not
moving?
but that doesn't make a ton of sense
so I tell her I am a little restless.
a little restless.
rest.
less.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
I have a dream
My head has turned to cream
What happened to myself
I think my brain has turned to mush
I used to be normal
But I am in turmoil
They tell me to look back
But when I do I get smacked
Why is this ghost haunting me
Ghosts run like blood through my veins
They say don't believe in ghosts
I see shadows that reminds me of a host
The host is taking over my body
When will I be destroyed because of that hot toddy
They say normal
Why so hormonal
I hate that lunatic
Going to blow up like a tick
Are you going to **** yourself, they ask
No Stan I don't have a plan for I wear a mask
Masks are comfortable to me
Because no one knows the pain I see
This crazy s--t must end
Before I yell you win
Every day I wake up at 3:05
That's when the crazies begin
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 3:38 PM UTC
Old bone of bags, bags old of bones, shipwrecked hot toddy.
No longer a hot body, wrinkled, pickled as a pickle
Stuck in societies jar, hand's ****** arms tired, barb wire wraps
My
Scars, as by far I've been into to many bars to count,
Up and out, or up and over.
Purely sober,
Roll over rover:
Is what the youngins tell me.
But I still have life left to give
A breath to live
To infinity,
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
When stalactites melt a slow dance to earth
do humans cry when the sky talks in verse?
In the heat of blisters, my hand dies to feed you
a hot toddy for a sad soul.
Make me.
Speak!
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
Wrapped in a furry coat and a set of winter boots. She hopped across the snow to the warm lodge. Decked out in diamonds that glistened like the ice hanging from the hotel roof. She sparkles and can be just as cold. Not looking forward to a mountain trek, but enjoying fireside chats and a hot toddy. She looks to find who has the fanciest watch and flaunts her voluptuous body. Though she will not be hunted by a Fox, she will wear one if it is in style. She has the cunning of a snow Leopard and the grin of a Cheshire Cat. She never lets her hair get mussed, even under he warm furry hat. Hippy tee hop she goes back across the snow, into and exotic sports car with heated leather seats. So her fluffy little tail will be nice and warm until she needs to hippy tee hop again.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
belt loops need an occupant,
pants two sizes too big,
like a shot up mig
cuffs wearing thin, see, red heels?,
bags and bags of leg space,
oh how thin, now is your face,
years younger than you looked
before, mind your limp and crooked back,
your broken down body,
has lightened the load,
here have another hot toddy,
the weather she bodes,
ill, sit close out of the wind,
had supper?, wait till we fend,
after the restaurants close,
the best chow?, well our noses
will know, no it wasn't supposed
to be like this, promised you Camelot
too bad I drank alot
then and now,
promised you cars and vacations,
now begging outside gas stations,
promise you a place, a palace,
now we get broke down malice,
my skin is not thick as the smoke
we smoke, yet they yell and swear,
give a kick or a poke, when they
find me out cold
in the cold
we need each other, for no one else
wants us, anywhere near them,
no family to take care, not that they would
we are broke
we are down
so much malice,
in a world that has everything
we need a warm place,
we need good food,
please don't treat me like a fool,
we need people to know
we weren't
this way...always
©DWE022014
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
With a whiskey warm face
I hope to conquer cold
But it beat me
And winter took its' toll
So here I shiver
With hot toddy in my hold
Slowly getting drunker
It's chilly
But I feel bold
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
*I love peach schnapps on a cool front
porch , with a touch of November wind , wrapped
up in my old brown scarf
I go for Jaegermeister when I'm a bit peaked ,
a few Texas shots are just what the patient needed
I lean to whiskey when it's bitter cold and 'brisky' ,
a spiffy sock cap with a hot toddy or two work
right nifty* ...
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC