"tonics" poems
when I'm high
off the scents of
October night air
and smokey burnt wood
on your shirt
I'll dress up for you,
all satin
and buttons
and lace.
when I'm drunk
from one too many
Gin & Tonics
with purple-spotted moons
stamped under my eyes
and the apples of my cheeks
stained with paths
of saltwater
I'll dress down for you,
all freckles
and scars
and skin.
Copyright © 2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Waking up with sweat
stained sheets wrapped
around me and you are
nowhere to be seen as
you believe being mean
is keeping the lads keen.
Your leather jacket is
still here hanging on the
hook by the front door
and he wonders why
she didn’t want more.
He loved her laugh last
night as they drunkenly
tried to walk right home
after finishing a few gin
and tonics between them
that made his head spin
and her think that she
would forever win at sin.
Her long blonde hair
had flown out behind her
and it reminded him of
fresh sunflowers because
that was the colour of her
beauty and he prayed the
rest of the night would not
be another careless blur.
The radiance within her
shone so bright that he
didn’t even turn on the
kitchen light as he let
them both inside as the
liquor made their shyness
want to shrivel up and hide.
But in the next morning,
there was no hungover girl
mumbling sleepily and
yawning because instead
there was only her leather
jacket and the faint smell
of sweet perfume left on
his pillow as he tried to
visualize that beautifully
bright sunny yellow that
made his throat dry and
gave him a sickening urge
to cry because he didn’t
want this feeling to die.
He wondered if she would
call because it really hadn’t
taken him long to fall for her
long limbs and the way she
had dark humour that stung
him like a cheap rumour and
so he slept on the sofa that
day with the aching bones
of a man who lives alone
but with a leather jacket
wrapped around his arm
because he wanted to see
her again and see if she
maybe felt the same but
he knew deep down it
was a Friday night love
and the weekend would
soon fade away because
she was never destined to
stay yet he hung her jacket
in the closet for years to
come and tried again to
find the perfect one but
he’d let her slip between
his fingers yet the smell
of her sweet perfume still
lingered for Friday nights
to come and he missed the
colour of the sun that shone
in her hair and the bright
eyes that that craved fear.
She’d been his Friday night
coffee and cream that would
never return no matter how
much he stroked the seams
of her faded leather jacket.
Sunflower girl was now
gone with the wind and
soon he could no longer
recall her voice and the
paleness of her soft skin.
It was like she had never
met him in the first place
but oh god how he loved
her beautiful hair and knew
she had once been there in
his arms even if it had only
been for one Friday night.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
Tech tonics and honesty following repeated offerings to beings I don't think, think that I belong anymore.
Not that it bothers me I'm used to feeding apologies to cretins who'd like to think they walk on water
I dropped the scene along with anyone I met that shed a tear or was met with fear at the thought of me in harm I think
I can't love again
And what's worse is that you couldn't care less
I'm not a monster, but you treated me just like the ones in your head, yet I told you things to doubt when you never should've
You had no business saying you loved me in the first
I fell after, I can't handle my emotions, thoughts, I've lost my confidence and I don't care enough to get it back.
Your now engaged to a guy you introduced me to. **** you.
I wish I could even hate you, but I only hate myself. WHY.
I wish for death, or destruction, or cataclysm, or flood, or plague
I'm an empty vessel, ready to become
Undone.
Hooray.
(Update I’m getting better)
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 2:13 AM UTC
Like the breath of a lover, I feel the warm breeze.
The breeze carries the fragrance of Springtime’s tease.
Senses aroused by flirtatious blossoms;
Myriads of colors flooding my gardens.
Blackthorns, Azaleas, Crocus and Dahlias
Clothed in beauty, tossing seductive glances.
Springtime’s powerful elixirs and tonics
Intoxicating lovers with her elaborate sonnets.
Sung through the trees, the Robin’s melodies.
The time of the year for the birds and the bees.
Cardinals and Larks sing breaking the spell,
As the captives of winter are released from their cells.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
Here come Jupiter child,
You can hear the flowers crying as they plead for her to stay a while,
She just collided with and intergalactic asteroid,
But things were only created never destroyed,
In the dark cool tunnels she found some pretty moon shrooms,
sheltering growing seahorses wrapped in loose water droplet cocoons,
Now towards earth you hear her come,
Within the clouds she beats her tribal drums,
The ocean sways and swells to the time of her rhythm and sound,
Reaching deep into the sea forest to whales traveling homebound,
She wears stars framed in turquoise,
Like the kokopelli she gives birth to planets with grace and poise,
Here comes Jupiter child, dread locks wound with comets,
extracts from the universe, she mixes matter-less tonics,
Recipes rooted deep in wizardry,
she borrows knowledge from indians and aztecs to cure all misery,
Her meteor showers made of her salty tears,
Are earth's dream catcher, snaring all nighttime fears.
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
Sipping tonics on toned bellies.
Elbows soft from jasmine lotions.
White skin painted in deep caramel.
He held his sweaty palms out,
Begging, a penny for his meal.
She kept the dollar for a Starbucks latte.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
twitchy sniffly noses
silky bracelets woven
a sennight of whispers
and soft rains fallen
bones strident ringing
skins slow submerging
bloodshot eyes and
star-shot skies and
cheekbones shrouded
in staling chlorine
sneaking syrup smiles
under honey gold
four tonics drowned
to fight off the cold
and fast fortune-telling
for finites foretold
trace the lines and
face the folds, please
hold both palms closer
but leave them closed
twitchy ditzy fingers
***** rings unspooled
a sennight of stories
and sinking in pools
bones washed in phenol
skins slick like ferrule
bloodshot minds and
star-shot why’s and
wisteria lips speckled in
the warmest shade of cool.
Jan 26, 2022
Jan 26, 2022 at 8:01 PM UTC
Spent my day out sitting beneath the sun
Drinking gin and tonics and Tom Collins
Reading a novel I wish would never end
But want to end
So that I may move onto and into another book waiting patiently on my shelf
Thinking about the past and the future
But living in the present with only the cold drink and book on my mind
Listening to the neighborhood kids
Grow up faster than we did
But never reach the age of maturity
They play in the streets
Dribble their basketballs
And rob houses when they need some cash
Listening to the insects make their noises
And if you listen closely
You can hear the spiders lying in wait
Setting their traps
Hoping to catch their next meal
The clouds roll across the sky
The sun hides and comes out again
I squint my eyes in the light and relax them in the shade
A slow strobe light of natures intent
The wind blows and howls periodically
Freezing the sweat on my chest
And cools me down on the parts my drink doesn't touch
There's work tomorrow but that is a decade away
And even further from my mind
Today I sit out in the sun
Drinking gin and tonics and Tom Collins
Reading a novel
That never ends
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 3:22 PM UTC
The girl in the black
bathing suit swims
through my dreams;
her orange eyes warn
me that summer
is coming.
An inescapable
swelter of air
threads itself
through the slats
of picket fences,
crisping insects
and terrifying
an army of black birds
bivouacked in the trees.
I hear the soft explosion
of hibiscus, red petals as
bright as belly wounds,
and the heartbeat
of the dog panting,
stupefied by the heat
of a relentless star.
Up and down the street,
abandoned children call
out from the bottom of
empty swimming pools.
I slouch in an aluminum chair,
trying to get black-out drunk
on warm gin and tonics.
The tidy rectangle
of grass around me
ignites in a legion
of slender flames.
I remember the dark room
and my father’s deathbed,
his whispered, final words:
dying is thirsty work.
I strip to my underwear
and fantasize about ice.
I pray for the neighborhood
sprinklers to spring to life.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
Pickled on quixotic tonics
he strives for a polyglot's poise,
balancing plaster peas
at the end of his tippler's tongue.
But the rough-surfaced pearls prickle
his too-ticklish bed of pink,
and gulped down, he administers
only a lessoned indigestion.
Flipping the flop, he prevaricates
himself into the tight-fit corners
of a parallelogram traced
by unsolemn processionals
bedecked in platitudinous finery.
Their porous smirks drip sticky
reminders of a plethora
of previously pernicious exercises
and dampen his fluffy ambition,
prodding procrastinations until
his drunken promise dries out
to become a posthumous wish.
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
There's too much of me
So I slice into parts
Don't know who I am
Who I was
Where to start
My fingertips stained
a raspberry color
Let's cut off another
Another
Another
My softness dismantled
Set the mood
light some candles
This hole inside grows
So I must learn to handle
Those times where my head was held under water
Men dont give a **** if "that's somebodys daughter"
When all that you've taught me is I should be better
I think of my past self and send em a letter
The version of me that was put under ground
Carving into myself cause I cant speak out loud
Skipping breakfast and dinner or stuffing our faces
For some sense of control
To hope it erases
The feeling inside
that all that you can be
Is how flesh meat and bone
Hangs off of your body
When your own heart could stop
From barely a flutter
Flesh of the womb
Laying wet in the gutter
Taking what's ours
They go on with their lives
Resorted to tonics and herbs
Backyards and midwives
He said it's not that bad
you ******* faker
Beat in her face
Just to text her phone later
All my exes are crazy
I just wanted to bang her
Cut her down from the rafters
when you know what hanged her
It's funny it's sad
at the end of the day
We're in hell together
Across hot coals we lay
Dress your own wounds
Don't bend over for them
Instead let's
Redacted
Redacted
Redacted
Aug 9, 2023
Aug 9, 2023 at 12:00 AM UTC
demonic, my self-sabotage is chronic
after a couple of gin and tonics, music is electronic
your body like a comic, I wanna read, I wanna see
something about you was made for me, made to be
my little teddy bear to sleep with, I'm wearing no underwear that's my secret
come and plant your seed then reap it
illogical thinking who needs a reason?
I just need you in this bed until noon
Apr 6, 2022
Apr 6, 2022 at 10:37 AM UTC
Another Saturday night
spent breaking up bar fights,
and fixing things
that have nothing to do with me.
I wonder at how we got here.
These sleepless nights are killing me,
dreaming of your broken bottle sins.
I know there was a beginning,
but I can’t see the end.
I feel your dependence like a weight
stacked high with all of your tonics,
sour beer, your wine, your gin.
God, I am just so tired,
I feel broken, bent, used
and used again.
I can’t stand it when you call me “friend”
like I was something more to you
than a person to vent to.
I’ve always been the person you went to
because I know you better than the floor
you see more and more of everyday
passed out over like a dead man.
You wish you were a dead man.
I almost do, too.
At least that way I wouldn’t have to listen,
listen to you, your life,
everything I hate about you.
But I won’t say a word.
I’ll just pick up your world, your bottle
and all the pieces of pretentious bravado
you dropped when you walked
through that front door.
I hate my job, but I hate you more.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 11:38 AM UTC
A sanctuary for the rejected,
projected by by the giant alabaster dogs at the front.
from all over the world
healing stones
are checkered throughout this temple--
amethyst to rose quartz
vibrate frequencies of salvation.
A sacred palace filled
with organic nourishment
ready to detox the body--
real food tastes divine!
Electric candles scattered throughout--
a dull orange ignites the corners.
A jungle grows in this sacred space,
fresh oxygen and green leaves are the blinds.
Weary gypsy travelers wander about
to and fro to smoke from ancient pipes
to stay in the moment,
we heal through music and painting.
SHE conjures ***** tonics
ripe with raspberries, lemons and grapefruit
to help those seeking a distraction.
A soothing sounds of the ocean
echo throughout the walls
of this temple of rest.
Here we lay, the sacred beasts cuddle
with our lonely souls
and SHE ensures we will move on gently
through the black walls in front of us.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
It smelled like cheap beer
and stale cigarettes,
and my shoes stuck to the floor.
My head throbbed with an ache
even my ***** tonics couldn't soothe,
and watching you watching her made me
feel short of breath.
I shook her hand and smiled
as I glanced at the hickey on your neck.
You gave me a hug and offered me a cigarette,
and I smoked it in the corner
Alone.
Aug 14, 2012
Aug 14, 2012 at 9:51 PM UTC
My Astrologer, *** and Love’ horoscope, for Halloween, is grim and on-trend for me.
(Libra) “Get ready to take some chill-time - give yourself the space to recover. People pleasing is out, boundaries are in!” Yeah, I’m like Texas, I have unsecure boundaries.
Sure, I KNOW horoscopes are horoscopes but while other signs get unicorns & puppies:
Aries: “Use your deepest desires to please yourself, step into your power.”
Gemini: “Your curious and bubbly nature shines, shoot your shot for that special someone!”
Cancer: “Be at home in your feels, your needs & emotional expressions are valued, go deeper.”
I’m getting **** it up buttercup,” thanks universe - what did I ever do to you?
We’ve been scanning the teen magazine fall looks, “We’re living in a bold era, a time of expression!” They declare, which means dramatic-metallic eyeliners, goth grunge, bold reds and Beyoncé’s “Renaissance silvers.” Luckily, Yale’s pretty low fashion environment, because seasonal changes are a lot to keep up with.
I love Autumn, with its colorful leaves, pumpkin lattes and colder nights, but coming from the south (in ‘21), I had no idea how badly heated air could dry out my skin and hair (freshie year, my thumb literally started to crack, like a plastic Barbie). In the spirit of fall fashion and maintenance, my entire crew made an Ulta store run this morning for hair masks, detox tonics and skin moisturizers - we’re ready, bring on the cold.
The best smelling places on earth are Ulta and Yankee Candle stores. In my religion, heaven smells like Starbucks in the morning, Chick-fil-A around noon and Ulta stores as the sun goes down and things turn dreamy and romantic.
Nov 8, 2023
Nov 8, 2023 at 8:32 AM UTC
They're building something out of nothing
They want to understand beginnings
At what expense to singularity
To what expanse to make a copy
A quirk for a quark
What if it falls in the right hands
It's a challenge of the world
Not just for nation over nation
Not just for dollar over dollar
Two billion notions down the drain
And still we're competing
Abandoning logic
Emptying pockets
For bankers and robbers
Conductors of a runaway train
Made up of cowboy hats
And wrist watches
And ***** tonics
Floating in pools of oil
Wombs of oil
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 7:53 PM UTC
you are [in total]
six syllables.
in order:
long ā
short ă
long ē
short ĭ
short ē
short ă
of course that is not all
you are.
you are
rainy runner
darkroom pining from schooldays bygone.
paint-splattered psych major.
without disdain of stiff gin & tonics.
not one to shy away
from my david byrne dancing.
sexy/sleek/sweaty saunamate.
someone to:
call me sweetie like a
grandmother would.
drink a beer in bed with--
glad as the darkness pushes us warmly together.
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 8:22 PM UTC
Among addictions and vice
there are none I want more
than an addiction to the sunrise,
a vice most forgiving.
The taste of alcohol,
inciting the bellicose beast
cannot satisfy me,
and I have tried.
As for pleasure,
the kind that makes skin crawl
and the breath heavy,
needs more than itself to satisfy,
so I searched on.
Chalices of wine and paper smoke,
skin and bedrooms bathed in moonlight,
the allure of quick satisfaction
could not satiate my thirst.
Only one scene has been constant,
delivering me from my vices,
partner of the morning skies,
far from tinctures and tonics,
the sunrise.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
For seven-eighths of each day
I long for those instantaneous moments of
Unbridled joy.
I bid so long to Marianne
As I hear the full bubble of wine
And welcome Suzanne
And the fullness of her moistened lips.
Oh, if the eyes are portals to the soul,
Then the throat must positively be the vessel
To all that soothes the thunder
and causes our souls to shudder
In the watery pits of our gut.
These toxic tonics that we hold
Betwixt our baneful id,
And our most pathetic of egos.
This lamb that tames the lion,
Purple hearted with paranoia
and a lack of trust to rival even the most barbarous
Of governments.
**** me or don’t.
Perhaps the only mark of solace in this life
Is to be stabbed in the front
And to avoid the hustling of the scheming lovers
Behind the roman blinds of your devotion.
Set fire to Marianne.
You can lay with Suzanne
But don’t share a smoke with her.
Because she will take.
And take.
Take.
T.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 10:47 AM UTC
we met
we had ***
it was not great
build up was better than the act.
you bled
you stopped crying
we tried *** again but it hurt you.
last shot
tried holding you
was not feeling you sorry
wish it had worked
was not in the cards for us
if it had worked
new years day would be great.
you went home
you called me once
you asked if I loved you.
how can I love you?
we are strangers
we met
we had bad ***
how can I love you it was only ***
how could I know
how could I know you were untouched?
****** dancing
rubbing your hot *** against me
you me kissing
at the bar
you throwing back
gin and tonics like a pro
we got drunk
we staggered out to parking lot
it was dark
I felt you up and down
you want me I wanted you
we had *** and it was only ***
with no feelings.
you hung up
end of that ****
new day
new year in three days.
I feel validated
validated for taking your virginity.
you offered
and i willingly took your offering.
legs spread
bad *** with you
you thought it was love
was not for me
you saying take me
do i feel guilt?
no way!!!
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
Alcohol and poison are what's clouding my vision and this is what I see:
Fire and ashes are what's burning the very existence of you to me.
Your body is so ****** it's past being considered as medium or rare.
Knives and daggers tightly hug my hands like they always belonged there.
Footsteps run but you haven't gained any distance to escape.
Entangled in rope I make knots and secure your mouth with duct tape.
Eyes plead a panicked mercy but I only see you're shameless sins.
Blackness then light is a result of my drinking too many tonics and gins.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
Because of you, everything I touch,
Bleeds and turns to dust
I want to **** you first,
Because a broken blade singes, feels good with a ******
Against my wrist.
Your German tongue, I can't bare
Not a single word without a snare
Your Aryan sly,
Your black gutted soul.
Go away, I say
Go away,
You come as swiftly as you stay,
You bruited, withered man
I tried to burry you in the sand
With the Pacific ocean, we found sacred
Ah, to crush your brittle skull with my fair hands
The empty vessel that lies,
My brother's fears, my mother's tears
My sister's sorrow
Her disposition that fallows
Go away, I say
Go away, you shadow of a man
Your skin is already cankered
Your hair thin and gray
Spitting tobacco out the window
Passing by your old church
Your God you hold so sacred,
Hates what he sees naked.
How ironic,
As you fill your stomach, with gin and tonics
Your only son, drenched in your malice
His confused identity, at your callus
Your worst fear, your biggest secret
I see what you left behind, in his tender cries
Your drunk is merely a symptom.
My mother's wisdom
Trying to gather strength to circulate the essence
Of her household kingdom,
Yet, destroyed at the presence
You left her, pavement scratched.
Busted blood vessels, continuous contusions
Led to the comfort of capsules
Trying to mend the thrash
Laying in front of her children on the hard, wooden floors
You demon of destruction
With death in your demise,
How your lover's family feels
As you dragged her heals
Into her watery grave
For you, it's not a worry; you think your God will save
Now it is time.
Take your pride,
The evil you hide.
As your golden ticket to hell
Alas, you’re dead
No fragmented memories shrouding my brain
No more drugs, no more pain
FREE, of the demented ways
I am the murderer now
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
i release secrets hidden behind a breastbone
that cracks under (pressure),
when gin and tonics enter my achy bloodstream.
i only remember her on the floor.
i dance like broken bottles upon cement floors
when fairy dust kisses foamy glasses.
i was in a mental hospital. yeah, basically.
i forget the people i supposedly love and blame
it on the alcohol,
because i do not have the courage to blame it
on myself.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
Another *****
over easy on the ice and just another would be nice, but it would then progress and mess my morning up
and so I dazzle and make a cup of tea,two toast,some marmalade and look at me,as
sober as a high court judge,which is just about as sober as one can be,when one sentences to prison and relieves a man of liberty.
What Identity this man,
who can decide a span of time that another would pretend ,and inside where the attitude of days is played out on the prison walls,and in the canteens where I have seen great mountains of men fall and go to waste,
I have also seen those other men of God,men of Satan waiting for the dinner bell,and as thick as thieves they all fell into fighting righting wrongs ,dinner gongs and more mountains fall in the dining hall,more wasted words upon the wall.
1... I never did what they said
2....I was framed
3....The cops are bent
and those these words were never said or spoken each broken head and blackened eye was another,and one more reason why,
I lent myself to education,got certificates,elucidation but it was all a waste of effin time,the judge was right,send this man to jail
and ticked the fail box on his score card,
Hard labour never did me any harm ,not that it did me any good but for some it poisoned and where the blood runs hot,eyes bloodshot,riots,guns and more blood runs.
The sums seem never to add up and so I make another cup of tea and think how fortunate it was to see the end game,to see my own name written on the hand rails and when all else fails,
it's head or tails,win or lose and only one can get to choose one's
final destination
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 9:20 AM UTC