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Details | Drink Poem | |

Gigi

Gigi

You question duskiness "Whereas he be?"
Be careful pal; he hides behind the tree!
Inside the sneaky shades he aptly lurks
because you've drunk too many Cuty Sarks.

You, silly chump! You're shaking on your feet;
Contele Dracula* and tough tidbit
exists inside your foolishness' resource
and punishes your wrongs without remorse.

Excess in drinking could be bad for you;
tis not that you'll become a drunk boo-hoo
but he'll metamorphose to baseball bat
and if you drink again, he'll kick your butt.

I know you're stupefied and very scared
cause Gigi hides in pizza boxes where'd
jump up, if thee besotted be and fool,
and then consume your pizza, super-cool.

Admit it, dude! You're shivering in fear!
But if you prayed he would disappear,
expect him to start dancing everywhere-s,
and jingle, so, his spurs upon your stairs.

Ha ha! Hill Billy, you! Outside your house,
behind the pumpkins, sound the irked meows:
bewildered Gigi cats will jump ahead,
inside your car and on your empty head.

You should, thus, paint your house pistachi'o green
cause if you stall before your PC screen
he'll haunt the lines of your poetic calls
and bats will eat your order of spring rolls.

© 10-02-2014, G. Phookan, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic Pentameter) 
* Contele Dracula = Count Dracula in Romanian




Details | Drink Poem | |

Whiskey Flower

Swallowing nectar from a whiskey flower,
Raining inside me like a summer storm shower.
A fire in full bloom burning with every sip,
Unfolding the silk petals of my sun kissed lips.

Eyes sink shut against the jukeboxes serenade
Vibes in lyrics mesmerizingly played.
Slow the seasons of my soul become exposed.
Fruit from the garden of Eden readily grows.

With every drink of courage, I ready my will,
A ticket to heaven, yet my heart beats still.
Numbers on a napkin, wrote in lust colored ink,
Experience pleads from the bottom of my drink.

Stung by the thorns of a whiskey flower, I bleed.
Dark are the droplets of unquenchable need.
The voice of a clock tells me it is time to go.
Stumbling into a darkness, many will never know.


12-03-2014

Details | Drink Poem | |

elegant giraffes


He wondered if his verse was made for fools
and cretins that splish-splash alongside whales
composing dull sonnets was chased by bulls 
- by elegant giraffes and racing snails.

Amid the chickens in his country cot,
while gulping bourbon the pig-farmer writes
his scribble verse turns to an artless blot
and straight he gulps one more for his insights

Oh, detrimental muse of his confused,
absconding inspiration that evades
his talent which was alcohol-abused,
and like the content of each bottle, fades:

......Inspiring advent of a healthy burp
made pigs and chickens to comment "superb"!

© G. V. 06-27-2013 All rights reserved

Sponsor: Judy Konos
Contest Name: The Lazy Contest

Details | Drink Poem | |

She Hulk

When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses 
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed 
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were  ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman 
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or god,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us 
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood 
just how much words effect us. 
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.

Details | Drink Poem | |

Champagne Toast

*Drunken Master *


***
sweet lavender lips
I heard it through the grapevine
transform from sweet grapes

sweet lavender lips
I heard it through the grapevine
libation of wine

sweet lavender lips
I heard it through the grapevine
intoxicating -----X----- beverage 
***


by;pd 
4th place
CHEERS!!!

Details | Drink Poem | |

Tattoo of a Broken Heart

It’s raining in the corner
Stripes upon the floor
Bloody knife in a barroom door
Drinking whiskey
From a hollowed out gourd
Full of wasps
That rage in my core
Old man Mason
Got a smile upon his face
He knows the fire
And now I got a taste
Can’t stand up
Can’t lie down
Spinning room 
Going round and round
Lipstick so red and thick
Devils eyes are on my hip
Right hand of the devil
Is a handgun son
I’m shooting dice
I’m shooting everyone
Woke up in a Philippine jail
I’ll sail for Hong Kong
Once I make my bail
They’ll never find me
The only evidence to tell 
Is a tattoo of a broken heart
And a rusty nail

Details | Drink Poem | |

Meeting The Soupers

"Your first poem was an 
excellent poem....you are 
welcome...." Commented 
skat on my first poem.
"Wonderful and deep 
poem....you are welcome 
to poetry soup..." That 
was Poet Destroyer.
"Wow you have touched 
my heart in a special way 
with your poem.....your 
new friend Leonora 
Galinta" said Galinta.
"Well penned" said 
kithinji and so many 
special poets.
Hearty words from these 
unique poets spurred me 
to write better poems.
Which they appreciate.
Poetry soup is safe haven 
where feelings and 
emotions are expressed 
in tangible forms.
An educational enclave 
where different forms of 
knowledge are 
exchanged like two 
hands washing eachother.
Am most humbled to 
meet these dazzling 
gems radiating warmth 
like the sun-a privilege it 
is connect to parts of the 
planet.
I believe we all will meet 
someday,not in the after 
life.
Leonora Galinta is an 
angel to meet,whom I 
admire amongst others.
Love to set my eyes on 
her delicate and graceful 
nature. See her graceful 
carriage, feel her gentle 
hands and smiles as she 
exudes sweetness. I pray 
hand of time will 
backwards when that 
day appears as we walk 
in the woods leading to 
silent deep blue sea with 
gentle breeze 
whispering...... A prolific 
writer as well.
PD will I meet 
someday,love her 
amiable nature,full of 
grace and charm. A 
prolific poetess.
Skat is lovely with her 
immeasurable words of 
encouragement.
Kithinji will I love to 
behold,to learn from him.
Have drink with Robin,
Alian, shake akinyemi, 
stroll with Joe, hv a hike 
with
Sibanda, dine with Ralph 
and you.
Saying hi and hugs to 
Paz Samelo.
Meeting the soupers is 
making a happy family.
   Am gliding like the 
eagle,soaring higher as 
the day pass by.          
you soupers are my 
strength.








Name:Ifeanyi Bob 
Ekechukwu.
(Baron Of Ebullion)

Details | Drink Poem | |

Sitting In My Deck Chair

The pale face of nature, of flowers and treetops
Has been lost without color, behind frost in the meadow
Under snow on the fence post, and the ice on the willow

So tattered and bobbing, and weary of hiding
So weary of biding her time in the fog
Tired of the doldrums, tired of the ho-hums ,  and weary of crying...

The pale face of nature, of gardens in springtime
Will drink in this morning, to find it surprising!
A lekker arrival !!
Of sunkissed horizons
Is blissfully welcomed with gold in the morning
All smitten with cheer !

Trees lean to the side
Drunk on the sun
Lifting their branches
And keeping it near

I long for it too
As I move out my chair
From under the shade
To drink in the sun
After dark winter days
To welcome it here

A lekker arrival
Is speckled in sunshine
I find it to be fine, to bask on my deck!
I'll poke out my neck to soak in the bliss
And what could be better than this?   Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!


________________________________________________________
For Suzette's Contest: "LEKKER"


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Details | Drink Poem | |

She O'the Morrow

Woman of Sorrow                                     She o'the Morrow


Drink to her whose sorrow                       Nay... I'll drink to her on the morrow...
Has aroused a poet's sigh;		         She who'd set my thoughts a'fly...
A woman who brought tomorrow             She from whom I'd borrowed...
What treasure can never buy.                  Treazure grand from silken thigh...
Her words are penned with sadness        Her words o'pen o'gladness...
And often an empty tone;                         Feelings oft thought as madness...
Along with all those feelings                     Full cool crost river's stone...
In a sea of tears from feeling alone.         A'drift in sea o'tear... o'smile felt hers alone.

Here's to her whose sorrow                     Here's to she of morrow...
Has made many a poet cry;                      Whose gift I so shall try...
Her words are read with tears	                 Her words thus through the years...
That rain like love from the sky.                Shall be as rain o'love from sky.
Now the sea will drink her tears               Aye! I'll toast then on that morrow...
With those we try to hide;                        Gone thus her fog o'sorrow...               
Here's to her whose sorrow                     As joy displaces fear...
Flows free from deep down inside.           When then our sea doth drink her tear...
                                                                 Mine as well fast by her side...
Elizabeth Wesley                                      Winds of pleazure set high our tide...                   
                                                                 So shall I my glass lift high...
                                                                 To she that sails on winds o'pride.


                                                                                    SeaWolf


Details | Drink Poem | |

Death of my Friend

Death of my Friend


Found was the key to heaven's door
this pain I can bear no more
The shadows that eat my long nights
the guilt of that deadly fight

Ages ago tragedy came sailing in
took the life of you my friend
A drunken party that went so wrong
our lives becoming a sad song

I begged you to not dare drive
if you done so you'd be alive
My guilt in not forcing you back
you car hit on that train track

Death came instantly to my friend
for me pain that will never end
I backed down when you hit me then
your funeral I'd not had to attend

You that always got your own way
should have never died that sad day
Now I see your fate was meant to be
you died young, a soul early set free!

Robert Lindley

note: Death of my friend. I tried to stop him 
but not hard enough.Too drunk to safely drive but 
when so young we thought we were ten feet tall and 
bullet proof! 
Maybe we were but just not speeding train proof..
Rather than knock him out I let him go. 
Car was hit by a train and death was immediate..
Twenty-one is too young to go..

Details | Drink Poem | |

The Pub II

Inside pub steins stout magic spoke
‘neath genie wisps of bangle smoke
Brown cone cigars, deep chubby pipes
Aromatic spills to breach the night.
Music calls to muted songs 
Rough knuckles echo Bodhrán drums.
Flute, melodeon, bouzouki*, mandolin
Penny whistles, uilleann pipes, one feisty violin.
Pied piper rhythms, pied piper beats
Bold Celtic persuasions to move proud legs and feet. 

To Daver and friendship, thank you!

* Bouzouki...A stringed instrument that could stand up to the volume and intensity of fiddles, flutes, accordions, and pipes.
*uilleann pipes...Irish bagpipes...melodeon. an Irish accordian

Details | Drink Poem | |

A Truly Inspiring Story

(this write is inspired by the real story of a homeless man who found a student's bag with two thousand nine hundred dollars cash in it. the student was bringing it to pay his tuition fees. without hesitation the homeless man used the information in the bag to return the student his belongings.) void loyd, he’s a bum smells of rum. covered in stink no kitchen sink he got nothing  he’s recovering come see it’s free. void loyd, he’s a bum smells of rum. scum!, right?, no light? hey buddy can you spare a dime? face it, wouldn’t give him the time. finds a sack gives it back twenty-nine hundred in cash didn’t keep it but isn’t he trash? void loyd, he’s a bum smells of rum. what did the student think his fingers covered in ink pockets his money calls his honey tells her loudly proclaims proudly ‘can’t judge a cover by its book, listen to me here’s the hook. school smart or street smart it comes down to the heart. that man lives in a ditch but sweetie he is rich. you have to take a second look never judge a cover by its book.’ void loyd, he’s a bum smells of rum.
8~29~2014 Sponsor: gautami phookan Contest Name: Sketch a Character

Details | Drink Poem | |

Raspberry Drink and Cherry Kisses

i'm sorrow-----------------if you're sad
i'm joy---------------------if you're happy
i'm smiles-----------------if you laugh
i'm tears------------------ if you cry
i'm rest------------------- if you sleep
i'm a path-----------------if you walk
i'm remorse------------- -if you regret
i'm a shadow------------  if you fade
i'm  a spirit--------------- if you die
i'm loyal.......................if you trust
i'm food-------------------if you eat
i'm a river....................if you're thirsty
i'm a friend---------------if you care
i'm wings-----------------if you fly
i'm speach--------------- if you talk
i'm hugs----------------- if you embrace
i'm lips------------------  if you kiss
i'm need----------------- if you want
i'm pleasure-------------if you desire
i'm a whisper.............. if you hiss
i'm a flower................ if you bloom
i'm dreams-------------  if you wish
i go---------------------  if you leave
i stay-------------------- if you come
i live---------------------if you love
i'm yours--------------- if you're mine

look my way if you're lost...............
                                      -you're home

---------------------------------------------------------------love charma

Details | Drink Poem | |

Touch me

I am sitting in the dark, silently.
Sipping a drink as I did many times in the past.

Only now I am blushing, for my skin
has never been caressed with such deep voice before.

Those gentle vibes are dancing all over my body
and I cannot help but shiver.

Finally I surrender and let that sound please me.

Your warm whisper floating across the room
stops at my table and rests on my ears.

A muffled groan comes out of my mouth.

Suddenly I feel speechless, naked…
Covered only with your words,
which suit me perfectly.

The room is fulfilled with applause,
brighten by lights escaping through the window
as I walk away.

I left my glass slipper on the table
with a bitter- sweet lipstick mark on it.

Details | Drink Poem | |

Poison

The taste of a warm, clear liquid runs through my throat. 
The bitter taste of love, feelings and emotions all in one clear bottle of venom.
How did it end to this, how did i end up doing this?
The taste gets bitter and bitter just like the flavor of you.
The fiery burn is hotter than hell itself, but i continue going on.
With every drink is another memory to forget, with every drop is another story to be forgotten. 
The numbness of feeling no pain gets stronger and stronger, Every action, every word ever spoken completely disappear with just another drop.
I soon forget but that doesn’t make me stop, why?
Shouldn’t the void clear up now?  shouldn’t the emptiness fill up with the venom, filling me up?
Shouldn’t the dark turn to a grey color and shouldn’t i be satisfied with the warm, fuzzy feeling of forgetting?
No, because how could you forget the emptiness, how could you forget those words, how can you turn an addiction to nothing more than a piece of forgotten string. 
How can you turn love into hate, and how can you turn me into a person?
With the month of addiction, the month of trial and error how did i end up being hurt the most? 
How did i end up turning into someone i’m not, how did i turn to the venom for forgiveness and hope.
5 years old, 8 years old, 10 years, 11 years old I swore to myself i wouldn’t.
I swore the poison would never go into my body, and become my only resort to the paradise called hope.
I swore i would never let substance control me.
But the ashy taste of cigarettes and the burn of venom became my best friend.
They became the only thing that let me forget, and let me feel something more than an endless void, a dark hole in my heart and vibrant colors in my mind. 
They became the only thing to look forward to in the day, the only thing i wanted.
It became very clear to me that the venom i depended on was the poison you left me with.
The only thing i had left was the taste of the warm, clear liquid showing me hope.. 

Details | Drink Poem | |

Bullet Proof

                     Bullet Proof

If I was a bullet I would travel real fast
Take showers in the past
Use gun powder to keep me dry
Shop at Target
And avoid people at all cost
If I was a bullet I would buy a gun
A small one, for company
Challenge Superman to a race
Or simply let him leap tall buildings, if he were so inclined
As I leap to my own conclusions by his side
If I was a bullet I would go to Mexico
Drink tequila real slow to get inebriated 
Finish off bottles of 90 proof vodka to prove a point
That I can become bullet proof in any old joint


9/01/14 The Poet - Poetry contest

Details | Drink Poem | |

Trinket Star

Behind the angel’s cove a trinket star of value twinkles soft and bright It keeps the angel’s pathway lit, and roams from here to edge of night There is no mention of her role, but still she glows, on treasured trove Resplendent rubies, luster deep, with green agates in stardust rove Beneath the sweet celestial dome the people sleep in slumbered keep The tadpoles dilly dally by the lake, and lilies float by shadows deep They wander what on earth could be, so incandescent brilliant bright On wayward wing a butterfly strings, from tree to tree, eclectic sight It’s faraway round spaces still, that stark reality effaces like a dream Through back end roads, where river rocks lie still by rushing stream A quiet bull frog pipes his note as wishes ope by trinket star of beaut While lady fair goes miming down the forest glen, silent as a newt The baby doe takes leaps of faith on scrawny legs towards the clear The owl hoots the night and hides behind an oak alert & with no fear While a caterpillar soaked in rich chenille turns to golden marmalade The angels gather round the creek to frolic dance and play Charade An old poem re-vamped By Mystic Rose August 27, 2014

Details | Drink Poem | |

AWAKENFAKE

"Awaken Fake"
By J.R. Thornton

Happiness 
          Crooked smiles 
                    Courtesy laughs 
          Deception of comrades 
          Expecting nothing less 
                                                                      You speculate 
                                                            You criticize 
          Asshole appointed judgment 
                              For me to hate 
                    Spewing out your lies 
Superior situations  -           you invent 
          Arguments                     -                     issues to debate 
                              Your stupidity I despise 
                    I WAKE UP                               I REALIZE
This wretched place you create 
          Phony smiles - vomit lies 
                    Another brick 
                              To build a crypt 
For when your bullshit finally fucking dies 



EXPLANATION: 

This one's pretty self-explanitory.  I think I wrote it some time in 2006 while at a "friends" annoyed and intoxicated.

Details | Drink Poem | |

A Desert Song

I found the bottle lying on a dune of wind-swept sand,
And I brushed the grains upon it with a weak and trembling hand,

I was crazy-mad for water, I was more than three days dry,
So I pulled the cork with sand fouled teeth and spat it at the sky.

What came out wasn't water, it tasted more like smoke,
So I thought myself the victim of some fools cruel joke.

Then standing there before me, like a Muslim houri dressed,
Was a damsel more than beautiful, who my flaking face caressed.

She said "you've given me my freedom from my prison of the ages.
So I offer wishes numbering three as payment of your wages."

I knew what I desired, I knew what to wish for first,
I said "give drink to all upon this world who now suffer thirst.

But give those thirsty, a love of fellow, more than words upon the lip.
So they offer the bottle to a brother, before they take a sip.

And give those brethren gratitude, to kneel before they swallow
And thank whatevever God they serve for allowing them to follow."

When this was said I realised, my wishes all were spent,
Which was what I knew I'd wanted, from my first intent.

She said "o man, I see you're one, whom God has truly blessed,
So take a drink of water, and lay thee down to rest.

I grant thee freedom from jealousy, from earthly want, from sin.
Accept these gifts as tribute from an Effete of the Green Djinn."

My reason for wishing as I did, to this day seems to flee me,
But nightly as I slumber well, I still dream of Genie.

Details | Drink Poem | |

Grapes



grapes for the best wine
fresh from the richest vineyard
blessed on the altar

grapes for the best wine
fresh from the richest vineyard
connoisseur’s best choice

grapes for the best wine
fresh from the richest vineyard
difficult to spurn

grapes for the best wine
fresh from the richest vineyard
highlights on feast time


May 17,2013


Note: Originally, I wrote four haiku; but I entered only three in the contest. 

Prize: A book of poem by poet Alfred Vassallo entitled, In Search of Crazed Love

Details | Drink Poem | |

The country gathering

The country gathering

Sometimes the folk all got together
In the little country house
Now there was Tom the tiny tiger
Well, he could be a louse
But could he play that old guitar
Man! he made it speak
And when the folk did hear him play
He made their legs go weak.

There was Winifred the otter
How she did those drums
Her rhythm it could suck one in
If you were feeling glum
You’re legs would start to dancing
As you’d rise up to the sky
And all those troubles that you had
They’d fade away and die.

Now Mugly Minie, could she sing!!
She was the porcupine
She’d stand there with a glass of wine
And she’d just blow your mind
As Billie basset, the friendly bear
Would play that bass so cool
Now he was quiet, and very shy
But lord, he had it all.

People came from miles around
To hear those  fellows play
They’d dance and sing Chicago blues
Their hearts alive and gay
They’re going to be a big time band
One day, they all know this
But all they really want to do
Is play, that’s how it is.

24 July 2013 @ 1150hrs.

Details | Drink Poem | |

Modern Life

Modern Life
We are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
Except Monday mornings and Sunday nights.
What are they on about, at this place that I seek
That is supposed open 24/7 days a week.

The pub is open we have an unlimited license,
Let’s have a drink before we go to bed!
I’m sorry we are closed the doors shut at eleven
That’s what the snooty landlord then said.

The helpline is here no matter when 
Give us a call and we can help you then.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, the phone rings on
A tape recording says, “Sorry everyone has gone.”

My car has broken down the man came to fix it
“It doesn’t work” he said sratching his head.
“There a computer on board and I will need to record
All the things that are broken down” he said.

But I need my car; I looked at him hard, 
And he gave me a wizened up frown.
He plugged himself in, then said with a grin.
The computer says it’s fine, the engine is strong.

But the car doesn’t work you toothless little jerk, 
The computer plugged in must be wrong.
“How can it be wrong it says the engine is strong?” he gave me a shifty look
“To be honest missus if it ain’t on the pute, perhaps the answers in a book."

He could find nothing wrong, the onboard computer gave a bong,
But it still said all was okay.
The tow-truck they called out with its ramp and its chains
Now they have taken my poor car away.

Modern life is so frustrating; we have everything at our fingertips
There is 24/7 that does not mean that, and fury does exit my lips.
If its 24/7 and help lines constantly, a car that is run by computer.
Why doesn’t anything work, I feel like the jerk, can somebody lend me a shooter.

I want to blast and to break all technology of late
It’s driving me to drink and distraction
The open all hours pubs are now closed, 
And my car is still out of action.

The bank is closed, the computers just died, 
The telephones gone on the blink
The TV HD, it is fuzzy like me;
I think I’m going to put my head in the sink.

The oven would be better, but its electric not gas
So I don’t think it would work as well
I want to end it all, not practice for the day,
The Grim-Reaper points at me, and sends me to hell.

Therefore, I’ll fill up the sink and put my head in the drink, 
Oh, blast, who is that at the door?
It’s the water board here, we are just making it clear,your water is off for a week.
Typical, I have no car and it is too far
To walk out and jump in the creek.



Details | Drink Poem | |

The Magic River

Deep inside the forest of the Elvin King. There flows a magic river from an ancient spring. They say its special waters hold the mystery of youth. And should you take one little drink you’ll know that it’s the truth. The waters all originate from way up in a fountain. That’s hidden very cleverly inside of Elvin Mountain. The extraordinary liquid looks like little diamond chips. Granting youth to everyone with one or two small sips. The river has a secret that is only known to elves. For centuries, the mystery still kept between themselves. They say it is the reason that they live so very long. And that aside from giving youth it also makes them strong. People come to drink the waters from the distant lands. Even from the ocean and the beaches rich with sands. Everyone has tried to guess its power through the years. Little do the people know the river’s strength is tears. For every time a little baby elf begins to cry. They take the little baby tears up to the mountain high. They drop them in the fountain where they travel down the spring. Creating all the magic that the river waters bring. One small sip of precious water on a person’s tongue. Will instantly transform them to the way when they were young. So if you find the Magic River take a sip or two. For it will surely make you feel just like you are brand new.

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I Feel Like Dancing

Drink me ill this pleasure still,
And cure me with your poisoned pills-
Before I lose all my strength,
But, oh! I lost that long ago!
Dreamily dancing to and fro...
With legs of lead and no feet to stand,
And a phantom partner to hold my hand
A languid trance and lulled Romance
To seize me whole in its expanse
Never I yield, though quite out of breath-
Drunkenly dancing in the Depths Of Death

*RHYME BATTLE CONTEST ENTRY
8-29-13

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Barbie

Barbie
from Loch
March 5, 1990

I fell in love in a biker bar
	with a girl in chocolate hair.
It swept around her like a smoky fire
	and woke up the beast in my lair.

Her bright eyes twinkled like brilliant stars
	at the end of the moonless road--
they called to me like a siren song
	to lay down my heavy load.

Tall she was like a square rigged ship
	like a mast shrouded in clouds; 
and she could dance like a foamy wave,
	making Neptune cry out loud.

But the path of a ship is a bubble
	and suddenly she was gone--
her chocolate hair and vanilla neck
	are moments in my sad song.

This siren's memory seizes me
	like cinnamon schnapps and a grin
which warm the body from the inside out
	and settle a smile on your chin.

Her dancing hair drove my clouds away
	and opened an azure sky;
and all I asked was a tall, thin ship
	and two stars to steer me by.

Among all the women I've danced with
	none are remembered so fair
as a girl who walked like a tall ship,
	and had waves of chocolate hair.