CreationEarth Nature Photos
Submit Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Drink Poems

Below are the all-time best Drink poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of drink poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Drink poems, articles about Drink poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Drink poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Drink Poems
Read Drink Poems
New Drink Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

New Drink Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Drink poems are below this new poems list.

I Drink by Dibble, Ashley
I Force My Drink, Dark Poison To Swallow by Lindley, Robert
Drink It Up by Keith, Brian
DRINK IT HOW YOU PLEASE by LOZANO, JOSH
Drink Until its Gone by Theuret, Adrienne
I HAD to drink by JY, T.I.R.O.
drink drive by KELLY, ANDREW
Do You Drink Milk by Lane, Lin
Don't Drink the Water by Pettit, Robert
DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka

View all new Drink Poems

The Best Drink Poems

Details | Drink Poem | |

I got a letter from the devil

(Hello, my sweet friend!)

Speaks in unknown tongues 
Nevertheless it will consume
Ask for food, 
A sweet drink 
The hunger and thirst are real
It's pitchfork aims at my free will 
Seeking and freaking through my pages 
It's been ages since the impression was gone 
Sloppy wording crawl under my hide 
Notification triggers my finger and thumb 
Bang! The evil one exists
With a second-hand letter 
It believes, it should never be forgotten

Numb as Novocaine can be 
I watch and interpret the riddles in every line 
Living and breathing art, 
I'm echoing the same nightmare 
How dare, the devil seeks to be fed! 
Screaming and remembering 
--the demons that linger in its head 
Too much to read, 
I have major troubles with your disease 
Lunacy of the universe 
Open Obituary, you are a curse
Like a transparent note from a fatal fax machine 
It's a calling, unbearable to describe 
Take from me, after I am deceased 
Like fire, it burns, cancer in every star 

Lies to 
Greets to 

My eye twitch 
My soul hurts 

I'm not feeling well 
Take care, 
Leave me the HEll alone


(-*-)

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015


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!!!

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013


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

Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2014


Details | Drink Poem | |

Advice

Do not look to me with questioning eyes
For i do not possess the answers you seek 
i cannot taste the bitter sweetness on your tongue,
or smell the withered flowers along your path
My heart beats with less rythm than your blues
i am unable to stumble through your dark corridors,
for you are poet undiscovered
Your answers are hidden deep within an apathetic pen
For you hide behind a painted closed window
Pushing too little 
arriving late
Not aware of your own relevance
Solitarily, feeling sorry for yourself
When instead, pity could be your party
Yes it is true, the world celebrates sad clowns
But you do not let laughter mix with your grey sky tears
i myself, see images of you poured out on limitless pages
Rearranged 
Sculpted
Until your words have substance 
Becoming living and breathing beings 
I wish you to reveal to us your cherished children
Birth them to a forgiving unforgiven world
Risk the grasping hands of rejection
True courage will reveal your annoited pen

Without risk 
you cannot
will not 
bleed in rainbowed splendor
Instead, days will become years
Yesterday will slide into tomorrow
All the while the world would be less
A shadow of what it could have been
In a place of unawareness
Oblivious to its own lacking
Bathed in deprivation
All because
Of a missing
Unexpressed
Silent
Unexplored
voice!

Or maybe
Just maybe
One letter 
A tiny little letter
will grow into a word
Several strung together a stanza
Several stanzas a poem
An honest to goodnes poem
Then we will all be witnesses
To the emergence
The screaming or quiet entrance
The proverbial birth
of a singular voice
of a wide eyed dreamer
Then you will feel that collective sigh
as other broken dreamers applaud you
For on that day
If only you possess the courage
all will know
That you truly are
and always have been 
a Poet!


For Tyshawn Knight's "Words of Wisdom" contest

Re edited version.







Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015


Details | Drink Poem | |

Threadbare Clouds

Gray smeared sky like a quilt of rags
Winos sip rotgut from brown paper bags
Threadbare cloud crotch splits up the side
Rain pours down, you got nowhere to hide

Cheap umbrella from a street-corner pimp
Turns inside out before going limp
Putrid puddles, soggy dog doo dollops
Are artfully dodged by high-heeled trollops

A rat scurries by with a piece of bread
Like the ant that totes a leaf on its head
You too once held big dreams in your grasp
But they got drowned with a gurgling gasp

You told me before, no you don't stutter
Your genius ideas got washed down the gutter
Now like a scavenger after a flood
You salvage what's left from out of the mud

Ashes to crashes, lust to rust
In the end it only goes bust
Caught in between the future and past
You start out just fine but finish dead last


____________________________

by Brian McClain - Jan 23, 2016


Copyright © Brian McClain | Year Posted 2016


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.

Copyright © Katie Pukash | Year Posted 2013


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"


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

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013


Details | Drink Poem | |

LUCIFER and HOOCH

LUCIFER'S gullet was as parched as hell!

   He said, "Lord, some cold HOOCH, would do me well!"

      Lord said, "In thy condition,

         Smoldering in perdition,

            Not a snowball's chance in the place ye dwell!"

Entry for Catie Lindsey's  "L&H Limericks" Contest 

Took First Place in the contest.

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2015


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

Copyright © Stephen Kilmer | Year Posted 2013


Details | Drink Poem | |

It

I wish to be here
In the now of it
The wow of it
The holy cow of it
Living the moment
Feeling the pop and glow of it
Instead of the I don't know of it
Worrying about the what went wrong of it
and why all the pieces don't completely fit 
To afraid to make the next move
So on my proverbial ass I sit

Yesterday swallows up the now of it
Wishing and wondering how to edit it
Leaving me feeling like such a twit
Wearing old garments
That never fit
Is there 
I ask
any sense to it
This worrying and worrying
Always lured into my mental pit
The shadows that keep me from enjoying it
Stuck back at beginnings
I wish and I wish that my mind would quit
Sadly my light isn't on 
it was never lit!

I realize
That's not where I want to be
It's here and now I wish to be
There is so much beauty to see
Worry and regret are the enemy
So I count each and every breath
Pause then breathe one two three
Mind fully cleared
Sitting under a tree
Sky blue 
finally mind emptied
Lock opened 
I am finally freed

Enjoying it
Being in it
Feeling the wow of it
The holy cow of it
Feeling the glow and pop of it
So glad and thankful
To be in the middle and now of it
I now know it is a perfect fit



Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015


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

Copyright © Caribbean SeaWolf | Year Posted 2011


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.

Copyright © Danka Sikorska | Year Posted 2014


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

Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2014


Details | Drink Poem | |

Poured Delight

Effervescence
of sparkling champagne
caressing the glass
in ebullient mood
euphoria.


------------------------------
Chosen p.o.t.d. 22Apr2016

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2016


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..

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014


Details | Drink Poem | |

Tongue Twister

Come hither, Mister Delicious.
Satiate my craving for saturating kisses.

Read these ready lips like romance fiction.
Practice your best parched desert depiction.

Slurp up this smorgasbord to savor
cherry chapstick and cinnamon disk's flavor.

Caress the texture of love's breath, pressed against companion lips.
Twist with saliva's slides and slips.

Play tongue tag like young ones chasing.
Stencil silent speech, each moment embracing.

Sip freely from the flowing fountain of Venus.
Spin to the rhythm of the heartbeat between us.

Copyright © Juliet Ligon | Year Posted 2013


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.

Copyright © William Kershaw | Year Posted 2010


Details | Drink Poem | |

DON'T BE A SILLY DONKEY THIS YEAR

Little donkey Legs are wonky He’s been on the beer Little donkey He’s gone wonky Full of Christmas cheer Been a long night little donkey You need to sober up If he arrives on your doorstep Be warned that he’s half cut Little donkey Eyes gone wonky He’s had too much beer If he heads to drive a vehicle We have much to fear Any one who drinks and drives …. really is an ass Jan Allison 20th December 2014

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014


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

Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2013


Details | Drink Poem | |

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.

Copyright © Loch David Crane | Year Posted 2014


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

Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2014


Details | Drink Poem | |

Blossoms And Bubbles

As I entered the garden the scents enticed
rampant rose blossom the arches fenced.

Cascading aromatic blossoms greeting me
amidst the climbers were the sweet pea.

In the centre stood the patio so glamorous
sparkling bubbles of champagne  so amorous.

Tickling the throat buds saturated with scent
from the tumbling blossoms as they descent.

Blood stream and breath full of roiling bubbles
and past swish the gentry parading in couples.

Raise your glasses in a toast as friends are wed
laughing, knowing they will all too soon be in bed.

Ah what a perfect day in this romantic garden
bubbles and blossoms tumbling as skies darken

Blossoms and bubbles never somniferous
mixed together they are becoming toxiferous.

written 03/25/2015

contest Blossom and Bubbles

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2015


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.

Copyright © Samia Ali Arroyo | Year Posted 2012


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.


Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011


Details | Drink Poem | |

Rory

I would like to tell you the story
Of a drunken man named Rory
Who liked his pint of ale
Every day with-out fail
In the morning he looked rather gory

He would make his way to the pub
Where he would have a drink and some grub
Then go merrily on his way
Drunk as a skunk they would say
Home to bathe in a tin tub

He would walk the several miles home
Down the country lanes he would roam
Weeing were all could see
Singing the rose of Tralee
While carrying a garden gnome

One night he spotted a man
He spoke to and asked if he can
Give him a light 
No reply so a fight
But it was a tree he battered then ran

Waking in the morning hands sore
Found bandaged fingers all four
He decided that day
No more drink he did say
And he never drank a drop more

Copyright © Owen Yeates | Year Posted 2012