Best Bitters Poems
Ambition in its prime dwells within over time —poet
My special poet…
is one who gets their point across
without agendas or alliterations of a bitter boss
No need for perfect literates who sip on bitters
and pound out heartless ink to other bulls*itters
A black heart smells rotted and oldened by experience
with ordinary nothingness to relay for instance
Webbed tough with matured matted material
used over again, makes not a special poet’s verses imperial
My special poet…
does not grope for interpretation of what’s in the soul
Or use blackened words of mystery that serve to cajole
Or spits floundering anxiety pending
Nor is in one’s own tight confining skin
Nor a swollen head enabled by encouragement,
rigid and giving nothing back
Nor do they look askance from their egocentric self,
Outspoken words that hurt, sensitivity they lack
My special poet…
is one who gets the truth out
reporting issues of division and about
undecided poets who need to explore
not to shun away from what dangers implore
Expresses what’s needed to say
words you trust along the way,
to make what’s important aware
for those with no voice and in despair
We’re all a part of it, the crime and border
God is good, He wants you to know justice’s order
My special poet…
a girly-girl of a soft disposition natured
still rides along within, now matured
I have too much respect for poets
to call out bitter versed ones, we know it’s
not going to change anything or anyone
We are who we are bar none
Understanding the universe that comes first
Time is of the essence not disparaging the worst
When making a split discission
when it’s obvious surrealism,
there is no more discussing what is
special, sincere, sealed woe IT'S me
My special poet…
is not better just unique
It's not a prowess poet that I seek
It’s nice when real poet's genius peak
Cannot hit the ball out of the park every time
Yet it all maybe rendered sublime
We cannot alter our voices
This covers all poets of our choices
You’ll find poets who well articulate
though meanings may particulate
Every poet is special to somebody
and have one thing in common
including ME
I am Sphinx Stone, Sun stationed statue
silent sculptured synoptic, not marble or
granite nor black tourmaline or crystal
timelines cutting cross my magnetic
magenta miracle to dissipate in dry
desert winds, my gaze unmoved
as quizzing quantum queens swirl
around a Blue Planet ascending
Sphinx Stone gathering goddess’ goodness
whilst slippery Sophi-el sprinkle sparkle
Nile evaporations down Sumerian
phantom phœnix photons
here I stare broken-nosed across vast
expansions exiting or entering dual
portal claws hot rooted into Violet Flames
of Mother Earth belying my etheric origins
Did Leo descend from helium heavens
painstakingly perfect from His tumultuous
gut with goblets of gold, goblins gyrating ?
ask you may North African secrets slither
no soiled sounds to simmer in sandy
storms or scarlet sunsets spreading
spells, silence my singular speech to
skulls of pharaohs or peasant alike
I am Sphinx Stone, my silhouette
signposted in simple or significant sigils
Saturn’s starlit sighs bypass not my
knowing aloof yet vacant stare which
agelessly gather stories of aeons
imprinting dreams of God into manifest
luminosity becoming your words on lion
bones or this ephemeral page
Sphinx Stone I see sabian riddled profiles
making prolific progress patterns filled
with steely grit, come now release
agitated ages of bygone bitters to
prick or paddle dimensions where
appled anemones sing my stare into song to
swallow swiftly sweetly slivers of sanctities
I remain Sphinx Stone stable
unsullied forevermore
Obsessed it seemed with a dream
A mind could slip and slither
Where passions rage and sin is
played
Two liars settle their bitters
The church the jerk that wouldn't
work
Made a lie by sinners
In the game called real life
Where there could never be real
winners
Crime of passion is biblical fashion
You cannot confuse the spirit.
I couldn't convict her of the murder
Not today or ever
But for the lying she needs time
For not letting the truth defend her
Why they got her and not the other
girl
Is exactly what's wrong with the
system
(First time seeing the story today. The other girl that killed her baby Calee. )
3rd of November
Sleepy day
Ragweed and bitters
Time drips away
Spigot of rum
Rotten limes
In the sink
Missed you again
Newspaper flies
Obits and sports
Lay in the dirt
Dog barks next door
What the hell for?
Cigarettes and coke
Scattered like quail
Across the coffee table
TV is on
CNBC
The news is not good
I missed you again
10 days have gone
Since you left
I can’t get right
This buzz in my head
Adrift and alone
I call on the phone
To a voice I don’t know
Says you’re not all alone
Day turns to night
The “friends” reappear
Another night of whiskey and beer
I hope when I wake
I won’t have missed you again
You are so damn allusive
This life you call dear
Peter Beechey capped the last bottle, of the latest Lager that he'd brewed.
He's changed his recipe this time, so the argument will be renewed.
He say’s the Lager that I make is not near the standard that he sets,
now we'll argue this for hours until we’re finally making bets.
Stout, lager, bitters labeled; the smell of malt drifts through the shed.
Air-locked and popping through the water; a brew ferments below a head.
Us pair have now refined the art; our little breweries come of age.
No longer do we show impatience - we've stopped bottling hand grenades.
Both of our stocks have built up now and so of course the word soon spreads.
This means the visits from the connoisseurs; blokes each home brewer dreads.
On weekends we roll out 'Hilly' - insensible - to which beer is best.
Even the local cop and publican closed the pub to take the test.
Water, yeast, malt - but no sugar - clarity and flavour of the hops.
The head, right down to the barley, but the disagreeing never stops,
and 'Hilly' never cleared one point; our beers were locked in similar status.
We need an independent to give a true scientific basis.
I suggested what we ought to do, is send samples to the public analyst,
for he will clear the finer points; the ones that obviously we missed.
Three weeks later in the mail, his analyzing caused a further strain -
'Gentlemen, I regret to tell you - that neither horse will race again!'
Rising on this Monday morning
Making breakfast like Monday wife
Burning eggs in Owens Corning
Starting early my Monday strife
Mirror glance, I have Monday hair
Sunday wet-head is Monday death
Feeling like I have Monday care
Emitting stench, my Monday breath
Gulping down strong hot Monday joe
Steaming coffee burns Monday face
Fairest of face has Monday woe
Tuesday’s child has had Monday grace
Dealing with grumpy Monday drive
Traffic moves a crawl, Monday speed
Lucky to be Monday alive?
Spatting cuss words, my Monday creed
Greeting my lazy Monday boss
Bitters my Monday rank and file
Losing the first Monday coin toss
Plastered an ugly Monday smile
Boss-man questions Monday alarm
Realize my fond Monday mistake
Drinking weekend did Monday harm
It’s Sunday and I am awake!
Never will I indulge in gin
Thinking that it’s Monday again!
Written 8/4/18
Contest: Mondays Poetry Contest
Hosted by: Tania Kitchin
I love you better
than Cookies and Cream,
my lifelong favorite
more than seas playing footsies
with shore clams
in cuddly tropical sands
The warmth of enticing Caribbean
soothing waters
(billowy-sails...fields of overhead
stars...night's complicit fireflies
helping chart to a romantic cove
a beat-up heart seeking a paradise-like
new-start)
(a desire for tasteful, novel, cheerful effervescent
brew, a need to leave on the old dock past that settled for
impure bitters)
( navigate clear of thought defacing
apps like Facebook's and Twitter's
that falsely entice, tempt
a free-thinking, sacred spirit, to
express living solely on a mindless
uncaring device – not a true life, just a
wax slice
not abiding complete, but in fact,
manipulated into electronic defeat....)
Petals need firm attachment if to be
enticing blushing roses~ blooms for crinkly smiles,
puckering lips and playful toes-es –
Valentines of
perfumed hearts made of hand-laid,
lacy type paper, crafted by flirty eyes
in agreement with pheromone receptive
noses
A softly played harp...a bower of flowers...
Back lathering showers shared – which
requires a minimum of two daring
hearts...wantonly, lovingly paired –
Love is always trumpeted, openly, fondly, vociferously
musically declared....
When you're hurt by someone you love and trust
You become sad a jumbled mass of nerve- crushed
You cover your bleeding self with a crust of smile
Heart aches tears roll and you knock him a country mile
It is easy to hold a grudge and on flame with anger
You are swallowed by bitters and cannot muffle the banger
You are wrapped up in blues and sun is hellish moor
You feel the chill of life and monsters on the spoor
But you see the other end they are bent out of shape
They are in pain and act up in the minute of scrape
Put yourself in his place and think of deadly hours
You can find a ravished land where is no heaven-showers
So forgive him be one with him it'll cure your scar
"I forgive you brother let us enjoy the morning star"
Forgiveness - Poetry Contest
Sponsor rob carmack
(Dedicated to the memory of my mother Catherine who died June 3, 2011 and was
buried June 24, 2011)
Sleep. Wake. Sleep
Sleep on empty stomach
Food and liquor make the journey
Eat, make Epicurus laugh double for once
Holiness! Is it not about angels and fruits
Eden has grapes and bitters
The tempters line the trees
And chirpy birds blow the flutes
The tempers with long tales and the dragon
There is a golden chair and a golden crown
And a bsket of flowers waiting to waive you in
There the master's table you'll see in the morning
Ulcer and glaucoma have no role to play
So you must eat, launch
And lunch to roost
There Grace waits for his owns
If indeed in the father's house there are many mansions
Why could Richman not easily find a room
Sone, from the master's table think
Analyze, princilpize, study and report
Stone, think as you walk around the dais
Analyze as you sleep. Principlize
Sleep and Sleep
Then look back, look to the corners
Look at the dome and compare with heavensgate
Take note the colors of the priests here and compare
See the dark waters, you did not see there before
See your scions on the front seats
See me, Franco, with the cross of attrition
Flung on me by brothers and sister
See the masquerades, musketeers
See my men dressed in raffia for this Elizbethan epic
See the men of the nights and those of the days
Filed on the right and on the left with Infant Terrible
See the near monks minus opportunity
Hiding their faces and long ghoulish tales
Rolling out muted laughter or pardon
Singing accustomed sonorous tunes for the great
See our uncles sibblings whose finest tears I never saw until now
See the candor and the incenses that have prevailed
Are these not enough comets that the Lord rewards
Yes. So then, the sound of the trumpets
The trumpeters are your seeded three clans
Charging the heavens in swaggers
Blazing forth, in pomps celebrating life
Dancing this same song of homecoming
For Stone, the cornerstone of many parts
Cargo of our latest argosy
Berthed at the Terminal. Farewell mum.
They talk behind you
They say bad things about one to his master
They know the to and fro of ones life
They talk behind you just for favor
They are attention seekers
They are called back bitters
They are enemies to nation building
Because they people down
When they are moving forward
It’s a high time we stop back biting
Each other and among ourselves
Because nation building requires a team and unity
They are called back biters
We should help those who are
In higher position to achiev
Their aim but not back bite them
We should know better by now
That positions of those we back bites
Are never given to us but to others
So let’s join hands to stop back bitten now
For a healthy Africa
Bah, rake together the bloody pieces,
if you leave them lying about, they stain.
Any good, that memories hold, decreases,
as does future joy you hope to obtain.
Embrace solitary stillness, silence.
Rediscover a solid foundation.
Gladness can thrive in romance’s absence.
Expired connections lead to damnation.
Clean up wretchedness before it bitters
killing chances before you are aware.
Forge yourself into a net that glitters.
Leave the pain and sorrow to just reap air.
absinthe…
not absent this proof
the ascend of spirits grande
fairies greene as flowers bland
pour from a bottle
three in hand
“goddess of the hunt”
a drink most beautiful
origins Callisto
of generations purposeful
a papyrus recorded
medicinal
and magical
a cold mix of elixir
in measured vapors…
delicious escapes
as the favored
Demeter
do you agree…
of my muse
news better
of the bitters used
or do you resist
in the kiss of Mead
indeed
the nature of things
in a pleasurable state
for material brings
of the being fortuna
a corona by name
in a date of Chance
and it was there
hear
where they danced
(Dedicated to the memory of my mother Catherine who died June 3, 2011 and was
buried June 24, 2011)
Sleep. Wake. Sleep
Sleep on empty stomach
Food and liquor make the journey
Eat, make Epicurus laugh double for once
Holiness! Is it not about angels and fruits
Eden has grapes and bitters
The tempters line the trees
And chirpy birds blow the flutes
The tempers with long tales and the dragon
There is a golden chair and a golden crown
And a bsket of flowers waiting to waive you in
There the master's table you'll see in the morning
Ulcer and glaucoma have no role to play
So you must eat, launch
And lunch to roost
There Grace waits for his owns
If indeed in the father's house there are many mansions
Why could Richman not easily find a room
Sone, from the master's table think
Analyze, princilpize, study and report
Stone, think as you walk around the dais
Analyze as you sleep. Principlize
Sleep and Sleep
Then look back, look to the corners
Look at the dome and compare with heavensgate
Take note the colors of the priests here and compare
See the dark waters, you did not see there before
See your scions on the front seats
See me, Franco, with the cross of attrition
Flung on me by brothers and sister
See the masquerades, musketeers
See my men dressed in raffia for this Elizbethan epic
See the men of the nights and those of the days
Filed on the right and on the left with Infant Terrible
See the near monks minus opportunity
Hiding their faces and long ghoulish tales
Rolling out muted laughter or pardon
Singing accustomed sonorous tunes for the great
See our uncles sibblings whose finest tears I never saw until now
See the candor and the incenses that have prevailed
Are these not enough comets that the Lord rewards
Yes. So then, the sound of the trumpets
The trumpeters are your seeded three clans
Charging the heavens in swaggers
Blazing forth, in pomps celebrating life
Dancing this same song of homecoming
For Stone, the cornerstone of many parts
Cargo of our latest argosy
Berthed at the Terminal. Farewell mum.
life has it's ups and downs
it's highs and lows
with it comes a lot of crap
but what's most crappy?
Action speaks louder than words
now thats crap.
when you are in a mess
and four men are set to give you stress
only words can placate their vex.
To err is human, to forgive is divine.
iI know men that make it an habit to err
all their faults, in one day they bring to bare.
When they say sorry
you should be worrried
cos when your back is turned
your heart they shall surely burn.
Old wine tastes better
i have never heard a sillier chatter.
Give me bitters, ale or lager
whiskey, cognac, all even the better
inebriation the sole aim
whatever the taste am game.
Your vote is your voice, let it count.
I can't even be cynical on this
their's always count more.
The patient dog eats the fattest bone.
My ***** just had a litter
and with every litter their is a sickler
he was the grunt of the squealers
he never got to mama's breast on time
and with time he died
a bone, he never had to dine.
Dress the way you want to be addressed.
It was visiting day at the prisons
on came a nun brighter than the sun
pious in body and soul, her gait straighter than a pole
she left their third leg rigid
am not kidding.
Every disappointment is a blessing in disguise.
Now this is no lie
am still trying to figure out who was behind the mask
when i got robbed on pay day.
A stich in time saves nine
I love this line.
when you try to take what is mine
believe me it wont be fine
even when you run to the court and get a fine
I will cut you up to bits.
and the stiches wont be nine.
The pen is mightier than the sword
reader, the above is one hell of a crap word.
when am with my big gun
you better drop your pen, cower and run.
Every day is for the theif, one day is for the owner
this is a no brainer.
The governor embezzled our money and left
he got all the praises... you should know the rest.
Make hay while the sun shine's
this should shed some light.
it was Norway inthe middle of the night
when the morrow came, there was still no light.
Make hay while the sun shines
is one hell of a crap.
cos when it should be lihht,
the sun is never in sight.
Let sleeping dog lie
i tell you no lie.
When all your Mutt does is to sleep and eat
when burglars come in to take and keep
you let the ungrateful beast suffer a bit.
If desire crests from craven heart
On my duplicitous eyes won't chart
With clever guise will deliver Cupid's dart
From ducts, drain silt that lust does cart
Only sentient strain from dilated pupils impart
Through mind's eye, residual glare will kick start
If grifting ears strain only lurid rhythms to hear
To sift only the tawdry jingles that decorum jeer
With modular shift will Jove's hypnotic cadence sear
Melodic parlance with romantic vibes will ring clear
With only rational discourse your sterile drums cheer
If drooling lips seek with Venus's frothy dew endear
And impulsive lips cannot from sumptuous strips veer
A chapping balm on the puckering seams I'll smear
With arresting bitters saliva from taste buds shear
Onto comely face a dry, innocuous kiss will steer