Best Hard Liquor Poems
This won't be a pretty picture, but I'm going to use this paper to put my art on
I'm not heartless, let me show you where my heart's gone
Should I be ashamed? Should I hide my scars?
Some were gave to me, others inflicted from self-harm
The weight of the world on my shoulders, is easy to carry compared to the pain in my heart
I fell so many times and had no one helping me up
How could I be alone when I have depression telling me I suck
I wanted to get close to you Chantal, but depression was right there
It made me push away my dream girl and continued to be my nightmare
Age 13 I lost my virginity to a girl called Meg
I grew up quicker than I should have
I wonder if she ever thinks of me? Do I pop into her head?
It wasn't her first time, so I doubt it was as special for her
If she reads this, I hope I can make her feel special with words
There I go, Putting out stuff about me the world doesn't need to know
I'm probably wrong for putting my heart on display when I write this
I just hope people who give this a read will grow
Even if they judge me, I don't think I can hide this
I battle suicidal thoughts daily, so a lot of people consider me weak
I can rhyme my pain perfectly, but I'm unable to deliver a speech
When my ex cheated, was the guy richer than me?
Was he bigger than me?
I don't need to know, tell the bartender it's a hard liquor for me
All of my mistakes came with a lesson attached
I've never touched drugs, even though my brother and sister are injecting smack
Who am I to judge, when I used to pick up blades and made myself start bleeding
Depression makes me tired, anxiety prevents me from sleeping
I was bullied at school and made to feel worthless
I can't be a good poet, because I don't know how to word it
Got told I shouldn't love hip hop cause I'm a white dude
You don't have the right to listen to Rakim, Nas, Big Pun and Ice Cube
I was confused as to why they cared so much about what's playing in my earphones
Dealing with my fears alone
Bipolar so a lot of people label me weird
Sometimes I wish I wasn't able to hear
I find it hard to open up to new people who come close
I hide my feelings to the best of my ability from people I know
I'm only human, I hope you can learn from my mistakes
This is my real life pain, but to you its just words on a page
It sits back and waits, it lives in your soul.
It slams you and breaks you when you finally feel whole.
It’s been so long since you’ve let it in.
Standing on guard, it just wants to win.
You finally give in the force is to strong.
You remember the time it helped you belong.
Falling so fast, it sucks all your being.
It’s got you again with you not even seeing.
You sit all alone, wonder how you got here.
You remember the pain, the shame and the fear.
You want to put down but its too hard to fight.
You are just days away from turning out the light.
It is growing and growing, it is growling so loud.
By you giving up this demon is proud.
It waited so long to steal you for good.
It pounced on your weakness, it knew that it could.
Now your heart slows, your body shuts down.
It looks from above you and laughs like a clown.
Whether heroin or crack, whether beer or hard liquor.
It runs through your body, you get sicker and sicker.
Your plan did not work, it takes off your mask.
Your soul leaves your body, remembering the past.
How did this happen? This can’t be the end.
You have so much to do and so much to mend.
It is raining outside, there are so many people.
Looking down on the church, you watch from the steeple.
Mom please don’t cry, I did not mean to die
All that I wanted was just one more high.
The casket now closes, I’m scared full of fear.
I can’t believe I caused this, the end now is here.
The pain that I’ve caused, the lives I have ruined.
I put them through this, it’s all of my doing.
My family now throws that final black rose.
The end now is here, this now is my low.
It wasn’t worth this, it was not even fun.
It accomplished what it wanted, addiction has won.
An intense aroma from Mother's lilac bushes
satiate the air through our open kitchen window
Robins perched on the rusty downspout
falling from our old front porch,
whistling their sound of peek, tut, peek, tut
Melancholy music is perceived faintly
in the very near distance
as my mother's fingers effortlessly
surf the ivory keys of the piano,
decades old and perfectly tuned
Daddy reclines, comfortable
in his easy chiar, listening. He smokes
cherry blend tobacco in a hand-carved pipe
creating an intithetic, lincering aroma
as he sips his after dinner drink
Too many whisley laden drinks
change the focus of events
as my Father stands up, curses
his dislike of a tune being played
He stumbles, raises an empty
bottle of Jim Beam Whiskey,
throwing it against the wall,
shattering it into small jagged pieces
Quicly, Mother's music ceases,
as the open window slams
shut, breaking the stained glass
that she loved so dearly
Soothing sounds and aromas of flowering
spring bushes no longer hover
but a repugnant smell of tobacco
and hard liquor remain
Sometimes I try and remember
the flowery smells, soft musical sounds -
but abruptly, I hear that colorful window
quickly close
Oh, how rapidly a serene mood is erased,
replaced by one of uneasiness, sadness
Faces come at me as stricken
as graveyard moons.
The supermarket hangs heavy,
laden as it is with neon anchors.
The aisles are runways for empty eyes,
a few sections contain searching bodies.
She turns to me at the check-out,
she has me tagged;
wine bottles from the mark-down bin
rattle on the moving counter.
She clutches a red plastic pocketbook.
Brown knee-length boots, dimples.
Gold button earrings - worn-out pretty;
hard liquor in soft bottles.
There is just us, and the
shuttling hands of the shop-worker'
She has to talk. "Sorry," she says.
I wonder if I should apologize also?
I think we are just forgiving each other
for being here in an awkward moment,
in the late hour, exposed like this.
Outside, the car park is lifting off
into the night.
A thousand aliens are leaving
to search for salvation.
I can't look at them,
each face is a small moon shining.
Alcohol is a culturally accepted drug
Many drink alcohol at point in their lives
Some only drink during social occasions
Others may have an evening glass of wine
Moderate alcohol consumption can reduce your risk of heart disease
The benefit is not so great that a non-drinker should consider drinking alcohol
About 1/3 of those drinking alcohol will develop problems with alcohol
Drinking problems can increased your risk of serious health problems
Accidents
Or injuries
If you want to drink alcohol
Moderate consumption is considered safe
Moderate drinking is considered 2 drinks a day for men
1 a day for women or lighter-weight men
A drink is 12 ounces of beer
5 ounces of wine
1 ½ ounces of hard liquor
Each one counts as one carbohydrate choice
2022015
The roaring twenties prohibition.
Left violent crime to seize the day.
An act of folly, no forward vision
Of curbing crime, and their ambition
To supply hard liquor, and disobey.
The roaring twenties prohibition.
Failed to prevent, what was tradition.
A paradox says that,'crime does pay'.
An act of folly no forward vision.
Corruption is blind no opposition.
The 'cotton clubs' were there to stay.
The roaring twenties prohibition
Was needful then for more attrition
And fighting crime, without delay
An act of folly, no forward vision.
Until the lawmen gained submission.
Who was to blame? Society will say,
The roaring twenties prohibition.
An act of folly, no forward vision
3/ 2/ 2015.
My doctor’s warning is dour I say,
soon I could be lowered in clay,
so fat, sugar and salt,
hard liquor must halt -
I went to his funeral today.
Old boozed Willy was hostile and not ready to lose;
a dirty face, a glowing nose...
only a firefighter's water hose
could have put out the heat he had gotten from the booze!
All the boys of Tumbleweed scampered like chased mice
as they saw his bulgy belly hanging from his trousers...
ah, his bad breath had the stench of a piggy;
they yelled angrily, " Go to another town, fatty! "
What was on his hot, red tongue?
The smell of Johnny Walker's whiskey?
They always saw him leaping like a frog...
when he finally got up, he looked so scary!
Who crossed Willy...driving him to drink that poison?
He cussed everyone getting a bit closer to his whiskey,
never did he mess with a chubby, bickering mommy,
who came running,...brandishing a long, black baton!
One noon there was a large rally by his door
to evict him from his bungalow...what was the reaction of Willy?
He brought out a case of expensive whiskey,
and offered them lots of drinks...they drank and felt mellow!
So they kept on drinking the hard liquor...
until it hurt their full, burping beer-bellies,
but one of them quite sober hollered with a stuttering voice,
" Get Willy, he stole all the whiskey from the Happy Hour Bar!
Old boozed Willy was hostile and not ready to lose;
a dirty face, a glowing nose...
only a firefighter's water hose
could have put out the heat he had gotten from the booze!
My comment:
It wasn't fair to chase after Old Willy after
they drank his whiskey, even 'though they found out
it was stolen. They weren't a bit thankful or compassionate,
but drinking it without asking him how he got it,
made them his partners in crime!
The Right Choices
There are those who have gladly made their drugs of choice.
Then, there are those whose choices took away their voice.
When just a little lad, I stealthily opened our refrigerator, and experienced such distaste as I secretly drank hard liquor.
Fortunately, for me, neither of my parents ever discovered my crime.
In addition, thankfully, I never acquired a taste for drinking a second time.
And also when just a lad, with friends I secretly took puffs from cigarettes.
Again, I escaped detection; and for this deed, my parents never had to protest.
O, the deeds of a child that often remain hidden and never remedied.
But then, there are those who early on, choose rightly by God’s Grace alone.
They make better choices; drugs never being among them.
And O, what pain we avoid, by making the right choices.
05302016 PS Contest, That Colorful Drug, by Lewis Raynes; HM
Contest, Any HM ever, Laura Loo; 5th Pl.
I've been up at night lately
I can't seem to fall asleep lately
I keep lying to myself lately
I know what it's like to lose somebody you love
I know what it's like to lose yourself to the drugs
I remember your face and then I burst into tears
I remember your laugh and then I burst into tears
All the good times we shared
all the hard liquor we shared
I knew your entire family and u knew mine
I've known u since I was eleven and u were nine
I haven't been myself lately
I feel like someone else lately
I've been thinking about you lately
I went away to study but we kept in touch
But as the years went by we fell out of touch
When you fell sick I sat and watched in fear
Couldn't imagine losing a friend that was so dear
I thought that you would get better
Just like the sky after bad weather
But the rain never stopped falling and that little dark voice kept on calling
As time went by you got worse and worse
Pill after pill and test after test
The battle for life became harder and harder
I wanted to call so many times and ask how you are doing
But something always came up and I end up forgetting
The last thing you posted online was why be miserable during your last days ?
Then there was no update the following days
Lupus took my friend away from me
A friend who always saw the best in me
A true hero and a real fighter who is forever with me
Do you know what it's like to lose somebody you love ?
The Un-Cowboy Like Cowboy
this is the story of cedric hyde-fleet
the most un-cowboy cowboy you ever would meet
cedric was english, not british you see
but, being a cowboy was what he wanted to be
he was from england
as i said before
never ridden a horse
and well, what's more
his image of cowboys
was of those on tv
but, being a cowboy
was what he wanted to be
he was all set to travel
and leave his home land
out to the west
but, he was allergic to sand
the dust would wreak havoc
with his pale, flaky skin
ten miles from home
was the furthest he'd been
he had a six shooter
which he'd nicknamed Old Burt
but, he didn't have bullets
they made his ears hurt
the smell of the powder
and the noise of the gun
made cedric wonder
if this would truly be fun
he needed a cream
for the chafing down there
and a specialized hat
to protect his thin hair
a brush wouldn't do
he would need a nice comb
he reacted to flannel
so he'd get shirts from rome
he'd fly out from london
head out west to a ranch
find a town just like gunsmoke
and a bar....the long branch
but, his stomach was tender
hard liquor was out
and the salt in the food
would just trouble his gout
but, cedric hyde-fleet
was determined to go
to the united states
to join a wild west show
he'd start out learning riding
how to shoot, and all that
he'd learn about cattle
he had his own hat
he was the most un-cowboy cowboy
they would have in the west
but, with his dedication
he would soon be the best
he would get all equipped
from dolce and gabbanna
his shirts and socks matched
his silk plaid bandanna
now, cedric hyde-fleet
never ever left home
never got on the horse
or got shirts made in rome
the things that he wanted
were the things that he'd seen
and he forgot about cowboys
when he first saw ....The Queen
Retrieved Passage 6:
From The Book of Days - The Cellar
Don't send me down to the cellar
I swear I won't do it again
lest my sanity goes inter-stellar
and I beat myself senseless in vain
Don't send me down to the cellar
there are things there that scuttle and crawl
there are gnomes there that sing a capella
and an evil old troll in a shawl
There are heebies and jeebies aplenty
who leave trails of slime on the stairs
and their brains are undoubtedly empty
and their long arms have unsightly hairs
So leave me my cape and umbrella
and my half-eaten poems of woe
don't send me down to the cellar
nurse, not again, let me go!
Retrieved Passage 7:
Overboard
"Potato Overboard!"
Came the loud mid-shipman's cry
the Potato King had fallen in
we hung him out to dry
dangling from the mainsail mast
festooned with swaying weeds
it cured his hangover quite fast
it usually succeeds
"Oh Your Majesty"
said his fair queen, in dismay
the gulls had eaten both his socks
and took his wig away
he was a spud of rangy height
wall-eyed, with lantern jaw
but now he was a sorry sight
as many times before.
"Potato Overboard"
was a common cry, those days
We never cured His Majesty
of rabid dipso ways
he would fall into bouillabaise
cow troughs, and out of ships
and always buy up hard liquor
on foreign shopping trips.
Retrieved Passage 8:
The Hour of Cool is Nigh
I came to chill
I came to mellow down
I came to groove about in a yellow gown
hey man, I want to shimmy like a yak
this is the hour I have my cool attack
I came to chill
I came to croon for lurrve
I came to give coolness a helping shove
hey maestro, hit the bass and timpany
this is the funk hour, in the Name of Me
Dressed to thrill
I came to chill this town
to say "one has to get up to get down"
I came to watch the bumble bees go by
hey give it up, the Hour of Cool is nigh.
Atheists,
nihilistic babies
weaned on void milk
They raised themselves not to partake
of any faith-altering substance —
God and religion
is hard liquor and hardcore ***********
to their pure humanist, temperance sensibility
They don’t believe in spiritual invisible things ...
yet, they can touch the unseen air they breath
The spirit of unbelief ... spirit of the Sadducees,
rest within the bosom of their dry souls
Breast fed on prayer emptiness,
so many miracles of God they dismiss with ease
On womb birthdays and tomb holidays,
they eat cheerfully the sumptuous Devil cake:
(a dark angelic spirit in whom they don’t believe exist,
of course, in the first place)
A pasty pastry which contain twin ingredients: malice and avarice —
hate and greed leaven mixed into the ugly bake
They take such preening pagan pride
in denouncing the very existence of God
But, in cremation ashes they can’t hide,
from the holy, divining Resurrection rod
When their atheist flesh and bones
get reconstructed from the urn grave
It will be too late
for them to wanna believe and be saved
at the tavern in the darkening hours
a drunkard swallows the small world reflected in his glass
at one gulp, emboldened, he dances with inflamed eyes
brandishing the ornamental sword taken down from the wall
and yells “I conquered the world, I unified the country”
“wow, be careful! you may hurt the others”
when the sword, however, fails to find the sworn enemy
to thrust or to slash
the aimless point of the sword flashes through the air
and each time he wields the sword sparks fly
when the sword dance becomes wilder, the world
under the drunkard’s feet staggers; the drunkard
pours the unbalanced world into his glass
and shares out his spoils looted while dancing the wild sword dance
“hey, you! haven’t you heard of Hess’ Law before?”
it’s pitiful to watch the defeated ones lying on the floor
bleeding from their wounds, the horrors heaped up all day
turn into darkness, and as darkness thickens
a stray glimmering star appears in the sky above the horizon
the star looking at its own image
reflecting in the little world in the glass
falls from the sky intoxicated by the smell of hard liquor
becomes a drop of dew and sleeps lying on a street lamp
You're not satisfied
Eyes lacking passion
A burning sensation replaced with ice
Our intensity reduced to a mere glance
sitting in silence where the chatter used to live
I am an afterthought.
Letters you sent her
While I laid in wait
I am patiently going mad
Waiting for you to think of me first
You’re wanted more than I
The attention I crave is
trapped by your thoughtlessness
I want you to want me
Words that go down easy like hard liquor
I only nod
My self loathing is your burden
They were not jokes They are not jokes They will never be jokes
You only worry for me
I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care
You’re hard to reach
Late or Never at all
You arrive
I’ve realized how much you dread to answer
For I’m always too sobered
And you’re much too high for life