Best Strong Drink Poems
St Patrick’s Alphabet
A is America land of the free
B is for Beatles as Irish as me
C is the great Cliffs of Moher so pretty
D is for Dublin the capital city
E is for Eire – true name of my land
F is for Fionn and the Fianna his band
G is for Guinness a world-famous name
H is for Hurling a rather rough game
I is my Island and what it creates
J is for Joyce, Stephens, Swift and Jack Yeats
K is King Niall and the old kings at Tara
L is a leprechaun called MacNamara
M is for mise, me fein and me too
N is for Nuala, Naoimh, Nora and crew
O is O’Reilly O’Keefe and their worth
P - Patrick saint in the land of my birth
Q is for quiz, gob, cailin and the rest
R is the River Shannon in the west
S is for Shamrock a flower of three
T is Tramore, Tullamore and Tralee
U is U2 who are still going strong
V is from Ulster – he’s Van Morrison
W – whiskey a very strong drink
X is eXcuse me no word can I think
Y is for You when like me you agree,
Z ’s not in Ireland there no last can be
He is addicted to the bottle
Despite what his words tell a friend
His hands reach out to the liquor
As if it contains the cure for his failures
He takes a drink, never thinking
Of all the pain this poison will bring
To him, his wife and their children
Everyone who truly cares about him.
Everyone has seen this demon
Bring greater men to their demise
Without a second chance to stop him
He’ll be filling up his entire heart and life
With a sickening scent of alcohol that
Makes him more brainless than anything else
He’ll keep drinking until this strong drink
Kills him – and his family will grieve for
The one they knew before he was a drunk
He’s addicted to the thing that hurts
Him and everyone who cares for him
He thinks he can handle one drink of it
But a few bottles later tells the true story
Even though the bottle is his best friend
It’s actually the enemy to the one inside him
He thinks it can mend whatever hurts him
While it actually ruins what’s left within
Alcoholic, lost in the toxic liquid
That destroys more than his sanity
This drink will take away all that is good
And leave a broken down failure, most likely
Dead on the inside before he actually dies
Proverbs 23:20f: "Do not join those who drink too much wine or gorge themselves on meat, for drunkards and gluttons become poor, and drowsiness clothes them in rags." ... Ephesians 5:18: "Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit."
THE MAIDEN:
My little Juliette,
my hand floating over her back;
and her tiny hand with mine.
Now, we all sing songs to Capulet.
And they all pause;
they are enthralled.
Younger lads know their remedy;
no, not strong drink -
whatever you think.
But, like if the gleaming sun is her virginity;
that power of light is her affinity.
In the late hour,
I did inspire her,
in her bower,
her bosom to bloom and blossom.
I saw she and she me,
with a wide look of glee,
wild eyes and heartbeats of jubilee.
She was not toward I, nor I to her, persnickety.
We fell fast together, authentically.
THE CRONE:
That crone, witch and total %#&^%.
She made everything a hitch,
and brought today's sorrow,
and brings more curses the morrow.
Her. In The Brothel.
She is there in every hovel.
Her coiled brown hair,
that brings my passions to bare.
The desires all around us.
'Why does she bother' you ask?
Her nails pushing and rummaging
under my skin,
raking the hair of my arms.
I can smell her now.
Her soft perfumes.
And. Also.
It is night.
And so she wrapped me tight,
yet it was all hollow.
I wish I could forget it now.
THE GODDESS:
And there! The goddess in the pale moon,
she walks and talks and makes the willows swoon.
She walks and talks to me,
and causes romance to loom.
The way sunlight moves around her hair,
and the breezes that pushes against her form.
The gold of sunshine in the tall grasses,
where we did roam.
The Pixies sit up there,
over the brook.
In the trees, at night,
above her shoulders,
while the water laps moonlight.
The smell of pines and saplings,
and the colors,
glaring off the ice, and,
the never ending sheens of summer.
Her hand in mine.
S.M. Diamond
7/01/2019
I hear the murmurring
I know they are talking about me
I see the intentional whispers
The subtle avoidance at my presence
Like an outcast leper they walk around
The blatant use of conversation enders
Like " oh theres so and so, i gotta go"
I arrive alone and leave alone.
God only knows why i was even invited
God only knows why i showed up
They dont know me
They never did
But they talk behind my back
Like they know everything about me.
Dinner ends and i excuse myself
And quietly exit the party.
No , " hey where you going, dont go,"
Heads turn as if they dont even notice
I arrive home and pour a strong drink
I close my eyes and let the peace in
Because thats what its about for me.
You hear voices in the bar room, making merry, making a toast
They have offices and homes, but here is where they laugh most
Men from all walks of life, united under the banner of strong drinks
Here you can be yourself without caring what the world thinks
When God made the world and everything in it
He knew without alcohol it would not be complete
He gave birds wings, and waved them as they flew
Then he gave men, the knowledge to brew
Men have conquered the world drunk on spirits and wines
Drinking men have grabbed pens and drawn crooked lines
Dividing the world into nations, printing it on fancy maps
The borders are crooked because warlords were drunk, perhaps!
Poor men and beggars have known what it feels to be kings
When they drink, they get drunk, and poverty no longer stings
Unmarried women and maids know what it feels to be a lady
When they drink, they are beautiful, for they can’t hold the mirror steady
If God had made man out of clay and wine instead of blood
He would never have had to send mankind the great flood
Men would have obeyed his word and Noah would not have built the ark
Wine is good for the heart; no one would ever die of a heart attack
Or if God had filled the oceans with wine instead of water
The world would be a place of great and endless laughter
Men walking around with jars full of wine and hearts full of love
Singing songs on sailing boats, no landlords and oil barons to serve.
Now here we live, a world where they trade the wines and spirits
Chemically induced, cleverly marketed, to bring in more digits
Still we flock to bars and liquor shops, if our time and money can afford
To partake this strong drink, in pursue of happiness that is fraud.
Has it caused more harm than good, the alcoholic beverage?
Are there more accidents, than men with forgotten rage?
When they drink, they may not be socially coherent
But they are happy, so alcohol must be God sent
They said a ticket to a man's heart is his stomach!
seduce him with a hearty meal and a strong drink and you have his attention and maybe,
possibly, friendship for life. I know many of them, men that is, I know many for life. They
search, they hunt, the lurk like trolls too sometimes, but I see the innocence within them
and they try and they struggle.
When a man is pushed, he can make some crazy choices, many he can't reverse... and for
what? the high? his pride won't let him bow? to admit he is not always strong! and mostly
weak and he beats himself up hourly, daily, what has he done wrong, how can he live that
dream? how can he live out his desires.., his little dark secrets from whence he was a BOY.
BOY or man... what the hell does it matter? The time is now, he can only think for the
moment because nature has him this way. Is extreme his choices of fun? Exotic meat on a
grill? burnt black on the edges and aroma of it in the air... or a slab of curves and with dark
hair on a table. All one in the same.
Does he search for a mate or a ****, a whore..... what do you call them.... the one with no
strings attached and she lets you do what you want? perfection? or have you found a
computer that has welcomed your virus and now you are in control. For even if you let her
lead you very well and know that you still have her in your control.... it's okay, I would
have done the same or more had I been born with balls.
So now what? Well... you will never have the skeleton key for all these locks, Walk or Run
to each door, open...close...open..close.. Don't look down the end of that hall Sir, it gets
further and further. Turn around and look behind you, you can't even count all those
doors...
So what to do? nothing you can do, it's in your nature. Your mind will only give you so
much information, just like a search engine on a computer, also invented by your kind. you
will have to carry on with the game of Breast, men in vest and fine SUV's, Curves and
****** round-a-bouts and fetish delights.
P.S: try flipping your meat on the grill more often, it helps too with spice.
Form:
She had many good days and bad ones. There were sad moments and happy ones. There was a period in which she was a daily soft drink consumer.
But I must say that there was nothing soft about the drink she craved.
She was captivated by a certain strong drink more than any other.
As for me, if it wasn’t for the salt and the sugar it contained,
I too would be drinking with a frowning face, just like MOTHER.
Doing the laundry, cleaning the house, and cooking, or simply taking her infrequent leisure. Beautifying someone’s hair, or just chatting with a friend,
there was often a small green glass bottle of soda nearby. This lady never poured from the bottle into a drinking glass. Such a classy ritual was never required nor desired by her. The most favored, the most flavored, and the most refreshing moment for MOTHER was a bag of salted peanuts slowly poured into her favorite strong drink.
Watching as his MOTHER intakes her favorite snack, I, a little boy, look on
and capture a magical moment. The drink was ice cold, but MOTHER liked
it that way.
Sixty-plus years have come and gone, but the memories will not pass soon. Those precious magical moments will last forever. MOTHER, happily drinking her cold and soothing coca cola. The tasty bottle of coke, filled with salted peanuts; MOTHER'S frowns from the very strong taste, but enjoying every drop. Without knowing it, MOTHER was creating a magical moment.
Time has made the little boy a man, but MOTHER'S favorite drink and the memory of that magical moment that she created shall forever stand.
Many years ago before I became a man
When i was just a boy having his fun
I had a grandmother whom i thought would never die
She would sit outside her house as I played by
She was tall and jolly and I was fond of her
She died one day and now she is beyond the moon and far
Things I never told her as a boy, I would like to tell her now
I know am crazy, but I hope she is listening somehow
Thanks grandma for all those warm and tasty meals
Had your house been a restaurant, I still wouldn’t afford the bills
Taking care of me while my mother was away
I would give anything just to be with you one more day
Curling by your fireplace, listening to stories and uploading memories
Those were my happiest days, where I knew little or no worries
Helping you gather the chicken, rewarding me with a cup of porridge
I feel tears in my eyes now, as I turn back the page to that age
After you were gone I grew up fast, not sure where time went
The days ahead would be the opposite of the time you and i spent
I have been on the highway to nowhere, not sure how to get there
My will to go on is worn out and I have no spare
Life is a commercial puzzle of which they give you no clue
Grandma, if you were here, you would hate this world too
It’s hard enough being a man, let alone somebody’s husband
Women today have no respect, and I hold no title to a land
Strong drink is all I have to remind me how to smile
But I can never drink enough to carry me further an extra mile
I am always pushed in the same corner every year round
I have nothing to write home about, nothing to make you proud
It’s not easy dear grandma, to have a heart full of dreams
Yet watch helplessly, as the long winding road ahead dims
To speak but have no listener, to sing and have no audience
Life has been a maddening affair, down this God-forsaken ambiance
You were a silver-haired woman when you died, me just a kid
But I don’t know if I will manage, to live as long as you did
For am tired and am thinking about joining you soon
I know its much better where you are, beyond that silver moon
Wine is a mocker, strong drink
is raging: and whosoever is
deceived thereby is not wise
Prov. 20:1
Darkened oxidation
changing personality
Liquid fermentation
altering perception of reality
Look long into the bottle,
you see fire in the water
It burns you as you swallow,
your memory now getting shorter
Release the genie from the lamp,
set free the jinn from it’s shapely confine
But you will wish you never did ...
Hyde-and-seek is such a dangerous game
Hiding from the truth,
seeking answers by way of 100-proof
Blackout is a mind-eraser tramp
Dr. Jekyll prognosis: too much wine at the dine
Good manners went off the grid,
mild-mannered you now ain’t the same
Saccharine sweet talk turns into acidic argument
Civilized behavior turns primitive
Fermentation is bubbling ...
God knows, you wish you could put
what you just said back in the bottle
Uncorked repressions of guilt and anger
agitating anew
Then, just as quickly, a reverse change in attitude
Fungi perversions start growing in you,
carbonizing your thoughts ... propagating strange desires
Corrupt carnal pleasures souring your mind
Fermented spirits,
darkened oxidation
Breathe in the aromatic conversion ...
intoxicating vapors releasing your inhibitions
A different you comes babbling through
Drink deep the pungent madness ...
complex organic compounds
chain reacting into fast acting mental breakdowns
Taste the seething mix of the witches brew ...
Let the liquid serpent sting bite you,
creating violent excitation
Lustful permutations
conceived through
darkened oxidation
Fermented spirits have drunkenly deceived you
CHEERS !
Toast to all the Girls, who live in a whirl, of parties and nightlife and fun.
Here’s to the those girls, who wake every morn, wondering who gave her the bun.
Scholl to likely lads, who think they’re real BAD, and can pull any girl on her own.
Prost to every man who’s, pushing a pram, thinking he’s pushing his own.
L’chaim to the chaps, who make Vodka and Schnapps, and make it so easy to sin.
Bottoms up to the men, who still sell it when, their customers mind has gone dim.
Chin Chin to the drinkers, long tall and short, who never know when to say stop.
Applause to the ones, who now know how it’s done, and drink to the very last drop.
Strong drink is raging, although it’s engaging, and wine is a mocker it’s true.
And whiskey divides, the fool from the wise, and is useful for cleaning the loo.
The effects of the drink, will cause you to sink, much lower than you want or need.
So take my advice, please refrain and be nice, your better off sticking with weed.
Christmas shopping now...
the malls, the crowds, the deals - whew!
I need a strong drink!!!
When your MUSE leaves you
you struggle with the ink pen
your mind is all blank
A poets worst nightmare
writers block is a big scare
what if we could write and write
without needing to stop to breathe
It is always difficult when we can't think
the words are blocked from coming out
nothing helps not even a strong drink
you feel like you wanna scream and shout
I'm on the look our for the muse talent scout!!
11-5-2015
A poets dozen contest by silent one
The joys and pleasures of drinking
Having been asleep and submerged
Re-awakened and buoyed up
As a herald of the great war within
Never ceasing but ravaging my soul
A wave tossed to and fro
by winds of wisdom and foolishness
Tipsy and drowsy I stumbled
fell and broken, snared and taken
Bruised on my forehead and left eye
A public display of folishness and blindness
With no soundness in my head
But wounds, bruises and putrefying sores
My lofty looks were humbled
and my haughtiness bowed down
Instead of a sweet smell,
there is a stench
And in the place of a rich robe
a girding of a sackcloth
An honourable man famished
and his multitudes dried up
It is not for kings to drink wine
nor for rulers to desire strong drink
lest they drink and go astray
and the sheep be without a shepherd
I am a king and a priest
for the display of the manifold wisdom
Not perverseness and foolishness
Form:
Still, I hold my head up high
And why you might ask
It was not I that left, but she
I wear no mask
My deeds are opened
My life is before you
I loved only her at the time
Perhaps her love never grew
Still, I hold my head up high
As she hides from the masses
Although some in secret she sees
We call them the asses
Other know her better
But quiet is their voice
Perhaps leverage was used
And they no other choice
Still, I hold my head up high
As she is out flirting
She is bringing herself down
No words am I exerting
Let the deeds resolve the deeds
Let the blind lead the blind
Strong drink will soon open up
Her words and her mind
Still, I hold my head up high
As drunkenness is now talking
No better way for words to fall
With a blackboard for her chalking
At last she echoes what actual happened
As words stream out loudly
And unbeknownst of ears listening
She beams her words proudly
Still, I hold my head up high
As she is running now for cover
The antidote she never found
To hide her brand new lover
And so she’s vanished, she’s left the state
And smiles are really beaming
Lover’s Lane on Saturday night
With two hearts now a dreaming
With the eyes of an eagle, men and women are in your sight.
With your eyes oh Lord, you see all who dwell on the earth.
You saw me as wine flooded my tongue,
the bottle emptied of all its sorrows.
For I was weak, a wretched soul at the end of the gallows.
The hangman’s noose tight about my scrawny neck.
You were there, with tears and a smile.
You saw the end from the beginning,
You — the Alpha and Omega.
You sacrificed the strong drink, replacing it with water —
water cool and crisp from the spring of paradise.
The petty officer with his serpentine tattoo
tried to swallow me whole. The stormy seas
suddenly calmed by the warmth of your words
as you spoke through wise lips your truth.
Oh Lord of men and seas, cleanse me with your brine.
See your servant who prays with humble lips, on her knees.
Lift our feet above shallow shores to the heights of tomorrow,
where no suffering will defeat us, only sparkle our uniforms.
9/9/2019
Write a Psalm Poetry Contest
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