Best Swig Poems
This piece was sparked by an idea in a fellow poet Tom Woody’s’ — “Last Dance Amid the Stars.” I however, followed a very different emotional path — one that avoids finality and leaves room for mystery and one’s own imagination. The story also touches on the true stories of a growing trend with tragic consequences — lives lost in the pursuit of that one perfect selfie in scenic spots. This dangerous craze has already claimed lives. It’s a heartfelt reminder for us all to stay grounded — in every sense of the word.
Lyrics
Into The Black Hole Sun - A Cosmic Ballad of Love, Loss and Illusion
Phone in my left hand,
a metal hook in my right
A Grand Canyon dream
dust in the night
"Just one more selfie,"
her voice still remains
now she’s lying below,
and I’m drowning in blame
Oh, the wind the wind
it whispers her name
echoes of laughter,
lost in the game
We were dancing on Neptune,
chasing the stars
riding Saturn’s rings
like a cosmic guitar
skipping past Earth,
straight to Venus we’d fly
Why'd her wings disappear
as she fell from the sky?
Now I ride the Milky Way,
lost in the haze
coasting astral winds
through Jupiter’s maze
Had a talk with a rover
‘bout faith and decay
But it don’t really matter
she’s too far away
This void, this void
keeps calling me back with
lures of a one-way ticket, that’s a fact
We were dancing on Neptune,
chasing the stars
riding Saturn’s rings
like a cosmic guitar
skipping past Earth,
straight to Venus we’d fly
What made her lose her wings
when she fell from the sky?
One last swig, one last thought
One last look at what I’ve lost
Slowly I fall lost in the haze
into the dark where shadows blaze
Black hole sun, light up the sky
Spinning into stardust,
Where memories lie
Gravity fades, no more pain
Just an endless reunion
Just an endless reunion
In space
Categories:
swig, anxiety, grief, lost love,
Form:
Ballad
7/9/20
"Sickening"
This is sickening
And quickening
Not at all, what I was envisioning
Nobody listening
Most chickening
Fidgeting
And limiting
Themselves to the point of being crippling
The effects rippling
And tripling
On top of it, we've got social distancing
Still dribbling
I've been chiseling
And scribbling
No matter what has been incoming
Pivoting
And occasionally grimacing
The temperature freezing, cold, mild or sizzling
The weather icy, windy, calm, scorching or drizzling
Clowns continue giggling
Petty people are still belittling
Over every little thing
Not all that riveting
It's becoming uninteresting
Sometimes I sip, sometimes I swig
Sometimes I flip the script
Even though sometimes it's rigged
Before opportunities are shriveling
And dwindling
Got to get it quickly
And differently
Meanwhile all senses are tingling
Categories:
swig, dark, deep, poetry, rap,
Form:
Rhyme
There once was a man from Duluth
whose habit was spinning the truth.
He had told the same tale
(every day without fail;
'twas getting quite long in the tooth).
He sat down to drink in a booth
then ordered a double vermouth.
He said a tornado
shaped like a potato
had taken his poor wife named, Ruth!
The men in the bar yelled, “Forsooth!”
But one woman thought it was truth
(the gal was a newbie
who'd just smoked a doobie)
and sent more vermouth to the booth.
“The first time I ever saw Ruth,”
he said, toasting her with vermouth,
(Though usually crisp
when he drank he'd a lisp),
“wath back in my youth in Duluth.
“She'd one perpendicular tooth.
When she withled came her pet gooth.
It wath love at firth thight
and we wedded that night
with her gooth on top of a mooth!”
“We honeymooned outthide Duluth
in a cabooth, just me and Ruth.”
He then heaved a big sigh
(he was getting quite high)
“And of courthe the mooth and her gooth.”
He took a big swig of vermouth
and said that they never found Ruth.
“Just an arm at the mall
and her foot on a wall,
pluth one thingle tooth in Duluth.”
He wept as he pined for his youth,
so the gal ordered up more vermouth.
Then the telephone rang
and the bartender sang,
“It's Ruth, your ex-wife in Duluth.
It's I telling you the sad truth
about her and 'who goothed the mooth'!
Now she wants a good check
that won't bounce, you old wreck,
like the last at Bank of Duluth!”
The new gal cried, “Cad, You're uncouth!
You gave your eyetooth it was truth
of poor Ruth and her gooth,
the cabooth and the mooth
in Duluth, and all for vermouth!”
The man said, “The truth in Duluth
and why I keep hitting the juithe
ith that Ruth and the mooth,
the cabooth and her gooth
were a nooth I had to cut looth!”
The new gal cried, “There weren't no gooth,
nor mooth or cabooth in Duluth!
There was just poor old Ruth
and some nooth that was looth,
plus a drunk who soaked up the juithe!”
The man from Duluth knew the truth,
“Thereth no more vermouth. Whath the uthe?”
So he crept out the back,
but the rest knew the tack:
he'd be back next day for vermouth!
Categories:
swig, drink, humor, word play,
Form:
Limerick
One fine day I was fishing at sea
Two big blue whales swam up by me
They flicked their tails sent up a spray
All I could do was watch and pray
They kept flicking and sank my boat
I'm now in the water and here I float
If no one is around to save my life
Then a widow she'll be, my wife.
I'm not afraid of a big blue whale
I'll put a harpoon in its flickering tail
When seas get rough from a blowin' gale
Just pour me another swig of ale.
They kept flicking and sank my boat
I'm now in the water and here I float
If no one is around to save my life
Then a widow she'll be, my wife.
I'd cut my hand and the blood ran free
Three fins appeared ready for their tea
Then from nowhere I heard a shout
"Grab the rope we'll get you out".
They kept flicking and sank my boat
I'm now in the water and here I float
If no one is around to save my life
Then a widow she'll be, my wife.
They hauled me in and saved my neck
I was a soggy heap upon their deck
I was perished they gave me rum
Felt a warm glow in my tum.
They kept flicking and sank my boat
I'm now in the water and here I float
If no one is around to save my life
Then a widow she'll be, my wife.
The sails went up they made for shore
Made a vow to myself the sea no more
Now I'm a crofter working on dry land
And ne'er again see sea or sand.
They kept flicking and sank my boat
I'm now in the water and here I float
If no one is around to save my life
Then a widow she'll be, my wife.
After five months I was longing to be
Back in the boat fishing out at sea
A landlubbers life was not for me
On the water I was free.
They kept flicking and sank my boat
I'm now in the water and here I float
If no one is around to save my life
Then a widow she'll be, my wife.
The credit for the third verse goes to Jenna Logan.
Written 31st January 2021.
Categories:
swig, boat, fishing, water,
Form:
Lyric
This was written a few years ago for St. Patty's Day and posted:
If your favorite color is green and of the Emerald Isles you dream,
you might be Irish..
If you believe in leprechauns and fairies and hidden treasures that lay buried,
you might be Irish..
If you like your lasses bawdy and tell jokes a little naughty,
you might be Irish..
If you can dance an Irish jig and at the pubs your whiskey swig,
you might be Irish.
If your mom cooked an Irish stew and you just happened to be Catholic too,
you might be Irish..
If your name is Fitz, Riley, or O'Keefe, your definitely Irish, good grief!!
If not then just for this one day, we'll say your Irish any way..
Happy St. Patty's Day!!
Categories:
swig, holiday,
Form:
Rhyme
May your love for me
always be
as stormy as an Irish sea.
I want no gentle ride
I wish for no small swell,
I've been safely drifting for too long.
May my love for you
always be
as sure as the setting sun.
As steady as a spring rain
a balm to your scorched plain.
You bring the wild,
I'll bring the sweet.
You be my rose,
I'll be your thorn.
I will be the sweet smile
as you swig down what makes you burn.
Categories:
swig, love,
Form:
Free verse
I Committed Suicide
I stretched out weary hands.
Melisa, who considered me
like a big brother, quickly ran away from me.
My heart writhed unto me;
I longed for a swig of water.
Noise danced, rumbled inside me in thunder.
But the whirlwind heard
the swoosh of the knife as my eyes blushed.
But why didn’t I die instead?
I placed the knife back
in my rusty pocket.
I recalled she told me,
“No, don’t kill yourself.”
“Stress is like chess;
either you play it, or it plays you.”
Vinegar boiled my blood,
though my bones
were hit by the daily rocks I ate.
My suicidal act was lured with its bait.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Swarms of flies consumed the skin of my throat.
My fleshes were allotted to stresses atop a fire.
My fur was tumbleweed and chaff before the wind blew.
My mouth became a thirsty land.
I turned blue. I cried sandy tears.
My ivory screams were smokes.
But why didn’t I die instead?
“Christo,” I heard as I reconsidered.
“Melisa bloodily committed suicide,”
an old man vociferated.
I fell to my knees.
The blood in my head was a rolling sea.
Reconsideration ebbed away.
I was a zebra running away from a lion’s teeth,
but in the lake, caught by the crocodile’s jaws of death.
My muscles fainted in decay.
My soul ran away from a fowler’s snare.
Wails went higher than an eagle’s wings.
But why didn’t I die instead?
Categories:
swig, allusion, anxiety, betrayal, children,
Form:
Free verse
liquor
crushed ice
an effervescent tonic
an engaging libation
a crystal glass an empty mass
a looking glass an engaging lass
a reflection fills the flask
an hourglass figure smooth as glass
a view deep
a deep view
a hot and hard jigger
an episodic embrace of the stem
a nicely paced repetitive stroked type grip
measured
a high pitch pleasured note of delight
a charge
and another...
...and another...
...and...
….....
...a spill...
...a swig...
...a swallow
an emphatic gush
a coupled roast
an orgasmic toast
a sexual rush.
31~10~2014
Categories:
swig, uplifting,
Form:
Rhyme
On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
The inside is decorated
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Loud hillbilly music plays.
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.
------------------------------------------------------------
Written 6th October, 2014
A collaboration by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire
Categories:
swig, dance,
Form:
Rhyme
Jolly is this man who fills our days with jubilingo and Jackanese
Affectionate and articulate with arms ageless as an ocean breeze
Charming and cheerful, corky is not his choice of wine
Kind in all that he does, with knowledge larger than life
Empowering his enormous heart that beats in each verse
Laughter and lightheartedness he brings in the light of each morn
Loving each day, spouting out some limerick's bout our ladies
Intelligent, irresistible and witty, inspiring to say the least
Sweet as a swig of southern sun tea, so they say : )
One in a million , so proud to call Santa Jack ours
Now sing happy birthday to the man who's an everlasting star
Happy Birthday Jack
Love Charma and Tim
Categories:
swig, birthday, love,
Form:
Acrostic
I am the environmentalist in love with wine,
my shoulders carry and reside in the cutting edge side of life,
the establishment craves to be the human race
while I stroll the memories of “Sailor fields”
amongst ancient Jurassic stone.
Is this! The only way for me?
My saline tears run freely now a days,
it’s time that governs one’s sentiment,
no doubt the plague of waiting relates to this.
What! Of the future,
hey , i want to forget about futuristic wars,
may be the media are in gross error of judgment?
I’m told I’m only a little man, at last now I know why I’m the
one that society chastises every day,
Why this mortal flame in constant combat becomes
life’s tomb stone around my neck.
To feel freedom, another swig so my lacklustre eyes again become stimulated
as the view overcomes my immobility and bids farewell, to the great lady
that glides portly on the outgoing tide.
Curse this elemental wind
that curls in from the east,
“Mother” i cry
“Is this the clarity of our beginning.” the start of all this crap,
as astringent thoughts flow through my urban bucolic mind,
seeing or feeling nothing of the moment, only a repeat of the actions of many insensitive men,
those that flourish, those that sentiment cannot stain those that walk tallest amongst men;
because they were hungry for appurtenance.
I remember well , in the far off lea of my mind,
down on the farm thousands of miles away across the Pacific,
where enamel clashed against concrete
there , where foolhardy dreams were dashed,.
when the heart pursued
the warm flesh , she that gave her
reflection to the swan song
of an innocence.
Alas should one be compelled to expire
as one would, a chardonnay basking in the hot sunshine?
Should one fall foul of a politically correct society
that , outside of one’s comfort zone,
because one feels , want , in choleric veins?
Even the sullen white cross, dotted upon the highways
become burning embers, a constant reminiscence,
an emotional monument to many inhibited memories.
Yet I beg this deportment shows me a realization,
that death is imminent,
so why this perpetual waiting, this constant urge,
for this vein dependency to be infringed upon ???
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Categories:
swig, angst, drug,
Form:
Free verse
Tonight I felt the deep inner desire to conform, to feel at right with the crowd for fear of being scorned. But don't be fooled dearest reader, this ain't a story of morals and how I got consumed into a life of addiction or crap like that. This isn't a sob story, just written down at the drop of a hat. The real twist is that I didn't give in, but where does that leave me? A lonesome wanderer gazing at an infinite sea? A person dreadfully awake, in the midst of a miraculous dream? Truth be told I at times feel the luckiest, not drawing near to the most common follies of my peers. But at what price? For who, in a world filled with bubbly laughter, could hear the sound of a silent tear? Who, holding a hand of their own, following a path they love, could notice a shadow like me, so hopelessly alone? I love you all most dearly, but like the moon loves the sea... just out of reach but always in sight. I live my life as the rainbow kisses the earth, wishing for my colors to allay someone else's hurt, if only for a moment, a minuscule grain, on this sandy shore. I am really not so significant, but still I desire to be more. But in all honesty how can I? I'm simply an observer, a reporter looking in. I'm not the strongest, nor the brightest, the bravest, nor the wisest. I am just a man with an eye for beauty and an obsession for the safety of the bench. So still I watch in dread as others live and I just sink. I clutch to papers filled with so much lifeless ink! They are nothing but shards of myself, tossed and thrown in mile high piles, that none in their right minds could ever wish to file! Though the world I live in and the one which I've created, seldom collide, I sit still waiting on that perilous bridge, for someone else just as crazy, and just as lonesome, to sit it out with me, side by side. It may not be perfect but it feels right. And honestly who could hope for more at the end of the night? You have a destination in mind and a foot always in front. You have the whole world palmed in between delicate fingertips. So go on and take a swig! Ingest within you... the taste of a wish!
Categories:
swig, confusion, imagination, introspection, world,
Form:
Prose Poetry
My heart is heavy; I’m feeling so sad,
in recent contests I have failed to place.
I don’t think my work is really that bad
So I will keep a huge smile on my face!
Perhaps the sponsor just had a bad day
or with their partner they had a big row;
Yet my name’s not there; what more can I say,
should I give up and cease writing right now?
Brenda wants us to write her a sonnet,
Yikes, I’m darn useless at writing that form
I must not get a bee in my bonnet
I’ll try to make sonnet writing my norm.
Yes, I’ll persevere and sometimes I’ll win,
If I fail ... I’ll swig a huge glass of gin!
Disappointment Contest
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri
A tongue firmly in cheek poem !
10 syllables per line (N B really counted as 2 syllables)
09-13-17
Categories:
swig, how i feel, humorous,
Form:
Sonnet
Adventures In Wonderland-Condensed Version
Alice
malice
Rabbit's
habit
"I'm late
can't wait"
tardy
lordy!
deep hole
took toll
she fell
oh well
found note
I quote,
"Drink me"
it's free
too big
took swig
she drank
then shrank
ate cake
mistake
Hatter
chatter
treed cat
too fat
March Hare
he's there
Red Queen
so mean
beguiled
poor child
from shakes
she wakes
it seemed
she dreamed
amends
tale ends
>>>>>>>>>
March 22nd, 2017
Jan Allison's Fabulous Fun Footles
Categories:
swig, adventure, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
Left Memphis on a southbound bus.
Entered north Mississippi as I knew I must.
Turned toward the Alabama line.
Spent the next couple hours dreaming you were mine.
Dark tunnel, no light either end.
Took a swig from my hip flask, she’s a pilgrim’s friend.
Straight bourbon in a long slow pull
Kept me warm till we turned into the terminal.
I’ve got those freeway jitters and a case of creeping frost.
I’m like fire when I’m loaded. I’m like water when I’m lost.
I’m here to meet somebody.
Like to get to know your name.
Here to meet somebody.
Just exactly why I came.
I’m here to meet somebody. Yeah!
And I think it’s you.
Short order at an all-night grill.
Grabbed a seat at the counter near a ketchup spill.
Black coffee, thick as hot-melt glue;
You’re the cream makes it smooth and you’re my sugar, too.
Low volume with a mellow sound.
You don’t play, but dear lady we can fool around.
Chaude soirée sur la Rue Le Monde;
Take my hand and we’ll waltz into the great beyond.
We’ll dance a slow explosion, spill champagne on the bed.
Love those tiny little bubbles when they’re going to my head.
I’m here to meet somebody.
We can order ala carte.
Here to meet somebody.
Drive a steak knife through my heart.
I’m here to meet somebody. Yeah!
And I think it’s you.
Left Memphis like a prison break
For a Birmingham blessing and salvation’s sake.
Don’t have a decent alibi,
Just this old-time religion and a pecan pie.
Categories:
swig, allegory, journey, lust, romance,
Form:
Lyric