Best Swigging Poems
Whiskey on the rocks, advised by my doc
combats dementia, so bring on the blocks
no need for a glass; I'll have me the bottle
with a big bowl of ice this baby I'll throttle
The whiskey's gone, now a brandy'd be fine
my inside's on fire, there's a hoop up my spine
swigging from the bot comes at a price
I'll temper the fire with whole blocks of ice
The flames have been doused; rum, if you please?
my head's in a clamp; ice will loosen the squeeze
now, be a sport and pile on the ice
two bowls or more I think should suffice
Three bottlesh down, all on the rocksh
my tootshiesh are shtarting to curl in my shocksh
my shmile is chemented, my lipsh glued together
my fashe the feel and texture of leather
Twishe left, thrishe right my head ish shwinging
short, long, short, long my earsh are zinging
either I'm crosh-eyed or my brainsh have been fried
elsh why are my legsh by three multiplied?
I'm freefalling on shixh feet firmly earthed
alternating twixht lower and then upper berth
vocal chordsh tangled, shizhably crimped
I'm walking with a lishp and talking with a limp
I'm teetering-tottering or tettering-tortering
I've no clue which ish which and given up wondering
the world ish a blur; I musht be plarshtered
the liquor went down well; ishe warsh the barshtard
On all foursh – nay, twelve, I reach the bed
now I'm pondering and shcratching my head:
am I waking up or about to retire?
I shimply topple over, my whole being on fire
In the Land of Nod I'm harnessed by tether
in comely dreams of cowboys and leather
when plagued by a swishy feel in my bladder
swelling as fast as a pregnant puffadder
Abruptly awakened when a stream emanated
unable to move, still intoxicated
stuck to my bed and severely drenched
nausea ensued in the encompassing stench
How my stomach reacted I'd best not relate
suffice to say it was a full freight
soiled and hung-over, a word of advice:
liquor's fantastic but steer clear of ice
Categories:
swigging, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Confetti collecting
on strawberry blondes
swigging champagne
from the dusk
till the dawn,
Sleeping in corners
where ever they fall,
like sad
Cinderellas
too long
at the
Ball.
Categories:
swigging, funny,
Form:
Couplet
Push and shove
Punch and hit
Throwing a bad violent fit
Never knowing what you did
Because the liquor left it hid
Remembering is hard to do
When it takes control of you
You try and stop with group support
But one sip and you abort
All the senses telling you
This is a bad thing to do
Having fun with all your friends
Swigging every drink they send
With each one you can’t hold back
You start to hit and start to smack
A child who don’t understand
Why other daddy’s use their hands
To hold and love their little ones
But she has to hide and run
So afraid and scared to death
With every hit she holds her breath
Praying for her life each time
He does this violent act of crime
Categories:
swigging, abuse, child, fear,
Form:
Rhyme
Wild Bill Bailey loved his liquor
far too much for his own good-
Spent his days in smokey taverns
draining far more than he should.
Adeline had long suspected
as he rode off into town
that he'd rather wet his whistle
than get wed and settle down.
So she gave an ultimatum:
'Quit the booze or say goodbye
to my cherry lips and dumplings
chili beans and pumpkin pie'.
Bill no longer wastes his wages
swigging at the ol' saloon
Adeline cajoled her cowboy ;
rumour is they'll marry soon.
27.01.21
Cowboy Poetry Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Line Gauthier
Categories:
swigging, appreciation, drink, food,
Form:
Rhyme
I followed milky and mouldy scents,
down cobbled and narrow paths,
only to see it riddled with rats,
feasting on Feta and Camembert,
whilst the wine sipping Uppers prepared to
clash against the cider swigging downers!
The Fromage Frenzy and Curd Craze deli.
across from the Dizzy Duck and the Boastful Bard taverns
had been ransacked with only cracker crumbs on the floor.
All the cheesemongers were hiding in their basements.
All the landlords locked away in their cellars!
Bar stools dripping with Chardonnay and Merlot,
carpets soaked in 'Scrumpy Jack' and 'Strongbow.'
It was utter chaos as the 'cheese shed' raged on...
The goats and the cows watched,
as the town folk gathered on either side.
Anger in their eyes, yelling insults like;
'Cheap cheddar gobblers' and 'stinky Stilton munchers.'
This was not cultural tensions,
nor issues with tariffs, quotas or labelling practises-
this was a war of the social classes!
They were not fighting with fists or weapons,
oh no, no no..
The Downers started squirting stinky cheese sauce,
drenching the Uppers with its reeking stench.
However, when the Uppers started hurling
Storico and Caciocavallo Podolico,
back at the Downers, they simply,
started consuming it with their cider!
Both fractions kept pelting and sprinkling,
until little Joey from the farm,
reminded them the football had started,
so off they plodded to watch the game,
singing and laughing together,
arm in arm, munching on cheese
they had salvaged from their skirmish.
Categories:
swigging, allusion, conflict, society,
Form:
Free verse
Chet lived creepily in the back of the tavern, hidden.
No one bothered him. He lived vicariously through the others.
The pretty barflies who flitted in chatting too loudly.
Flipping their hair. He had a salacious appetite, saw them all naked.
They sometimes waved to his corner when they were drunk.
He did not think they knew he was perpetually eyeballing them.
Unclothing them one piece of clothing at a time in his mind.
Uncovering their secrets was easy; they shared way too much.
His voyeuristic tendencies got him ostracized and secluded from family.
His mixoscopia and scoptolagnia confusing the prissy Baptists he knew.
He might go Catholic, he had heard they were more open. Nah!
Religion was not for him. His religion was this bar and those bar flies.
One of them was throwing her head back now, laughing loudly.
He would dream of her tonight. He smirked at the eroticism she brought him.
She turned and waved. If he was forty years younger, he would be over there.
But he knew better so he stayed put, swigging back his beer.
Categories:
swigging, longing,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Well if you insist
I am not the color of my skin or the clothes on my back.
I am not who or what you assume me to be.
I am not a foul mouthed gun toting beer swigging cigarette smoking menace to society.
I am not a high school drop-out uneducated crime committing felon.
I am not your local hi-jacker who ties you up and tosses you in the boot, drops you off in the middle of the veld for no one to find.
I am Christian and proud of it!
I am A father A lover A brother and A proud uncle and role model to miniatures of me.
I am Leader and a thinker and a doer and speaker.
I am confident and loud.
I am a product of my father and his forefathers.
I am product of my mother’s womb and wisdom.
I am fearless I am Sound I Am a proud African Son!
And I will live my life so that long after my passing it will be remembered!
W.Arends
Categories:
swigging, africa, brother, father, identity,
Form:
Abecedarian
Flying on a broomstick, taking the Knight Bus
Arriving on the platform without any fuss
Visiting Warner Brothers for a fan was a must
In the magic and the mystery we all did trust
A Wow! As we entered the magnificent Grand hall
As soon as we saw it, we knew we'd have a ball
Dumbledore's Office, Boys Dormitory
Waiting to unfold in every wonderful story
Wands a waving, spells in the air abound
Excitement growing, a blast as we look around
Special effects, spectacular impressive artwork
Spellbound mesmerised with every little quirk
Swigging pints of butter beer sitting in the cafe
A trip along the cobble streets of Diagon Alley
On to Pivet Drive, letters are a floating
We hear the steam engine puffing and gloating
And finally we leave the trip admiring J.K. Rowling
Recommending to you all, as it lovingly leaves you glowing.
Categories:
swigging, adventure, children, fantasy, film,
Form:
Rhyme
Wendy, Darling
Was a wretched little wench
With a flask of whiskey
Clasped in her fist
And took to a swigging
More often
Than the lost boys ever knew
Wendy, Darling
Was a surrogate mother
Who despised the reckless actions
Of such a crew
And it was mostly Peter
To whom she cursed
nasty, dirty, stupid
boys
lost in neverland
forever
engaged in rambunctious
ploys
Wendy, Darling
Decided she'd had enough
Building a great bonfire
With all their stuff
Leaving the lost
To weep, sob and moan; for
Wendy, Darling
Simply smiled whilst swallowing
A swig; and
With her last ounce
Flew out of there
Categories:
swigging,
Form:
Free verse
Blood, divine and sweet,
Swigging on vampiric tastes,
Victims, screams and bleats.
Categories:
swigging, dark, evil, fantasy, red,
Form:
Haiku
Getting rowdy--really loud
Hanging with your country crowd
Having fun with lots of laughter
Nothing seems to really matter
Watching sports and swigging bears
All your troubles disappear
Jukebox playing favorite songs
You can dance to all night long
Cowboy hats--Tight fitting jeans
This is such a sexy scene
Hearing yee-haw and y'all
In a southern country drawl
Dresses twirling on the floor
Dancing like never before
Bull riding and betting on
Who will fall off--just for fun
Red solo cups across the bar
Drunken voices yell yee-haw
Some workdays---every weekend
This enjoyment never ends
Through the warm, cold and hot weather
Family and friends get together
For some harmless fun that lasts
Always having such a blast
Categories:
swigging, dance, fun, music,
Form:
Rhyme
Written on January 26, 2020
By Gail DeBole
Drink up daredevils!
It’s not a joke.
The human toe in your drink
Is not just taking a soak.
It’s challenged many drinkers
And many have exclaimed,
“Ewwww, What’s going on?
And who has been maimed?”
But there are the hearty
Who take up the call
To be close to the toe
Soaked in some alcohol.
Yes, the toe is plunked in
If the bar patron says, “Sure!”
To the challenge of swigging
A toe-drink that allures.
But one of the patrons
Who couldn’t live without
Made a home brewsky
After his wife heard a shout.
Before he put on his bandage
His wife could not look
At the painful outcome
Of the action he took.
Now he is satisfied drinking
And doesn’t mind his nine toes.
He has daily Sourtoe cocktails
And now everyone knows!
That he’s not a toe-totaller.
He has a daily drink
And must have his cocktail
While he takes a deep think.
And if there is an error
Of swallowing the toe by mistake
He plans to live comfortably
With toes numbering eight.
Disclaimer: This poem in no way condones the actions of this fictional character.
Note: For the facts that inspired this poem, go to https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/sourtoe-cocktail. This is based on truth with a few gulps of poetic license.
Categories:
swigging, adventure, drink, humor, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
if i woke up from
on the kitchen table
and saw her standing
there at the fridge
pouring tomato juice
into her bloody mouth,
wearing nothing
but that yellow dress
she cut in half
last halloween after walking
to the river where she
said the most beautiful things
about dancing with the moon
right before throwing up
something black & fleshy-pink
on the rock where i was sitting,
& we walked back to eat
a fried egg standing
next to the stove where
she would light her cigarettes
swigging shady ladys, silently
listening to my developing dissatisfaction
& some sort of lingering love,
if she was here right now,
staring blankly at flies buzzing,
i wouldn't be surprised,
even if it has been three years since she died.
Categories:
swigging, adventure, allegory, death, devotion,
Form:
Blank verse
God over us
like hard rock covering land mollusks,
shielding them
from tropic sun
(like hell raging on Gomorrah)
and velvety ocean breeze
carrying salt to season coconut water.
Zebra type, like a leopard’s stubborn spots,
Shun the selfless offering
for the small of a hard back;
the product is beheld on hot concrete.
If we as March hares, fast,
hippity hop
in green pastures
his Spirit pulled from a top hat,
but when rain clouds change complexion
screening the eye of sun,
we set off along crooked burrows
to escape morning shower.
At home we are mostly wet.
Joseph in colored coat;
his reading of Pharaoh’s memory
is for his days
(the vision still stands).
Meager bulls swigging loaded cows
and Lot galloping hard
with back against Sodom.
How damaged are we
when children bear no children?
Categories:
swigging, confusion, faith, philosophy, religion,
Form:
Free verse
Long ago in Northern England there was a big lake of heavenly nectar. The lake was called 'Love'. One day Layman was going along the lake-side road with his friends. He didn't know how to swim but had a secret wish to taste the nectar. So he, going through the pavement, intentionally slipped down the lake and began floundering to and fro. But none of his friends came to save Layman as they too didn't know swimming. Layman struggled much to save himself and probably he could do so had he not focused on tasting and swallowing draughts of nectar. He was a drowning man but he didn't crave to live without swigging more and more sweet nectar with mouth wide-open, eyes glittering with untold pleasure, and heart replete with joy. , Some moments later, Layman drowned with a broad smile hovering over his jovial face.
Categories:
swigging, love,
Form:
Didactic