Best Swigs Poems
.
I guzzle
she quaffs
I swill
she swigs
We
drink from the cup
of love
Categories:
swigs, love,
Form:
Free verse
If I had a bottle of pills
I’d dump them out inside my mouth
Take the last few swigs of vodka
And swallow all of them down
If I had a big sharp knife
I’d drag the cold steel across my skin
If I thought for a moment it might
Bring this feeling to an end
I’d stare down the barrel
If I had a gun
Find the trigger with my finger
Pull it and be done
If I had a car
I’d park inside the garage
Leave the motor running
Till the poison filled my lungs
If I had a rope
I’d make myself a noose
Dangle there in my own doorway
Till somebody cut me loose
If I had someone to love
I'd probably treat them bad
Since that's all that I've known
In relationships of the past
If I had a heart in my chest
I'd be able to forgive and forget
But there is nothing left
Of that beating mass of flesh
So I'll just continue
Sitting all alone and in the dark
A typical evening in with the cat
Doesn't seem that bad after all.
Categories:
swigs, death, depression, loss, pets,
Form:
Quatrain
Two swigs of tequilla
Strawberry Daiquri
A pair of scissors
Some anger
Pain
Emptiness
An arm and a leg
Meke a good time
For shedding some blood
Tears anyone?
Breaths feel cool
Taste rebelious.
Categories:
swigs, peace,
Form:
Free verse
He looks through the curtains as the meal is served
The sweat on his brow and the I.V. drips
Mom wears her apron with a picture of a turkey on it
It was her favorite and the music playing
And I'm coming home to where I'm loved
Father sits watching the game as the plate goes round
He had money on the wrong side but he swigs a beer
Everyone seems happy and content so he knocks on the door
No one hears and he stirs,trying to break free of the restraints
And I'm coming home to the warmth when I'm cold and alone
Where a man works and his wife cleans and raises the boys
Where desolation has no place to hide and no regret
And Mom hasn't begun drinking because her son left and will never come back
Where the geese still fly South to the warmth
Dogs bark and people have to stand to switch the channel
And I'm coming home
No cell phone or video games to gaze at and 24 hour news
The nurse brings a syringe and plunges it into my I. V.
The Angel wipes my soaking brow and gives me comfort
I'm alone with the mist and the murmur of the crickets
I'm coming home
The house is quiet and emptiness within
But Mom left a light on with expectation
A sign was set for all to know I'm coming
The quiet is lovely and the light welcomes
Home
Categories:
swigs, angst, faith, family, mom,
Form:
Ballad
All he is rackety-raggedy walking the streets.
Talking about things that are conflicting.
His mind has been captured by the wrongful deeds of people.
He has been cheated and depleted of his meaning.
No more power brings no stronger will to live…
That is the will for bigger and better things.
The arms of a vagabond are covered well even on a hot summer day in the
Mississippi Delta.
His educated presence states that of oppression.
His historical era is that of social injustice.
He laughs to himself.
He must be thinking on once better days.
He swigs his wine and squats to drop his bag.
He looks up to speak to the woman sitting on her porch.
He asked her could she share some coffee.
She responded and says sure Bill here you a cup.
She knows his family very well.
The arms of a vagabond are revealed.
He is slim and handsome to the life he lives.
His educated presence postures a friend.
She admires him for his intelligence.
A further walk down the streets of life brings forth new insight.
He shows his self-worth as he sits under a tree to eat.
It was a nice place to relax and think.
He knows that his life has been negated.
However, he fared just the same.
How his story defines his path now.
How his mind coexists with his conflict.
Can he undo what has caused this perplexity?
The arms of a vagabond strength are shown.
Through manual labor, he overcomes the challenges he knows.
Once he felt he would not make ends meet.
Today as he proceeds, his thoughts manifest the skeletons seen.
To all, he is rackety-raggedy walking the streets.
Talking about things that are conflicting.
His mind has been captured by the wrongful deeds of his people.
He has been cheated and depleted to his self-meaning.
No more power brings no stronger will to live…
That is the will for bigger and better things.
_________________________________________________________________|
Categories:
swigs, character, conflict, crazy, education,
Form:
Narrative
Last night I heard the banshee,
After a few swigs of whiskey,
And after I heard her scream,
I poured some Bailey's and cream.
Now I cannot hear her nor see.
3/13/17
Categories:
swigs, drink, humor, ireland,
Form:
Limerick
He heard the car and came running,
Jumped and whirled in the air,
Barking his happiness!
Dad lifted her down in her yellow-flowered
Camisole and high heeled shoes.
The dog dropped,
His hind quarters hunched down,
Body sprung parallel to the ground,
Ears laid back, hackles raised.
He'll get used to you, Dad said,
Tapping him with his foot.
But he didn't. She was afraid.
Big black shepherd, watching stalking.
The dog lay there with the chain
Stretched out, eyes riveted
On the back door of the house.
She didn't like it. What if he gets loose
When you're not here?
I can't even go to the garden
Without his eyes on my back!
Dad put a piece of meat in her hand.
The black nose ever so slightly withdrew.
-Eat it, growled Dad, and he did
With a long slow tongue,
Looking up from under reproachful brows.
But it was spoiled.
Dad couldn't stand it that
The dog wouldn't mind.
He kicked it and it trailed after him,
But still froze when the woman came outside.
He just couldn't give it up.
They had to shoot the dog.
The yellow and brown and red leaves
Were falling and sticking together
On the path into the woods.
A light drizzle added to the metallic shine.
They walked along the slippery surface,
The two of them,
With the rifle and the spade.
The dog jogged on ahead,
Looking back over his shoulder,
Smiling at the routine he is familiar with.
It only takes a minute
Once you reach the back fence.
You have to do it fast if you're going to.
You can talk out-loud afterward,
Explaining while you dig him in.
That way he doesn't have to see it.
The ground is not yet frozen.
Dad smooths it over and already
Leaves begin to drift across the bare soil.
Deliberately, one by one,
He places his feet on the returning path,
Looking up through the sketches
Of black tree limbs against the sky.
He feels stiff and sore.
Leaning the gun against the grain bin,
He pulls down a bottle
From the low rafter overhead.
A couple of swigs before he goes inside.
This is not the story they told me.
The dog's name was Rex.
Dad pointed to an old photograph
In the box of old photographs.
-Good ol' Rex, he said.
Categories:
swigs, 8th grade, dog, happiness,
Form:
Free verse
Gratitude
Perpetual fragrance of life sojourns in air,
As golden glitz of sun swigs despair;
Nature endows its riches on us to cherish,
His boundless bounties will never perish;
A tranquil soul that plucks strings of kindness,
will relinquish soreness of brutish heartless;
Let magnificent aurora of dawn unfold,
and emotions of gratitude rise manifold.
Written Nov 14, 2017
© Dr. Upma A. Sharma, India
?
Categories:
swigs, beauty, thanksgiving,
Form:
Couplet
I shall bloom with unrelenting persistence
and murderous resistance,
fighting back with mental pistons,
shattering the framerworks of my current existence.
I find self expression
from the roots of my depression
and resilience
in the past I'm repressing.
This obsession
drives me up the mountain to anxieties peak
as my chest rises and heaves
and I crumble to heaps,
gnashing my teeth
and thrashing through sleep,
I can't find peace
nor the sunny salvation I seek,
my will is strong but my sense of self remains meek.
I'm
dying to be alive
taking ten steps back with every onward stride,
swallowing each breath of life through anothers eye
with two swigs of cyanide
as I trail the boarders of pride
and internal genocide,
ultimately to be defined
by the box of rules I choose to abide
and the standards to which I feel I must rise,
when
will I burn the bed of lies
that serve as the foundation for my entire life
with all of the fire I carry inside?
The worst has yet to come
but when all is said and done,
I will shine with the intensity of a thousand suns
and burn the million, million and one
people
who said I'd never be good enough
or successful enough
or smart enough
or beautiful enough
or thin enough,
to the million, million and one
people
I will drip the last drops of self hate from the tip of my tongue,
and I will learn to scream from the bottom
of my
inadequate,
silenced,
undeserving lungs:
I am enough,
I am enough,
I AM enough.
Categories:
swigs, anxiety, depression, heart, identity,
Form:
Blank verse
8/21/17
"
Taking swigs
Continuing to dig
Doing it big
Bada-bing
Crown me I am king
Doing my thing
Toward the fences I swing
My all I bring
Sting like a bee, And knock them out the ring
Ding
Ding
Ding
It ain't no thing but a chicken wing
They were holding on by a string
Unable to cling
Now in a sling
Few cooler
Or crueler
A little bit of Ferris Bueller
Call me the super duper ruler
Being a doer
Nevermind the rumors
A good sense of humor
Maneuvered
Throughout the sewer
Even when a junior
On a scooter
Categories:
swigs, dark, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
He sure enjoys
his life of Reilly;
lavishly living it up!
A globe-trotter.
A man-about-town.
He's a big hit
with the ladies,
and he doesn't mind
all the attention.
He's a big spender.
Did I mention
he's got style, too?
An unlit Cuban cigar
is always seen dangling
from his mouth.
He's not a smoker,
it's for the look.
He's fashion-savvy,
collecting Rolex watches,
ray ban sunglasses,
fedora hats,
and Versace suits.
He loves his cars
costly and fast;
a Porsche here,
a Lamborghini there
On weekends,
he sets sail
on his fancy yacht,
flying high
on his private jet.
He kills time
on the golf course
hitting the links
with millionaire friends,
throwing parties,
and showing off
his trophy wife
His escargot dinners
are always served
on high-end china.
He swigs champagne
from crystal.
Oh, what a life!
(Free Verse)
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(20) any theme any form contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date written and posted: 01/06/2019
Categories:
swigs, humor, perspective, tribute,
Form:
Free verse
Turning over I shut my alarm off while in my bed
forcing myself out of my cocoon I have a feeling of dread
its another Monday morning and its pouring outside
getting up I let out a big weary sigh
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I look out my window
where the scenery is nothing but waterlogged, dreary and dismal
thinking of the drive to work only makes me shudder
wishing I could dive back into bed underneath my comfy covers
Monday you always return like a bad boomerang
I can definitely relate as to what the Carpenters sang
another fun weekend gone by in a flash
as I get ready for work doing a 50 yard dash
The clock ticks louder warning me to hurry up
so I wash up get dressed and take swigs from my tea cup
glancing at the wall calendar I wish it were 2024
the year I can retire and not worry about Mondays anymore!
2-19-18
Categories:
swigs, humor, rain, work,
Form:
Light Verse
A welter of anxious faces gawks curiously at him,
But by now he is immune to the consternation.
His effervescent expression glows,
As he swigs down their viscous repulsion.
He knows that they will desecrate his graveyard,
Punishing him for his denial to be superfluous,
For his denial to permit flexibility in himself.
But will they incarcerate him in the walls of his mind?
His guilt has been proved in the lifelong adjudication,
Yet he never mocks their paradoxical thoughts.
The site is given a last perambulation,
And then spasmodic gun fire ends The Tale.
Categories:
swigs, death, depression, introspection, life,
Form:
Verse
Three is that magical number so fascinating,
Oft-repeated in history.
In the Bible, it is the Holy Trinity
But there’s plenty more equally captivating.
On Golgotha’s hill were erected three stakes
Three gospels are called Synoptics
Triangles make most pleasing optics
And three times a lady the pop lyric states.
When you were a kid you got three chances
The third time’s the charm ... got you a-switchin’,
Three blind mice in the farmer’s wife’s kitchen
Got their tails cut off with sharpened lances.
Shakespeare’s three witches brewed up a pot,
But when Nebuchadnezzar looked into the fire
To check on the results of his uncontrollable ire
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were not.
There were three bears, three little pigs,
And three Billy goats gruff,
And, as though that were not enough,
The old drunk took three swigs.
I could go on and on, making the point
That three is the number to be
In literature, fables, and history
But, continuing might soon disappoint.
Written on February 10, 2021
For the 3 Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
Categories:
swigs, bible, literature,
Form:
Quatrain
Candlelight And Caviar
Luxury, wealth and sophistication
describe my exquisite fascination.
Rare to find in the out of doors
rich in passion behind closed doors.
Dress me in silk, cashmere and satin
whisk me to Paris, wrap me in fashion.
Feminine accessories from professionally styled hair
to painted, pedicure toes.
Powerful passion, swigs of lavender arouse the nose.
Slap a crown on my precious head
and call me the queen.
I'm royalty, please pass me the cream.
Step into my stretch limo
drinks are on the house.
Invite your friends and neighbors
can't wait to meet the spouse.
Purple/for Nette Onclaud's Color My World/by Jenny Emelander 7/11/2011
Categories:
swigs, mysteryme, me,
Form:
Rhyme