Best Swilled Poems
Playing With Fire
Afraid for your miscreant soul
While the Devils licking tongues of flame at your heel
With oh so dirty thoughts
Afraid for the flesh
As you are lead to the pits
All the torture there in of your imagination conceives
Be pleased, to afflict on someone else
Swallow your morals
Like a sanctity pill
A Eucharist aspirin swilled down on holy water
Fear the flesh you stalwart middle class
While the upper-class
Enjoy what you cannot
As you wallow in the resistance of sin
And narrow your life to acquiescence
Puerile in such judgements
Of fickle moralities pleasure
Live a life unlived
And all its pleasure turn to guilt and reprieve
Salvation will come
When it ends
Ascend then, the Jacobs Ladder to heaven
Never knowing what it meant
To kiss with abandon
But rather, suckle to demon lips
All those desires in their fetish of flesh
One last look at the skin you left
Untested
Resist my swarthy middle mass citizens
And ply the trade
Of your own oppression
Condemn me, I dare you, to some raging inferno
Where the appeasing of your righteousness
Knows no bounds
In another climactic prayer for torture
I will play with the bonfire
Rather than mess with poor dripping candles
I will stand proud and defiant
And declare that I
Am Human
for Christie
Categories:
swilled, devotionprayer, life,
Form:
Free verse
Wee Luck McGee, came into the pub
And the Barman started pouring a beer
"No Tanks for me, a martini you see
Is what you'll be serving right here"
Then McGee with one hand, pulled a jar from his coat
Removing the lid with the other
Plucked out the olive, and swilled down the Gin
Then abruptly ordered another
With each martini he knocked back with cheer
An olive was placed in the jar
And when it got filled, He screwed on the lid
Then started to walk from the bar
But the barman called out "What's that about ?"
To McGee with the jar he did cling
"It's me Mrs you know, she told me to go
And get Her a jar of these tings"
Categories:
swilled, humor,
Form:
Light Verse
“Don’t turn your back on the water...” my grandmother told me as I
skimmed stones across the tiny ripples of rock pools.
Small scaly creatures and stones sliced toes like knives but
we were full of excitement then,
craning necks and nets at the alien life under water that
swilled any blood away in a salty sting.
Until that day.
My rock pool filled with tears/spit/teeth from savaged parents
covered and muddied by seaweed from miles out - dragged against
flotsam and jetsam from the seabed. It all tipped endlessly into my rock
pool in a careless hurry/rush/smash like workmen at skips.
I went back to those pools and streams, like tears, crawling from the lake.
Found it was lost and
drowning within its own water:
a roof slate, a car, a swing from along the coast. A doll’s
head that just bobbed and plopped.
It would have been sucked and spat
upward, surging towards the sky with plastic arms praying,
in the deluge just moments (days?) before.
It’s not my rock pool anymore. It’s not our town.
People killed by geography:
Subduction – Subtraction of me from my family.
Subsidence - Insidious silence that lulled people to exposed sand with palm trees over heads like question marks… before the wave even Noah would struggle to sail.
Tsunami… you and me.
“Don’t turn your back on the water...” my grandmother told me
Categories:
swilled, family,
Form:
Free verse
Willed
Vague sword
Weak heart and sight
Boundless wisdom, although
My soul has full enthusiasm
Body growing old and becoming weak
My resolve outweighs the bullet
Reeled swilled
Billed.
(The Bell)
Written: June 27, 2021
Ring My Bell Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Anderson
Categories:
swilled, analogy, caregiving, emotions, father
Form:
Free verse
He stumbled in, as drunk as sin
with a limp and a nose full of red
He ordered cheap gin, and the blood dripped in
As he raised the drink to his head
He sat on the stool,and the drops formed a pool
He could feel all the eyes on his back
He guzzled the fuel, but he kept his cool
As he loaded the balls in the rack
He straigtened his gaze, yet still in a haze
and challenged the room to a game
Then through the maze, with a cigeratte blaze
The surly stranger came
His face was stone, He walked alone
With a beer and a black leather case
with a cue of his own, his cover was blown
On his wrist a tatoo of an ace
He said "I'll take", and he put up his stake
The lushes all gathered around
With a half hearted shake they flipped for the break
While the bartender poured out a round
The stranger broke, with a solid stroke
And down fell the four and the three
This guy was no joke, then he pinched from his poke
and cried out "the next one's on me"!
Ear to Ear grins, as they swilled down that gin
In this stranger, a hero they'd found
They cheered him to win, as he knocked those balls in
they cheered for another free round
He had it won, yes all but one
The eight was final ball
The table run, the lushes stunned
When that sphere refused to fall
Clinching his fist, shocked by his miss
He glared across the table
Like a ship in list from drunken bliss
to stand he was barely able
That drunk cracked a smile, for he knew all the while
That he only needed one chance
In appearance so vile, yet he shot with style
That Gin put him into a trance
His vision was blurred, he mumbled and slurred
Yet to win he would need just one more
And so much as a word, could not be heard
That stranger just stared at the floor
Well he sank that ball, and won it all
and he yelled with a bellowing groan
"before last call just one more tall
And the lushes can all buy their own!"
Categories:
swilled, cowboy-western, people, social,
Form:
Ballad
This is the best beer I've ever had.
Yes, The best beer I've ever had.
No beer is really bad, but
This is the best beer I’ve ever had.
Beer’s invention was accidental I’m told.
Something about stored grain and mold.
Before the Sphinx, beer was made and sold;
And at times, more valuable than gold.
Drank my first beer while serving Uncle Sam.
Got drunk on ‘33' in Saigon, Vietnam.
By 19, I was a soldier becoming a man;
So, I drank ‘til I didn’t give a damn.
Since then, I’ve travelled the world all around;
And tasted each brew that I’ve found.
Most are named for people, animals or towns;
And are glorious shades of gold, red or brown.
There are pilsners, lagers and ales
Swilled from bottles, cans, mugs…even pails.
If you want to get drunk, you can’t fail.
Drink too much, you may end up in jail.
Drank Stegmaier in old Scranton town.
Folks bragged it was the "best around“.
I tried their Golden, their Porter, their Brown;
And I must say, their judgement is sound.
In Ireland, the Guinness is Stout.
‘Tis a brew those Micks can’t live without.
In the pubs, they all sing and shout;
Until, eventually, they're all drunken louts.
In old Germany, there are too many to choose.
Every Berg and Stein make their own brews.
I tried each one on the Rhine river cruise.
So many to taste. How could I lose?
I enjoyed Sapporo in Tokyo, Japan;
Served by a Geisha at the wave of my hand.
The Singh Hai in Bangkok was grand,
As was the Ninkasi in ancient Tehran.
Tried a lager called Foster’s down under.
Drank too many. My head pounded like thunder.
They say Foster's once laid Dundee asunder;
But they love it… though you may wonder.
Enjoyed Red Stripe on Jamaican shores
And each one tasted like more.
A local beauty I was hoping to score;
But next morning, my head was so sore.
Henry Hudson’s serves Budweiser Light.
It’s weak, so you can drink it all night.
Yes, it takes quite a bit to get “tight”;
But it’s cheap and that makes it alright.
Yes, beer is a beverage so grand,
One of God's greatest gifts to man.
When life gets too tough to stand,
Just open a chilled bottle or can.
This is the best beer I’ve ever had.
When I arrived I was down and quite sad;
After just two or three, life isn't so bad.
This is the best beer I’ve ever had.
Yes, the best beer I've ever had.
Categories:
swilled, adventure, best friend, celebration,
Form:
Rhyme
MEN OF GOD
Kenya is a Godly nation
Check on any TV station
Starts at dawn and goes all day
Teaching people how to pray
Then at night it's shilling serious
With the watchers drunk –delirious-
If you want the chance to pray
First you get the chance to pay
“Men of God,” my colleague swilled--
“Deserve a special God-rate bill.
When I do a job for them
Charge them twenty not just ten.”
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
12/01/12 Juja, Kenya Africa
Categories:
swilled, faith, funny, life, philosophy,
Form:
Couplet
I Think, Therefore Am I?
Neck cracking penumbra
shines on starlit mundanity
ebon macabre epiphanies
fogwebs of my morality
my tongue twists ceaselessly
trinkets of truffled profanity
dearest mirror, mirror reality
has humanity cursed me?
For the fatality of dreams
bared in broken bosoms
of madness and brutality
masked by faux urbanity
crowns like a dead infant
delivered from its womb
into the arms of inanity
a morbidly, tragic formality
But still steadfast I warrior
heart held bleeding in hand
cur-sed whispers of volcanity
bent echoes of forced vitality
to sever the seams of malady
and hand scribe the braindust
of my cursive minded mentality
upon reams of papered therapy
shrouded by inky black misery
of things thought but never told
to a world swilled in sugar beliefs
of dappled sun and spun parasols
rainbow thoughts and red carousels
while I continue to wander down
this darkened tunnel of insanity
January 27, 2017
Categories:
swilled, humanity, perspective, psychological,
Form:
Free verse
The lady was dressed in” chartreuse;”
To which she made of good use.
Her honey spent money;
On dinner so yummy;
And came close to sexual abuse.
The lady was cloaked in “chartreuse;”
And her magic was that of a muse.
While mixing a potion;
She came up on a notion;
That the men in her life were no use.
The man did tighten the nose;
After giving the lady a boost.
She was a wrong doing woman;
And what ever he did she had coming.
She was his woman the Lady “chartreuse”
The man who sat at the table;
Had purchased his new girl a sable.
While she swilled her champagne;
All she did was complain;
About her horse named chartreuse in the stable
“Chartreuse” is simply a hue’
Not black or not red or not blue.
It’s a color not primary;
Like Susan or Mary;
But it’s still on the spectrum its true.
Categories:
swilled, funny, imagination, parody,
Form:
Limerick
Oh look a tantric tangerine slice is walking in high heels with a melon man. Moody mouldy men make monetary meals. And who can eat a coin with a note anyway? Swilled down with a cup of golden nugget juice? Great isn't it? Wow. It is in every endeavour of a particular partridge that a feather forms a quill. And quills are neither queens, quotes, nor questionable questions. They are in fact a sight that is rarely seen. And a duck bomb dive into a sea is an airbed for the head chef on board an ocean cruise liner. And that is it. Great. No ha no x no z. Transmitters translating tasks taken. And a globule of fat from a loin of salmon in a salon having a great hairdo. Peanut peanut pop pop pop. And a little wafer smiling in an ice cream cup. Globalization
Categories:
swilled, autumn, beautiful,
Form:
“Four dollars a shot,”
marched from the bartender’s mouth -
each syllable carried the clanks
of Herbie’s Rhodes – jutting like
glacier crags in swells of desert-base.
They carried the smoke curling like
a silver chain draped around a neck,
and the bulges of slurred blurbs.
The words seeped from the regular collection of
the blood-sweet odor of smoke –
not the bartender.
I understood the bar, but I didn’t know what he meant.
The four dollars rustled out of my wallet
and crinkled on the table like
brittle leaves popping back into form.
The sap-colored whiskey
plunked on the bar,
and hummed a sharp
alcoholic song.
Masked, the bartender noticed
an obtuse heap of slurs that
rumpled his skin into a smile.
His shoulders flipped,
and he was swept into
the patterned shrub of sensation.
He was now an indeterminable piece in a clouded order.
I swilled the amber,
and stumbled through links of smoke
until I spilled out
into the violent protrusions of the quiet evening –
like sails glaring on a sun-crushed sea.
I still can’t figure out what that four dollars was worth,
or what the bartender said to me.
Categories:
swilled, confusion, introspection, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
my Love mustered moxie
and disused me one night:
she left me victim
to a pitiful plight
while she raised the gall
to doll herself up
and go to a ball
on the arm of a date
while I languished alone
with a case of cold beer
that I drank to forget
the heartbreak she caused,
the pain and the doubt
of first being jilted—
those longnecks went “pop”
and quickly got swilled
while in dimness she danced
and merrily tittered
that regrettable night
of drinking those beers,
I drank them alone
all bitter and rueful
while she was out dancing,
holding tight to a tux,
one I hadn’t rented—
how drunk and forlorn
that Love of mine turned me
the night she found moxie
to leave me alone
and utterly lonely.
Categories:
swilled, girlfriend, lonely, love,
Form:
Free verse
tubers on the vine
flourishing in fertile soil
field of potatoes
I swilled vodka made of spuds ~ Absolut
Distilled veggies that were grown as a root
Drank another bottle
Hit the ground full throttle
Grossly soused but I didn't give a hoot
ingested as French fries, potatoes are better for human health
~ ~ ~ ~
January 21, 2022
Charlie Hai-Lim-Ku Contest sponsor: Charlie Messina
Categories:
swilled, drink,
Form:
Monoku
A cup to slake the parch of thirsty lips
Spilled from heart to goblet, with love twas filled
Words penned from the nib of inked fingertips
Bouquet of wine breathed before being swilled
Seductive the taste, fervid the senses
In pursuit of desire's indulgent throes
Breaching love's barriers, hurdling fences
Therein lies proof and pain of ardor's woes
Elation lasts 'til sparks turn to ashes
Afterglow fades and impassioned flames die
Welling to surface, tears moist'ning lashes
Parting's ne'er sweet with whispers of 'goodbye'
Juliet once smiled from her balcony
Doomed in Shakespeare's romantic tragedy
Categories:
swilled, sad love,
Form:
Sonnet
You dine upon my acceptance, aperitif to guilt
Prepare to gorge on hate and greed
Weight gaining confessions lovingly prepared
Sitting pretty waiting for you to feed
A slice of hurt, garnished with pain
Swilled down with a bottle of remorse
Don’t fill your belly, have to much
For this is just the first course
You have yet to sample my depression
Wrapped in slices of my broken heart
Dusted with age old tears
It’s recipe I cannot impart
So sit be merry, eat your fill
For there will be none tomorrow
Enjoy this feast of my life
Come; eat my sorrow.
Categories:
swilled, angst, loss, sad,
Form: