Best Swills Poems
In a mire brewed
betwixt puddles of hell and mute dissent
a martyr wades -
weighed down by chains of shame and disdain
alas the thirsting self-absorbed swamp
distills and swills her stewed silence
and swallows the last embers
from her goblet of dreamer’s fire
pursed breaths are pickpocketed by the shallows
in a breathless vertical twist
an escapist is lost in the swirl of a chambered nautilus
distanced and deserted in the dance of descent
stillness belies the waterline’s greed
as a heroine’s salvage is suffocated -
the slick of self-appointed apathy anoints the surface
and a disquieted wind rises to bend the will of reeds
their flutes airing plainsong in forced supplication
yet carelessly cast away like spindrift from broken crests
while storm clouds blindfold wide-eyed skies
stifling any play of sun on water
Susan Ashley
May 1, 2020
~ Third Place ~
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 1
Sponsor: Mark Toney
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Spiral
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Categories:
swills, angst, conflict, dark, depression,
Form:
Free verse
Someday I'd like to wander free
like butterfly, like bumblebee,
perhaps to plant a willow tree
beside the silent solemn sea,
before these things exist no more,
from mountain top to shifting shore,
when, soon, bald eagles cease to soar
and build their aeries nevermore,
and fish forsake polluted streams
(where sulfur swims and typhoid teems
since no one really cares it seems)
to die inside our toxic dreams
while ice caps melt and winter steams,
and all the air surrounding reeks
as children choke, for no one speaks
of fracking wells or oily leaks
(Big Brother's silenced all critiques!),
and rancid rains acidify
so woods no longer multiply
(for God so wills, we can't deny,
which is, of course, our alibi).
And as the deepest ocean fills
with plastic bags, and garbage spills
upon the plains, across the hills
and turns to poison dust that kills
wild dingo dogs and daffodils
which sink in swamps’ forsaken swills,
the mocking bird makes light and trills
(midst waning wails of whippoorwills)
"Behold the surreal scene that chills
and greet the dread that death distills!
You've had your day with all the frills
that brought the flood and final ills
that can't be cured with bitter pills
nor yet undone with further thrills
of profit gained that grinds and fills
dead desert sands with dollar bills."
EPILOGUE
Though swaddled still in infancy,
we feel we’ve reached our primacy
(aloof, though preaching piously,
disdaining deeds of decency)
and have no need of augury.
But in the pit of prophecy
the crucial questions seem to be:
“Is doom Earth’s fate, our destiny
to twist in tides of agony
destroying nature’s progeny
with no return a certainty
assured by death’s finality?”
and
”Should we plant a willow tree
to someday weep for you and me?”
Categories:
swills, daffodils, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
==============================
There's an active young lady who swills
every drop that adventure's cup spills.
If it's filled to the brim,
she will start at the rim
and swim down til she's in to the gills.
Only flirting with danger fulfills
her addiction to trembles and thrills.
Any risk will suffice
if it helps feed her vice.
She pops perils as if they were pills.
She makes mountains where there were molehills,
tempting fate just to sharpen her skills
If she skates on thin ice
and it breaks...GOOD. That's twice
the excitement - the risk AND the chills!
Penthouse windows? She favors the sills.
Peaceful valleys? Just show her the hills.
Faced with any pitfall,
she'll go balls to the wall...
Got a porcupine? She'll take the quills!
As this lifestyle eventually kills,
she wastes no time on planning or bills.
So, you think you'll be set
when she's gone? Don't forget -
this includes life insurance and wills!
==============================
11/04/2015
Categories:
swills, adventure, courage, fun,
Form:
Limerick
Born to different fathers they were never that close
But their mother insisted they keep in touch
They never had much in common apart from the love for their Mum
One was drawn by the magnetism of corporate trappings
The other mesmerised by wailing guitars and thrashing drums
Hair looking like a ruby ball cactus, eyes wild and piercing
Did he land face first in a tackle box? No one can be sure or is game to ask
Whilst Prada adorns the chiselled body of the astute looking banker
Clean cut freshly shaven with a healthy amount of Giorgio Armani evident
Hours of pain are clear to see on the colourful skin of the punk rocker, all with a story I’m sure
Many a brow is raised and resembles a plague of fox moth caterpillars at a rave party as he enters
In the up market drinking hole he’s as inconspicuous as a free roaming Emu in a supermarket
White collars fill the air with murmurings of big deals achieved and salary bumps
It’s a Friday afternoon and an air of animation is evident in the words of many
The banker orders another round; more beer and water promptly arrive
Concern is forwarded to his brother fearful of him falling in with the wrong crowd
Genuine unease for the circles of friends in which he chooses to associate with
Party drugs, binge drinking, womanising and all night benders all entrenched in his everyday life
Why can’t you just go home to your wife baring flowers like you used to he asks?
A grunt is all he can muster as he swills on his beer, your losing touch with reality!
And then like a boxer waiting for his opening he hits him with a sympathetic plea for more money
A look as if his team had just lost the “Big One” with seconds remaining decorates his face
I can’t keep doing this he replies; He then calls their Mum “it’s time for intervention!”
The ink covered rocker is in tears as his brother embraces him; I love you he whispers together we will get through this
He escorts him to his private limousine waiting out front
One of the many perks of being an internationally acclaimed artist.
My manager knows this great facility…..
Categories:
swills, addiction, brother, care, career,
Form:
Light Verse
The lapse takes place in moonlight,
Curtained behind the rain,
Where the raucous chimes of midnight
Mock with their cracked-ice refrain;
The gut-churning whiskey of sorrow
Swills on the palate of fear,
And the cigarette breath of tomorrow
Spills through memorial beer.
Resurrecting the buried and burning
Raised from the shallowest grave,
She never was one much for turning,
No mercy to strain or to save;
Unto the breach, once more to divine,
If the end calls a curse on the fates,
The recidivist heart in a step-like decline
Fibrillates as it anticipates.
Categories:
swills, life, lost love
Form:
Verse
Long the road that lies ahead
Three mice with a block of cheese and a thick slice of bread
To travel in green pastures and meet lots of animals of which some are friendly and some may eat you for breakfast instead
In yellow hazy sunshine they walked over hills and through summer hedge
A blackbird appeared and perched and said"If you go this way on the road in front then you'll meet a pig in a sty who swills around in mud all day whilst eating apples and waste veg"
He paused "If you travel that way you'll come to a village where dogs and cats are roaming free to catch the rats and eat them so what chance do you have three mice for it would be a murderous pledge"
The three mice were wary of the blackbird but they decided to trust this bird with a black tail and off to see the fat pig and goodbye blackbird to fledge
Along a pathway and across a wooden bridge they met a frog as dark green as a green paint pot lid then what do we have here rebbit rebbit rebbit" no not rabbit but mice one squeaked" and said on edge
The frog jumped up onto a rock near the waterside and his tongue whipped a fly from the very sky and chewed it then burped and the mice laughed and scurried past and up a tree onto a branches ledge
"We can see for miles up here" one said;" look the windmill " another one said and they realized that the road had disappeared and all was free to eat and play in the fields from were they lead.
Categories:
swills, art,
Form:
Deep within the wooded thick of a coniferous forest's vascular limbs,
A chorus of loons cry in mosaic croons which echo from where they swim.
They swim in a lake, the sixth of eight; a link in a mountain chain,
Forged by the damming of rivers filled by the gathering of rain.
As the birds' words wash across the polish of water sitting still,
Moonlight melts in speculum upon this lake of swallowed ichorous swills.
Categories:
swills, imagery, nature, water,
Form:
Couplet
Jack O' Lantern jeers through
molten screen
With fiery eyes and a fifth sense
so keen
Masked goblins saunter in shadows
unseen
Wily Jack swills jade folds with
florescent stream
Billowing ghosts in phosphorescent,
satin mantles teem
Stolid Jack bathes in Hoary Frost's
velvety Vanilla Bean
Gaunt Scarecrow from barren field
garnishes Per Diem
While gilded Jack siphons his rich,
mellow meringue
Black-caped witch casts spells
hinterland residual to glean
Domesticated Jack scans hearth
skimming every melancholy dream
Rabid bats swarm o'er stinging
insects with stealthy sheen
Endearing Jack charms fluttering
moths with radiant gleam
Bleary-eyed werewolves' curdling
howls seep through each woody
seam
Spry Jack o'er quilted courtyard
flutters his palling requiem
Creeping ghouls seek spilt warmth
to redeem
Jilting Jack singes their hems with a
boiling steam
Categories:
swills, fantasy
Form:
The rich
Are resentful
Of the poor
Feel
They have to
Pay more
Taxes
Then the poor
Hence hide
Their
Money
Yet still
Salute their
Nations
Flag
And show
Hunger for wars
It is profitable
And
The poor
Can do
The soldiering
Mortal Man
The water broke
Jubilation
Soon a child be born
The pain
Has gone
The battle
Is done
Can`t see or speak
Slowly life
Ebbs
And a life
Is extinguish
Sometimes
The unspoken
Relief
Is etched
In mourners
Faces
Providence
When
They tore down
The statue
Of the dictator
Left
Was two
Rusty tubes
Hanging
in their
What happened?
To the tube
We will never
Know
Perhaps
They were used
As drain pipes
Pipes
Aloneness
Around and
Around
He skated
In a shallow
Winter lake
Till he fell
And could
Through ice
Yellow grass
Standing erect
Ballet dancers
Waiting for
The cue
He got up
And skated
In moonlight
1949
Years flew by
Like
Autumnal leafs
And in a flash
He looked
Into his past
Homestead
Five milking
Cows
A horse
Fifty sheep
Hens enough
To service a cock
Simple life
Hard work
Swills
Manure
Collected
For the soil
Swills
For the pig
Seasons flew by
Hasty clouds
I was fifteen
Bus back to town
A new life
Youthfulness
I forgot
Only now
Do I remember
A time
Of contentment
Categories:
swills, art, baby, baptism, baseball,
Form:
Chastushka
A ‘Chicken’ One Can Milk!
A ‘Chicken’ One Can Milk!
Known fact, Hindus believe that no cow should get eaten,
that milk is enough, and their flesh should not sweeten
our tongues (grace a stew)! Let me not steer you wrong! We
more thrive who eat COOKED meat, are less vegetarian.
God’s the ‘mistake’ (that our teeth all EVOLVED to PLANNED niche)?
Who loves chicken-laid eggs (poached, boiled, scrambled) but would ditch
Kentucky Fried Chicken? Is this a sectarian
war or a question of whose a*s gets grilled? Why flee
pleasure for prejudice? Not that I wish to offend,
but how sacred can this be, meat’s whim or a Godsend?
Some may think that I’ve already milked this past season,
my plea, we breed cows to lay eggs (is this treason?)
breed chickens with t**s (we can milk) and give midgets
employment, beyond astronautics (small minds use less
fuel, more bang for the buck) and cash saved feeds the poor
(or enriches the wealthy)? No lobby for deer, door
to barn left wide open; improvements don’t coalesce
that we can squander? Do Buck horns fail, surrogates
pawned off on China while Trump swills ground rhino horns? Lord,
grant us notions or potions, with ‘COVID,’ we’re so bored!
Brian Johnston
21st of July in 2020
Poet’s Notes:
Blame Bri Edwards, ‘THE postal poet’ of Poemhunter.com notoriety
whose friendship (even with retirement) drives me to such excesses!
Categories:
swills, humor, religion, science,
Form:
Rhyme
Vodka swills my belly with fire
It makes my heart pound
It makes my veins itch
Nasty thoughts swirl round
What kind of woman thinks this?
What kind of girl does this?
Fingers itch for a blade
A rivulet of crimson blood
A sigh of buried shame
As fire swells through my veins
I think don't call me today
I don't want you today
The high pitched scream begs
me come on inside here
Feel the slick razor's edge
Release all the pent up fear
the caged up sickened rage
let it out like a baby's sigh
Categories:
swills, angst, fear, recovery from...,
Form:
Verse
Yeah, so
I looked in the looking glass,
not much there to
write home about
except the cardiac veins,
they stand out,
and, of course, the
Caligula face pack.
In the blanket
battlefield,
crumpled sheets askew,
the dishwasher blonde
spreads like pale blood
on the pillow.
I could use a shave,
but what the hell;
she wallows in cheap paste,
resplendent diamante;
so fetch down that Capodimonte
statuette of the
Virgin Mary, Luigi,
I feel an occasional
prayer
coming on.
Yeah, so,
beat retreat, uncork
the breakfast bourbon;
in the gut swills
and gets to murdering pain;
jams a little juice
to get me on the road
again...
Categories:
swills, introspection, people, places, time,
Form:
Blank verse
Such sweet savor swills upon what’s wild nectar
Surrenders humming bird unto blossom’s honey dew
As do intoxications within a wildflower
Amid the recent fallen rain of mid-summer’s afternoon
Then why can’t we be as one among nature’s inspiration
And strip away sheer souls to nude
Bathe ourselves in myths of fairy love
To grasp at each other’s lasting breath in which to be renewed
If summer breezes mere gentle sways
The mighty oak and cool the August desert plains
Then this a benevolent touch thus softer
Can this heart of kindred spirit change its lost and sullen ways
Where upon Earth’s stage animations as creation’s players
A journey, in this love we shall spark forever
When it emulates resurrection in seasons of Aprils and the Mays
Then the swill becomes much sweeter when partook of divinity’s nectar
…Becoming one in the “Miracles of wonder” united upon this day
Categories:
swills, devotion, inspirational, love, romance,
Form:
Rhyme
I'll write of things lamentable like poor shipwrecked loves,
Tempest-tossed by bestial winds behind unfeeling storms;
Ripped apart by the furious middles of swift-gusting winds,
Voyaging to dream-born shores away from boring homes.
I'll tell of the Fate-shattered dreams of earth's surest bet.
Painting how those naive shoots untimely waterloos met,
Leaving tender footprints new on antiquity's fierce sands;
Blossoming stars offed by hard luck's experienced hands.
My verse will endeavor to weave history's accurate tales.
Parodying villainy within quiet complacency's stronghold,
Shaming eccentricities in black nooks by raw truth untold;
Inking sagest anecdotes that any finessed raconteur hails.
Of first-hand swills or soured affectations I will not write.
For the self-loving bard’s quill falters from black to white,
As he relives a narcissist's replica of alleged first-felt lots,
And his best tropes mimic mere ego-embellished reports.
I leave it to unaffected pens immune to self-patting twists,
To write of this modest scribe's little turns and weird gists.
Categories:
swills, art,
Form:
Rhyme
Long wanders across hills
Expiring - Three of my steps were one of my Dad's
Halting will
Refuelling near
Banks brandished fennell freely had
Revered
Herb young
Stung by green glad
Tongue
Washed down with water swills
Sweaty bunch became invalid
Flung
29th July 2020
Minichu an Innocent Childhood Memory
Mohan Chutani
Categories:
swills, childhood, father daughter, memory,
Form:
Rhyme