Best Teetotaler Poems
In Ordinary Cups
The blades of winter grind into the ice
like blood on a bitten lip
two lovers spin and twirl
The days pass from teacup to teacup
in the peaceful silence of a solitary nest.
From gentle easy sunrise through sheer white
to the subtle fall of accordion night.
The echoes of childish laughter tremble
across the cracked surface of plaster walls.
Random squeaks in oaken floors return
the footfall of father, coming and going.
Long lost cat's paw prints impress carpet
dragons from Shanghai with ghostly ease,
and every loved and loving one returns
in peace, to rest beneath the tapping fingertips
upon a porcelain cup of tea from China.
11/9/10
Re-formed for Roy the Verse BELOW
The Teetotaler
The blades of winter grind into the ice, flirting
with the rosy cheek of puppy love, snow-crusted mittens
cling, like chapped skin on bitten lips; scarfs twirl; they spin.
As steam rises from the cup, reminisce, the first kiss,
across swamp-grass hummocks, rotten ice, lace tripping
with the rosy cheek of puppy love; snow crusted mittens
cling. Black hair, fair skin, Irish-eyed, he cajoles a grin.
In the steam, not the leaves, she remembers him
across swamp-grass hummocks, rotten ice, lace tripping;
they spin. Assam seeps in porcelain, another cup
she pours. In an empty nest the cup clinks saucer,
in the steam, not the leaves, she remembers him.
From sunrise through fall of white, she sees the mist
falling accordion-like into chinks of memory.
She pours. In an empty nest, the cup clinks saucer.
The recollections of youthful laughter cut, tremble,
across the cracked surfaces of her mind's walls
falling accordion-like into chinks of memory.
Random squeaks in the oaken floors recall returns,
these images mist swirl from the tea-of family,
across the cracked surfaces of her mind's walls.
A long lost cat walks shrouded through silent the scene
in peace, they rest beneath her tapping fingertips
these images mist-swirl from the tea-of family,
Every loved and loving one returns mist-born
within a porcelain cup of tea from China;
in peace, they rest beneath her tapping fingertips.
3/21/15
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania
genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),
the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,
would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),
aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,
to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap
mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap
pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms
most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair
white as the virgin snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited
all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
I once knew a sedate gent with class,
who would not drink red wine at church mass.
Would take a wee sip,
to wet his wee lip,
since red wine made him expel built gas.
Was time for his daughter to marry,
gentleman who liked to drink sherry.
Being a good dad,
I toasted the lad,
then prayed for fearless canary.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
My shew is no longer breathing
This I really do lament
My shrew is no longer kicking
I find myself in torment;
I wonder where its soul went;
Could it be Alaska or Benelux?
This death definitely sucks
For it was a creature, a tender creature
Whose system ceased functioning altogether;
Today, I can only see a bleak future;
For it no longer moves
For it no longer laugs
Such lack of noise and motion means
Tears in my eyes and apathy;
Life without you is colourless;
Such a tiny peaceful mammal
Who has never pestered anyone
I will really miss this animal
Since now I am truly alone
For my best friend is gone;
Its little heart stopped working
And mine since then is aching;
I could hold you in my hand
So much fun remains in my mind;
If only time we could rewind!
There's no therapy to get over this
No alcohol since I'm a teetotaler
No video games. I loathe them
I can't focus on chess now
I can't read poetry like this
My shrew is always in my mind
But nowhere in my life
Just a cold still body
It's dead. Dead.
Like my joy.
Gone.
But worry not, my little mammal
This won't last long...
I will see you soon, my lovely friend
Sunshine undulates across verdant plain
casting dark shadows ushering twilight zone
ringing athwart tree trunks
invigorating, joyously kickstarting,
and plenti revitalizing
bountiful nature buzzfeeding
vim, vinegar and *****
caressing, massaging, and palpating with
soundlessness inducing bub bully giddy,
and sudsy spongy schmaltzy
harmonic livingsocial kerplunk
also intoxicating this perk o' late
ting teetotaler, no longer ginger
who doth oft times ale
with melancholic funk,
whereat imbibing nectar
of the Gods with fulfillment
temporarily quicken ends euphoric,
albeit 'pon firm meant soberly drunk.
Ah...nothing more uplifting
than (Anita Bryant raisin eyebrows)
plugging sunkist orange treat,
this sensate being privy,
sans front row seat
agog at orchestral, festival, viz
choral paean courtesy sweet
flora and fauna feat
bequeathed to Mother Earth,
a requiem pulsating with heartbeat
pitch perfect exultation
glorifying spring days soon obsolete
ethereal, ideal, and
sensational tonic to gin
prestidigitation, qua
natural psychological helpmeet
pleasant distraction with intent to read
temporarily placating, needling craving
for Pete sakes daily
fix this news junkie,
trembling when complete
awareness he doth accrete,
where quite glum, how
civilization didst mistreat
planet, hence feeling downbeat,
especially haunting ghosts of
Native Americans drumbeat
signal harbinger debacle
i.e. environmental doomsday
soon fated extinction
sealed and complete
inexorably inching closer to reality
necessitating superman to defeat
global warming rendering vast swaths
uninhabitable as Gaia global
temperature packs tremendous heat!
THINGS NOT TO MENTION
Condoms in the Vatican
Soul music to the klansman
Pork chops to the rabbi
Bomb joke on an aircraft in the sky
Children and any green vegetable
Supersize to the catwalk model
Thirteen to the superstitious
England to the Irish
Neighbour’s dog to the snoozing cat
Fat to Jack Spratt
Beer to a teetotaler
Tea to a beertotaler
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Debbie Guzzi ‘s Contest “Unmentionables”
There once was a woman named Sandy
Who liked jelly candies and apricot brandy
While her teetotaler husband was away
She drank a bottle of brandy that day
When he was home enjoyed only the candy
IN THE FLOWER OF HIS YOUTH
You are what you eat?
Bill, a young guy, friend of mine -
Teetotaler and keen gardener neat -
Drank nothing but dandelion wine.
Like Dr Moreau’s Island modus operandi ,
His grey hair became heir (or scion )
To the fluffball of a dandy :
And Bill started to turn into a dandelion. . . .
. . . . . at spreading time of seed !
Still, Bill said, it’s not too bad -
Better than being herbally tea’d
Or becoming part of a salad.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for John Freeman's Contest "Boisterous Comedy"
this has no head or tail
medicine box containing diseases
crazy as the river
that runs in reverse
planet that lost gravity
the heart of things
pulsing outside
my coffee in ice cubes
the smile of the fish in space
your love for me
what was so entrancing
today a teetotaler drunk
I asked my grandfather
why human beings drink
and get lost in drunkenness
I tell you my dear
those who get drank
were created by a drunken deity
those who do not, came on earth
by a teetotaler creator-goddess
oppressed in a male-dominated
world of oppressing spirits
Mary Yelvington
1876-1910
George Towne, now there was a man;
Handsome as the devil;
Strong as a bougainvillea vine.
And married to the redoubtable Fannie Towne,
Town shill, and occasional teetotaler of the dry brew!
Ol’ Fannie was oblivious to the treasure she owned;
That incredible athlete!
That insufferable charmer!
At least after 3 o’clock, on most afternoons,
She never knew,
Or cared one iota really, where her man was!
Other than the little dramas concerning the Townes,
Life in Whittier, at the turn of the 20th Century,
Was boring, I must say.
Boring as a book with no danger!
Dangerous days never arrived for me,
Nor did I ever make the acquaintance of a dangerous man.
My life’s journey indeed found intended joy,
Ecstatic joy in singing the hymns at church;
And it found surprised sadness as well,
In not surviving pneumonia at age 34.
And now, here I am, buried deep in the dark dirt,
Of shady Mt. Olive Cemetery.
But if only I had tried.
Tried to whistle, and nestle up to the big lug;
The day I saw him at Central Park,
Sitting on a bench with his prim coat and hat,
The incredibly dangerous George Towne!
This teetotaler turns to tea
torquing temptation
towards tippling
thankfully, though
that tremendous tugging
teasing tendency thirst trumped,
thru teaching this totally tubular
toothless titular Texan thuggish tyrant
(titled Tsar Terry Troutman)
transcendental theology
tenets taught transferring
torpedoing, taming threatening
titanic tsunami tempest
tastefully tickling temperance
testing trying taut tenacity
together teaming (troika)
triumvirate torchbearers
transsexual therapist
(Tony the tiger)
tough trailblazer theoretician
toady treacly Tory
(Tommy Two Tone),
thence thirdly Theodore
"Tornado" Tornetta)
themselves trained to tamp
twerking tremens triggers,
their tripartite treatment told
tattooing thorny transforming
took this then truant teenage turtle
through time traveling
to those truant tumultuous tragic,
toxic, tipsy twitchy, touchy, tetchy
typhoon terrible two times two
times two times two tantrum
throwing, thieving, threatening
taxing textured teen tinder times -
tossing, tilting, taking tankful tolled
throaty, thoroughly,
thickly telltale temblor
toured terrible tournament
testing taupe tumbling termagant (Thaddeus)
tangling (Tangoing) tiny Timothy,
the treacherous tarantula
tying tussling travail – tata!
Mistake:
Watch me do
impressions of you.
Alcoholic:
Keen to sop
up every drop.
Alternative Realty:
Truth don't matter,
bacon don't splatter.
Discerning:
Only expensive wine,
when we dine.
Teetotaler:
Enjoy your beer,
just not here.
Politician:
I don't lie,
you're my guy.
Nasty Waitress:
Be right there,
like I care.
Divorced Couple:
That's our song,
what went wrong.
(Couplet)
Nov. 3, 2018
Six-Word Couplet Series Encore
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
(buzzfeeding, kickstarting, needling darn noggin)
An effort to recall word, phrase,
musician... indigenous tribe...
most frustrating literary
endeavor to das scribe
aggravating enough to sub
bourbon spur teetotaler to imbibe
and/or nsync, whereby soul searching
devil's advocate demands bribe.
Lil brokeback Engelbert Humperdinck
(born Arnold George Dorsey) bent edict coercion
(think sexual mores)
scaring stripes off blushing zebra
bunched unencumbered vice pliable straw
aforementioned pablum admittedly "fake"
birthed within cerebral tenderloin
of impractical joker,
whereby fifty plus shades
of gray matter (mine)
chafed and rubbed raw
prevarication playfully did overdraw
and tax poetic license writ courtesy this paw
poor putz offal declension
sprouted within mum maw
noun tent to verb (bull eyes - red) to draw
flak, but merely to harmlessly entertain
so accept apologies (mine)
verses calling strong (lanced) arm of law.
I (garden variety poetaster) reckon fair game
media personalities grist for rumor mill, though lame
explanation given (funny first and surname)
adopted by supposed "finest middle-of-the-road
balladeers around," who co opted his stage name
from authentic Engelbert Humperdinck; selfsame
prodigy circa 1 September 1854 –
27 September 1921
German composer, who wrote, I gently exclaim
the opera Hansel and Gretel - a Grimm fairytale
actually frightful saga - read countless times
setting me boyhood imagination aflame
with mailer daemons, who haunted dreams
(mine) 'course in retrospect material tame
compared/contrasted with current pandemic
analogous as if mother Earth -
a metaphorical dame
experiencing long overdue reprieve, cuz shame
on *****sapiens belching pollutants
at any price to garner fortune and fame.
From birth to a toddler
As a toddler to teenager
From teenage to adolescent
And as I grew up
I knew I'm weird
I knew am unique
I knew am an enigma
I knew am different
I also knew am an Odd fellow
Yeah I see things
not seen with optical eyes
Hear things beyond this realm
I am prophetic for
I say the unspeakable,
things not normal for the average
They say so many things
about me as am growing up:
You are so annoyingly quite
You are so sensitive
You are always by yourself.
You are a loner
Your eating habits are so different,
You eat herbs.
You are a teetotaler,
And a recluse,
an introvert,
With the ability to heal the sick.
An object of mingled awe and revulsion,
Simultaneously revered and abhorred,
Mysterious and elusive,
highly talented and unassuming,
with enormous strength but reserved.
I am an alien,
living amongst strangers.
There's an Alien within.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.