Best Tipple Poems
Four kegs, they’d left on the rye field’s bare crest
gone were the skittles and the balls of wood.
Four kegs empty of magical brew, strewn
upon the hill’s breasts, where gnomes had stood.
They’d left long ago, twenty years today.
Here’d been a mountain, where now a farm stood.
They had left their tipple as each strike thundered
to lambaste lightning from stacked firewood.
On the rye field’s bare crest now shrouded in snow
beneath a Wedgwood sky, stood kegs of wood.
On the rye field’s bare crest each keg turned stone
marking the bones where rebels once stood.
Gone ‘till tonight, the gnomes and jack tars
until the moon’s magic topped the keg’s wood.
Gone till tonight were the hard balls and pegs
this night spirits would dance where we now stood.
Published 2017 by Illumen
Devastated at the news I've heard.
Totally shocked this is absurd
The passing of a Welsh legend
Proud to have served my butty friend.
He started his long career
As a proud Welsh infanteer
He then transferred to the Corps
His knowledge he used thats for sure
I first met taff in the Adriatic
In a place we all called FRY
Former Republic of Yugoslavia
For those that don't know why
Taff was known to do silly things
But one that comes to mind
Being pumped up a scam 12
Blind just leading the blind
He earned a commendation whilst in Afghanistan
As multiple commander he looked after every man
A real genuine gentle man who liked a practical joke
His favourite tipple was vodka and coke
The next verse is for you
Reading from above
I hope it hits a chord baloo
Also for those that you love
Gwneud hyn yn Gymraeg i chi er fy mod i'n teimlo'n las eich calon oedd calon y ddraig Gymreig chwedl a pharagon
Doing this in welsh for you
even though i'm feeling blue
your heart was that of the welsh dragon
a legend and a paragon
I apologize now if my grammar is wrong
Like butty would say you f*****g mong
When you served you were a "RELAY"
Not one if gods chosen what can I say
The black dog was on his shoulder
I know It's a crap place to be
I'm gutted brother soldier
You didn't shout out to me
My condolences to the family
The brotherhood does feel your pain
R.I.P Brother Mark Langley
Until we meet again
So save all of us a seat at the bar.
With Tony, Mac, Ange, to name but a few.
You have left behind your family and friends
We all miss you!!!!
haiku candle, its steam
crafted of purple lotus and gold —
i tipple its loose leaf
it’s jasmine green tea
a lift of inner esprit
i cling to its handle
drunk from its light
jasmine under my nose
its green scent
cozy
wooziness evades
weariness fades
haikus invade
my Lay-Z-Boy island
sushi-free
in my teal sea
stretched wall to wall
3/17/2021
Ron desperately wanted to have a girlfriend
He’d looked after his old mum right till the end
Ron was a tall and extremely attractive guy
Unfortunately poor Ron was so terribly shy
He saw a poster in a window for a single’s night
There’d be lots of ladies, it seemed just right
He phoned the organiser, her name was Eva
She’d greet him at the door; he couldn’t wait to meet her
Eva smiled when she saw Ron’s handsome face
with her skin-tight dress he baulked at her embrace
Her huge breasts looked like two bald headed men
He extracted himself; so he could breathe again!
Tables for two were set up around the room
Scented candles gave off a lovely perfume
Ron sat down at a table in search of a date
Would he be lucky and meet his soul mate?
Big Beryl sat down; she had such bad halitosis
She covered her mouth hoping Ron wouldn’t notice
The moment she spoke poor Ron got a foul blast
When their time was up; Ron moved seats - fast!
Then next he met Ann; she was obsessed with her pussy
He would only eat Whiskas; her Tom was ever so fussy
But any hope of romance they had to defer
As Ron had an allergy to animal fur
Butch Bertha said she preferred women to guys
Ron thought it a pity as she had such lovely eyes
Her mother had forced her to go out that night
They both agreed a date just wouldn’t be right
Mavis nervously sat down, she was painfully thin
From the smell of her breath, she’d been hitting the gin
She said she’d had a tipple to steady her nerves
And she’d got her hip flask if she needed reserves!
Ron began to think speed dating contrary
Then a beauty arrived, her name was Mary
Pretty in pink she stood out from the crowd
She was shy and demure and she wasn’t too loud
Ron hesitantly asked Mary if he could give her a call
And their very first date was at the local dance hall
At the end of the night they shared their first kiss
Now they’re happily married and life is just bliss
09-27-17
Here's to you, Dandy Don, ol' mate!
We in Soup jes' think you're great!
Ye who dwell in the land of the dingo,
'ave learned us to speak native Aussie lingo!
Our kindest regards to yer dog Bungeye Jack.
'e does a kindness in warmin' yer back!
Don't tipple too much good ol' Foster Brew,
For like a boomerang, 'twill come back to nettle you!
Keep on crankin' out them ballads fer our delight,'
And ol' Bob Hopeless'll see what he can write.
It's gittin' late so I'm gonna knock off and hit the hay.
Take care of yerself and Bungeye Jack and fer now, G'Day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
DO is the mixture for my daily bread .
RE is the beam of sun , on my head .
MI , well ! I'm Seán and I write the odd poem .
FA..ther ,I am to our house and our home .
SO as I reap , those wild oats , long ago .
Lá is the Irish for day , as you know .
TI is my tipple , last thing at night .
High DO is the buzz , I get from this site ..
An attempt at Izzy's solfége contest ..
Old Bill (written by by Steven Cooke)
Old Bill died today
He was a grumpy old sod said Mrs. Grey.
Fool thought me,
For you do not know what memory is
He was a decorated soldier who,
Courted beautiful women
Argued with royalty
And dined with the Aga Khan
For Oscar Wilde and Keats was his tipple,
But women cheated him
And his money cheated him.
And finally time cheated him
All gone now,
Just silence echoed by a distant memory,
Interrupted by Coronation Street, and Eastenders
Is this the legacy, of modern Life.
For Bill, all that is left is the shell
And now that has gone.
Yes he was a grumpy old man
But Modern life too will be cheated by time,
And what memories will it leave,
And what will people say about you Mrs. Grey
I went out with a boy called Andy
Whose tipple was Courvoisier Brandy
He was a typical bloke ~~~
But whilst drunk, he groped ~~~~
For the Brandy had turned this boy randy
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/humour-3.php
My cider comes from Somerset,
I likes it coz it's strong.
Tis made from apples good and sweet,
wiv flavours thats a real treat.
What's more I likes to drink it neat.
I likes it 'cos it's strong.
My world ish shwimming all around,
my legs is wobbly and unsound,
I think I'll sit down on the ground.
Black coffee, please. And strong!
~
For Heather's Competition.
MORGANITE
You sprang up like a shoot,
And art translucent to form.
Acrylic with tears the norm,
Brush strokes of life; resolute.
MAW SIT SIT
My memories are dim
Of me and him,
Breaches of birth. Strangers
Now, dear mannequin.
SPHALERITE
Lost in a world of make believe,
Trying to be human of sorts,
Touching life's Eden to perceive,
His favourite tipple! Vintage port.
SUGILITE
Troubled heart, troubled mind,
You fled our shores abroad,
You spoke with an accent kind
Your sorrows of life you stored.
SPHENE
Champagne fizz, popping the cork,
Nightclub Madonna to dance.
Dreaming of high rise New York,
So much better than France!
MOONSTONE
Tot 'n' Ham labours two,
Mothered to your breast,
Redwood trees, how they grew!
A familial love and blessed.
ZIRCON
Travelling through mythical days,
Chains of law untethered,
Stonehenge Rigveda praise,
Countenance aglow; weathered.
This poem is about a particular aspect of my siblings, including myself here and the name of each gemstone is quite rare and unique as we all are as individuals
Edward
They come from darkness,
Eager to the lighted place.
Cold hands clasp warm -
Hi! in a welcoming embrace.
Proffered camaraderie cuddles
Kindred spirits in a cloud;
Buzzing breezy banter oozes
From a jesting jocund crowd.
Rum raucus pleasantries tipple
In tailored pin-striped suits;
Convivial capering denim does
A cabaret in cowboy boots.
A painted celebrating clown
Greets gingham in a merry mix,
While a furtive feigner in a corner
Shades eyes from his tantalizing tricks.
Restive ribald revelers gather,
Garnishing gushing smiles.
Snared eager effusive faces
Trap a miscellany of styles.
Each one pursuing pleasure
In a convulsing carnival of joys;
Each one a bubbly bauble sparkling
In its own peculiar noise.
I once had a neighbor named Jody,
Who liked to drink wine spo-dee-o-dee,
Other spirits she'd tipple,
Hell, she'd even drink Ripple,
But only chased with diet sodee.
Yes, I love beer
And beer loves me,
We’re as thick as thieves
As honey is to bees.
I can’t help but wonder
What life would be
Without this golden amber,
Not a world I’d like to see.
Every sip a luscious joy,
Food for body, mind and soul,
It warms in winter, cools when hot,
As water is to ice, as fire adores its coal.
But now they claim it hampered,
My judgement in my youth,
A baseless common slander,
Insulting and uncouth.
A lifetime spent in service,
As a bastion of the law,
A judge regaled with honor,
Not just a man of straw.
So what I had a tipple
And sometimes a few more,
It livened up the party,
With a drink I so adore.
As to these accusations
That somehow I blacked out
I just can’t help but wonder,
How folks could not this doubt.
A father and a husband,
A friend to countless girls,
A man of faith and principle,
Tarnished by innuendo’s swirls.
So let this be a lesson
To all young pups today,
Consider each and every action,
Beware of what posterity may say.
Myrtle Parker
Myrtle Parker lived on the Riviera,
That’s the English one not the French.
Her favourite tipple is Red Currant Cider,
Only beverage her thirst would quench.
Never did she marry no husband,
Preference for life single and free,
Though kept two doggy companions,
Twin Westies, Florence and Zebedee.
Miss Parker was a gatherer and hoarder,
Antiques, curios, lots of impractical tat.
Her catchphrase was somewhat familiar,
“I‘ll find a good use for that.”
Tumbledown Cottage name on the gate,
Aptly called for badly required repair.
The man from Devonshire Council,
Shakes his head in anguished despair.
Oh, dear Myrtle what are we to do,
I cannot see the wood for the trees,
Environment Officer is calling today,
He doesn’t like cockroach and fleas.
Myrtle lives close to Muscle shell beach,
Small cove of shingle and coarse sand,
Opposite the Cat protection league,
Where she buys new clothes second hand.
One summer had a house full of Kittens,
That grew into fully grown cats.
They left her in search of new comforts,
Plagued by visits of large rodent rats.
Myrtle decided on a radical clear out,
To make way for a new feather bed,
But could not let go of her treasures,
So continued sleeping on the sofa instead.
Seventy years old, obstinate and proud,
Devon Council man returned to her door.
“This house is making you poorly my dear,
Regretfully you cannot live here anymore.
Oh, dear Myrtle here’s what we’ll do,
Move you into a comfy town flat,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Condemn your cottage, so sorry about that.
Myrtle Parker was born in this house,
Her father he worked on the boats,
Mother stayed home baking bread,
From freshly ground buckwheat groats.
Tumbledown cottage is full of memories,
Though can’t find many for the clutter.
Diminutive rooms two up two down,
Walls dampened by broken pipe gutter.
If I have to go then take me in a box,
She chained herself to the newel post.
I’ll defend my rights for all I’m worth,
Then haunt Council man as his ghost.
Council man arrives excited with keys,
For Miss Parkers new urban home,
But Myrtle had been true to her word,
and perished on the staircase all alone.
Oh, dear Myrtle what have you done,
Your new flat was shiny and clean,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Demolition boss with bulldozer team.
the cripple limped through the crush for his tipple - with nary a ripple
February 14, 2023