Ding dong, the hunger strikes,
A rhythm felt in bones and spikes.
Breakfast, lunch, or dinner near,
The stomach rings, its call is clear.
No hands, no gears, no ticking sound,
Yet perfect timing always found.
Biology knocks, a subtle beat,
A clock within, precise, discreet.
A glass of water, a morsel fed,
The ringing fades, the body led.
Yet even empty, the bell may chime,
A pulse of life, a silent rhyme.
Some heed it fast, some let it wait,
The hunger bell respects no state.
Food or not, it strikes in tune,
Morning, noon, and fading moon.
It knows the body, knows the need,
Each cell aligned, each organ heed.
No battery, key, or settings new,
It’s built to work, in every hue.
Ding dong, a pulse through veins and gut,
A faithful rhythm, sharp and shut.
It hums of balance, life’s design,
A measure older than our time.
So hear it strike, that inner sound,
No feast, no prayer, no offering bound.
The hunger clock, so finely spun,
A song of life, and of the sun.
Sitting at the piano bar
Sipping apricot brandy late into the night
~ Feeling mellow as can be
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
Drink a beer, shed a tear, tremble in fear
For the good ‘ole US of A, my dear
Will Mamdani save us all
Or consign us to free fall
Lenin and Stalin both ready to cheer
They begin sipping..supping the Best on cask
Charlie the legend of barley does a guest ask
What are you up to for the rest of the weekend?
Well regulars would often become a good friend
With a big grin..they swig & say…not a lot mate
Won’t go far…may be a spot of bar mat flipping..
We’ll be here…having another beer…just staying in…
Bubbling babbling burbling banter brimming at the bar
First sup.. hush…memory lane trip rush..nicely tickled
Plush lace ebbed…lush beer swirls race webbed
Whirls..down dimpled dappled jar....nicely pickled
Pagans perch….sip druid fluid drip…Iris’s secular church
Trumpet tradition.. beacons blush in embers of the past
Cluttered classy cast of polished pewter..ballsy brass
Whimsy wafting across tobacco tinted tainted times
Parched patrons quaffing while cavorting with crannies
Carousing with nooks sporting timber flannelled panels
As sons then become dad..on the same pews with their lad
Lawyer betwixt a tyro…local employer..bumpkin on the giro
Museums of marvels.. hoodwink misplaced metaphors
Laced with a house pour of moreish memories of before
Gracious Landladies…loquacious landlords near and far..
Who let us roam in our home from home we raise our jar
To every special space.. familiar face in that third place..ta
Partly cloudy says the weather man.
A rarity that clouds are seen out in the desert's sky.
Rain is hardly ever present on this dry sandy land.
Tumble weed flourishes.
Lizards survive the hot sun.
You will need to bring your own water.
Clouds like to play peek a boo,
Looking white with some gray,
Owning the sky a couple of days a year.
Under the clouds the land is a few,
Degrees cooler.
Yellow cactus will smile.
The grumpy wind cries through bottle glass and bone,
Grain silos whine like widows at the gate,
Each sunrise shows up but exits the dongas alone.
The main street sighs,its colors ages out of date,
A dronkie in overall insults the deserted mine,
His guffaws crack,deranged,underneath the weight.
The spaza still sells nyaope and wine
And phantoms line where concertinas used to play,
Their sounds of tiekie draai to hosannas of turpentine
Youngsters pursue tyres that stagger,then spin away,
Grime hides their glee,fields no longer yield,
Old topies sit like statues at close of day.
You comprehend-beyond the rot,
The shattered shield,
A determined ditty reverberates tenderly through pain
Power exceeds nothing but the man
Taste of success achievement brings desires want
What feeds soul it's hunger thirst
For survival, worldly possession does not bring life
A mere illusion of hopes happiness
Only when man is himself you find truth
When one is kind, they find heart
Anger, drama's stress to cope realities beatings
A emotional state much like love
Power of ego feed by influence mind
What is one's quality if not fought in belief
Where one stand if ripped his dignity
Except beneath the feet they beg to be
Is color hatred as it is us ourselves
Unpurified nature of mankind since dawn time
Is one better than another except he be different
Same breath we bleed to rectify our actions
Our journey similar; with different steps
Are we running just accept things are
Given up concept to existence we fall
Freedoms drink, our thirst isn't oneself
But soul which gives us life we breathe
Wealth, appreciating your blessings, could be worse
Wee Willy Winkie
and three wee pigs
had a wee drinkie
more than a swig
before going to bed
but woke in the wee hours
with a sore head
and the need to wee so
into the woods
behind a tree they did go
(one pig collected twigs)
when outside in the wee distance
there came a wild wee howl
oh no... the Big Bad Wolf
then was heard more than a wee growl
altho' not spent yet afeared for their lives
a wee farther to roam
Winkie's wee willie and three wee pigs
went wee wee wee all the way home
Vineyard discovery
Winery cellar somewhere in Pennsylvania
It was an Escorted Tour by Defuncted BISS TOURS
We tasted several wines
The alcoholic Apple Pie wine caught my attention
The blend of ingredient
No nutrient
Senses of aroma opened and taste
I am no wine drinker
I was intrigued in the Apple Pie wine
It was genuine
No bake nor oven
Quality at its best
From the very first sip
That was my tip
Brought a bottle of the Apple Pie wine to take home
Remember and always will of that wine
Didn’t get drunk
First time hearing of Apple Pie wine
Compelling name
No shame
Only the taste taking aim
Reckless
when imbibing
He lost his right
to drive
For those infractions
time proscribed
A Poets
D.U.I.
He far
exceeded limits
His influences
blamed
Now doomed to ride
as passenger
In literary
— shame
(Dreamsleep: October, 2025)
When two elephants fight; it is the grass that suffers-but when they make peace,the earth blooms again-African Proverb
You think he drinks for pleasure.
You think the foam on his lips
is the laughter of the reckless
But his throat burns with the taste of worry-
each swallow a coin he saved
To keep the children fed,
each sigh a promise that no one hears.
You think he wanders the streets for joy,
but he is walking off the noise of failure,
counting his steps against the rent.
And you,
your hands are tired of forgiving,
your heart a house half full,
your voice sharp with waiting.
Two storms meet,
lightning answering lightning,
but neither sees the rain that falls
to heal the same dry soil,
Love is not a saint-
it is a worker in overalls,
who keeps patching the roof
while thunder mocks
You say men will never change.
He says,love never leaves.
And somewhere between the two,
the night forgives the dawn
My favourite drink is one with milk,
I sip it noon or night without any guilt
Love it with strawberries blended within
Keen to try new flavours-where to begin?
Shaken or stirred or anything in between
Having it in frosted glass over the kitchen sink
All my love pours out for this drink
Kids adore, also hit with teens
Energy & essence, both boxes ticked.
Not young anymore
My muscles are tight and weak
I don't want to die
I'm thinking there's many
a drinking toast
'Cheers!' 'Cin cin!' '¡Salud!'
'Sláinte!' 'Prost!'
'Here's looking at you!'
or 'Mud in your eye!'
'To health wealth and happiness!'
in Japan it's 'Kanpai'
Hebrew 'L'chaim!' Chinese 'Ganbei!'
Russia 'Na Zdorovie!' Scandinavia 'Skål!'
and 'E ola!' in Hawaii
but was it a member
of the gay persuasion
who first let slip
before a sip slurp or sup
twixt cup and lip
the suggestion 'Bottoms up!'
Specific Types of Drink Poems
Definition | What is Drink in Poetry?
Poems Related to Drink
sip, alcohol, cup, liquor, refreshment, glass, booze, brew, toast, potion, shot, spirits, liquid, potation, swig, spot, slug, gulp, taste, draft, libation, swallow, potable, thirst quencher, inhale