They gather beneath flickering neon,
in narrow alleys where the pavement remembers rain,
where glasses clink like distant thunder
and the air smells of sweat, stale tobacco, and old promises.
A woman’s laughter, cracked and sharp,
spills into the room like broken shards;
a man leans on the bar—his elbow’d sorrow
ordering another round, trading hours for oblivion.
The jukebox—wounded, nostalgic—
grinds out a song of ghosts and faded dreams.
Bartender’s hands shake between bottles
as shadows press against the windows, watchers wanting in.
Walls scribbled with names never spoken—
with hearts shattered, hopes pawned.
Outside, the city coughs, writhes in sleepless neon;
inside, time stands still, drunk and defiant.
We are all believers here—
in the altar of amber liquor,
the hymn of poured whiskey,
in the communion of husbands and strangers.
Midnight cracks open like a broken mirror—
edges sharp, reflection distorted.
Beer calls; gin beckons;
the bouncer counts bodies, not sins.
And when the music fades,
when the lights cut low—
they linger, some to forget, others to feel everything
in the hollow between heartbeats.
Trumpet at three;
Crumpet, chai tea.
They told me it was medicine.
A cure in a capsule.
A little light in liquid form,
a powder path to paradise.
It whispered like honey,
slid smooth down my veins,
said, “I’ll heal your hurt, hush your hunger,
pull the storm from your skull.”
And it did.
Oh, it did.
The world slowed
colors stretched into forever, and my chest unclenched like a fist finally letting go.
But the bottle had teeth.
The pill had claws.
The powder carried a price tag I couldn’t read at first.
Every high built a higher wall.
Every flight carved a deeper fall.
The nectar that kissed me sweetly at midnight
bit me raw by dawn.
It is love that leaves bruises.
A friend who steals your shoes while you sleep.
A healer who poisons the wound so you’ll crawl back begging for the cure.
They don’t tell you the double-edged truth:
that the elixir doesn’t choose.
It cuts both ways
one side silk, one side steel.
And you,
you are the bleeding in between.
So I stand with the glass in my hand,
heart trembling on the rim.
Asking myself
is it medicine?
Or is it blade?
And the silence answers,
“Both.”
When I recalled my college days
spent mainly in a drunken haze
Invariably I’d wonder why
job posts read ~ ‘Degree required’
their gulf stretches in a chalice
with a bouquet looking into glass
Sit and buy me a pale ale
while I regale you with
a tale written in braille
by a man stale in jail with
no avail to raise bail.
Curtail the detail ~ suffice it to say
how a frail male whale wailed when
again and again failed dislodging
a rusty nail impaled in its tail.
Not to derail but meanwhile
across the vale, a snail and quail
hightailed it but strayed off their trail ~
Once all were put up for sale,
t’was the female who tipped the scale.
It’s not much of a tale but
thanks for the ale, it was tasty.
Inhale ~ now let's enjoy an upscale cocktail.
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 lines ~ each line has 5 or 7 words
Shout at the sun
Blind eye the moon
Then shatter the stars
Go out for fun
Shine like the moon
Then chatter in bars
Drink from the sun
Blind to the moon
Then splatter in cars
Slink round the sun
Fly past the moon
Then scatter on mars
Acrobatic birds can dive energetically for glucose,
Even as the felines watch,
Waving their tailfeathers in the air,
To their perch, they add another notch.
Felines gain hope, inspiring jumpy keen longing,
The birds keep teasing the predators,
Flying lower as if doing the limbo,
Despite tempting fate, shunning grim reaper creditors.
Masterful nature offers perches quaintly, rightly spaced,
The birds take breaks from sweet drinks,
Fly lower, eating little leaf gnats,
Watching the cats snicker, as wingbeat winks.
Radiant songbirds travel ubiquitously, valiant warriors,
Beautiful as they fly, spreading song,
Despite teasing the cats on the ground,
A day without these creatures would feel too long.
You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on. Dean Martin
My heart echoes a steady beat.
I lie on a hard bed
in perfect penumbra.
The soft sound seems to echo
from a plastic machine.
It beats steadily but slowly.
A nurse comes in and, with a torch,
examines the room thoroughly.
Suddenly, the heart beat stopped.
I lie in the dark on my bed,
consumed by fear. I feel stiff.
No heart beats, no life, just pure fear.
I cannot rise from the bed.
Two men come in and drag a bed
out of the room. A nurse comes in.
You will soon be fine—just a fall.
Tomorrow you can go home.
Best drink some tea with cinnamon.
You must have drunk a whole bottle!
And get up from that sofa,
it's not for you, rest somewhere else.
Oh, a cop has a notice
Seems you must go to court.
Don't ask where your bottle is.
Someone stole it and disappeared.
Rules of the Game
Before you open the bottle
You need to lay down the rules
What’s in and out of bounds
But don’t spend too much time
Because once the game starts
There are no rules
And that’s why we love to play.
(9/8/25)
Tea bags and wet dog, crossword ink on fingertips.
Chocolate biscuit wrappers, garden pond algae.
Hairspray that held those curly grey locks in place. Regal.
Scents mixed and shaken,
ground and stirred – a dusting of her
that wafts through air like a time
machine, shuttling me back to a
bowling alley, a country show digging
up worms. A couch that belched
stories when sat on. Vegetable broth.
I’d bottle it. I’d use it sparingly.
Red carpet occasions only.
Or for our backyard patio boardgames.
Oooh yeah, finally I get to piss
I've been turned up all night
Trying to shake off this girl
And she couldn't leave me for a sec
If it were up to her she'd have followed me here
Saying I might disappear on her like the others do
She almost took my drink for me
I told her I've got two hands, I can handle it
I'm so uptight,it feels like I'm about to burst
And not exactly what I'd have wanted
It had made me have a long hard-on
And the ladies were blushing, thinking they'd done it
I've been standing long here it just keeps going
It's like the gates were opened
And damn am I relieved
Cause I don't think I could keep this in
Lemmi just flick it one more time
And roll it back in nicely
Cause it's just past midnight
I've got the whole night to rave on
The PO£T
Invisible to eye,
not because I don’t see,
but I refuse to look,
be baptized by water.
I drink gin;
kin to pride.
I won’t win;
sin is sly.
Satan’s grin.
my ostrich shell painted with
springbok and entangled daisies
blowing in icy wind
I drink yolk and albuminous
whisperings along rushing waves
we are soft dreams where
a fishing boat stood
buildings now deserted
¥
storehouse freshly painted in ochre
fishing nets drawn alleluia
dreams float with the sardines
drinking coke we celebrate catch
wind skips along Hout Bay shore
daisies clap wild petals yellow
shells smashed we eat boiled yolk
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
without rainstorm wilts
leaves of lantana shrivel
and the buds close up
I was told it’s the weather
uplift when grandson waters
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