Valuable variables, a psychiatrist’s missing part of the mix...
Scary, harry, carried by that which MUST keep tarrying on while very, very wary yet daring??;
Some say all wrong,
Some sing a sad or happy song,
Lance Armstrong,
Would say, “Live Strong!”
Then make more than a million bracelets,
If I added a variable to my own life,
I pray for God’s grace still,
But it is NOT my own,
Wherever I roam,
I am surprised I do NOT foam at the mouth,
For crying out loud,
Why does everything get so ed up?
I did NOT lose my truck but lost my girl,
Lost the ability to give a as well as my whole world,
But I can still care,
Do I or someone else dare?
To stare into the abyss...???
Surely, there are many things to be missed,
The Last Caress by the Misfits begins to explain,
The last kiss I gave still lingers in my brain,
Then there are many other things to make me insane,
Yet, the free cocktails on an airplane to Maine would still NOT replace music as NOT only RHCP’s but MY Aero Plane too...
How about you?
Tea for Two?
T?
Beneath the manor's shadow
crest,
Where gargoyles weep and
ravens rest,
Old Rumple Stein began to
speak,
To make the bravest children
weak.
He told a tale of ancient
dread,
A shadow from a velvet bed.
The vampire glides on silent
wings,
While midnight's eerie cricket
sings.
He creeps through windows
left unpinned,
A freezing, foul, and wicked
wind.
He hunts for children fast
asleep,
Into their nursery rooms to
creep.
His skin is pale as candle wax,
His pointed teeth leave
deadly tracks.
He bends above the small
and sweet,
To steal their warmth and
drink his treat.
"So close your shutters tight
tonight,"
Old Rumple laughed and giggled
with deep delight.
Sunday Morning Blues**
Whether it's the vibrant nights of Rio de Janeiro or the electric energy of Las Vegas nightlife,
I’ve indulged in two or three glasses of Twisted Ice Lemonade,
Or perhaps it was an Alabama Slammer. One lesson learned: never trust your memory!
My days and nights have been nothing less than a freight train ride,
And that's the truth!
I can’t forget the Cuban Bulldog that bit me
Three years ago, in Kissimmee, that’s a fact.
It left me weak in the knees,
All thanks to those potent drinks.
Was it that audacious, wild Long Island Iced Tea
That nearly took me down.
After watching a news clip about Muammar Gaddafi,
Or maybe it was an episode of Friends?
Yet, I met my sweet Marlon Brando,
And it was hallelujah and Amen in Key Largo.
So many bartenders, so many smoke-filled rooms,
And once again, here I am, tackling
Another Sunday morning blues head-on.
The perfect indication
a smirk, with some flirtation
a special night
for dating
do you wanna dance with me
Suggestive comments got me thinking
that atta-bouis
and all that winking
laning on me
got me thinking
you wanna dance with me
aint got the right stuff for staying
work in the morning my Boss aint
playing
But you got me wanting
some forward thinking
the night aint through
when the band finishes playing
I got a kiss
after a whisper
the gentlemen said
she called me her Mister
Right night
the romance of the mmusic
dancing
smiling and grooving
what a night
what a romantic evening
got a foolish man
beleiving
take my time
clm all the feelings
freshen up for a specail evening
If you love me, I don’t feel it
one kiss does not seal it
I’m on my way without delay.
Only two drinks away.
Two drinks and I’ll be done.
These days are not much fun.
I remember we had a good run
but now I’m on my way.
Two drinks away,
I’m on my way
to circling the drain in the morgue.
I am really tore up
from the ground up.
I can’t find my path
from this alcohol bath.
Too many days
in a drunken haze.
Too many nights grieving
soon I’ll be leaving.
Two drinks are down
and now I drown,
circling the drain in the morgue.
Death walks over,
boots quiet on the bar floor,
pulls up a stool
like we’ve met before.
He tips his hat,
cold eyes, tired grin.
Says, “It’s time, friend.”
I just nod,
signal the bartender with a raised chin.
"Two drinks for the road."
I say it like a prayer,
like a dare,
like I’ve still got something left in the tank
even if I don’t.
He doesn’t rush me.
Death never does.
Just watches
as the glass hits the wood
and memories start to pour.
One for the brothers I left in the sand.
One for the promises I broke with my own hands.
We drink in silence.
Not out of respect—
but because neither of us
needs to explain the wreck.
I ask if it hurts,
when it finally comes.
He says,
"Only when they fight.
Not when they’re done."
I look at my hands—
scarred, steady.
Worn from holding
more ghosts than glory.
Then I finish the second glass,
stand slow.
“You ready?” he asks.
I say,
“Ready? No. But I’m not scared anymore.”
We walk out the door
under a sky I don’t fear.
Not because I want to go—
but because I’ve been carrying the end
for years.
hot drinks in winter
highly appreciated
and warm lap bosom
What newborn drinks a bathtub of milk each day?
Rhino?
No.
Elephant?
Huh-uh.
Dolphin?
No.
Camel?
Sorry.
Cow?
........keep scrolling ......
If you guessed Blue Whale please take a bow
fall cold got into the bone
I miss the summer nice breeze
spring hot milk with sweet green tea,
and winter coffee
She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline,
Her crown, heavy with my wasted want.
Never knows best, a fault of design.
Her tensions a dagger, a cunning divine,
A soul-bleeder, god as a vaunt.
She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline.
The arson of anger will never confine,
For the plaid that’s been woven, I a gaunt
Never knows best, a fault of design.
I check the guest list for a name I can’t find,
A ghost of a promise, a lingering taunt.
She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline.
I hate sour drinks, but I chug it all in time—
A golden apple; a jaunt.
Never knows best, a fault in design.
As the season passes, with its cruel incline,
I swallow one more time; her shadows daunt.
She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline,
But never knows best, a faulty design.
Together we walked the road
Through the heat and through the cold
Many years ago
While those day were ours to lose
Ten bucks bought the drinks and blues
We grew past the school days
Slowly we changed our ways
Many years ago
After we paid for our dues
Ten bucks bought the drinks and blues
The college years came and went
Walking out we felt content
Many years ago
As we passed out of curfews
Ten bucks bought the drinks and blues
The middle age had now come
Never dreamt our youth was done
After all those years
We recall in old venues
Ten bucks bought the drinks and blues
Time now caught us by surprise
And inflation's on the rise
Through those years ago
Then we hear it on the news
Ten bucks only buys the blues
Ten bucks only buys the blues
There are many drinks
Made from cold water
When making coffee
Let it cool add ice
Making lemonade add ice
Add water to ice tea
Or a glass of water add ice
Add ice cubes to juice drinks
It makes them colder
When drinking liquor add ice
Except for the beer
It does not work out
Add ice to Apple Cider
For a cooler drink
April 6—Beverage, libation, liquid…
Daily Ritual Drinks Drink
in the morning
I drink a cup
of snarling hot coffee
while watching the news.
in the afternoon
I shift to tea
either earl gray
or herbal tea.
a day without Earl Gray
is not a good day.
at sunset
I drink red wine
with my wife.
as the evening
shifts into night
I drink rum
or whiskey.
to eat the day
right.
Lost in a bottle
Blessed with an all seeing eye
Pain out of the window
Inconsequential, to live or die
The world's your oyster
And mankind your playground
To see with the eyes that's not your own
Silence is the new sound
Unhinged crackling
Laughter from the depth of the soul
Smiling like a fool
Being wild and free, was your only goal
A way to forget
A way to cry
A way to be happy
To live and not to die
Like a genie in a bottle
Did the stranger come to me
Let me take three more drinks
And maybe, I'll set you free.
The whiskey on your breath
could make a small boy dizzy
I taste a liquor never brewed”
Emily Dickinson's - The May Wine
I am asking my hands to stand their ground,
vintage wine leaves my soul spellbound.
I don't know where my lips are bound,
my ears hear the glass clicking sound,
I desire to run fast like a greyhound.
Everyone is whispering loudly, I will come round,
some of them don't know my liver disease background,
since I started the sauce I’ve been living in a fantasy fairground,
I can't seem to write anything poetic or profound,
my pens are abandoned in my pity playground.
In pursuit of clarity, I dream of the grapes underground.
I still want them to swirl my tongue around,
I loathe my sympathy party frown,
once I fit in as the resident clown.
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