Gin Poems - Poems about Gin

They gather where the signs hang crooked, under gaslight glare and broken clocks, where the barkeep’s eyes are twin shot glasses— fogged, but watching. Gin Lane rolls in on tired boots, her laughter sharp as shattered glass. Beer Street hums a fatter tune, slumped in booths of sticky leather. They meet at the hinge of last call, where poetry is slurred and prophets mumble. A...

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DUSTY POET Dust before donkey doomed a wicked whirlwind grains of wisdom wrinkle sand webs dust devitalise land here...

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there was an old man named McGuinn who liked his women and his sloe gin one night it was said he took both to bed and woke up next day with a sly grin ...

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there was an old man named McGuinn who liked his women and gin one night it was said he took one of each to bed and woke up next day with a grin ...

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gin joint ginger I had heard of her of course we all had but we thought she was fictitious when we saw the barkeep’s face we knew better He is usually unflappable tonight he could barely speak she had taken his heart and his tongue it seems...

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And as I reach my end of years I’ve come to know my gin and tears A pleasant cocktail, I suppose As time, that mighty river flows Yet, not for sadness in my cup ...

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This was last Saturday night. We were at a rooftop party in downtown New Haven thrown by ‘DocHouse.’ Doc-House is kind of a frat-house, owned by Dr. Melon, where he and seven doctoral students live. My BF Peter lived there once - before he graduated and took a job in Geneva - that’s how I...

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out of all the gin joints in Chicago she had to choose this one she had an uncanny likeness to the woman he had lost he could not stop staring...

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aka HALLO WEENIE! Police say a woman named Gidget Took a fancy to a man's digit She knew it would grow But you ought to know His digit now hangs on a midget! Added by Belle Bellevue: The midget was proud of his digit He wondered just how Gidget did...

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Gin and Sin I once stayed at grandiose inn, With rowdies, who reeked of gin! Their vulgar voices louder than tin. ...

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Was making dinner for my honey, mine. I realized, alas, I added far too much thyme. He whispered, “you are thinking way too much of rhyme!” Quickly I filled us glasses, with ice-cold tonic, gin and lime. That softened him and he softly whispered, “Well, I guess after all, it’s no big crime.” He was my love, so invitingly delicious and...

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There was a fellow named Tim Who loved to drink lots of gin. Got drunk on the beach, dove in water out of reach. Too bad he didn't know how to swim....

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You who had seen my next of kin Dining and wining near a bin And you forgot to raise a din Or had minded your Gripping Gin… It was A War you did not win, Though Loss reports not on The Skin Like would Incisive Pricks of Pin Or handiwork of Wounding Tin… Your love, please, extend to My Kin In Water Fish...

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See, forty bucks in cold, hard cash can fill your trailer with gin trash. And for growing fine tomatoes, forty's pretty small potatoes. The big box products like Black Cow will truly set you back, and how! The cotton hulls and seeds and stems ejected from the cotton gin, stored a year in a giant pile, makes the heart leap and brings a smile. Earthy,...

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Lisa’s dad has a visitor from out of town - a “very important man.” He came early. He was dressed casually, in slacks, and a jacket over a mock-turtleneck. He was genial, behind tortoiseshell glasses, but he seemed ordinary, polite and a bit grandfatherly. The adults visited, in the living room, while we girls played...

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