never put ice in the "hair of the dog"
your shaking hands will sound an alarm
I was
A little drunk
At the start
A zest for life
With freewheeling legs
Friend
To all and foe
Little by little
That life chipped away
I drew away
To that shelter
Of inner self
One won’t find
On any shelf
I woke
With headache
And hangover
Not even
The hair of the dog
Can cure
Hey Witchy
You want hair of the dog
Tongue of frog
Eye of newt
Or an old army boot
Hey Witchy
Toil and trouble
Boil and bubble
Throw all you got
In your black pot
Hey Witchy
What's your notion
In your potion
Can I see
Is it magic or just laundry
my brain i'm afraid
has shut out the lights
the powers that be
are out for the night
they only show up
sporadically
hardly in want
never in need
like wind to a kite
does what it likes
the hair of the dog
both barks and bites
with circuits cut short
in how far they reach
a bit out of kilter
a little off beat
from little or not
to the very thought
in the processes of guesses
with all that's been lost
in the middle of this
what i now find
is somehow my brain
has shut out the lights
One Two Many
Startled by the sight of
the horse in my bath tub
I stumbled into the den
feeling blindly for the bottle.
Horse liniment for the soul
“hair of the dog that bit ya”
enough to make the horse
leave without asking questions.
A flashing, portable, CAUTION sign
winked at me as I entered the bed room
its intermittent orange glow highlighting
an unknown movement in the bed.
DAMN!! Had we taken the police dog too???
1/27/2017
submitted to – It’s time for hilarious poetries – Poetry Contest
Come and Find Me in My Solitude
four fingers in a water glass
to keep the “creep” away
four fingers in a water glass
to keep the curse at bay
no ice, let’s keep it quiet,
hard bite of whiskey’s sting
“hair of the dog that bit ya”
as the dying grey wolves sing
rocking inside the boxcars
camping beside the track
drowning dreams of a yesterday
that’s never coming back
huddled beneath “newsprint” blankets
curled in pain’s fetal ball
dreading the sounds of the sunset
fearing the crash of night’s fall
praying for death in a doorway
shivering against marbled stone
a vision through slow closing eyelids
of somebody calling him home
12/2/2016
submitted to – COME AND FIND ME IN MY SOLITUDE – Poetry Contest
As I look in the mirror, I’m a road map of lines
My eyes are all bloodshot; it’s a sign of the times
When did it happen, I really don’t know
When more grey hairs than brown ones decided to grow
My head is still pounding, Can’t remember last night
And the bathroom bulb seems ever so bright
I am aching all over and my throat feels quite rough
But some bacon and eggs sorts me out soon enough
An unhealthy lifestyle takes it's toll in due course
Shapes a body well ravaged with much room for remorse
I should heed the changes advised by my peers
To add years to my life and life to my years
I will fend off temptations that won’t let me be
Find a way that results in a much fitter me
I will get some fresh air; Rid my head of this fog
(Then I might just pop in for a hair of the dog)
Hoboes and bamboo
Lay up in the green belt
Waiting for the romanticism of war
The hair of the dog
Doesn’t give up much more
Than a buzz that never ends
Somewhere a mother sheds a tear
For the son she lost in Vietnam
He came home but not to her
Every night he goes downtown
And drinks till dawn
Spends his days on a corner
With a sign asking to give
And a pocket full of blues
Anything will help
Lost souls MIA
Time can’t stop the fools
Who don’t believe that war
Scars the strong and the weak
Sitting in your car wondering
If it’s real
The whole damn town
Wonders
The whole damn town
Doesn’t give a damn
But someone should
Someone should ask the question
What’s a dollar to a hobo?
Means nothing to you
Could mean the world to him
You don't have to go home
but you can't stay here
It's getting on closing time
Better drink up your beer
Lately I've been wondering
When my mind is liquor free
Am I drinking from the bottle
Or is the bottle drinking me
Those night's when I'm full throttle
Foot loose and fancy free
I'm too wrapped up in the moment
To really clearly see
When I crave a hair of the dog that bit
After an A one first class bender
My liver, or what is left of it
Is screaming uncle, I surrender
So you woke up face down on
the street
And you don't know the time
or day of the week
And want me to serve you a
hair of the dog
To steady your nerves and
clear out the fog.
If the last thing you remember
from the night before
Is the bird she that she flipped
as she walked through the
door
And she wasn't suggesting you
was her number one
You got a whole lot of crawling
ahead of you son.
Now I ain't no expert on God's
fairer sex
You can check, here's the
number you can go call my ex
But you musta done something
to make the girl sad
Cos the bird is reserved for the
baddest of bad
You better pick up the phone
and hitch up your jeans
And beg her forgiveness for
being so mean
Some flowers wouldn't hurt,
even throw in a nice dinner
Cos from where I was standing
she looked like a winner.
Old dogs will not learn new tricks
Young dogs love to play heads and tails and chase after sticks
Give a dog a bad name
Hi meet my new puppy, I called him Saddam Hussain
Your the man now dog
You son of a *****, thats rich
Every dog has his day
Monday, tuesday, wednesday, thursday, fido, saturday, sunday
Alpha male
Beta *****
Running with both hounds and hares
Cant make his mind up if he is a dog, who cares
A not unblack dog was chasing a not unsmall rabbit across a not ungreen field
Meanwhile the white dog ran after a hare through the rape seed
Meaner than a junk yard dog
$50.00 for an old fender
Hair of the dog
Too much grog
Go see a man about a dog
Go get some more grog
Today is Monday, start of the week
Open my eyes, give the clock a peek
It’s time to wake up and clear my head
I guess I better get out of bed
Wednesday is considered “humpper day”
Half of the week’s gone, or so they say
A lot to do, must shake out the lead
I guess I better get out of bed
Friday at last, T-G-I-F
Bar-B- Que tonight and I’m the chef
This is a good day, nothing to dread
I guess I better get out of bed
The weekend is here, party time
Just an excuse for me to unwind
On Saturday I’ll drink too much Red
It’s noon before I get out of bed
Sunday, a little “Hair of the Dog”
To help let my mind clear out the fog
When I awake I feel like I’m dead
I guess I better get out of bed
The wine that my ancestors drank
I found in an old copper tank
It was bitter and red
And went straight to my head
As into a stupor I sank
Now the cure was much worse than the bite
Unless you kept drinking all night
Twas the hair of the dog
Got you out of the fog
Along with the early morn light
Now the moral of the story I’m told
Is to not drink the wine that’s this old
Stick with Bartles and Jaymes
And other known names
Then only drink what you can hold
Mdailey 6/18/11 (4:11 PM)
Contest: bottle of wine
The Hair of the Dog
You can drink til your dead as a log
And get up with your head in a fog
tomato juice cocktail
two jiggers ginger ale
and a taste of the hair of the dog
She calls you, you’re jumpy as a frog
you act cool, your head still in a grog
she says just come on by
You can unzip your fly
for a taste of the hair of the dog
In three days you feel she needs a flog
To the doctor, you go, brain agog
Three shots you need to get
Ere you can even wet
Without cussing the hair of the dog
© Aug 28 2010 For Andrea’s “Doggone Dog” Contest
I have a favourite Nazareth tune.
When I sing it I must sound like a loon.
"Hair of the Dog" is the one
I sing out loudly for fun,
But the bad language makes some people swoon.
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