Long Beer Poems
Long Beer Poems. Below are the most popular long Beer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beer poems by poem length and keyword.
The loss of the known
A sudden flash occurred, a moment of a forgotten past
walking down a wide road that only had a few cars trundling along
to the left where the road wears to the right, a café I thought of going
in for a beer, but the dog if left outside, would fret
A fine day, not hot or cold, must have been early spring or fall
tried to remember what I was doing before the curtain was drawn
I was left with an unfinished memory, one I had to make it up
to fill in the blanks.
Something sad about the scene of a sole man with a dog
walking down a road he had never been to before; his mother
had died, and the point of reference was missing
now he was alone and lacked a compass.
I’m sat in the bar with a beer on the table
I’m gazing in rapt contemplation
I need to make sense of it if I am able
I must find a good explanation
My mate’s in the loo, so what am I to do
For there’s nobody here to bear witness
The bartender’s too busy serving a queue
And everyone minds their own business
Did nobody here see my icy cold beer
Grow hands and feet and a big head
It has seven eyes and a devilish sneer
“I dare you to drink me,” it said
It glared up at me with its mad bloodshot eyes
And then did a demonic dance
This amber hued beast of diminutive size
Is what put me into this trance
My God, now there’s two of them, clinking together
They no longer dance… but conspire
Each of them steps a bit closer to me
“Don’t tell or they’ll call you a liar.”
At last my mates coming and soon he’ll be here
He’ll flip at this hullabaloo
But now that beer monster is just plain old beer
I can’t even prove it to you
So I must now seek out a good explanation
Some facts into which I shall delve
Such as why it should happen to just this one beer…
and not to the previous twelve
Liberty's free with her smiles
as she sashays down the aisles
Lord knows she must walk miles
specially on the slow days.
She’s so easy on the eyes
midst these posers and their lies
always takes me by surprise
to find she's still here.
Just a butterfly in the wind
never quite sure where she's been
can't go back and start again
though she'd sometimes like to.
Like that Monarch soaring high
someday she’ll touch the sky
l just shake my head and sigh
and have another beer.
Back home, she's had a row
with her new for always beau
too fast or else too slow
both leave her lonely.
Till another comes around
to her dazzling smile bound
but his feet stay on the ground
and she flies solo.
Just a butterfly in the wind
never quite sure where she's been
can't go back and start again
though she'd sometimes like to.
Like that Monarch soaring high
someday she’ll touch the sky
l just shake my head and sigh
and have another beer.
She asks if I like her dress
and I always answer yes
but like most here I guess
I'd rather see her naked.
Even when she dances close
there's distance like a ghost
we raise glasses high and toast
another time and year.
Just a butterfly in the wind
never quite sure where she's been
can't go back and start again
though she'd sometimes like to.
Like that Monarch soaring high
someday she’ll touch the sky
l just shake my head and sigh
and have another beer.
__________________________________________________
An older poem from another time. As much a C&W song as a poem - I hear steel guitar and ........
WASH the moon ----> bring some soap
between dirty words might have been born
unlike fetus' now dead
How about Boris Karloff:
makeup for monster actor acting
so funny i died crying life
How fruit flies like bananas
weeping finding out how
my grandfather clock is
so full of bugs - buzz me out
she has many roses inside
the sad mausoleum of
i ate a candy bar called
coochy cooh and had a beer
oh hell holding a mug so cold
she got chills holding it
a freezer!
a hug a smile
a smug denial
a bit pale
a Plath in the oven
can we ever recover?
over drive like a smile.
:: 03.24.2022 ::
man of old
talking to himself
in this run down
watering hole
not crazy
just lonely
turns his head
and him I know
chief of police
when I was young
put me in jail
more than once
now he’s nearing
the setting sun
sitting in a bar
getting drunk
I can't take it
I buy him one
he remembers me
some things I'd done
harmless, really, just
"you were a wild one"
well, I guess I was
I had my run
all my thoughts now
settled on being settled
finish my beer and leave
there's somewhere
I'd rather be than... he
"Aja when all my
dime danc'n is through
I run to you"
quiet endless sea
of gentle femininity
my beautiful tranquility
she soothes and succors
every need
I don't know if she knows
how my heart bleeds
I don't know if she sees
the rough road in me
unwinding
in her soft eyes
just feels
like hard times
are starting to smooth
silky petals unfolding
sweet nectar flowing
she takes me in
somewhere it feels
I've never been
* "Aja" by Walter Carl Becker and Donald Jay Fagen for Steely Dan
...If this was Heaven, it made little sense,
would not they get newcomers all the time?
How could this seem so bizarre to their mind?
Wouldn’t this have to have happened to them?
I just sighed loud and shook my head again,
but at that time a red-headed man came,
folks parted for him, and cried out his name,
like he was some hero they looked up to,
I just looked at him, not sure what he’d do,
but I somehow sensed that we were the same.
“When they spoke the words, I didn’t believe,
but here you are, good Lord, it’s been so long,
I’d say eight decades have now come and gone,
since I showed up and they had to receive
an earth-born soul, they just couldn’t conceive…
Took John here fifteen years to understand
that there could be another type of man,
so please, take my hand, and I will explain,
the truth of Heaven that boggles the brain,
but in the end is quite sublime and grand.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of this guy,
he seemed quite different then everyone else,
it was something in his eyes, I could tell.
In the other folks I could see no lies,
but in Philippe saw something I realized,
the hardness of a soul who had seen sin,
who had known evil, and fought it within,
a familiar look, one that I knew well,
I figured I should hear what he might tell,
so I stood and agreed to follow him.
He waved me over to a tavern small,
we paced towards it, the others close behind,
as if just seeing me shattered their minds,
most of them stopping outside the front wall,
nobody followed us inside at all.
Inside I saw a barkeep cleaning things,
not all that strange, except the man had wings,
an angel bartender…okay, why not?
Already Heaven was weirder than I thought,
Philippe cried, “Ras, you up for explaining?”
The angel turned, and his broad face lit up,
“Is that what I think it is?”he inquired.
I was uncertain what might transpire,
until Ras poured some beer, filled up a cup.
Said, “Up here, we only have the good stuff.
Forgive me, I’m rusty, it’s been a bit
Since an earth-born came, and Philippe was it,
most of your kind are scattered ‘round elsewhere,
so many Heaven-born, your sort are rare,
but I can help you make sense of all this.”
CONTINUES IN PART III.
If you’d compare my fridge and yours
You’d marvel at the food each stores
For everybody’s taste’s unique,
So open up – let’s have a peek.
I’ve orange juice and lots of cheese
And coffee (Starbuck’s, if you please).
Butter, berries, veggies, beer,
Salad stuff and never fear…
My favorite cookies, hummus, fruit
And eggs and condiments, to boot.
There might be olives, whitefish spread
And in the freezer, bags of bread
(Including bagels) and, for sure,
More ice cream than you’d know what for.
There’s frozen chicken, a knish
And meatballs, eggplant, but no fish.
I’m sure there’s more, but look around –
Organic products won’t be found.
Still, we should all relate a smidge
‘Cause we all like what’s in our fridge!
A crow struts into a bar,
it's a crow, not a native American.
There's a hot wind blowing through town
Texas Rangers are drinking on the job.
A young beauty is busy
capturing boys' hearts
on her I Pad.
A land Line rings loudly
from a backroom -
no one has the skill to reply to the call.
The sleek jet-black bird
commences to dance
on the dusty wooden floor,
neck back and cawing loudly.
A picture of Clint Eastwood
looks down from an adobe wall,
he is 150 years old now
but he is still the rightful President.
Some crusty old-timer
throws a ten-dolor bill on the counter.
Soon the crow is drinking
and occasionally playing the fool.
Outside, a mule bray's,
crow flaps up and leaves
for the past.
Hollywood is still slowly arriving.
Native Americans have been on strike
for a hundred years.
The Crow Nation brews its own beer
and rez cops take their share
and don't care.
the boat is as weathered as his face
it is his life, his treasure
steering the prow to sea hours before dawn
and in that darkness, the nets are set
small talk meanders the ponga
time to catch up on some sleep, other times
arguments erupt between brothers
keeping everyone awake watching stars
once dawn has passed the nets are retrieved
to pay for the daily bread
it was in that uncertainty two perished
as nature's fury rolled from the darkness
those red skies of mourning
son, brothers, husbands, fathers, friends
headstones never say it all
the funerals have come and gone
sitting upon the late morning shore
watching the fishermen, boats lie tethered
their hands are honest, scarred
their knives sharp, scarlet
as they gut the fish above roars
a maelstrom of pelicans, magnificent frigates
in serious air-shore warfare for entrails
and small fish these men toss
there is laughter in those eyes
brothers sharing the plunder of the sea
once the fish are sold they share a beer
stories of the sea, repair nets
clean pongas and more than i will share
by early afternoon they are gone
such is the daily bread here
where the demons howl the night
the angel's right to sing dawn's glory
these are the patron saints of cantinas
vassals to the sea, nature's capriciousness
whose fate on the morrow
could be drinking in Neptune's Tavern
San Blas 91 The Patient Stones
for the fishermen of San Blas, Matachen Bay
When your boyfriend comes home late at night
Your chances are great that you will be in trouble
Here we go again
He stinks alcohol and vomit
// She is angry ... (how angry?) ... hysterical angry //
His explanation :
"Of course, things did not go as I planned, my dear
The beer was served in the German way, in liter mugs
I'm so sorry
There were wild conditions all night and time went so fast
The rules were simple ~ but a hard competition"
The walk of shame
(to the bathroom)
*
The head dunks, the party is definitely over
He :
"Life sucks ... stop the carousel I'm dizzy ... so dizzy"
"STOP" !
*
24.02.2018
Sun :) A-L Andresen :)
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