Long Beery Poems
Long Beery Poems. Below are the most popular long Beery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beery poems by poem length and keyword.
What a stupid situation
Twenty foot above the ground
But when I reach the bottom
I’m nearly half way round
It was Ronnie Hatchard said it
Hey boys lets have some fun
Go back to camp and do
The assault course run
Nobody had the senses
To say stupid idea
Just picked up his glass
And finished off his beer
And now it’s after midnight
And it’s cold and it’s dark
And what seemed like such fun
Now just aint much of a lark
There’s somebody up above me
And I think he feels the same
He’s steadily pouring curses on
Old Ronnie Hatchard’s name
My stomach’s feeling queasy
There’s a pounding in my head
Instead of hanging here
I should be in my bed
But I bet when we finish
There’ll be no beery stagger
Just a walk to the billet
Full of pride and swagger
With Old Ronnie Hatchard
Man of the day
Sure as night is night
Proudly leading the way
The day after I was birthed,
God and a bunch of sassy angels
played Irish fiddles in a beery bordello,
a place not yet colorized into reality.
The next day,
squealing in my two-day-old
tight Rubenesque pinkness,
I was immortalized in a Brownie Box Camera,
the guys in the men's room
pissed themselves with a teary laughter.
On the third day of my fleshy ascension
a thin women said she was going to love me
for a little while only.
I took the deal.
So many days have fallen away now.
Sex saturated, love begotten, a damaged
dance of a life,
but there was always wine.
An old, white-beaded gent,
has bequeathed me two holy relics,
iconic images of Santa,
and Michealangelo's painted finger,
when I hold them up to the light
I can almost see through them.
Apart from the worn stone-step
where drunks still topple
all has changed.
Now a neon glow backlights a plasticized fascia.
In the in the parking lot two blonds face-off.
one has extra-large ear bangles,
and she rattles like a Zulu warrior,
fingers stabbing through cuss-words.
Youths shout
over the clomping-thump
of their car radios.
I used to come here often
I explain to my incredulous wife.
“Good times”, I say unconvincingly.
She won't go in, but I have to pee.
Inside there’s a blaze of corporate ersatz.
In the cramped `gents’,
a die-hard seediness persist.
There’s an old-time essence
of Borax and Vanish..
A condom dispenser (a peeling relic),
links me to a few beery memories.
Sitting upside down in the car
On its roof and well concealed
By the hedge it just leapt to
Land upside down in this field
The lesson being learned,
When going round a bend
Trying to pick up a ciggie
Can cause unfortunate end.
It seemed all quite peaceful
In an ending somehow right
To what had been a memorable
And very worthy long Stag Night.
Deciding to respond to
The penetrating shout
Of are you all alright
We decided to climb out.
Good Lord but I’m chuffed
This beery voice said
I saw you jump the hedge
And I though you were dead.
We stood around a while
For a laugh and a joke
Each one of us enjoying
A much needed smoke.
Can I give you a lift he said
It’s the least I can do
I can’t wait for the police
‘Cos I’ve been drinking too.
A country road mid 1960’s
A cold and bitter night
Isolated and deserted and
Not a person or house in sight.
No such things as mobile phones,
No real need for the police to know
So by mutual consent we decided
It was a good time as any for us to go,
So he drove us back to Bert’s place
Which wasn’t really very far
And Bert had to wake and tell his dad
That he’d gone and crashed his car.
I dig a spur of the moment
into the feral flanks of a rocking horse.
I belong to the stars
and the wide-open anywhere.
My heart belongs to Molly Maguire
a colleen from the low bog country.
No wait, this is a dream sequence
brewed to overflow at 3 in the morning.
The beery light is turning sour
as I check my watch for tics.
My problem is to many cookies
not the edible kind
the kind that clog up a computer
or a brain (same thing really).
When I struggle out of this muddled bed
I am going to get myself a deep scan,
clean up some dirty memories
so that I can plug into a sharper faster reality.
Might even rewrite this poem
into a clearer form of gibberish,
but will probably be too busy today
downloading a spinal cord
into my aching
and malfunctioning mainframe.
In a London pub fingers idly play with place mats.
Wonder-lust had led them back to where they assumed they had first met.
She recalled a local vicinity a basement rathskeller, he a country Inn;
cork mats slid under wet rings.
"Do you remember meeting me at all?"
He had to readjust himself into a time and zone that once existed
in her reality but could not locate that shared location.
After much hazy thought, he replied:
There were a lot of people, you were one in a crowd. I felt your hand
in mine, and that was the beginning.
We backpacked around Europe then I led you back
to this packed tavern where place mats
are soaked in the beery residue of uncertain endings.
I brag of being in the garden, jogging there each day,
It swings a haptic brunt on both, form and the prey.
My scrutiny was utterly borne by a sparkle to glow,
The delight arose to be shouting to my show.
Everyone, whatever of gains, merits to be beery.
Lovers to bear what they envy and admit their beauty.
Never yield up and learn how to rise after a wreck.
Mingle in public areas, the globe is your issue trek.
Never dash a soul; words have power to vary and harm.
Show a smirk to all faces, aid those in need of psalm.
By pursuing your lust, you may risk a life of dream.
You relish one life; savor before it melts as ice cream.
Build abiding minds and live a joyful life graciously.
Till that day nears, we all can rest at night quietly.
Written: March 15, 2022
Living Light Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Morning newsprint
Wet soaking rain;
Bleak news today
~~~~~~~~~
Play school kids
Stare as I pass;
Curious eyes follow
~~~~~~~~~
New age cakery here
Exquisite creations;
Addictive morsels
~~~~~~~~~
Beggar in rags
Face soiled and weary;
Pleads for a meal
~~~~~~~~~
Our society is well-fed
Yet the poor abound;
Poverty of all sorts
~~~~~~~~~
Molasses and coconut cream
Desserts that enchant;
Another round please
~~~~~~~~~
Evening rain pours
Run for cover;
Temporary refuge
~~~~~~~~~
Worst case scenario
Business venture fails;
Try again later
~~~~~~~~~
Cheers!
One for the road;
Beery ways steer
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
11 February 2015
Singapore
Sitting upside down in the car
On its roof and well concealed
By the hedge it just leapt to
Land upside down in this field
The lesson being learned
When going round a bend
Trying to pick up a ciggie
Can cause unfortunate end
It seemed all quite peaceful
In an ending somehow right
To what had been a memorable
And very worthy Stag Night.
Deciding to respond to
The penetrating shout
Of are you all alright
We decided to climb out.
Good Lord but I’m chuffed
This beery voice said
I saw you jump the hedge
And I though you were dead.
We stood around a while
For a laugh and a joke
Each one of us enjoying
A much needed smoke.
Can I give you a lift he said
It’s the least I can do
I can’t wait for the police
‘Cos I’ve been drinking too.
A country road mid 1960’s
A cold and bitter night
Isolated and deserted and
Not a person or house in sight.
So he drove us back to Bert’s place
Which wasn’t really very far
And Bert had to wake and tell his dad
That he’d gone and crashed his car.
A good solid early1960’s model
And although we got a bad fright
I think that’s what helped us all survive
The rigours and vigours of Bert’s Stag Night
I think I am an oxymoron
quite different but the same.
Understanding less is more
Subdued, yet can’t be tamed.
I’ll split in two while being whole
ditzy and still brainy.
Make many plans without a goal
be sad while being zany,
Have champagne taste with beery purse
find ugly very pretty.
Feel really blessed that I’m so cursed
quite stupid when I’m witty.
You see, there’s more than one of me
sometimes I’m up when down.
Politely rude when wrong but right
Show then a smiling frown.
Clearly confused, I know I am
more forward than behind.
Get close to you while staying free
be stingy when I’m kind.
Loud silence lets me contemplate
and dream when I’m awake.
To keep in front, I must backdate
my words, just give or take.