Long Daiquiris Poems

Ode to the Madman

It was heaven in hell, both.
It was 115 degrees and I was in hell.
But heaven was in sweltering Palm Springs.
And I tasted nectar and ambrosia, both,
Under the dauntless palms.
I took in the...

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Momentary lapse of reasoning
behind exemplary seasonings 
give way to life's spicy habanero 
awesomesauce.
Life's seasoning of sweet-&-sour puckers
Sweet puckering of every souring breath.

Life's wicked stammer nailing it 
like a swift hammering blow 
squashing pinpoint accuracy.

Strawberry daiquiris...

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my first one spent in my birthday suit
warmed by a receiving blanket
after my tunnel chute

in my youth, gifts i remember —
small camera, parcheesi, Donny Osmond
album

i’d get to invite over
a special friend
for the night

i’ve had three...

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Taking my old Town-Car out for a little spin,
never suffer through rush hour traffic again.
Now we have time to see all those places we’ve never been,
baby I can’t wait for retirement to begin.

Me and my...

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I had a dream.
I don’t remember most dreams.

I was cleaning the floors of heaven.
It seemed a mixed blessing,
I was in heaven, after all
but I was cleaning the floors.

It was a part time job,
I knew that...

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Ironically, the "peace" you seek
I sought too
Only not in a dream
This is the reality I choose
Here, there are no "daiquiris"
Or "dancing"
No loveless romancing
No more chasing chances
Hoping that love enhances
In a heart that's bare
One that shows 
No...

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I have a friend who beats his chest 
Who thinks he's tough, an ego blessed 
He goes out clubbing, club in hand 
Neanderthal romance, clubber lang. 

He drinks banana daiquiris by the bowl 
Experiments with...

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Christie  MOSES is a great poetess.
Her pen  MOVES with great finesse.

For  her  MORES in poetic verse,
Are like  MOREL mushrooms immersed;

Sautéed  MOTEL hot delicacies; 
Ice cold  HOTEL chilled daiquiris....

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Natural 


Winter is ended now spring has begun

The birds and the bees are looking for fun

Days are now longer that winter is done

The best time of the year is yet to come

Some like the snow...

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“Something,” a compound
word, wondering why,
back in the early days,
I enjoyed it so, until
“serendipity” came along.

The “knock-knock,”
“who’s there?” “Surprise!”
The knockout of my voice,
the showering of my dishes,
the blending of daiquiris
and splendiferous guests.

Then the more potent,
poetic delight...

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I am in a saloon, where a blanket of glittering mist covers the floor, and where critics are shredded by Apache gunships at the door.  
Hemingway sits at one end of the bar, drinking...

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