Long Drunk Poems
Long Drunk Poems. Below are the most popular long Drunk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drunk poems by poem length and keyword.
The Grinch lies exhausted at the North Pole;
tired of chasing drunk reindeer from his still.
And he's sure to be lectured by Santa;
as if it's his fault, they lick up the spill.
He thinks Santa should ride a pickup truck;
who uses reindeer and a sleigh these days?
And his cookbook, titled "How To Serve Deer,"
well, that could be taken in many ways.
It's boring acting traditionally;
a little mischief adds spice to his pluck.
But elves don't appreciate his genius,
like greasing Santa, so he won't get stuck.
Today, youngsters are much more food-conscious;
spinach and beef jerky are nutritious.
And therefore, why all the hullabaloo;
so what if candy is more delicious?
Santa, you see how it's not all his fault;
for he's being the best Grinch he can be.
And he wonders if, maybe this year, you'd
leave him a gift under the Christmas tree.
Have mercy...
It will set you free
Truth be told
I have been cold
Numb to the touch
Can’t get enough
Have mercy...
It will set you free
Lies unfold
I have been old
Before my time
Time for me to shine
Because I forgive you, bro
I do though...you know?
Glimmer like the glistening glow of the moon
Shimmer like the blissful blessings of the afternoon
Drugs and alcohol in the air, happily without a single care
Lifting our hands in the air - no more dealing with despair
I don’t care if they look or judge
There’s a way to love your enemies and hold no grudge
Have mercy on me...
That is my only plea
Set me free from despondency
A spell I’ve been in for a century
Decades and decades of dealing with strife
Has made me feel numb and dumb all my life
I realize that I’ve been drunk a little and stupid
Get rid of the pity that’s in my heart and goodbyes I’ll never bid
Hello to happiness
Goodbye to sadness
There will be no more violence or sorrow
There will be a new and brighter Tomorrow
Have mercy on me,
But reap what you sow
The would-be nun
She was a strange-looking woman, tall and very white
in a country with plenty of sun, she also adored wine.
She often told me after sex, her first choice in life was
to become a nun, but when she went to bed with her
first husband, she lost this choice, yet the dream was
still on her mind.
One day when we were driving in the countryside, we
came upon a small village church, the door was closed
but we found a side door open.
The church had a nice interior with lots of gilded angels
and green tapestry, she lit a candle and said her prayers
then kissed me hungrily.
By the alter we made love, she had sex with something
else in her head, I was just the instrument to her intense
obeying of her inner lover.
When driving back home, she was reserved and
didn’t say anything something, weighty occupied her
mind; no, she would let me enter her house.
Later she rang and called off our relationship
she had her faith, and God had forgiven her ultimate sin.
Presumably, the sex in the church.
A year later, I met her at the supermarket’s parking
a lot, she wore a long skirt reaching to her ankle and
a blouse covering her arms, and a big silver cross
I assumed she had bought it at a trinket store.
In her mind, she had her wish she was now a nun.
With great dignity, she walked to her car, a white
Datsun, when she bent to open the door, her legs
buckled, she fell to the ground.
She was so very, very drunk.
Why is it:
we plant gardens
but we garden plants?
we call natural medicines drugs
and we call unnaturally produced drugs medicines?
we label our disease-addicted corporate-insurance complex
a humane "health care system"?
we prefer fetal alcohol syndrome, pickled livers, and dead drunk outcomes
to THC induced probable failure to ever develop yet another over-yanged Type A personality,
with an antisocial proclivity for sprouting pickled livers and other deadly outcomes?
we tend to respond to uninvited Type B personality invitations
with Type A fully-alert personalities,
yet we respond to uninvited Type A demands
with Type B laissez-faire, neglect, and cognitively hypnotized languishing?
the older our nation grows
the younger our culture appears to prefer?
we pay more and more to elect politicians
who produce positive economic priorities and outcomes less and less?
the louder and longer I persist in persuading you of my wisdom
the shorter and softer grows your attention span
and capacity to hear me?
we produce prodigious amounts of dispossession destined for the trash
yet we seldom intend to ever possess and take ownership of our future trash?
Business As Usual economists respond to eco-logical health
as if their home eco-nomial turf were some alien crazy wealth?
domineering competitive Business As Usuals
fail to see we are a sustainable cooperative economy's
most significant source for disinvestment
away from Earth design health
and resilient development wealth?
we seldom have enough time to notice and appreciate new places and faces
but we drag through ponderous time invested in the same ol' retiring spaces?
if some communication event between two people
is called a transaction
then we think "economics,"
but if some communication event between two non-humans
is called a relationship
then we think "ecology"?
that digital information is always binary
but polynomial information is not assumed to also flow binomially balanced?
we invest in gardening well-crowned edible and ornamental gardens
but we often find it prudent
to nationalistically divest
of co-evolving nutrition-rooted Earth?
It was late into the night
When Bert Ernie and I
Were traveling across the plans of Nebraska
Much to my surprise
Bert looks me straight in the eyes
And says Mike, I gotta question to ask ya
With Big Bird wrapped up in the trunk
You'd think that he'd already thunk
About this night long before it already happened
When we took Oscar the Grouches can lid
And whacked Big Bird smack dab in the head
Then tied him up tight while he was napping
We rolled him out to curb
Believe me it looked quite absurd
Ernie grunting with Bert complaining as feathers went flying
But as would be our fate
Able to make our planed escape
When Count Von Count took time out to do some feather counting
So this is now where we are
Bert, Ernie, Me, and Big Bird in the trunk of our car
Not really knowing where it is we are heading
Our thinking went only as far
As nabbing Big Bird and the get away car
Putting Ernie in charge wasn't such a good idea is what I am betting
Ernie says he's figured it all out
Bert says we need this, but still has his doubts
Cause Bert owes back pay alimony and Ernie his bookie
We head to Ernie's planed drop off spot
And of course it's swarming with cops
While our inside man " The Monster " gave us up for Cookies
They let Big Bird out of the trunk
Who proceeded to slap us punch drunk
Then straight to the judge to pay for this hideous crime
I can't think of any worse fate
I now know this was a fatal mistake
The sentence...
Banished to Sesame Street for life, now that is hard time
I am a child of God
I no longer drink from the bottle
I eat meat now that I’ve grown more in Him
Pass the plate gimme some more of them greens and beans please
I am a child of the King
My Father allows me too drink of His wine
Though I won’t indulge to drunk
I’m just drinking from His Holy cup
I am a child of thee Spirit
Of a Holy, Holy winds
Floating, enduring, flying
I am embraced in the wind
Holy Spirit come right on in
I am a child of Lamb
Wooly Wholly Lamb
No need to cut the fleece
I am complete being a HOLY Lamb of God
I no longer drink from the bottle
I eat vegetable now that I’ve grown more in Him
Pass the plate gimme some more of them greens and beans please
3/18/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2022©
Live like there’s no tomorrow,
Dance it like there’s no sorrow.
Sing songs like everything is endless,
Laugh things like you’re feeling breathless.
Live like there’s no tomorrow,
Hit hearts with your edgiest arrow.
Shout things out with shimmering spark,
Forget things in your duskiest dark.
Live like there’s no tomorrow,
Run hardly like no one sees your sow.
Get drunk like you won’t ever stay,
Play things like you ever want to slay.
Live like there’s no tomorrow,
Write poems in your rarest thorough.
Say things that you have never said,
Live life before things get it end.
London,
I can taste the cherries
rich red ripe
aching
for a predictive bite
savoured with much more than spice
warm mouths connect
and erect
in communion
in faith
consuming the richness of fate
but alas
It is too far off
my patience reclines
supine
my breath wafts through the air
enplaned upon your scent
chained to your walls
forbade to move at all
but I must
musk mystifies the wild
the deep
the prowl
the forest lay dark
but I shine light on the macabre
sacrosanct as it shall be
I am the power to be
an elixir in the entails of lust
held cross'd the chalice
where your waters are my wine
I drunk
and you the alter of attention
I can taste the cherries
in your Puritan pulse
pulling
I wander about
the mountains, the glory
my chains become yours
the locks not really locks
keys forged in trust
the fires rage and rage
water droplets seduce your chest
I stand in awe
undressed
I pass the woman, but when I meet her sad brown eyes,
Something godly stirs within me, and I sagely feel,
We have a vast spiritual connection, with no surprise
Heart demands for me to bring her a decent meal.
A youthful distressed whimper makes me look into a child’s face,
Adults pass him by, so I gently steer him to the front again,
It is clear to me, they have not noticed that he has lost his place.
He has been waiting awhile, can you see him now? I ask my cashier friend.
The disheveled man who requests money with a sign looks tired.
Others pass us by as I hand him my hidden dollars in my shoe.
Someone rudely mumbles that he might be drunk or wired.
I ignore their ignorance, knowing this situation could be them too.
What if my child needed a few dollars to get back home?
Would I want nay-saying strangers to treat her meanly and pass her by?
What would she do on the streets, alone at night? Where would she roam?
Is this part of why I am compassionate? Do I truly know why?
All I know is, when I am kind, I am a better and happier me.
All I can say is, when I am kind, my spirit angels are proud.
All I can tell you is, when I am kind, I feel that I am the best I can be.
The key thing, is, I do it, softly, not boastful, and certainly never loud.
Written 11-16-2018 Contest: A Little Kindness Never Hurts
Sponsor: Brenda Chiri
Broken Dreams
Tonight I´m happy and sorrowful
I refuse to cry over lost friends
I´m drunk as well.
It feels good to up the anchor of sobriety
let alcohol give wind to my sails.
A clipper buying tea in China
not useless plastic toys.
Sleek, the line and the women admired me.
Let the clipper sail.
I don´t care; I shall stay and make love to you.
I´m sorry I left my Liverpool girl
I went to Brazil to harvest coffee beans.
Guatemala, I got there by chance
a beach and moonlight.
I have not forgotten my promises
one day more, just one more day.
The clipper sailed to other shores
I never got to write
The poem of my life