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.
One Texan day, a man close to his prime,
sat down on a curb beside a tree.
It was an empty street; there was no crime
nor danger anywhere that he could see.
But suddenly, the world he knew would cease to be.
He’d lived a goodly life and sacrificed
to leave his home and get a law degree.
If there were a man I knew with attributes of Christ,
he would be that man, for the epitome
of someone with great love and compassion was he.
I know this because he was my brother,
and within our somewhat crazy, blended family,
I would have to say there was no other
among us all who worked so tirelessly
to be a friend to all while meeting all his goals. Ah, life’s finality!
He was on the threshold of his dream to practice law.
Then out of nowhere, as he sat there on that empty street,
the headlights of a drunk kid’s car he saw
barreling down on him. My brother Dale, so sweet,
was – in an instant- gone, for life sometimes can so unfairly fleet.
Written Oct. 19, 2016
for Broken Wings' Words Drowned In Tears Poetry Contest
Old Zack Adams sits a slouch’n so sloppy drunk on a bar-room stool,
Wear’n his cheap-threaded cowboy suit and a stained satin shirt.
All the while a peek’n and a leer’n at women like an old poor fool,
But think’n man tonight—Oh Boy, I’m really gonna hit the pay dirt!
Old Zack in this small Texas town is reputed to be quite a lecherous hoot,
As he raucously and recklessly rolls old worn quarters into the slot
Of the old bar-room Wurlitzer while snicker’n and smil’n to boot,
And plays his tearful and twangy jerk-water music while smil’n a lot!
Old Zack is this town’s “Jukebox Gigolo,” a real lover boy—Oh Boy!
He wears his patched cowboy hat and his scuffed silver-studded boots,
Meant to impress young girls and bar-fly floozies who have the Joy!
Of being with this bewildering, withered, weathered man and his boots.
Old Zack has a fad’n recollection of events and a silver mane of hair,
With a cigarette in his hand and cuss’n like a nasty little stable boy,
He downs whiskey shots and tequila seconds like no tomorrow on a dare,
While chas’n whiskey glass ice cubes and the tequila worm—being so coy.
Old Zack while a swigg’n down his whiskey mucho fast and direct,
He has now that blind courage to fight or to love—whichever is first,
While the old Wurlitzer resonates a rueful hick song for a teary effect,
But Old Zack can’t move now for this song has him sobb’n the very worst.
Old Zack with his nicotine-whiskey breath and his pockmarked face,
Personifies the image of an ideal loser of a man—with problems all,
While fight’n, scream’n, and punch’n others to gain some precious space,
He’s a showcas’n his reservoir of manly prowess—with problems all.
Old Zack was young once and not so wild, withered, weathered like now,
And he thought he was a really smart dude—all right moves and all,
But was really a man act’n far above his funny fake smart brow,
And now a cry’n on his bar-room stool and act’n like a fool before a fall.
Old Zack Adams—alcoholic as he truly is and sly and slick as a Texas fox,
Is not really so good with his women friends nowadays—for his real talent
Is in roll’n those old worn quarters pieces one-by-one into the old Jukebox,
Sing’n—“I’m the Jukebox Gigolo”—“a Drunk and a Delight,” that’s real talent!
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (October 7, 2014)
(Rhymed Quatrain)
something tragic
happened to the girl
no one knows what
she began to write poetry
no one knows why
bluebirds turned into ravens
ships sunk in calm harbors
men turned overnight
into monsters
she wrote about her daddy
the secret Nazi of Martha’s Vineyard
her mother the drunk
her brother the skunk
dark revelations hammered words
and drooled like Pavlovian dogs
she became famous
for being overwrought
chained as she was
to her poetics arts
of course she had always
planed her ending
old poets are the first
to be forgotten
but the young -
the put upon
they live on
to rattle our cages
through the ages
Not to be confused with Double Dutch which is no longer deemed
Politically Correct,
Or gobbledegoop which could be associated with goblins and witchcraft which
would make it unsuitable for religious folk,
Gibberish is now being learned by every nation on earth.
The cheif advantage of learning to speak gibberish is that nobody realy
understands it,
So it is hard to be held accountable for what you have said.
Gibberish is also now becoming the preferred written language worldwide.
Again you will not be held accounatble for something so open to
misinterpretation.
To obatain a masters degree in gibberish, you will need to learn about codes,
As you don't want your gibberish to be too consistant,
Or someone might be able to work out what you are saying and you could be
held accountable.
Another advantage of learning gibberish is that you won't have to forego that Extra drink, as drunk or sobre it will always be gibberish.
The more gibberish you produce the more people will respect you as
worldly and wise.
You will aslo make it easy for non gibberish speakers to interpret your orders in Ways that will let them get on with whatever they are doing without fear of
being held accountable.
A word of caution however, don't take too long to learn to speak gibberish or
You could be the last person except for the Queen to be understood and she has diplomatic immunity,
So you will be it, I am afraid, unless you sign up now at a very low price
to learn basic gibberish.
The sun rose in the west today – or, perhaps, I was standing on my head?
I went to a funeral for my very best friend, but the chap wasn’t even dead!
Said he wanted to be eulogized while drinking a pint of beer.
I think the things we said about him, weren’t exactly what he wanted to hear.
“He was, or is, an egotistical old bastard – doesn’t surprise me in the least,
that he wants to attend his own funeral service – God, what a horrible beast!”
And that, my friends, was from his Mom; the best friend a boy ever had.
“When finally they put his body in the ground, I think we’ll all be glad.”
Egad!
Global warming took a holiday, as the snow piled up real high;
that bugger for whom we passed the plate, took out his wooden eye.
The casket was full of cold cuts;
The bartender doubled as the priest;
I took another shot of tequila,
while the sun started setting in the east.
The ladies started undressing;
my organ started to rise;
I played Beethoven’s “Requiem”,
with it pointing to the skies.
The only tears that were shed today belonged to the corpse who was still alive –
His ex wife sang that old Gloria Gaynor tune, “You know, I will survive!”
The next time he throws a party for himself,
I think he’ll choose a different theme –
And maybe the people who come and get drunk
won’t be so awfully mean!
By Phan Tan Hai
Raising the cup—lips already warm,
the tongue still tingling as we laugh and go.
Tomorrow’s winds may rage—what of it?
Hair once green now silver, we wager life and fate.
I wander through mountains, my brow touched by green peaks;
in every distant city, clouds still drift.
Under the moon I laugh and ask—tell me,
does blood tonight carry the fragrance of wine?
Tilting the cup, the wine spills down my hand;
drunk, I repay a thousand wild waves
for the childhood days they stole.
Laughing aloud, I ask—are you drunk yet?
I am drunk for a thousand lifetimes
on the shore between life and death.
Roaming through this dusty, mistaken world,
our oath-wine mixed with blood beneath the moon.
At midnight I call the mountains and rivers to rise—
the celestial steed returns, hooves ringing in moonlight.
Where did my Jesus go
The one I loved so long ago
I wonder if he’s still around
I wonder if he can be found
As a child, in my youth
Jesus used to be the truth
Everything was black and white
Jesus taught me wrong from right
As the world passed me by
The flash of life caught my eye
And was my Jesus there
Couldn’t find him anywhere
I saw the way our lives were run
I saw the way that things got done
I wondered if Jesus was there
Wondered if he could even care
Couldn’t find him in the bank
Or lying drunk in the tank
Jesus are you at the bar
Or riding in a police car
Crazy dreams come in my head
Got to thinking Jesus dead
Then I looked around to see
If he was really part of me
Black and white turn shades of gray
Jesus lives for one more day
He ain’t dead, at least in part
He’s living right here in my heart
===============================================
“A land not mine, still forever memorable, the waters of its ocean chill and fresh. Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk, and the air drunk, like wine, late sun lays bare the rosy limbs of the pinetrees. Sunset in the ethereal waves: I cannot tell if the day is ending, or the world, or if the secret of secrets is inside me again.” - Anna Akhmatova
Enter a mysterious world as deep as a sea or an ocean -
The plane upon which spirits or ghosts most likely dwell.
Heaven it may not be, yet it summons a blissful emotion.
Exquisite is its beauty. The sweetest flowers have its smell.
Romance can be defined as this when love is sublime.
Extremely delicate, it could be an angel’s voice.
As a poet, you may submerge your soul in its wondrous rhyme.
Like a vision it might linger – if it be your choice.
Twilight off darkness
opening past scars entering
into those violated by unpleasant dreams
Dumped in a canal left for dead
trailed through a wooded area an unknowing victim
tortured for hours without mercy or shame
I prayed to God to save me
with all the strength that he gave me
charging these vile beasts
falling to the ground broken
I fell in my last fight for life
Dumped where no one would find me
tears falling inside a labyrinth
raping over and over again this mind
Ghosts appear knowing no bounds
dark suckling on a soul's blood
I saw myself lying in the water dead
nothing seemed real it all felt dreamlike
without pain praying in my dream
awakening to awful unbearable pain
A day had passed
I awoke legs and body under water
In such aches tearing into my being
to see the Devil's own dancing drunk
torturing me trying to break my legs
casting me lower than an animal
the smell of fear ripping at the heart and soul
Lips hanging apart such a nightmare
one eye almost out off the socket
I roared to the Heaven's crying
oh God look what they have done to me
hours it took to trail myself to safety
One kneecap was off the joint
the agony was unreal caked in blood
trailed myself to safety passed out
awakening in hospital
doctors said it was a miracle 79 internal bruises on ex-rays missing vital organs by small fractions they said judging by your injuries I was left for dead then they thought i would loose my sight as my iris was damaged thanking God I am still alive I am writing my book called the Irishman's hell for 5 weeks of hell I ate with a straw it was this month many years ago this happened something has brought it all back
I had to get away from home as far as I possibly could.
His life was mine and my life was his, but now he's gone.
Never again to be tightly embraced and held close to my chest.
An accident, a drunk driver, and suddenly my life is forever changed.
We were newlyweds poised for a life of excitement and pure happiness.
But instead, I've been given a lingering lump in my throat and a broken heart. Needing some relief at the beach, I drove nearby to the warm waters of the Atlantic. After a while, I could no longer endure the warm tides when all I have is a cold heart. So I boarded a plane and flew to the west coast where the Pacific waters are cold. At least there was some similarity with the waters and the coldness I was feeling. I know that time will bring change from this awful pain, but for now, I will stare at the cold tides. I will allow wave after wave of cold waters to chill my feet till I am ready to move on and not before. Until then, I shall tune in to the rhythm of the tides as the waters rush in and out of the shores with signals of peace and reassurance flowing into this heart of mine. And then, I will return to the warm coastal waters where my tragedy began, and move on with my life. There, I will anticipate positive circumstances and experience renewal as God allows the warm waters to heal my broken heart.
11022018PoSoupContest, Best Free Verse of Nov., '18, Lu Loo,11292018) Tell Me A Story 2, Brenda Chiri; Picture #2, Woman on the beach; 4P