Long Guzzled Poems
Long Guzzled Poems. Below are the most popular long Guzzled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guzzled poems by poem length and keyword.
The morning sun’s oppressive; a nasty b*tch in heat on Rizal Avenue,
Where vendors hawk their cigarettes, baloot, and dog meat barbecue.
The jeepneys buzz the intersection like a hornet’s nest,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Olongapo is waking. Magsaysay Drive gives up its dreams.
It’s six AM in Subic Bay, Republic of the Philippines.
A sailor slouches back to base, hung over and depressed,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
His head is stuffed with sawdust. His mouth’s as dry as peanut shells.
Last night he guzzled mojo on top of all those San Miguels.
At midnight he responded to the curfew’s harsh request,
But it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since he’s been stateside, a year since he’s been home.
Just another duty station, and another port to roam.
When he hears a stand-up comic, he reacts indifferently;
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
He’d picked a girl named Cora, and booked an air-conditioned room.
He’d paid her fifty pesos to revel in her raw perfume.
He spoke a few Tagalog words, but she was not impressed,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
He held her like he knew her; embraced her warm skin tenderly.
His dreams were of Missouri; his nightmares, of the open sea.
He’d found a lonely refuge with his hand upon her breast,
And it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
A new day brings its promise of beauty and of poverty;
Of cockfights in the province, and monkeys in the mango tree,
But Subic is a working port, and work must be addressed.
Still, it’s quiet down the mountain once the stone has come to rest.
Been a year since she divorced him; a year since she’s been gone,
Just another disappointment, and another West Pac dawn.
If he laughs, it’s nothing funny; it’s the sound of irony.
He lost his sense of humor on the South China Sea.
And that chip upon his shoulder’s like that ancient, fabled boulder;
He’s a victim of his own mythology.
Taxicab driver
Midnight rates apply;
Moonlight serenade
Tipsy bar crashers
Stepping out;
Cigarette break
Alcohol buffet
Free flow of beer;
Sorrows guzzled
Chit-chat combat
Happy hour banter;
Bartering progress
Too much stress
Nobody seems to know;
Things will be better
Complaints collide
Bar time gripes;
Bad bossy boss
Pain in the neck
Grumpy buffalo;
Home on the range
End of day
Work retreats;
Until tomorrow cheers
Profound exchange
Gin and tonic;
Alcoholic beverage
More and more
Of less and less;
Vodka and coke
Watering hole
Midnight Saturday;
Party till the last drop
Drop dead gorgeous
After six smoothies;
Tipsy compliance
Leon Enriquez
08 June 2014
Singapore
McGee sat in the corner of the local pub
With a puzzle laid out on a table
He had worked on it, fitting the pieces
When he had time and was able
Tonight was the night and it happened like this
That McGee was to realize his goal
He stood up and cheered so all there could hear
As he pushed the last piece in the hole
"I've done it" He said, and lifted his glass
To guzzled the rest of his beer
And paused for a sec, to challenge the mob
To attempt what he had accomplished right there!
Silents ensued for a moment or two
'Till an Englishman said in a heat
"It looks Like a hundred pieces or so,
How long did it take to complete"
"Two month ten days" McGee proudly boasted
The man spied the puzzle and said
"It should have only taken a week"
Then sat down shaking his head
"Two months ten days" Repeated McGee
As if he had won the World Cup
Then held up the box read what it said
"Right here it says 2yrs and up"!
The interview went nowhere.
He just refused to answer.
Avoiding every question
Like a crazed Flamenco dancer.
He always left everybody wanting more
As he tiptoed his way out of the door.
It’s typical, he told me
As he guzzled down his coffee,
That the rhythm and the music
At an early age had caught me.
And he hummed a little tune from yesteryear
That was trapped all this time inside his ear.
That could’ve been me, I think,
If I never had a drink.
They’d be handing me awards like so much candy
That could’ve been me, I bet,
But much to my regret
I never made it past the first floor landing…
The evidence is out there,
If you search a little bit.
But in looking for the Truth
You never know just what you’ll get.
He said, wisdom doesn’t always come with years
But you think about it more as the end nears.
I should have been a diver
But my life was spent just wading.
And with every year that passes
There’s another dream that’s fading.
It’s always sad to think what might have been
But there’s no use going over it again…
That could’ve been me, I know
If I’d just got up to go.
There’d be fame and fortune lying at my feet.
That could’ve been me, it’s true
But what can you really do?
I never really learned how to compete.
A chronological anthology
Of legends, folk lore and mythology
There’s no one called Eric
Or Ethel or Derek
For which I shall make no apology
Samson just got himself sheared
Delilah had cut off his beard
She cut off his hair
Then headed ‘down there’
And cut off far more than he’d feared
The Romans detested Boudicca
She never would be a boot licker
That feared Celtic lass
Stuck a spear up their a.s.s
And that made them march a bit quicker
According to legend and fable
Merlin was slightly unstable
His spell came apart
So ‘a wheel for a cart’
Turned into a bloody great table
In years gone by Lady Godiva
Had no car... she wasn't a driver
No licence of course
But show her a horse
She'd whip off her kit for a fiver
Robin Hood’s men were all merry
They'd guzzled a flagon of Sherry
With Marion pissed
Young Robin got kissed
And then they got all missionary
A fella who’s called Calvin Klein
Is a legend in his own time
Those rich city slickers
Wear Calvin Klein knickers
But wouldn't be seen dead in mine
But stand aside Canute and Midas
For legends still amble beside us
Not witch nor soothsayer
Nor some Dragon slayer
But mortals who get rid of Spiders
Perchance it’s your husband or wife
Who acts without sabre or knife
They might be an Eric
Or Ethel or Derek...
(And might be in fear of their life).
Contest: Your favourite legend
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
27 February 2020
Running on cliff edges cranked her adrenalin
Stagger of gravels' release, tipped in avalanche
Scared her terrifically, able to surrendour then
Driven to dare's taunt irresistible, emancipated
Victims of her craft came willingly to her dim den
Always too enthused, wiped smiles with debauchery
Fools drooled like puppies, helpless lap belt men
Guzzled foggy grape juice, succumbed to her sorcery
Smoothly blended purple potion contained correct mix
Floppy neck despondent combined tiger voracious
Aphrodite's ribs thronged with rotten achievement, a fix
Light in guy's terrified faces fed her climb solacious
Absolute conquer of weakened ones, without any speech
Gleam in their pupil huge grape gluttoned eyes, pleadingly
Waist up incapable, claimed her pleasure self beseeched
Entire body force in their groins satiated men immediately
Squared claws clamped concave flanks, rose from exhale
Her wearer's temperature sat at forty degree celcius fever
Tigers never went down without a fight, Aphrodite impaled
Traipsed her way stickily to the tip, slide down took forever
Lame, head spin sickened, next hour's lure gladly drags
Fish lipped flung fellow to her front yard, under a shrub
Sombre, cynical, sneer mouth man, her true rival, perhaps
- maybe Aphrodite would let this one remain undrugged
13th September 2020
I had a dream to dissolve my body
Into harmony and song.
Not to be appraised course or consequence,
But the ecstasy for which I long.
I’d seen sparks pique, however, now they taunt
Ere each breath, each glare guts me.
I’ve been left to wonder, will passion pass,
Or will destiny cage the free?
Physical facades that guzzled my breath—
I loathed am’rous transactions—
Abandoned me gasping, grasping for air.
Throttled, I lay in satisfaction.
For today I gazed on as swarms of flies
Amassed stale, dead to the floor
Induced, I grin, inhale seriatim
Plaguing every lung, every pore.
For salt and terror could never hatch wood,
And doors are never undone.
Time festered and birthed a derisive spring
Which befell the immolated sun.
He stumbled in, as drunk as sin
with a limp and a nose full of red
He ordered cheap gin, and the blood dripped in
As he raised the drink to his head
He sat on the stool,and the drops formed a pool
He could feel all the eyes on his back
He guzzled the fuel, but he kept his cool
As he loaded the balls in the rack
He straigtened his gaze, yet still in a haze
and challenged the room to a game
Then through the maze, with a cigeratte blaze
The surly stranger came
His face was stone, He walked alone
With a beer and a black leather case
with a cue of his own, his cover was blown
On his wrist a tatoo of an ace
He said "I'll take", and he put up his stake
The lushes all gathered around
With a half hearted shake they flipped for the break
While the bartender poured out a round
The stranger broke, with a solid stroke
And down fell the four and the three
This guy was no joke, then he pinched from his poke
and cried out "the next one's on me"!
Ear to Ear grins, as they swilled down that gin
In this stranger, a hero they'd found
They cheered him to win, as he knocked those balls in
they cheered for another free round
He had it won, yes all but one
The eight was final ball
The table run, the lushes stunned
When that sphere refused to fall
Clinching his fist, shocked by his miss
He glared across the table
Like a ship in list from drunken bliss
to stand he was barely able
That drunk cracked a smile, for he knew all the while
That he only needed one chance
In appearance so vile, yet he shot with style
That Gin put him into a trance
His vision was blurred, he mumbled and slurred
Yet to win he would need just one more
And so much as a word, could not be heard
That stranger just stared at the floor
Well he sank that ball, and won it all
and he yelled with a bellowing groan
"before last call just one more tall
And the lushes can all buy their own!"
Before golden opportunity
(goes no argh hue mint
the way of Long John Silver)
doth fade and dwindle
not necessarily cuz the missus
did (NOT) bribe and swindle
an ambition (for nor rhyme nor reason)
arose to kindle...
Affectionate communication
employing (figurative) gambol
probably testing your patience
to decrypt me trademark ramble
essential crux of matter after
ye prune thorny verbiage,
metaphorical berry good bramble.
Methinks yar psyche slid into funk
cuz usual upbeat gregarious disposition
of late (June 26th, 2020)
analogous to reclusive monk
whose nonverbal body language
shrieks "LEAVE ME THE ƒµ©* ALONE"
lest recipient (in this case yours truly)
receives judicious suckerpunch
finding him landing - ouch
on his buttucks - kerplunk!
Nevertheless as one
mister misanthrope to another
who could pretend cavorting
as asinine make bull heave brother,
(or undergoing extreme makeover,
and stretching imagination voila
one garden variety generic beastie boy
rendered into... yup, your grandmother.
Hoop fully no unpleasant memory
doth suddenly unfold
linkedin to said very old
boot (moost likely)
long deceased family member
turned to dust commingled with auld
Lang syne amidst weathered tombstones,
markedly intact skeletons absent
any flesh o'the rear
some etched with hands folded in prayer
mausoleum enshrining even in death near
(think grim reaper kingly leer)
still provoking jeer
profligate (yet prolific) paperback writer heir
housing generations ghostly forebear
comprising your family tree, once... dear
father, mother, sister, brother, et cetera
who profusely guzzled beer.
No intent to induce fury if playful banter
loosed psychological trip wire
merely harmless ambition to deliver mirth
lobs strike out as decided
by just now summoned umpire
on the ball punning away without tire
greatly flattered if literary antics inspire
ye to pen memoirs,
which become New York Times
bestseller, thus countless clamoring demands
to serve as ghostwriter hire
prompt ye with fame and fortune
before thee doth exhale last breath and expire
when moments prior,
I while impersonating a squire
wished ye a cheery bon voyage.
Come sit upon my deck, it is covered
with birdsong; bedecked in peace.
Come tarry; let me pour a warm beverage
of chocolate, tea or coffee. Listen
to the tweets, twitters, bird-sweets.
Come sit close, listen to nothing at all,
but the peace between two friends.
We will wait, we will watch for a.m. deer.
Quietly, we sit, side by side, as the sun
gives rise, reveling in God’s mercy -
day by day, with Summer bare feet,
sound mind, promise of newness.
Come sit, as friends do, then eventually,
their lips part with a passing remark.
Nothing cool or wise, just a soothing tone,
that lets the silent world know there’s life.
Quietude trains, it is painted with rain
and wildlife. Come, as the cool of morning,
touches a heart of flesh and pink pyjamas.
Come, as I sip my two-serving cup of peace
and quiet, whistles, hooting, no hollering.
There’s an occasional chirp, rarely a deer.
Here’s hoping. Yesterday, I spied one alone,
who hid behind a tree, momentarily, though
it did not see me. Come, I say, come. I watch.
We’d watch, or talk, or both. Perhaps, I’ve said
too much. Let’s listen, as my skin steams,
from my guzzled caffeine. Birds dance before me.