Long Hangover Poems
Long Hangover Poems. Below are the most popular long Hangover by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hangover poems by poem length and keyword.
Monday morning comes alive with the piston train speeding by, thousands of people gather at the gate and crowd the platform before it was too late.
Monday morning full of passion with hangover lingering in the shower, a change of clothes and alcohol on breath the impatient driver is starving to death but a passenger was just in time to save his life with a mug of coffee, spicy donuts, and cinnamon bagel. He has an appetite as big as a lark and when his passenger emerges from the dark he flips the script.
Monday morning stumble through the street and the traffic and city sound disrupt my heart beat; business women and business men tunnel through the crowd and the vendors on the other side bellowing in the air selling merchandise in the early morning.
Everyone with conceited mind presses through the thick crowd and everyone talking very loud and even the quiet one expose his ambitions.
The crowd in the street began to swell and the small school bus and big trucks rubbing side by side speeding down the street trying to outdo one another and the children scream and shout and laugh out loud when the driver pull away from each other.
Cars and van honking their horn as the traffic converge at the stoplight and an impatient fellow came out of nowhere and speed through the crowd and collide in a big tree on the side of the road.
There you go again; the traffic lined up around the bend and
the cops were swift to pick up the dead and the traffic come to a standstill.
The ambulance began to shout with red lights blazing from the hill and busy nurses in the back resuscitating the deceased back to life but it was a feat on which destiny rely.
The traffic began to flow and a radiant light burst through the sky and lit up the entire street.
Across the distant the sound of the Piston train has completed the sixth round and destiny billows through the angry town.
It did not stop at the usual stops and the people were unhappy about that, but the train picks up the speed and continue to barreled down the street.
It got out of control and Monday morning began to roll and the piston train empty its contents in the bush and set ablaze.
And birds in the bushes gather around to give their condolences to the relics scattered on the ground and the Piston train broke in several pieces.
A dreaming man in the state of REM
sees the dream as a reality
rivers of thoughts like sparkling gems
reveling in his new found sanity.
hours ago, a dozen empty bottles
deafening music and cheesy sizzles
gagging from second hand smoke
rhetorical nagging, senseless jokes
laser lights blinding, dancing to tune
a guy signing, sounding like a croak
who was better off in the heat of the dunes
Staggering dizzily up steep stairs
without acrobatic skills of balance and grace
like in a masquerade with ladies all fair
behind his mask, the unseen face
drooling and smelling of alcohol
like in a trance at this dream ball
as dim lights lead to his abode
soft music playing in shuffle mode
eager for that soft fluffy pillow
to unburden all of the days load
into this dreamy soft silo
Rumbling snores fill the bunk
like thunder after the blinding bolt
deep into the sea of linen he is sunk
impervious even from a jarring jolt
closed eyes start to move and spin
like in a search that is to begin
falling , falling into deeper slumber
into a world far, far beyond yonder
played out by his own memories
a scene of a goose and a gander
replaying happy childhood stories
Splattering water drops in constant dripping
from a leaky rusty faucet
old china strewn in the sink, smelling
like a stale stiff baguette
while a cockroach enjoys the rich dinner
laid out in a gold rimmed platter
unmindful of the thundering snores
that sends minute tremors down the floor
munching, licking, chewing, gnawing…
eating his fill till he can eat no more
while others continue their wild feasting
As light beams transform dark to day
cutting through mists, reflecting in dew
heralded by songs of love birds at play
as the sweet smell of neighbors hot brew
sings along from a whistling pot
a morning harmony he never forgot
as he struggles up from bed
ringing in his ears, knocking in his head
dizzily dragging himself to the mirror
staring at eyes of blood shot red
as he strains to reach his trusted razor.
His hangover lasted for 3 hours to the dot
couldn’t get to work, so sheepishly he just sat
his job hanging from a thin thread
and a nagging that he hears in his head
round and round he swirls the stirrer
of the hot coffee and a piece of bread
he gingerly asked from his good old neighbor.
Should I go or should I stay
Should I run or should I walk
Should I open my door or should I close my door
Should I bloom or should I close my buds
Should I eat or should I starve
should I live or should I die
Should I laugh or should I cry
should I weep or should I mourn
Winter is still knocking on my door
And Spring is waiting in limbo.
I once dreamt of having a lovely Spring
To roll on the grass and inhale the sweet aroma
swirling in the wind from fresh blooming flowers
And climb on top of the hill and listen to
chirping birds dancing in the trees
While I reminisce the splendor of my youth
But this woeful nightmare kept lingering on.
The Gods are displeased with mankind's reprobate nature
Born evil, corrupt and permeate with anger
Uncultured and lack manners, shameless but full of pride
Stealing and deceiving one other in broad daylight.
Why should they halt this cold Winter to appease man's sinful nature?
To spread out their nasty bodies under his fresh Spring buds
Romancing on our beautiful beaches
And spewing vomit from last night's hangover.
The Gods are furious at mankind diabolic behavior
A disposition that has captivities the culture and has
provoked and haunt his friends and neighbors
We have been Kidnapped by strangers and surrounded by hostility
Extortioners threatening to call the officer if we don't deliver
Everyone wants something but don't want to do anything.
I must expel this negative energy from around me
and replace it with refreshing and productive energy
This toxic energy spreading like cancer
and causing suffering, pain and agony.
I must find a place that is balanced with love and harmony.
Big trucks wandering up and down the street but going nowhere
The mail van moving around but dropping off no mail
Food trucks traveling around in circle but delivering no food
Just cold air battering the trees and drying up the Blossom.
I must escape his prolonged and dreadful Winter
That has failed to warm my humble heart
A Winter that has stirred up so much anger
And have the people flattered and scattered
Mocked and scorned by their neighbors
While Spring is still waiting in limbo.
The graveyard was melting.
in the shadows of nightfall.
Darkness and death
are my fear my kryptonite.
Yet I walked into the iron gate
creaking like old bones.
I needed to find you
I know you lived here now.
I could feel our friendship still calling me?
In all the darkness I saw a light
a small flickering flame.
It was on your headstone.
I knew it was yours.
Your mother had lit a candle for you today.
I knelt down and kissed the granite
with your name?
Not in prayer
it was too late for that.
Only whispering “Hello my old friend”
quietly so no other ghost can hear me?
I tossed on a playlist from the old days.
And sat down for a chat like always.
Remember we were almost thirteen
We got detention for refusing to
Stop wearing black everything.
and wearing black lipstick?
We knew were special then
more than girlfriends
More than sisters
we were us forever.
We learned how to drink cheap wine.
Get drunk together and get over hangover.
You taught me to smoke
until I was green and sick.
Remember college we got out of that boring
Home town with a single traffic light.
We danced partied and learned sex?
Experimented with drugs it was crazy
I don’t know how we survived.
You were filled with hidden sickness
I was to the brim crazy.
But we did.
at twenty two we got better?
You moved away and I went home.
I heard you married a woman.
Why did you never tell me you were gay?
I would have married you in a heartbeat.
I called you to get together for a reunion.
Bring your wife I said?
But you were already
starting to leave this world.
I met a friend in coffee shop the other day.
She told me you were gone
I asked gone where?
She looked at the floor just GONE.
So here I am sweetie
Do you remember anything that day?
Except the sudden chest pain
The lack of oxygen.
Did you remember me?
That’s when my tears came
Wetting the granite stone.
You know I always have loved you.
And it’s just not the same in crazyville
without you.
As if in answer to me
The moon peeped from behind a cloud.
And shone onto us in a beam.
I kissed her farewell
And walked away into the darkness.
In light of good memory of how things were, a woman stands unguarded.
Pleasantries, talents, and secretive skills.
I offered to you a drink, allowing you in.
Thinking I had chosen carefully over 37 others. This vexed me.
Read and reread the commentary side-by-side distant eyes and sad smile.
Extracting honesty from typed remarks.
When our eyes met for the first time and you had a smile that broadened
As I drew nearer through a sea of hurrying people, just knowing that it was you.
You felt like home, like mother's sweetened tea.
Later, a little scared to let you drink from my cup, to be your rebound.
You did not hold back your ale, I let you lead.
That first drink of you that sip of your lips, melted the iciness of my demeanor.
My thirst for you consumed better judgement. Intoxication of the moment quinched by your touch.
Offered to you my liquid that sheltered liqueur. Wine housed away deep within me.
Robust when allowed to air. Poured out slowly not to be bruised.
Your skin, your touch like sweet cream. Pouring into me.
To you I poured back mead. Whispering softness in dim moonlight.
Delightful nothings in each others ears.
Trusting the sincerity of a drunken mind.
Rapture in sleeping with you the first in a long time.
The next morning you left the taste of vinegar in a short, curt kiss.
So now several days pass and nothing not a hint of you anywhere.
I ask for closure you respond with the crux of the matter.
Hurtful this declarative statement of wanting to taste test more.
Almost more than I can bare. Though i did not mind being the mouth wash,
Removing the bitter taste of a day old tequila from your palate.
The aspirin for this hangover of past drunkenness.
Codependency in a relationship to this drink.
But that was not how I advertised myself.
You did not follow directions and warning labels.
More to the point, that was my lot in this sell in our path of life.
How we should meet, and offer coffers to one another.
Now I close this cask, and my cellar save what is left for another.
For I am not a lady who can stomach cheap beer and the after taste of malted hops.
8/3/21
When I get drunk I smoke THC like a chain smoker
Never been able to stay sober
A new day and hangover
Stand in the way and it's game over
It's time I take over
These fools can't even play poker
All they care about is their Range Rover
Burn 'em down with a flamethrower
Then follows a strange odor
Dagnabbit
On this planet
At times, I nearly had it
Sick of always being an addict
And such pitiful habits
You'd think I have on a strait jacket
Tearing at the very fabric
Of reality during a Black Sabbath
There's constant racket
And endless havoc
Eventually we all end up in the casket
That's just a given an automatic
Don't be a chicken
And always panic stricken
As of today, nothing safe from being off-limits
It could soon be forbidden
In this odd world we live in
I was able to fit in
Yet I didn't
I don't like religion
Or history because half of it could be fiction
I try to see it all with crystal clear vision
Easier said than done, the same can be said for wisdom
It's global, not just here to Great Britain
There's always competition
And shady politicians
As well as brain washing on the television
This is not no superstition
Or just my intuition
It's going beyond that, regardless of if you listen
A lot of good in the world was overridden
There's more than meets the eye, therefore something's hidden
Meanwhile the plot continues to thicken
Like a diamond in the rough, I glisten
Always completing my mission
Yet no luck with women
To this day
It's sad to say, and the cause of much dismay
No I'm really not okay
Like anyone
I just wanted to be loved
When push came to shove
I turned to drugs
And always got a full mug
Now I'm always numb
And hum to the beat of my own drum
Not proud of what I've done
A lot of which has been dumb
I admit at times when I was young
I was a bum
And often glum
Now I have come from
A long way and then some
At time I can be one
Hell of a son of a gun
Continually I've dug
It was all for none
Ugh
I can't continue to shove under the rug
I need a lot more than a hug
Or a juug
Off another plug
All the others row the boat slow while I crank up the motor....
Here we go let's start the show, I'm the show boater.
The entrance of the eminent,
with ability that's evident.
Poo fills your pants
as you now know you haven't a chance.
I've had it with those who flow with a transparent talent,
the thumpy clumpy rhyme and rhythm of an elephant,
regardless of their age they should think about retirement,
as a skill that's transparent is a skill that they haven't.
I'm the standard setter and I lack compassion,
my skills unmeasured and better than the competition.
Your rhymes are rotten,
that's why they're forgotten,
you're not the dogs bollocks
you're just the dogs bottom.
I rhyme with a rhythm representing Great Britain,
you rhyme like you've been bitten and are disease ridden.
My hyperactive mind will leave you behind,
I am not being unkind but simple minds,
can't even begin to find the words to bind,
people like you often tend to stumble blind
over the simple single syllable rhyme.
I started writing and I'm unstoppable, it's easy it's natural,
you're a hangover fart that lingers like a holocaust chemical.
I am the only poetic superhuman that's causing confusion,
it's amusing how you need the supervision to point out you're losin'.
You need to train your face to look HUMBLE when defeated,
if you feed what it needs your brain won't crumble depleated.
I'm on a mission to book first place, so when I'm awarded,
I must be applauded, stand and clap don't remain seated.
You need to accept it and expect it,
or quit while you have time to forefeit.
You will blunder under the sound of my THUNDER that goes round,
but if it's misheard,
I've got a box of frost to start biting,
but if that's squandered
and you carry on like a fighter,
I'll strike you with lightning,
one way or another you will not win top writer.
Respect the perspective that my rhyme is perfected,
and to conclude your rhymes are rejected.
Not to be rude but your seat's to be ejected,
it's not that you're bad it's that I am majestic.
She looks like a Mede,
talks like a Persian
Got Democrat soft bray skin,
but underneath is
hard tusk tongue Republican
Girl Pharaoh-day
loves to zombie talk Friday,
while sleepwalk listening on Monday
Talking pretty contentious,
looking glossy pretentious
Her Primary job
is to give
handouts of payless paydays
Looking mascara pretentious,
talking lip rouge contentious
Girl Pharaoh-day
is two faces at the same time
Her Tuesday wed promises
is Thursday misled aisle denials
She cracks the whip on rest Sunday,
takes a hangover sip on hump Wednesday
And every Saturday,
she’s got two party favor places
to be at the same time
Says she’s got an Independent mind,
but I know Girl Pharaoh-day
is two-task-at-the-same time lying
That honey sweet, rolled-up sleeve disposition
is reversible wear
Her Cruella de Vil decisions tells you
how much she care
Sitting pretty up on her queen bee seat,
she heavy labors every worker bee to death
Says a lot of sweat tears is good to eat,
and slave pay is a cure wage for bad health
Talking anchor chain charlatan,
looking oxy free cosmopolitan
Her Primary job
is to give
handouts of pay less paydays
Looking Miss Gulag cosmopolitan,
talking Señorita Liberty charlatan
Girl Pharaoh-day loves being
two faces at the same time
Dark war speech
is her vocal peace sunshine
Goody Girl Cleopatra Doriana Gray Pharaoh-day
is just another Caesar painted face
Do doing wrong
on a blush daily sell-you-lure
Carny barking
the same sourpuss spiel inure
at every Watergate tea party place
Cursed be her Queen of Diamond heart!
That light saber clubbing smile,
it cuts wrong-number-given spade dark
Got repo blessed
when I ballot dated her pyramid scheming ways
Charity got less
when I questioned how the vow game was played
Girl Pharaoh-day hates being
two faces at the same time
Wearing a pious mask of deception
is a Jez B diplomatic grind
Ink blotting covers looks like souls trying to escape from a cluster
Shanking each other, blood spilling in a gutter
People hating one another, melting butter
The back of a butterfly, a hand partially covering an eye
Cloud in the sky a working mind in thermo radiation
A cooking guy
Pennies in a wishing well
Enemies in a holding cell ,tension in the air
A dog biting a man with a bag full of mail
Love repelled,
A glove inflated than popped ,the release of it’s hot air
Sound of a rip tear
Frequencies in microwave a picture of a solar flare
A working imagination, hallucinogenic animation, a scenic illustration
A sink draining, a monk in deep meditation
Party and celebration, ends meeting
The vibration of vocal chords when your speaking
Pungent odors reeking, a hangover
Pain, a crushed up range rover
A spilled on cup holder a puddle of liquid on a table
Lies made up by fables
A face against a glass, Xerox of a... butt
Thoughts about the past, a bum digging in my stash
Then I had to whoop his... butt like he stole something from me in the past
A well lit flower smiling in the sunshine
Blades of grass whispering in a huddle
From striking beauty a man tongue tied
Water being thrown from a puddle
A brief sensation of pain, the creation of a stain
Steam from a train, the wild that seem tame
Stain glass windows sun beams that protrude tears that trickle
Trees that snicker shadows that gaze
Thoughts that wither, ambition that fades
Having epiphanies feeling reborn
A field of corn full of life ,a cats purr
A cup of ice water stirred
The echo of waves submitting to gravity and current
A melancholy person with a smile that’s reassuring
A yell from triumph, an echo reverbing
A bond forming, a long wait that’s boring
The fear of mind control fear of the unknown
An adrenaline rush from a quick descent from high to low
A sore throat
Water dripping constantly on cement until it corrodes and forms a hole
Form:
Retrieved Passage 6:
From The Book of Days - The Cellar
Don't send me down to the cellar
I swear I won't do it again
lest my sanity goes inter-stellar
and I beat myself senseless in vain
Don't send me down to the cellar
there are things there that scuttle and crawl
there are gnomes there that sing a capella
and an evil old troll in a shawl
There are heebies and jeebies aplenty
who leave trails of slime on the stairs
and their brains are undoubtedly empty
and their long arms have unsightly hairs
So leave me my cape and umbrella
and my half-eaten poems of woe
don't send me down to the cellar
nurse, not again, let me go!
Retrieved Passage 7:
Overboard
"Potato Overboard!"
Came the loud mid-shipman's cry
the Potato King had fallen in
we hung him out to dry
dangling from the mainsail mast
festooned with swaying weeds
it cured his hangover quite fast
it usually succeeds
"Oh Your Majesty"
said his fair queen, in dismay
the gulls had eaten both his socks
and took his wig away
he was a spud of rangy height
wall-eyed, with lantern jaw
but now he was a sorry sight
as many times before.
"Potato Overboard"
was a common cry, those days
We never cured His Majesty
of rabid dipso ways
he would fall into bouillabaise
cow troughs, and out of ships
and always buy up hard liquor
on foreign shopping trips.
Retrieved Passage 8:
The Hour of Cool is Nigh
I came to chill
I came to mellow down
I came to groove about in a yellow gown
hey man, I want to shimmy like a yak
this is the hour I have my cool attack
I came to chill
I came to croon for lurrve
I came to give coolness a helping shove
hey maestro, hit the bass and timpany
this is the funk hour, in the Name of Me
Dressed to thrill
I came to chill this town
to say "one has to get up to get down"
I came to watch the bumble bees go by
hey give it up, the Hour of Cool is nigh.