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.
Some people have the blues
And some has differing views
Whether your married, partners or single
Everyone had a valentines tingle
You may not celebrate this day
A waste of money to put on a big display
A secret crush you may have to entice
There are other days to add the spice
We should make partners feel special
It is a relationship fundamental
One day should not be the only day
Where appreciation is shown on display
Whether it is cheap tat you buy
Or expensive jewellery you try
Or expensive rip off roses
Or on one knee when he proposes
If your single by choice or not
I’m sure this is a day you forgot
But one day your heart will sing
As you share this day with a queen or king
The next morning couples wake
With an awful headache saying it was a mistake
Some with a smile and others with regret
In their drunken state they forget
9 months later is their valentines gift
A boy or girl, a guaranteed shift
Valentines will never be the same
As it was when a parent you became
For others who had fine dining
Put on the credit card for providing
A debt you must pay
Even if it was a bad date or just a play
Partners should celebrate each other everyday
Not just one evening to convey
Should be grateful for what you have together
Not just one day to make things better
Tinkerbelle invited muse Trixie to join her at the Martini Lounge tonight
They both had too much to drink, ended up sassy, and quite tight.
Some randy elves tried to pick them up, but they said no thank you.
They were just coherent enough to send them off, into the winter blue.
I knew my muse was gone, but had no idea she knew Tinkerbelle.
Where are you Trixie? I was asking her. No poems tonight. Oh, well.
She’d be back in the morning; she was plain gone from my head.
When she came in with a hangover, I woke straight up I bed.
Where have you been? I asked her. She giggled like a dancing top.
I asked her to quit, but she couldn’t or simply wouldn’t stop.
I threatened to lock her up, and she hiccupped happy silly thoughts.
She knows who is in charge, I guess. She fell face down on her cots.
I wanted to call up Tinkerbelle and give her a piece of my mind.
Then I remembered that muses and faeries need to be with their kind.
It is only New Years Eve, so who am I to take her away from a friend?
Within the hour Trixie was ready to write a poem with a happy trend.
Vocabulist nonalcoholic punchdrunk stupor January 1st, 2020
Unlike the vast population swath,
with painful hangover
average celebrant merely
doth confusedly blink,
who devoutly pledge
new year resolution
to give up drink
immediately fall off wagon
as he/she eagerly downs
shot after fermented shot
while forearms link
with family, friends,
strangers, et cetera
and immediately rethink
alcoholics anonymous pledge
gamely nod and playful wink.
Yours truly (me) never found
wasted, soused, besotted,
et cetera alone
and/or with round
of best buddies real,
and/or imaginary
nor got stone drunk crowned,
(cuz never did I make
friends - no lie),
plus never felt compunction
to quaff hard inebriant
(think booze hound)
life as extremely gawky introvert
(think long haired
pencil necked geek)
preferred company of books
with cute button nose bound
between pages, this theme
I could expound
till cows come home to roost
after bovines well rested
from their sound
sleep unready and unwilling
to confront battleground
(think slaughterhouse five),
thus beef rendered me, we clowned
and hoofed up memories
promising each other pound
for pound, we would stand our ground
never freeload, mooch, sponge...
nor EVER succumb to the bottle
no matter how hardbound,
especially when attaining rough-age
older not necessarily wiser
if necessary resorting and astound
ding farmer in the dell
to Diet of Worms smellbound
while reenacting Holy
Roman Empire called
back in the hay day -1521
courtesy Emperor Charles V
offering sobering admission
lips ne'er taste amber and/or clear
liquids of the gods, no matter
believe me you reader hopefully
aforesaid confession doth not dumbfound.
Churning ominous dust, an angry sky pounded it's fists that ferocious afternoon.
Draping a charcoal blanket, brooding air suddenly darkened all brightness.
Threatening winds whipped thrashes on boulders and branches,
Spinning madly around, dizzy in it's vortex,
a tornado descended from funnel clouds.
Destruction everywhere, in vengeful rage
trembling trees uprooted, blown far away.
Rainsoaked birds fluttered, hurled at an insane trail
in malefic power and speed, Earth was decimated.
A wild pirouette storm, dancing and swirling
in turbulence of downpour, at last is calmed.
A carnage of broken pieces
in shattered shards of shrapnel...
But after a haze of hangover,
spreads again a bijoux night of fairy tales,
hiding behind those stars we count.
A new day again drips from the sun.
In a soft rustle of morning breeze
leaves again dance in little spirals.
13th June 2020
Sponsor Kai Michael Neumann
Contest Name Spiral
(Sappho and Leuceus drunk,fighting over who invented the Stanza)
Lesbos howls with song and mgosi tonight,
Leuceus thumbs the table-claims my Stanza his,
I toss my hair,sip the sqo,my daughter lightning-
Let Ogun decide!
He stutters of meters,I of love divine,
He waves his laptop,I smash my Zamalek beer glass to silence
The gods choke at their peptic ulcers-
Mami Wata takes sides.
Tomorrow the'll call me fallen,sinner,muse of rain,
But in their shame,they'll still steal my rhythm,
He'll drown in envy's cup,Ill wake to babalazi
Makoti sing my song
Explanation of words
mgosi-gossip
sqo-as in traditional beer
Zamalek: Black Label Carling beer
Ogun: The god of war
mami wata:mother of water is a symbol of beauty and that's all men want to hear
babalazi-a massive hangover
makoti- ''Maak ons tee'' in Afrikaans meaning ''Make us tea''.This is what will happen to school dropouts;just think about the fate of this one: a young married woman supervised by a grumpy old woman who complaints about anything under the son.
When you live on the streets, you
attend the school of hard knocks.
And think you've hit bottom
until you feel the sharp rocks.
You wake to a throbbing pain
pounding away in your head.
And you're filled with dread, Oh God,
you kind of wish you were dead.
This can't be a hangover,
for you haven't been drinking.
But, your head is exploding,
and it hurts to be thinking.
You figure out where you are,
just as the doctor walks in.
And like a silly young fool,
you slap on a happy grin.
You survived a bad beating,
slipping death's grip, yet once more.
And quickly gaining your wits,
you shrewdly head out the door.
The lost children of the street
are more than eager to play.
But, for every lesson taught,
someone always has to pay.
(Quatrain)
3/29/2017
I went for a walk with an Aardvark
In a forest of beer bottle trees,
Entranced by their gentle swaying,
Hanging and clinking in the breeze;
And I found a top spanner bush
Growing at a convenient height
And me and my friend the Aardvark
Settled down for our boozy night.
We sampled the pale ale and bitter
Then the stout the mild and the pils
Organically brewed with such care
To avoid any hangover ills.
And my Aardvark danced a jig,
Accompanying himself on a lute
The wind blowing through the bottles
Providing a raw wild sort of flute.
We discussed the ways of the world
Each providing our original views
On such as the Albigensian heresies
And the standard of reporting the news.
Then a bell rang through that forest
And a voice rolled in my head
Its closing time for the winter
And I woke up alone in my bed.
I sprang from my sheets with a zest
Had a quick burst on my tambourine
Before cleaning my teeth with such energy
On my oral hygiene machine.
I ate toast and two eggs for my brekkers
With a selection of blended fruit teas
Hungry from my walk with that Aardvark
In that forest of beer bottle trees.
Being and knowing the vast difference
between what I know and think I am
I can quite honestly say this about and
in regards to myself
When it comes to culture and the fineries
of all life has on offer
One day I should most definitely find the
time to take in
An Opera , Play or Museum or Live Show
Followed by fine dinning out and sampling
what other worldly cuisine have t offer
But then again I can say for sure probably
less than 5 actual minutes in
I would also then get and be bored
and so end up leaving
Swapping it instead for a greasy burger
down the high street followed by as many
pints of beer I can stomach
Until I eventually am forced to throw up
to cram in and make space for a few more
Then grab another greasy burger for the
journey home
And fall asleep on the couch in front
of the t.v covered in the majority of the
burger
That missed my mouth from the
previous night before
Which come in handy and provide a
tasty snack for breakfast
And due to the fact I am so concusted
and all consumed with an almighty
hangover
It prevents from realizing the sober
reality
Would staying just 5 minutes longer really
have killed me that much more
And then I thought yes it would because
at least my night out left me with one
at least this as apposed to that one would
And what that is in fact this
I always find when rifling through my
trouser pants from the night before
At very least a $5 or two and a pocket
full of change
I can pop down the corner shop to buy
myself a few cans of beer to help me
get over this god awful hangover
When down is up and up is down
Grumbling and growling and gurgling up,
My stomach had a story to tell,
And my head moaned and muttered a furious throb,
As my body was visiting hell.
What had been a beautiful night on a whim,
A let go, sit back and unwind,
Had become a night of clattering clinks,
Ending in me magnificently stumbling blind.
At first it was cheers to a prosperous future,
Then my shout at the wooden saloon.
And one became two became many and more,
My passion was never immune.
And how I got home is a mystery still,
When all down’s up and every up’s down.
But it seems I get this regular hangover,
When all of my mates meet down town.
I stepped out at mid-night with a small bag and board the night train, a journey that should have taken an hour lasted for three days, stopping at every interval picking up bags and pans and I watched the frustrated passengers’ drags along. I had an uncomfortable feeling inside as I watched the people scrambling around me, it’s as if they were in some form of urgency to get to a specific place before daybreak, but the frequent stop was slowing them down and adding more misery to their trouble. The night train cruise through village and town, cities and municipalities invading the people’s privacy but I gripped tight in my chair hoping that the moment would pass and I could end my journey at last but destiny would not have it so we had two more days to go before the reached its final stop. The night train parachuting down the tracks honking its horn before the break of dawn, and anxious party goers with hangover, stumbles through the train door and sits on the floor, hugging and laughing and rolling on the floor, it’s as if they were insane, they were rubbing their eyes while forcing a smile and the night train continues to barrel down the track with all the energy that it has and daylight breaks out in the sky and all the passengers starts to cry and the train came to a sudden stop between the trees and the edge of the swinging bridge holding on to one single string.