Long Kegs Poems
Long Kegs Poems. Below are the most popular long Kegs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kegs poems by poem length and keyword.
I am a son of the dark continent
By conception and ancestral offshoot
This black earth,
Where my dark ancestors deposited
The birth right of my life
In the dark bowels of our black sacred earth,
As the Canon and cradle of civilization;
The Land where my dark nostrils
First embraced the dark air in my dark lungs;
Which my dark ancestors bequeathed me;
The sacred ancestral black air which saturate
My dark back bone and black spinal cord,
Ensuring the purity of oxygenated black blood,
Meandering inside the black bowels
Of my black body and dark soul;
Galvanizing sacred ancient wisdom
The bloodshot ebony retinas
Of my dark sacred ancestors foretold
Time yellowed corn from afar
Blazing tobacco pipes competed fiercely in the twilight
For supremacy of sacred African nights,
With African Moon and unyielding black stars
Of Africa
The sweet aroma of embellished palm wine
Buried in the bowels of countless kegs of sacred African calabashes;
Roasted yam dipped in sacred palm oil and African pepper
Teased their black taste buds, stretching it to the boiling point of saturation;
Bonga fish and soaked garri was their appetizer,
As my dark ancestors soaked in the dark skin of black pride,
Battled to determine whose black skin was darker
Than the pitched black nights of Africa;
And whose black blood aligned more with black Africa's clay earth!
They hung around the beer joint with the finest Western wear
with thumbs tucked in their belt loops and such a studly air.
But those boots weren't made for stirrups and were polished to a sheen,
and on those fancy cowboy hats not a sweat stain could be seen.
You could be sure they hadn't spent much time around a branding pot,
for the only brands they recognized were ones on stuff they bought.
And if they ever passed the time just musing 'bout their spread,
it'd be the one around their middle or the one they put on bread.
Just a bunch of cowboy wannabes in a modern masquerade,
but they drove the biggest pickup trucks that Detroit ever made.
The beds were big and beautiful without a scratch or scuff inside,
'cause the only thing they hauled around was a horse's big backside.
As they stood around outside the joint, in a smart-ass state of mind,
in pulled an ancient pickup with an old horse trailer hitched behind.
The truck an old green Chevy, year 'bout nineteen fifty-nine,
with two high wooden sideboards stacked with hay bales bound with twine.
Out stepped a skinny hombre, with steel-blue eyes and bandy legs,
but he had a rippling six-pack while all the boozers sported kegs.
His cowboy hat was sweat-stained; high-heeled boots were dusty gray;
he kicked off a chunk of cow pie, then he grabbed a bale of hay.
He was mighty parched and dusty, but he wouldn't quench his thirst
'cause you're not an honest cowboy unless you water horses first.
The pack of fools gave out a hoot, yelled "Hey there, Texas Pete!
Get yourself a man-sized truck and take that geezer off the street!"
As he finished with the horses, up walked two ladies smokin' hot.
The cowboy promptly doffed his hat, while the posers there did not.
The cowboy got a long admiring look and the rounders just a sneer,
as the sham was so apparent when a real cowboy was near
They flashed the dusty cowboy a big ol' smile 'bout ten miles wide...
Said "Honey, would a gent like you care to escort us gals inside?"
He winked, then gave the trucks a look and spat a stream of juice.
Said, "Boys, y'all's might be bigger, but mine gets a sight more use."
Sunken Treats
Sea swells lost my memoirs of HER
Under waves to caustic mire and murk’s DESIRE
Never to be seen again, that’s how it IS
Kegs of rum float up though, through ghostly grays, FOR
Eternity which finally released them, but not MY
Note book and papers of my lost LOVE
Terrible things are in the underworld DEEP
Real emptiness and pain score my lonely FEELINGS
Ethereal measures from sea and storm EMERGE
Arise from hidden secret depths, WITH
Treasures of my sweet wife, love mementos as I wait to see, THE
Summoned property that was buried beneath the WAVES
Acrostic Contest
created: 4/26/2014
The King of Kegs
He was the town drunk, that
everyone loved.
Didn't care about being arrested
nor his children going food less.
But at the bar, oh such a big hit.
Always knew tons of jokes, he
was the King of the Kegs!
And nary a night, was he not lit.
The sobers, shall we say, judged
him as socially, mentally and
morally unfit.
Such self-righteous boring twits!
Who judged him to death, never
thinking that they had major
shortcomings and faults, too!
As we say in the USA, these prigs
thought they were it!
They had no idea he was attending
recovery meetings at night.
They so wrongly were condemning
his addictive plight.
The King of Kegs became quite sober.
Moreover, he saved many, many others
from death.
He even opened a mission is southern
LA that operates to
this day and helped thousands to give
up the booze and live a life with nary
a drop of alcohol to begin their day.
Nope, you won't hear of such heroes
like this on the news, no!
Too busy decrying the evil men do.
After all, a fat paycheck buys them
the best shoes.
Things that are magnificent, my
friends simply are not worthy of news.
+Here's to all the good people in the
world, including all those suffering from
addictions, their families and those who
do not understand that it is both a
psychological and physical addiction,
not a moral one.+
August 3, 2019
3:45am PST
by: iolanda scripca
The breaks screeched to avoid melodramas
" Free Kittens" - a sign said next to the port...
Name: Thomas Bahamas In Pajamas
Thus, he became my son's pet of some sort.
Inflated fur ball with four skinny legs
Greenish eyes and a mane like a lion
The last "warrior" was he at mom's "kegs"
In his quest to become Himalayan.
We brought him to Sophie - a rescued cat
Abandoned at birth, her eyes almost closed
No mommy taught her how to chase a rat
"I'll be showing you the ropes", he proposed.
So, Thomas Bahamas In Pajamas
Demonstrated his seductive techniques
Now, the couple is gone among llamas
Honeymooning and expecting in weeks...
www.scripca.com
Tiger! Tiger! clear and bright
perfection brewed exactly right,
this traveller’s dry and rusty throat
will always get this fine beer's vote.
In what distant vats or kegs
awaits the brew that my thirst begs.
On what wings could one aspire,
as taste buds bathe in Tiger’s fire.
Maturity of hops and malt
ferment with yeast within its vault,
infused to spawn this brew of fame
with all the power borne of its name.
Perfect flavour, perfect head,
now from each bottle gently bled,
to compliment all that we eat
and make each meal a tasty treat.
When jungle folk threw down their spears,
and water fell from heaven like tears,
Mankind rejoiced their work to see
as they brewed beer as good as thee.
Tiger! Tiger! clear and bright
is nectar of such godly height
that no immortal hand or eye
could better shape it symmetry.
© Ivor G Davies
In the sixties I went to university
where I experienced much diversity
For example, among fraternities
mine went from ‘Kegs-a-Tappin’
to ‘Pills-a-Poppin’
~ LSD, we were a-droppin’
Athletics were a big deal too
freshman year we were football champs
senior year, listened to Led Zeppelin’s mega-amps
Then there was good old politickin’
After Kent State life was great
Semester cancelled, May 14 the date…
To let us work for our 'favorite candidate'
Mine wore 6-inch heels, raised my pulse rate…
Oh, I learned a whole lot in school
~ mostly, how to break the rules
Having been a journalist for the past forty years, now ready to make my final accord, I had to cover this one last story. My days have been long, and my shuteye has been short. In a small village with a population of a few hundred people, I stopped in the only tavern there to interview some of the patrons. The old rustic looking place had every window broken and no doors left standing. Seeing the faces of the patrons when I stopped in almost told the stories of what they have been witnessing the past few weeks. Most everyone seemed to be shellshocked and afraid. Little talking and silence filled the atmosphere, with the exception of some loud outbursts from the tavern's owner. "Free brew for everyone" he continually shouted! As you can imagine, there was "SRO" (standing room only). So, that being said, it was easy for me to interview most everyone. Everyone had their own versions of what they had witnessed, yet they all seemed very similar. "Death and destruction, death and destruction, death and destruction over and over. I went through a box of tissues hearing their sobbing stories. Again, the owner shouted out- "Free brew for everyone" he gave it out until every last drop of his unique home-made beer with cinnamon and cocoa had been drenched from his kegs. Never had I ever tasted such a fine beer before. it was sadly enjoyable, because I assumed it would be the last of it made for a very long time. "What do you call this wonderful tongue-taster I asked the tender/owner" He replied- My friend, I call it "Death and Destruction"
it was a fine beer
sadness and tears filled their mugs
death and destruction
I was transfixed with Chuckie Egg sometimes,
By Harry who was obese but with very thin legs,
Which to me looked too slim for his eating times,
For the size of his rounded stomach of kegs.
Sometimes I gave myself an ego trip on him, it,
B y saying that I was a member of a top family,
Where my dad wanted to upon Billy Graham sit,
And my mum was fundamentalism’s anomaly.
My parents were so high up in strict Christianity,
And I thought they were mobile on nothingness,
So Harry was to me an image of them, familiarity,
As evolution theory gave me emotional happiness.
I sometimes had to tell myself that it was a game,
Not real, because I needed to classify my parents,
For their raving social life, connections and fame,
By believing in Jesus, archaic and my abhorrence.
Well Mom and Dad were going off
They needed a vacation
Told us to behave ourselves
A new car for motivation.
As soon as they were gone
We decided to invite some pals
Invited Hank, Bob, Bill and Jones
Told them they could bring their gals.
The word got around of party time
They came in at night
We had the curtains down
Didn't want neighbors to get uptight
Hank brought Vodka, Jones brought weed
I said we got to keep things low
"Don't use that stuff, keep it outside
Don't want anyone to know."
Jones turned up the radio
I pleaded, "don't do that."
He started dancing with a banjo
Looked like a cool cat.
Bob had brought a pet raccoon
It pooped on the cashmere rug
I asked him to put it an empty room.
But Bob just gave a shrug.
Hank's girlfriend flirted with Bill
Hank didn't like that at all
Got on his Apple iPhone
Made a couple of calls.
His friends came in downstairs
Left the front door ajar
Hank pointed out Bill
Bill ran like a shooting star
Bill crashed into the beer kegs
The were stowed outside
Policeman read us all the regs
I realized we were fried.
Parents came back quick
The HOA would fine them soon
Both of them looked sick
Then they noticed the raccoon.
So you teens out there, learn from this
Don't party when they're away
You might lose a new car.
And be grounded till judgement day.