Long Schnapps Poems
Long Schnapps Poems. Below are the most popular long Schnapps by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Schnapps poems by poem length and keyword.
Me ol mucker Rodney is getting some pukka succour...tipple & tucker in Vienna.."prost" mate
Austrian foodie fold can’t break the mould caught in a fraught brasher sort of sport
Fought as thought who bought flasher Sacher torte that gets gold does hold court
Overwrought at seriously stodgy onslaught podgy tort sausages deliriously cavort
Or wish to toast an old dish flattered mattered most plattered crumbed & battered
Viennese tease keener gnashers sold on a leaner schnitzel wiener winning wheeze
Grinning will be a breeze hazy days on skis back slaps lazy naps and dodgy knees
Pleas beer on taps dread steer clear fear sinning head spinning schnapps traps.. please
Samael: "I found a blico such a psycho that the Tyco Tantrum was blithely smiling as the pair, cross-coupled the older and newer and concomitantly younger and older slytherin heir."
The Pro: "It's shady here I wet my beak daily call me Ra beside the porchlight cause the moths are coming to suit me best yes raelly."
Samara: "Broken streets meet broken dream it's so crazy, I should opt for the glass of Schnapps anywhere I go to be Tommy-John on the fronted edge of the ice-cold glass Razmatazz."
Aurora: "I'll make a new lady-slipper like the fairies are calling home with an extraterrestrial cup-the-light in the palm radiant army."
Helel: "The port-wedded shucked the oyster over there by the beach, some little dog wants to reach my sixth keep. "
Gladius: "There is one muffin per-person I have enough bread, the came-to-the affair is wedded bliss instead, so umpire call the cast, this forsaken island of meretricious women have cast-away I've been."
Uraeal: "The calling of the big-blunder by the setting sun, sexist tirades to that ah-hum."
(Anonymized character): "The birth by the river where the river ran red, am I better suited to this Chinese twirl or the dragon dress?"
---End of act II---
Czeslawa Kwoka
#26947 04/12/1943
(c) London F. Bus
Auschwitz Birkenau.
Killing is hard work,
but the schnapps is fine.
Czeslawa Kwoka the beautiful girl
with innocent eyes,
She is Polish, Catholic and only forteen,
but they dont care.
Beautiful girl tied to a chair
Beautiful girl they hacked off her eyebrows
and her hair.
Beautiful girl beaten and raped.
SS killer awaits.
Syringe full of Phenol,
hidden behind his back.
Beautiful child with fear in her eyes.
Stares straight ahead,
She fights and struggles
and wont co-operate.
Click fires the camera shutter
but she wont smile,
Damn it smile! Lachein Schlampe, .
The SS sneer and laugh.
Damn it smile! .
They Punch and slap her
face again and again,
Beautiful girl, defiant, angry and in pain.
She doesn't smile, so they beat her again.
If she smiles they will kill her,
If she doesnt smile they will kill her anyway,
Like the way they
killed her mother yesterday.
Her death will be the same.
Click goes the camera again and again.
Turn sideways, click.
She is naked, blind folded
still tied to the chair.
She doesnt see it coming
The syringe full of phenol,
with a six inch needle
they stabbed it into her heart,
between the 4th and 5th intercostsl ribs.
Injecting the Phenol to end her life.
She passed out in 15 seconds,
She cried for her mother as she died.
In thirty seconds she was dead.
Then her naked body turned pink.
Her name Czeslawa means Glory..
One more dead, 250,000 children to go.
Arbeit Macht Frie.
[email protected]
He could fight and win battles, could this General Ulysses Grant!
Other of Lincoln's generals were continually sayin', "I can't!"
Though 'twas well-known that General Grant relished his schnapps,
Even soused he could concoct solid battle plans by studyin' his maps.
Becomin' frustrated with his other generals and their lack of action,
Abe suggested to an aide that if it would help them get some traction,
He'd like to know what Ulysses drank and where he got the stuff,
So he could send a barrel to every general to get him off his duff!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Still baronial the feudal caboodle at the home of cricket
Colonial testimonial for a posh canoodle should picket
Ben used his noodle & won’t see Crawley surely nick it
Purely those who chose bacon egg clothes got a ticket
Neighbourhood of dons not wrong uns in St Johns Wood
Confess is a public school caress where members stood
Impress hamper-ed pampered and champered so good
Largesse epicurean finesse with Eton Mess for your pud
Spiffy faction only see pithy fraction of the action perhaps
Sniffy Telegraph on laps drinking clinking sinking schnapps
Aristocrat sippers in Gucci slippers round neck cravat wraps
Squiffy slumbers sarnies with cucumbers smoked salmon baps
Maps round the ground laps for the sound hand pull taps
Recover in the bar batters flaps to cover another collapse
Diehards doing hard yards tryhards with lanyards on apps
Iffy in a jiffy encumbers fiesta to siesta and afternoon naps
Real fans do obsess about the Black cap chaps prowess
Claps & reciprocal back slaps for underdogs feisty scraps
Kiwi bowlers wrist snaps out of the traps can be express
Batters when matters fielders energy saps finding the gaps
Rare Lords success Bazball under duress feeling the stress
Mystery..artistry...history of the Test tapestry fills me with glee
MCC forever twee picky with bow of dickie for every wannabe
Oh yippee will be many a yuppy but sadly not really any Kiwi
And poorer sorts without Sky Sports can’t even see it on TV
Family gathers for Thanksgiving dinner
As you step into grandma's home
You smell the savory aromas
Turkey is stuffed and cooking in the oven
Glazed ham garnished with pineapple and cherries
We’re getting very anxious for homemade buns to rise
Table is decked with grandma’s fine china
Table settings and white lace linen
Fresh Thanksgiving Autumn floral bouquet,
Candles flicker in-tall thin brass candleholders
Salad, asparagus and cheese sauce,
Mashed potatoes and gravy,
Cranberry sauce,
Cinnamon sweet potatoes garnished with marshmallows
Ambrosia fruit salad, cherry and pumpkin pies
Apple crisp with caramel sauce a prize
Punch bowl filled to the brim
With eggnog and hot cinnamon schnapps
A second ham sits in the baking pan on the stove
Of balance over the burner knobs
Pa picks up the lid to take a peek
Did a hip-hop back
As it slides off the top of stove onto the floor
Bathing everyone around with sweet greasy glaze
For once I wish I had Rover and Max around to lap up the floor
As they were locked up in their dog cage so they wouldn’t be underfoot
Slipping and sliding and grabbing on to the counters I whispered
Please dogs come and save us from this wet dirty job
We dropped plenty of towels and got a mop and a bucket of suds
To sup- up the entire sweet greasy glaze
Finally the crazy mayhem was over
Turned to face the table and held our composure
Bless us, Oh Lord,
and these thy gifts which
we are about to receive from thy bounty,
through Christ, Our Lord.
Amen.
Moaning and groaning too stuffed to move
Rubbing their bellies that are just ready to bust
Still enough food left over for everyone to take home
11/24/2016
What happened to the man I loved? Why did he lose himself?
The strong hold his demons had over him was tearing us apart
Dilated pupils, slurred words, stupid grin worn when drinking,
a fool who staggers on his way until he's behind a closed door
I'll let it be for now, but putting up with it is becoming a chore
Mom died and I'd flown home to take care of all that mattered
Two hours at the airport before he arrived. At least he was alive
I asked for the keys; he gave me that sly grin with a blank stare
I let it be. Can't reason with a drunk who's leaning on the car door
He reaked of peppermint schnapps. Beneath my breath I swore
I drove home from work and found the usual 'hidden' tell-tale signs
top shelf of the pantry, another box in the shower, half eaten pizzas
He was clueless that the scent of pepperoni gave his addiction away
Not up for a confrontation so I didn't knock upon his fortress door
I had to let it be because I heard him snoring, passed out on the floor
What excuses he invented when it was time for him to go to work
"My allergies are acting up," with Kleenex up both sides of his nose
Or this, "My hair is not cooperating today so just go on without me"
When I got home I was alone. He, behind the damned locked door
I'd let him be, but I longed for the life that once held so much more
I found empty vodka bottles he thought hidden in places I'd not find
blueberry, peach, or tasty flavor of the week, under dresser drawers
He refused my begging pleas to get the help he needed, so I let it be
It's true; living with someone who keeps himself shut behind a door
is lonelier that living alone. I loved him, but I was better off before.
Before he started drinking we were happy; quite a contented couple
But that changed when he abused me with angry words and actions
There was no satisfaction in walking away from the man I still loved
I couldn't say "let it be." I wouldn't watch another inebriated encore
I said goodbye, trying not to cry. Tears fell when I closed the door
The bars are all closed and I’ve got a full tank,
So we could idle all night.
I’ll buy us breakfast at the Swamp Pike Diner.
We’ll welcome dawn’s early light.
It’s been seven long years since the tire plant closed.
Right now the job I got sucks.
I only feel alive on Saturday night
When I can hustle some bucks.
My attitude’s the kind that suits
These tattooed arms and steel-toed boots.
Yeah, I grew deep blue-collar roots in Spring City.
I scored us some crank from a dude they call Slim.
He’s on probation; it’s cool.
He was a bouncer down at Banker’s Tavern;
Busted some guy with a stool.
It's a doggy-dog world and a b*tch of a life.
Nobody gives you a break.
So I don’t give a f*ck who likes me or not.
At work, I’m known as The Snake.
My dad’s a drunk; his wife’s a sl*t.
Did Satan curse this town, or what?
It’s hold yer breath and bust a nut in Spring City.
Check under the seat; I stashed two quarts of Bud,
A pint of Peppermint Schnapps.
We’ll do a line and then we’ll light up a blunt.
Just keep an eye out for cops.
Gotta numb down the pain ‘cause this town’s a disease,
Self-medication’s ok.
Don’t ask the doctor what you already know.
He won’t have nothin’ to say.
If drugs don’t get ya, gambling will.
There’s layoffs at the knitting mill.
Sometimes I think I’ve had my fill of Spring City.
Inside cooped up in my loft all autumn with writer’s block, it was time. I arrived on New Year’s Day. I wanted a fresh start, so I took a well-deserved hiatus.
Such grandeur, and glory, partaking in wine, croque monsieur and then champagne so decadent. I met him in a bar café, the one alongside three others in a row! He indulged my fancy with a Moulin Rouge cabaret, a real gentleman; flamboyant, debonair, and flippant. Montgenevre mistakenly booked my room. By chance of fortune, he overheard the desperation of my voice, cawing at the matradee. “I know my way around. We’ll find you a place to stay until they get their affairs in order.”
I heard a voice whisper, “You can stay as long as you like, mon chéri.” This morning I awoke alone, I remember late last night looking out his high-rise apartment window, down at the four cafés', to see what he sees, think what he thinks. Long leggy locals, intoxicating femme's, drinking peppermint schnapps to tame the harsh chill of January. Perusing today’s paper, I noticed his name, Emile Zola VI. He’s a journalist?! My muse reignited my passion to write. A work in progress.
A croque monsieur-is a hot sandwich made with ham and cheese.
Santa won’t be back next Christmas Eve,
he decided to retire and take his leave.
With all the online shopping in the world today,
he set his reindeer free and burned his sleigh.
He’ll probably shave his beard and move down south.
He won’t miss naughty kids or their potty mouth.
The North Pole is for sale, there are no more toys.
I’m sure he’ll hear complaints from all the girls and boys.
I heard he found a beach down in Mexico.
Exactly where he went, nobody will know.
I’m sure he ditched his hat and those big black boots.
They won’t know who he is without those little red suits.
If you’re ever on the beach and see a big red thong,
or a man named Kris who traded schnapps for a bong.
It could be old Santa just out having some fun,
spooning Mrs. Claus in the noonday sun.