Long Strong drink Poems
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When I was a kid, my county was 'dry'; meaning that alcoholic beverages could not be purchased legally. But there was always plenty of it, because there were home-made stills, and the next county was 'wet'. In my home, it was often seen in the refrigerator, especially on weekends. Seems my occasional stares and curiosity would never end until one day, looking all around less I get caught, I could resist no longer. One sip and I knew that I had never tasted anything stronger. I did not see smoke, but my head must have become a fiery furnish shooting flames from every exit point in my little body. I wondered how anyone enjoyed drinking such wild fire. One sip set my feet racing away from any future desire.
I never saw grandma drink; Mama, once in a while; daddy, every weekend. Some people did bad things when they consumed alcohol; daddy slept a lot. Seems he was nicer toward us, always saying, "I'm going out west where the eagles build their nest". I guess he only desired to go west when he was drinking, because he never moved.
Other than put my daddy to sleep, alcohol served no good purpose in our home. Strong drink consumption and smoking perhaps contributed to his early demise at 58. No, I think that alcohol was a curse and a terrorist that never did anything good in my community. When drinking, people were loud and fought like cats and dogs. Like fools, men drove their cars faster, or staggered all over town acting like clowns. We say that people get high when they drink alcohol, but seems to me they always go low, and sink to the bottom.
Alcohol is one of the greatest abusers; and it is unashamedly villainous. The opinions expressed are my own. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
10152017 PS Contest, Alcohol, TS *Proverbs 20:1
There are times that we see everything but see nothing. There are times we hear everything but hear nothing. There are times we are touched but feel nothing. There are times we lose all sense of smell and taste. Nothing seems to satisfy and nothing attaches to our five senses.
It doesn't mean that we are bad people; it means that "life happens". And again, there are those times that 'magic happens' and lasts forever. In my case, life indeed does happen, but I remember two forever magical moments. I was a little lad and did not possess a camera but captured two moments that were magical.
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Doing the laundry, cleaning the house, and cooking, or simply taking her infrequent leisure. Beautifying someone’s hair, or just chatting with a friend, there was often a small green glass bottle of soda near by. This lady never poured from the bottle to a drinking glass. Such a classy ritual was never required nor desired by her. The most favored and refreshing moment for her was a bag of salted peanuts slowly poured into her favorite strong drink. While MOTHER was capturing a cool refreshing moment, her little boy was capturing a magical moment, an eternal impression. 8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
After filling the cup, GRANDMA would slowly pour the steaming hot coffee into the saucer. Then, she would gently blow, making it right for sipping. Perhaps a common practice at the time, and unworthy of anybody’s attention, but with wide-eyed interest in the sipping, a little boy watches and captures a ’magical moment’. Some 60 years later, her grandson sips every morning but never took to 'saucer sipping'.
101820PS
Running this way and that, in search of some adventure new
The roads ran their course with flatirons the ruts not few
Over hill, mountain, river, valley, flood, glen and dale
To the open sea with long, sandy beaches and cut-up shale
To found a village here or there or town or port to call
Imports to the harbor, markets to open, and stores to maul
With Able’s fruit—either high or low— yielding no good life
The towns looked above to stave away constant strife
With no blossom, the towns built upward to store some treasure
The good ol’ boys breaking stocks to gain some measure
Breaking stocks not bread, with yield upon yield
Or bricks into actions, building high away from the fields
And the New Babylon, like F. Scott predicted in prose
Where nothing feels decent or good and nothing ever grows
Has grown higher, perhaps, than even ancient Sumer could
And his books out of print, out of font, are not printed in wood
All that remains of his stories, east egg and west
Are programmers building forms from programs, no longer missed
The lonely feeling of afternoon apperitifs or stiff strong drink
Even the sparklin’ ladies in their feather, plush and mink
Soar beyond the lay of the skyline if not the lay of the bed
With nothing but wonder, inclination, nothing but dread
How much emptiness this massive wealth can buy
Without really any curious gal or curious guy
The world’s tallest buildings reaching into ‘thereal night
And lights flashing on hovering spacecraft above, whose flight
Orbits the continents, oceans, floodplains, and polar caps
When pressing on towards Venus or Neptune will open their flaps
Look outward beyond towards other planets near and far
Within the Solar Domain and towards them that wander
The astronauts in future, and from before, won’t know why they came
to this planet Earth, since they will have left with nothing, even blame
Blame to exist, exist to blame, never settling here or anywhere
Where the grass is the stars beyond bluer than blue, or crystal stairs
With melted hearts, like sugar lumps, full of air, full of plump
Bumpin’ up slow, passin’ Dante on the left–or Janice Bishop’s rump
The drunk
A thick plastic curtain of the type used in warehouses he could not see through
to other than shadowy figures moving around he knew he saw a past that
no longer belonged to him.
He sat on the edge of his unmade bed, drinking warm beer when a sharp knock
on the door of his flat
it was the landlord looking at him with contempt, said he must pay the rent tomorrow or else!
Despair sizzled through his body needed a strong drink one mixed vodka and cold coffee,
while asking himself how it had come to this losing his job because he had been
“outspoken”, told his boss to off
Drinking the rest of the beer, he decided to take the bus to the farm he once lived
as a child; he had been happy there and to trace his life from there
He got off the bus in a small town near the farm. needing a drink, but it must have been early
the cafe had no ale he had a coffee which he mixed with vodka; when that
was seen they had told him to leave
He bought a tin of cola and sat in a park drinking thinking of this unfriendly town full of Jesus
people with no sense of humor
He took a taxi to the farm, now a gated community the river was gone, the wooden bridge
across it too, where he used to sit under and see tiny fishes nibble at his toes- gone, ing gone.
A man came and told him it was private property and looked as burly guard on duty
Down the main road where they were widening the road, a workers’ shed
he got in a found cold coffee and mixed it with vodka, he must have lost the sense of time
all of a sudden it was morning the workers were coming.
He got a bus home and walked to his flat the landlord said his mother had paid the rent
and taken my belongings she wanted to see him
At her flat sat many people, even the boss who had fired him; thought this assault is called
intervention; telling him his problem was booze, he was a good guy when sober
They left in time for him to go to the nearest café for a few more beers before closing time.
The next day, he had, a shower and dressed in clean clothes
He went to a meeting where people appeared feverishly happy and laughing out loud.
They said a ticket to a man's heart is his stomach!
seduce him with a hearty meal and a strong drink and you have his attention and maybe,
possibly, friendship for life. I know many of them, men that is, I know many for life. They
search, they hunt, the lurk like trolls too sometimes, but I see the innocence within them
and they try and they struggle.
When a man is pushed, he can make some crazy choices, many he can't reverse... and for
what? the high? his pride won't let him bow? to admit he is not always strong! and mostly
weak and he beats himself up hourly, daily, what has he done wrong, how can he live that
dream? how can he live out his desires.., his little dark secrets from whence he was a BOY.
BOY or man... what the hell does it matter? The time is now, he can only think for the
moment because nature has him this way. Is extreme his choices of fun? Exotic meat on a
grill? burnt black on the edges and aroma of it in the air... or a slab of curves and with dark
hair on a table. All one in the same.
Does he search for a mate or a ****, a whore..... what do you call them.... the one with no
strings attached and she lets you do what you want? perfection? or have you found a
computer that has welcomed your virus and now you are in control. For even if you let her
lead you very well and know that you still have her in your control.... it's okay, I would
have done the same or more had I been born with balls.
So now what? Well... you will never have the skeleton key for all these locks, Walk or Run
to each door, open...close...open..close.. Don't look down the end of that hall Sir, it gets
further and further. Turn around and look behind you, you can't even count all those
doors...
So what to do? nothing you can do, it's in your nature. Your mind will only give you so
much information, just like a search engine on a computer, also invented by your kind. you
will have to carry on with the game of Breast, men in vest and fine SUV's, Curves and
****** round-a-bouts and fetish delights.
P.S: try flipping your meat on the grill more often, it helps too with spice.
Form:
Many years ago before I became a man
When i was just a boy having his fun
I had a grandmother whom i thought would never die
She would sit outside her house as I played by
She was tall and jolly and I was fond of her
She died one day and now she is beyond the moon and far
Things I never told her as a boy, I would like to tell her now
I know am crazy, but I hope she is listening somehow
Thanks grandma for all those warm and tasty meals
Had your house been a restaurant, I still wouldn’t afford the bills
Taking care of me while my mother was away
I would give anything just to be with you one more day
Curling by your fireplace, listening to stories and uploading memories
Those were my happiest days, where I knew little or no worries
Helping you gather the chicken, rewarding me with a cup of porridge
I feel tears in my eyes now, as I turn back the page to that age
After you were gone I grew up fast, not sure where time went
The days ahead would be the opposite of the time you and i spent
I have been on the highway to nowhere, not sure how to get there
My will to go on is worn out and I have no spare
Life is a commercial puzzle of which they give you no clue
Grandma, if you were here, you would hate this world too
It’s hard enough being a man, let alone somebody’s husband
Women today have no respect, and I hold no title to a land
Strong drink is all I have to remind me how to smile
But I can never drink enough to carry me further an extra mile
I am always pushed in the same corner every year round
I have nothing to write home about, nothing to make you proud
It’s not easy dear grandma, to have a heart full of dreams
Yet watch helplessly, as the long winding road ahead dims
To speak but have no listener, to sing and have no audience
Life has been a maddening affair, down this God-forsaken ambiance
You were a silver-haired woman when you died, me just a kid
But I don’t know if I will manage, to live as long as you did
For am tired and am thinking about joining you soon
I know its much better where you are, beyond that silver moon
Off and running sure-footed, fast, and furious. "Under the sun, there's nothing new", says the writer. "Renewal, restoration in the new year", says the reformer.
Years ago, however, a kindergartner made a very quick and decisive resolution. He was too young to know the meaning of a resolution but old enough to decide with resolute certainty that one sip of that cold liquid fire would be his last. Rescued by the TASTE of a very strong drink that his parents had in the friz. Escaped, no doubt, a life similar to his father who drank heavily on weekends. Saved by curiosity gone wild, he could not resist taking a drink of that wildfire. He never revisited whiskey or strong drink after that brief encounter.
Obsessions of the like never appealed to him after he kicked his alcohol at around age 5. Luck and will power had nothing to do with it, but the nasty power of whiskey stopped him. Who knows what might have, could have, would have been, but for that little boy's sneaky moment that sat him on the straight and narrow. A crisis experience by a curious little boy became unknown, unseen by others, and evermore top-secret information; even forgotten by him for many a year.
The resolutions of most I'm told, never last, and by year's end, very little ever comes to pass. I therefore usually resolve to never resolute but to do my best before God one day at a time. Oh, I'm not saying that resolutions are bad and unattainable, and I hope they serve you well. Noticed on a wall, a statement read, "Never accept 'No' until you've heard it twice".
This 5-year-old boy didn't need a second opinion nor to hear twice the word "No". He chose to be a teetotaler for the rest of his life. Sometimes it hurts to stick to resolutions, but if we believe in them deeply, we tend to follow through.
011420PoSoup
What is my sin never done before?
What is my sin that won't be done some more?
Is it adultery, theft or murder?
Hasn't it been done in Sodom and Gomorrah?
It would still be done even by my son
Nothing is new under the Sun
What is my pain never felt before?
What is my pain that won't be felt once more?
Is it heartbreak, disappointment or death?
Hasn't it once been felt upon the earth?
It would still be felt even by my son
For nothing is new under the sun
What is true beauty never seen before?
What is true beauty that has not yet been born?
Is it a fair beautiful and noble woman?
Hasn't she been seen since the time of Sarah?
She would still be seen even by my son
Nothing is new under the sun
What is strong drink never drunk before?
What is strong drink that cannot turn sour?
Is it dry gin, vodka or fine wine?
Hasn't it been drunk since Jesus Christ own time?
It would still be drunk even by my son
Nothing is new under the sun
What is a woman's body never touched before?
What is a woman's flesh that haven't felt a tour?
Is it her luscious chest, tender lips or bushy treasures?
Haven't men visited in strokes of countless pleasures?
It would still be touched even by my son
Nothing is new under the sun
What are known as riches never owned before?
What are riches not owned by Solomon?
Is it golden castles, diamonds or bounty wealth?
Hasn't it been owned before upon this earth?
It would still be owned even by my son
Nothing is new under the son
What is true love never known before?
What is true love that haven't proven pure?
Is it the loving feeling that sometimes make you think?
Hasn't it been known even before the Titanic?
It would still be known even by my son
Nothing is new under the sun
Who are earthly beings never owned before?
Who are earthly beings proven to be so sure?
Are they your family, lovers or dear friends?
Hasn't it been here and yet the ties still end?
They would still be owned even by my son
For nothing is new under the sun
You hear voices in the bar room, making merry, making a toast
They have offices and homes, but here is where they laugh most
Men from all walks of life, united under the banner of strong drinks
Here you can be yourself without caring what the world thinks
When God made the world and everything in it
He knew without alcohol it would not be complete
He gave birds wings, and waved them as they flew
Then he gave men, the knowledge to brew
Men have conquered the world drunk on spirits and wines
Drinking men have grabbed pens and drawn crooked lines
Dividing the world into nations, printing it on fancy maps
The borders are crooked because warlords were drunk, perhaps!
Poor men and beggars have known what it feels to be kings
When they drink, they get drunk, and poverty no longer stings
Unmarried women and maids know what it feels to be a lady
When they drink, they are beautiful, for they can’t hold the mirror steady
If God had made man out of clay and wine instead of blood
He would never have had to send mankind the great flood
Men would have obeyed his word and Noah would not have built the ark
Wine is good for the heart; no one would ever die of a heart attack
Or if God had filled the oceans with wine instead of water
The world would be a place of great and endless laughter
Men walking around with jars full of wine and hearts full of love
Singing songs on sailing boats, no landlords and oil barons to serve.
Now here we live, a world where they trade the wines and spirits
Chemically induced, cleverly marketed, to bring in more digits
Still we flock to bars and liquor shops, if our time and money can afford
To partake this strong drink, in pursue of happiness that is fraud.
Has it caused more harm than good, the alcoholic beverage?
Are there more accidents, than men with forgotten rage?
When they drink, they may not be socially coherent
But they are happy, so alcohol must be God sent
In these long nights
I welcome sleep, yet I am
deprived of dreaming’s please, hindered
by hot thoughts and lack of comfort
strong drink and companionship; this eludes me
crystal goblets stained with palm prints
stand alone and empty around my easy chair
these relics are etched with a monogram
that cries out to eves of glory’s past
but unlike my pillows stained with sorrow’s tears
these can be cleaned and polished by the maid
in those moments, while dusk wanes and
I drift towards twilight’s throes my thought’s solace
should be under the stars and hunters moon
that accompanies my wounded soul’s remind
when in sleight of hand or upon slight
of imagination, sorrow’s deep stirs
emotion to release its rich and mysterious scent
what dares to stand and stop a good night’s sleep
to shear and rut those sheep without consent
and alter an uneventful count of odd and even numbers
races does the heart as one’s mind beats like thunder
why in the shadows does one ponder wonder?
and wallow alone in the darkness while wrestling
with body and mind to simply and seemingly fade away
and in the dimming ends of daylight a weakness comes
as I return to the slave I am, of empty nights
wrapped up in clean sheets; a sad and solitary figure
Oh! how the night escapes me and flees
to a perfection’s stranger portion of quieting slumber
would this so be a sinister celebration an
equivalent of a full day’s hours or, the Elohim Zavaoth
cum El hai / Shaddai; those multitudes so to be seen
in the morning’s glory with rested eyes and a mind’s
ration of sleep laid out like gold from a faraway
wealthy Kingdom, laying beyond the reach of poverty
and famine parched lips, burned and blistered souls and
spirits lacking Heaven’s soothe and God’s treasure
of the bliss in an innocent’s night’s sleep.