Long Tequila Poems
Long Tequila Poems. Below are the most popular long Tequila by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tequila poems by poem length and keyword.
In a back room in downtrodden and sleazy Manila
On the table cards money and a bottle of Tequila
Fortune lay in the hands of Jose the crooked dealer
Had piercing eyes and a nose like a broken tortilla
As if he had been groomed with a potatoe peeler
Always had an ace up his sleeves this amazing dealer
But to even the game his foes applied silicon sealer
To his coat and bankrupted the dishonest stealer
He found his comeuppance and glue was the healer
Gone were his days as slick professional concealer
He now resides in a prison cell in a disused castilla
Bread and water for him and no more grenadilla
30th December 2019
The sun rose in the west today – or, perhaps, I was standing on my head?
I went to a funeral for my very best friend, but the chap wasn’t even dead!
Said he wanted to be eulogized while drinking a pint of beer.
I think the things we said about him, weren’t exactly what he wanted to hear.
“He was, or is, an egotistical old bastard – doesn’t surprise me in the least,
that he wants to attend his own funeral service – God, what a horrible beast!”
And that, my friends, was from his Mom; the best friend a boy ever had.
“When finally they put his body in the ground, I think we’ll all be glad.”
Egad!
Global warming took a holiday, as the snow piled up real high;
that bugger for whom we passed the plate, took out his wooden eye.
The casket was full of cold cuts;
The bartender doubled as the priest;
I took another shot of tequila,
while the sun started setting in the east.
The ladies started undressing;
my organ started to rise;
I played Beethoven’s “Requiem”,
with it pointing to the skies.
The only tears that were shed today belonged to the corpse who was still alive –
His ex wife sang that old Gloria Gaynor tune, “You know, I will survive!”
The next time he throws a party for himself,
I think he’ll choose a different theme –
And maybe the people who come and get drunk
won’t be so awfully mean!
His buddies called him Brant, he was the strongest man
made of solid muscles and he seemed mighty;
he became a fugitive after he raped two women
and robbed to get money for his coke and whiskey.
One was his best friend whom he killed for a grudge he had,
and hiding his face, he pulled down his hat and felt afraid.
There was a reward for anyone who knew his whereabouts
or acquaintances, rumors attested that he must have escaped
to Mexico to join banditos who raped, killed, and robbed;
an American guy saw him in Acapulco kissing pretty chicas*.
He thought that nobody was looking for him and he laughed
in that noisy bar drinking Tequila* until he was drunk and sad,
but forgetting faces drenched in blood is pure madness;
he wore a sombrero* hat and mingled with friendly locals.
Marcela was not his favorite girl, she refused to sit in his lap
while he smoked Tabamex Toro;* he whispered, " Te adoro, mi querida*. "
And disliking the short phrase, she bit on his scarred, dry lip;
" Ah, hermosa, suave!* " He quickly reacted to the revengeful Marcela.
He didn't know that was a trap and be captured him by the FBI agents,
but he suddenly got up, slapped her in the face with murderous hate;
Marcela hit the floor and died instantly, " Bandido*, bandido! That's
my daughter! " The dark-skin man howled. He drew his gun with haste.
He shut him three times, Brant fell down and profusely bled from his legs,
" You are under arrest! " One of the agents said cuffing him with ease,
" We'll take you back to Texas and you'll pay for the rapes and killings!"
Every rapist and killer should know that restlessness allows no inner peace! "
* Chicas: girls
* Tequila: Mexican liquor
* Sombrero: Mexican Hat
* Tabamex Toro: Mexican cigars
* Te adoro, mi querida: I adore you, my dear
* Ah, hermosa, suave: Ah, beautiful take it slow
* Bandido: bandit
Your words and songs they
touched our souls.
In disbelief, sad news unfolds.
In intensive care you fought the
fight!
On this sad night you lost your life!
Your lying eyes will play
forever.
You Being here, would be much
better.
Band members are missing you.
Adoring fans they feel it to!
Thank you for giving us one
last show. In Buffalo you played
your best Rock and Roll.
At the Sad Cafe we will go and see.
Why fortunes smile on some and
lets the rest go free.
Tequila Sunrises will guide
your way. Your cherished
songs will play and play.
I wish you well my dear old friend.
This world will never be the same...
Michael Tor
Dedicated to Glenn Frey Eagles Band founder.
"Wonder why fortunes smile on some and lets the rest go
free." Is taken from lyrics of Sad Cafe Song off the Long
Run album. I am forever grateful to Elena and my brother
Gus for getting me the tickets to their last to last concert
in Buffalo NY. They played one more together in Toronto.
Toronto was their last with Glenn alive. Long live Glenn Frey.....
Speaking Spanish wasn't easy for a gringo like me, but I had no choice. I was playin' cards and drinkin' Mezcal at a nowhere bar in El Paso. I didn't have any money in my pockets but I was bluffing to win, I lost. I stood up, pulled my six gun and shot a man dead. The bar emptied out quick and so did I, money in hand. I jumped on that old pinto and rode due south because I knew the border wasn't far. My heart was beatin' as fast as that horse could gallop but I had the money, thank God. I looked out of place in Mexico, my jet-black cowboy hat amongst the sombreros and dark eyes staring at me, so I tipped my hat lower. Down a dusty Juarez Street, I found a cantina so I hitched my horse and went inside feeling weary. A pocket full of money and a Tequila bottle, I was joined by a senorita more beautiful than I could imagine. Her flowing dark hair and dress captivated my eyes as I told her my story dancing to the sound of mariachis in the background. She said the $300 dollars I stole I could turn into $600 with her help. Eager to double my money, we sat down at a table full of men playing cards and drinking Pulque by the glass. I felt confident as we won hand after hand, her hand in mine, a Tequila bottle in the other. I scooped up the winnings and kissed her soft skin feeling pretty lucky when a bullet ripped through my chest. Lying on the dirt floor in my own blood, a bandito took the money from my hand as my senorita, on her knees cried. My home in Albuquerque is far away now. I lay in an unmarked grave in the Sonoran Desert. The money I had won, well someone else is playing cards with it now...
My mule is intelligent, and it loves me.
perhaps it loves everybody,
it's a rental.
I need a shot of confidence.
The mule rests its head on my shoulder.
It's a well-travelled track
but today I have met no one.
I should have left camp in the early dark,
for now a fiery desert sun
is baking the dry earth into hot broken glass.
I imagine our bones
being found some years later
by some kid in an off-road Lexus.
The Mule snorts derisively;
nudges me in the small of the back
to get me going.
A few miles later I'm drinking Tequila
in a cantina
and the mule is falling in love again
with some other intrepid explorer.
Shot like tequila
See the blood
See it splatter
On ground
Like it matters?
See the boats as they row
Watch the wind as it blows
This is Black?
Yeah, it is
I know it's sad
But so is this
One gun to ya chest
One gun to ya head
Couple knees on ya neck
Just to make sure that your dead
Rope round the tree
Sending blood down your body
Staining your fresh white tee
Black kids don't live long enough to say "cheese"
White people profit off of seeing you in pain
While you wait for a change that you'll never see
One that only God can give you
Black mother's weep
As they sweep
White mother's watch them cry
Over bodies that were hung
If you read the Bible it feels more like a suicide
Listening to songs that were sung
Tinge, thy colors terrific.
Weather wave, point where?
Heaven and Hell, this may stick!
Brick upon the bare.
Red the rampant real? Rind? Rhyme.
Tornados in time.
Wind above the city, chime.
Tequila, thy lime.
Yak upon the mountain;
Which way doth trouble lurk?
Rubbish, fill the garbage bin!
If you work, you shirk!
Psyche, soul tormented;
This place sure stinks of doom!
Lyre of love lamented!
O curse on pharaoh's tomb...
Bloom upon the tamarind?
Reality grinned.
Sin, thy light the whole world pinned!
Challengers a-chinned...
Roll that boulder, vagrant king!
Silver is thy sting!
Drenched upon but undying!
Rail about the ring!
Levels sinking in the pool?
Silent lies the spool.
O young people, keep it cool?
Flayed dismayed, fair fool...
Ghoul, thy magic terrible;
Golem, shall we ride?
Room within the brazen bull?
Bailiff, how you tried...
Tomorrow’s going to find me in another place
I never had the urge to settle down
There’s so much of this world that I’ve never seen
Another mountain, another valley, another town
I get those urges every time I hear a train whistle blow
Or the sound of a ship pulling out to sea
Staying put is killing me and I’ve just got to go
That open road is calling out to me
My memories take me to my youth
Just living for each day
Reveling in the joy that freedom brings
Flew from Spain to Corsica
Saw Ajaccio but I couldn’t stay
Listen to a mermaid as she sings
Barcelona then the other side of Spain
Pull cinderella liberty for New Year’s eve
Take the liberty boat back at Two AM
With a bottle of cognac up my sleeve
Walked around an old castle in Patras Greece
On a warm and sunny day
Stopped in town and had a few
Then it was time to be on my way
Remembering all the places that I’ve been
Look at the lines carved in my face
Wishing I could sail again
Memories time cannot erase
Dreams take me back to the open sea
Stop for a while in Kingston town
See the Southern Cross at night
Pour another tequila down
My father was my link to beer
And Rheingold was his brew.
That red and white can held the only
Lager that I knew.
As I grew up I switched to wine -
Sangria was in style -
And even learned to like some booze -
Tequila, for a while.
But years ago I drifted back
To early brewski days,
Especially when I discovered
Hoppy IPA's.
Back then, the stores had just a few
So I scoped out my faves.
I tried to spread the word but
Very few confirmed my raves.
Yet happily for me, today,
The craft beer movement's hot
And with so much to choose from,
There are loads I like a lot.
My dad, if he were still alive,
Would sip and shake his head,
Rejecting all those crafty brews
For Rheingold-types instead.
But each of us would raise a glass
(Or bottle, can or mug)
And share a father-daughter toast
Before we'd smile and chug.