Long Vodka Poems
Long Vodka Poems. Below are the most popular long Vodka by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Vodka poems by poem length and keyword.
A misfit in Liverpool
I think of oranges, and saw a painting by Constable of a morning sun
that looked like blood orange dripping nectar down on some
Fishermen are trying to catch eels on the dark surface in the bay.
There were sail ships too, ready to hoist sail in the morning wind.
When I lived in England, I met several police constables, most
of them, nice blokes, alas, during the miners´ strike, they became
radicalized, they had a good talking to by those higher up, and
were also promised plenty of overtime.
John, the constable, - fifteen years on the beat and no promotion-
A friend of mine refused to partake in hitting miners over the head,
He continued his lonely beat, but at the station, he was ostracised,
a lonely figure in need of a friend- He often came into my cafe after
hours and we drank vodka with orange juice, lamenting the time we
lived in. John retired early, and I sold my cafe.
Leaves of the Dead
Les feuilles mortes
They fall like dead soldiers
Dreams knifed in the dead of night
It is as yesterday
Once more
Where love was kissing my cheek
Where hopes had dreams
One could see the blossom of loves desires
Leaves falling in the park
Autumn coldness brings the dark
Death marching towards winters fate
Young love broken at the graveyard gates
Ah now I am holding a cane
I have all but forgotten yesterday
I have no lovers
My friends have all but gone
To their designated places in the ground
Piano keys in soft lit lounges
I remember the vodka stingers and sultry singers
Telling me life was jolie oh so jolie
If only there was love…
Leaves falling in the park
Autumn coldness brings the dark
Death marching towards winters fate
Young love broken at the graveyard gates
At 3am, with burnt cigarette butts
If only there was love
When the metro finds it’s unwitting end
Reality and cubes make ugly paintings
There are only drunks
Dreamers and bums
Thief’s picking pockets of your final instructions
Leaves falling in the park
Autumn coldness brings the dark
Death marching towards winters fate
Young love broken at the graveyard gates
If you can sober up and face the poverty
Of your empty aspirations of hope
Come to the bois de Vincennes
Where Kings and Queens danced and dined
What better place
To splay the butter
So that the knife slides smooth
Whilst the sun fades kissing the seine
Autumn leaves will fall
Dead again
Leaves falling in the park
Autumn coldness brings the dark
Death marching towards winters fate
Young love broken at the graveyard gates
Unhinged Lunatic Howling at the Full Moon
On the night of the blood red super full moon
I sat in an evil, depraved godforsaken bar
Drinking drams of demented, fermented dream dew
Washed down by endless rounds of whiskey
rum, tequila, vodka, soju and of course beer
drinking with my buddies the Jack Daniels Gang
Drinking my way to Hell and beyond
Just as fast as I could
twenty damn drinks too sober
Just an unhinged lunatic
Dreaming of howling at the full moon
Watching the world walk by
Looking at all the fine-looking babes
Walking by the street
Thinking wild, erotic thoughts
Of endless wild libertine passions
When into the bar
That din of cosmic depravity
Walked the most beautiful women
In the Universe
So wild, so free
So wonderfully alive
I did not know what to do
As this vision of delight
Sauntered through the bar
In a skin-tight leather pant
Looked so fine
That my eyeballs hurt
And finally, I had to say something
So, I gathered up my manly courage
And walked up to her
And she looked at me
And instantly bewitched my soul
With a devilish grin
I lost all reason
And became a raving lunatic
Unhinged lunatic
Howling at the blood red full moon
Foaming at the mouth
A wild, free werewolf
Howling at the lunatic light
Of the blood red blue full Moon
Animato
-----------------
Once there were a covey of quails. They lived in Paw-Paw's homestead. There they shared there days with rabbits and chickens, who often fought over the feed and mealworms feed to them. One day a cat wondered into the feeding area and began to look over the rabbits and chickens, the puppies playing in the yard noticed this and went to ask the cat it's intentions. The cat said" scram bucko the tender's are ah callin" the puppies laughed and told the cat that this was there watch and ' aint no cat task chore feez" where happening here, " you get that catty eat 'em up"" you get that" the biggest puppy said.The wared the cat that an ole fox was wondering around and he too better look out for him. "What ever he said I aint scared of no fox!" "The Puppies said scram bucko". Yes sir said the hungry kitty who turned it's back and walked off, I get it: I get it loud and clear" the cat walked away and everything was quiet on the homestead again.
Oh, somewhere around noon, the quailes started calling bob white. It was so annoying that they cat said,"Shut up will you we are tryna get some sleep"! The quailses keep on calling "Bob white": the cat stood and said' I'm coming over there and gonna make you quailes shut up!" One of the quailes answered saying" Come- on and do it, if you got the nerves". The cat responded, I got the nerves, I'll be right over"!
And then we noticed that on the field edge the tall grasses had parted and a sly evil eyed fox was looking. " oh lord said one of the hen's,my lord it's the fox!" Rabbits and chickens and quails started for cover. "Bob White the quailes yelped!" " The high pitched shrieks of the rabbits and the cackling of the hens, warned the dogs to stand and defend!. The barking puppies all came ah running. The fox hungry and unbothered crouched and did his stalking act to then pounce upon one oof the quailes.
1.
the crystallised handkerchief
of one’s span of life
your handloom-bird brings with its lips
some musical notation of the nimbus
holding that waves within the heart
how much growth does occur
to the sandal-line of a man
or
it does
fall
the blades of grasses are known well
to be vegetarian
the eyes of the reindeer
have cent per cent smelling of fish
then what translation would you suggest
for the fingers of wild titlark
the shirt
they have put on the body of this night-stone
what best word-meaning does match it
but land-lotus
2.
i’ve re-constructed
all the trees and plants
with
the dry straws grass twigs collectively
fetched by beak
and the monsoon
as well
the full-brim of vodka
is deep in the palms
in that moonlight
a sleeping-tablet
does take a dip-swimming
within her enfolding
there may be the whole works of rabindranath
from the breathing of cd-player
spreads around
the sound of horse’s hoof
there is the bed-sheet of dusts
on the anger
kept bound within the cover of rexin
it’s true
our vineyards are still
prone to stones
then it does not seem
that the boiled moon sets
into the tea-cup
3
in your songs
still lies
immense green
the bed-room is too
very bright
the walnuts
walking along the path
that touches the rain-shore
make me think likely
on a sunday
kept in an envelop
when the bedcover of the early morning
speaks frankly
what’s in its mind
to the soap-water
the ears of the horse
in the wall-calendar
look very crazy
i can remember
one day
the sun-boats would tear their wrappers
their whisper would want to discover
the inclinations and thoughts of the creepers and herbs
possessed by the lady-volunteers
their yawing would notice
so many unused handlooms
taking a run-away on the clouds
now
would the cat under the beautiful jersey
finally think of waking up
then i’ll go
to deposit the clever apples
along with
all the triangles accompanying it
to the nearest cold-storage
pound and flaten one large turkey breast
place 12 slices of cottage bacon inside
in a bowl add
1 cup of feta cheese
1/2 teaspoon of cumin
1/4 nutmeg
1 cup of spinach (Strained and chopped)
1 tablespoon of garlic
3 Tablespoons of dehydrated onion
1/4 cup of cooked bacon
One tablespoon of cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon of lemon zest
1 teaspoon of mace
2 tablespoon of Vermouth (sweet)
mix well and layer over turkey breast. bake until done about an hour and a half
on 350 degrees.
serve with mushroom and parmesan cream noodle
and an onion, cucumber and avocado salad.
Conducted and performed n the proper sequences. made right to please.
that greatest understanding of satisfaction. Beyond Adagio steeping into Atonality.
Cantata Agua
3 Cups of peach nectar
3 Cups of gingerale
5 cups of a good white wine
1/4 cup of a rasberry flavored vodka
4 cups of rasberry clubsoda
I heard these words whispered in the bookstore yesterday…
words I’ve heard a thousand times before.
One person whispered, “I love you” the other smiled and whispered,
“I love you more.”
These words can bring a smile to one’s face…or tears of joy into one’s eyes….
For some reason, yesterday, I started wondering…just what this phrase implies….
When we respond , ‘I love you more’…I think these four words should….
Mean…I love you more…than I ever thought I could.
I love you more than rainbows…more than anyone I’ve ever met.
I love you more than chocolate…more than Romeo loved Juliet.
I love you more than life itself…more than vodka or champagne.
I love you more than bees love honey…or the flowers love the rain.
I love you more than ice cream…more than bluebirds love to fly.
I love you more than sunsets, pepperoni pizza…more than pizza or French fries.
I love you more than hiking in the mountain…or walks along the shore.
I love you more today…than I did the day before.
Yes, whenever I hear the words ‘I love you more’
shouted from across the room…or whispered soft and low…
I like to think what these words mean is….
I love you….more than you can ever know.
You’re not back in the USSR
And you don’t have a ticket to ride.
There’s no magic in your mystery tour.
The Walrus isn’t on your side.
You took a long and winding road
Because we couldn’t work it out.
Yesterday you raged across the universe.
You should have known better, no doubt.
You’re a loser, and it won’t be long
Before they’ve shattered your glass onion dome.
Help for you is another four-letter word.
You’d better let it be and just go home.
Something in the way you goosestep
Is what enlightened nations can’t forgive.
Get back to where you once drank vodka,
And don’t even tell me all you need is Lviv.
A glass of vodka on the table,
A chocolate joint between the fingers,
A Tokarev in the bag,
The brain infused with adrenaline.
Misery, a nightmare,
Being poor, a curse,
Forced to drown in illicit transactions.
Survival: a necessity to exist,
Bound to poverty since the placenta.
Murder scenes as the only spectacle,
From the watchtower, the horizon is mortiferous.
Reality proclaims its sentence with a firm voice,
The cruelty of the street teaches raw lessons to worn-out heels.
Gagged souls count the dirty money that corrodes their future,
A pact of survival sealed between greasy fingers and clenched fists.
The heart hardens to feed a hungry mouth,
Prayer turns into calculation, cash becomes language.
Yellow smiles are sold, worn-out allegiances are bought,
Eyes assess, tongues negotiate the unforgivable.
A shiver of metal recalls the origin of the debts.
No respite, the market demands its tribute without mercy.
A verse carved inside lacerated fists,
Ultimate testament of a centuries-old ordeal.
By middle-age he became unseen
as he slipped by unnoticed
through a changing world.
When down town,
he walked unremarked among
the throng
though he clearly heard
fanfares, and the regal cry of celestial eagles
announcing his presence everywhere.
Head up he strode past hurrying shoppers,
all intent on ignoring
the supranatural evidence
of his transition into non-appearance.
He maintained an air of calm dignity
as the cahier oblivious
to the grandeur before her
or of his omniscient comportment,
bagged a bottle of cheap vodka,
and a family pack of salt and vinegar chips.
Shortly thereafter, he ambled home
whistling a high-pitched prayer of gratitude
for his exalted position and unviewable radiance,
still traveling incognito to his kingdom
on the third floor of nowhere.