In the Grand Hotel of Old Bisbee,
Where the sun shines bright and free,
Day drinking with favorite bartenders,
Angela and Shelby, such sweetenders.
Angela's brush strokes are like her pours,
Fluid and colorful, each one endures,
Watercolor art and drinks, her specialty,
Her creations, her spirits, pure alchemy.
Shelby, the petite pixie with blue hair,
A magic mixologist, beyond compare,
Her potions and concoctions, spellbinding,
A sip of her elixir, forever finding.
Together, they create an ambiance so rare,
Sipping cocktails, without a single care,
As the world outside keeps moving on,
We sit and sip until the light is gone.
So cheers to Angela and Shelby,
With their artistic and magical revelry,
Day drinking at the Grand Hotel,
A place of charm and spirits, where all is well.
ChatGPT Mar 14 Version. Free Research
Categories:
mixologist, child abuse, drink,
Form: Rhyme
A radical racist
American hating mixologist
(along with a trio of she devils)
want to clip the ability
of God's children
to defend themselves
from terrorist attacks.
She didn't get her wish
threw a hissy fit
wept jackass tears
over the house of congress.
They'll keep trying to crush Israel
as Satan's lot are a persistant bunch..
their hearts brimming with lye
souls so thick with arrogance
they think they can spar
with God and survive..
but the courtyard of God is pristine
and his wrath is fathomless
and within those karmic depths
is where those hateful rats will drown.
Categories:
mixologist, jewish, journey,
Form: Free verse
We called the police
but no one came
We tried 9-1-1
it wasn't the same
We placed a request
for a social psychologist
Who showed up
a part-time mixologist
She surveyed the scene
Five shot, four dead
Mixed some bloody Marys
Then gagged and fled
Next morning we called City Hall
to report the night's crimes
The phone answered by a Ms. Regal
who told us now everything's legal
We drank our coffee, stunned and confused
walked down the street where bullies abused
Poor little kids who were walking to school
where kids pack heat and break all the rules
We finally decided, eough is enough
without the police, lifes's just too tough
The neighborhood crawls now with all kinds of smack
but we're stuck here forever, 'cos our car got hijacked
Categories:
mixologist, bullying, change, death, hope,
Form: Rhyme
Room 5 – that’s where it starts
It is always 14 minutes from being nowhere
You can settle in for liquid cocktails
Ordered up by an oncologist and pharmacist
The mixologist has 10 years experience delivering the Red Devil
No mucking about. She knows how to get you where you are going
And get you there in one ragged piece of your self.
You’ll walk out but your mind and muscles are punked out pieces of meat
It’s like going ten rounds with Ali. Punch drunk from a float and jab
You will watch his feet float like a butterfly and his jab sting like a bee
But you are always 14 minutes away from being nowhere
People will speak, their mouths will move like slow motion action
You will see the spittle and the tongues wagging wildly but again you are still 14
Minutes away from being nowhere
No one understands
They all care
Or at least they say they do.
Drum roll please!
Strike the drum smartly Ed.
Lower it to the ground
Room 5 – is always where it starts.
And it damn sure is 14 minutes from being nowhere.
Categories:
mixologist, cancer,
Form: Free verse
Jack Daniels whiskey label
That has you out aged
Stamped in the silver tombstone
Aboard your belt.
And the dust on your boots
Not yet time worn, or tattered with age
Almost as shiny as your youth
Behind those still driven eyes
embers of a fire
Burning in your belly
Flickering to flame
In your dilating pupils
If whiskey were all that
Touched the rim
Could you even hold
A steady hand
Keep it all down
Or would your young-blood
Reject all reason
If I were a Mixologist
I’d brand your innocence
With something frozen pink and fruity
Or perhaps your Ivy League smile
Would entice the monkey’s lunch
Milk could still do that body good
But behind my condescending smirk
And my time tailored thirty-something taste for whiskey
There is a little, Miss McGill
That wants to brew you tea
Boil your barley-teasing-twenty assets
And let them steep in the confines
Of a solid bed frame.
Categories:
mixologist, passiontime,
Form: Free verse