Short Ale Poems
Short Ale Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Ale by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Ale by length and keyword.
I want my toast and ale
and use the bread that's stale;
for a breakfast so hardy
I'm on time and not tardy,
so feed me and don't look so pale!
im lying face down in the street
it seems i tripped over my feet
i think it was the ale
that caused my epic fail
ill just sleep here on the concrete
A poet may dream
of a life he's seen
then tell it all in a tale
though sometimes confess
the dream would be less
if not seen
through a bottle of ale !!
A stout mug o ale
needs be a fixin'
whatever's ailin' ye, lad
And if that doesn't do it
Here's what comes next
You'll be eatin' the cookin' of Dad
Wet
Liquified physical
Risen vaporizing fluid
Tides controlling moon streaming
Agua
2/18/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Have you ever drank Vulcan ale
You’ll get the runs and turn quite pale
You’ll need a bucket for your stool
And you’ll be screaming like a fool
It’s also known as a white whale
hear...ye hear?...
ye here...
ye sit but...
knot giving...
ye sit...ye wait...shuns...
everyone!...
in the line-up...
outside the door...
has to go...
so please...
take this bucket?...
stan sand
There was an old lag* at my sale,
Who drank all the barrels of ale,
As the beer was sublime,
He confessed to a crime,
And puked on returning to jail.
*A prisoner/a person who has often been in prison
For Skat’s contest
Water ; it's precious, runs in veins red and oceans blue,
the populace know it all-the significance of unfathomable water blue,
yet there is heaps and heaps of garbage,
scraps and remains high and low
in placid tidal pool.
She comes
like ginger ale in the desert
sweet and sparkly
to me
quenching the fires of my heart
soothing my dust choked throat
I drink
soon again I have thirst
but she is gone, and I stand
sand in can
erbiage.wordpress.com
I've been told,
I'd be the white spot,
On a set of pure white sheets,
Last blood test came up,
40% Budweiser I am told,
I will surely be well pickled,
No matter how many years old,
The waiter brings a tray,
We call out for more drinks,
All that I gotta' say,
That this life surely stinks.
gleam in ale,
a glass of dark brew happiness
served on a marble bar ;
frothy inebriant,
a tickle to his moustache,
grown over moon's pass
juggled with solar heat
across the heaven's street, blue sky.
gleam in ale,
a froth for drowning
mumbles and grumbles
of life
a glass of dark brew happiness.
Triple cointreau not a good idea.
I read books before they are thrown on the fire.
Leviathan and Iliad
Good books sometimes seem bad.
This land I inhabit not a place I want to be.
A desperate odyssey set for home.
Vodka and a redbull so disgusting.
Everyone I meet so distrusting.
Idle in a dream I sit.
Disparaged of a life that I skit.
A divine misery I write and live.
And in Inferno I die.
As silently I lie.
Sleep takes me
Sleep takes me.
Sleeping.
Silently.