The owl, sipping port in his study,
Perusing philosophy muddy,
Proclaimed “Kant is cant,
And read more I shan’t,
I well know a fowl fuddy-duddy!”
_________________________
Something surprising is happening all over. The world is drinking less alcohol. Sales are dropping. People don’t want to drink—not as much as they used to. As per US Gallup, only 54% cent of Americans drink—a 90-year low. Maybe, the joy of drinking is found less and less on shared-high, and more and more on shared-presence.
______________________________
If Gen Z walks right in a bar
And water is all they order,
Their joys, less on shared-high,
More on shared-presence lie,
Winking, tells me a twinkling star.
______________________
Happenings | 01.04.2026| humour, joy, youth, limerick
He pays.
He leaves.
And she bleeds quietly.
Some come for release,
others for control.
Some come to forget.
Some to remember.
Some to be punished.
Some just come because it’s cheap.
It's sin.
It’s not sin.
It’s survival.
It’s escape.
It’s addiction.
It’s barter.
It's bargain.
It's need.
It’s ritual.
Here, bodies are commodities.
Sold by the hour.
Measured by the weight, age and colour of the skin,
freshness of smile,
limpness of resistance.
It is commercialisation of desire
wrapped in lace,
sold in whispers,
shared in commissions,
paid in bribes,
cashed in tips.
She lets strangers
from the corridor of silence
enter in the dark...
Screeching beds,
sweat,
blood and tears - at times
between pain, pleasure and numbness...
He comes. He goes.
But the scent lingers around like emptiness.
The curtain falls, when the last man zips,
And I lay my teacup after that last sip...
First place glory?
So that's the story
Just as I fear
No Benjamins here
My body's all aching and wracked with pain
Not sure I want to travel this highway again
Once is enough
Journey's been tough
Who am I, life's been like sipping champagne
Bereft and alone since love was lost,
she sits in deep shadows
humming the same song
sipping claret from a Lismore goblet
Day and night, in silence she dwells
Time no longer sifts through an hourglass.
Heartache has cast a wicked spell
cursing her into a void of loneliness
She's drawn the drapes,
praying an eclipse will fill the abyss
into which she's fallen
Hoping it will swallow moonlight's glow
keeping it hidden from sight
Entombed as though in a sepulcher,
her insipid soul sits spiritless
on this night, cold and bleak
No spark of life can be roused
in her vacant eyes
as if blood no longer flows in her heart
Naught but darkness does she seek
Only that and to be left alone
away from pitiable stares
She sits in deep shadows
humming the same song
sipping claret from a Lismore goblet
Perched in a leafy tree
sipping on poetry
eyes trained on rolling hills
toggling ‘tween windowsills
points of vantage as yet unimagined
heretofore ne’er examined
Dare one say ‘the thrill is gone’
~ leave him listless lie on languid liquid lawns
Little Lee sits on edge of his peach mint tea
Drawing his right leg clear up to one knee
Sipping with a teensy slurp, so delicately
We are taking lessons from our friend Little Lee
Sipping his warm tasty gnome grog in the snow
We see troll’s size fourteen feet and we laugh at his ugly toe
Why doesn’t he wear shoes or boots someone says.
Too warm blooded me thinks, says my cousin Inez.
Alabaster streaks of warmth
in its dewy first glow,
tepidly stirring the senses, as
my gaze roams to the
trickle of ebony beads;
in the distance,
chimes of granular dustings,
with fragrances rich in
mahogany earthen grounds,
shaking the last of the
quondam night’s moon specks,
as life’s poignant rays
seep deep into my sights,
coaxing myself out of
hibernation,
longing for the first sip
of sunshine,
basking in the early beams of
balmy dawns and
sepia sunsets,
blessed to
start and end the
sands of time with you—
upon my soul’s sanctuary,
my lucid dream ablaze.
"God within me is the enjoyer of the aroma
As also this dopamine boosting flavour I taste
I surrender all pleasures to the dweller of my heart
Breath by breath thus that my soul presence be chaste"
“God within me is the enjoyer of the aroma,
like this dopamine boosting flavor I taste.
I surrender all pleasures to the dweller of my heart,
breath by breath so that my soul may be chaste”
He is the one that loves me and watches me night and day
as I sip my coffee I ponder on my future and His way
How can I yield to Him when my hopes are on the fringe ?
A caffeinated woman highly stimulated by life, unhinged
like the fences of my childhood past, ...
He is the scent that clings to my bones at my most secret hour
the shadow that never leaves me, my Babel Tower
How can I be obedient until death when life continues to shower?
Juiced up to the max by life's contours I tend to cower
like the deer in the forest I shrink away fast, ...
He is the light at the end of a long and darkly tunnel
a few prayers on the lips and I am able to leave this jungle
How can I serve Him best, when all I do is stumble
revved up like a strong cup of espresso I can only guzzle
like a thirsty beggar, without a solid repast.
Once a week, on a Friday
I have the most delightful way
I escape from all household chores
When Friday comes, I shut all the doors
To trouble and woe,
Then off I go.
I take Friday slow,
And savour every second
Because I know
That Father Time will beckon
And the time will pass too fast,
I don't mind,
If the weather rains or shines,
It will be fine for me.
On Fridays, I feel free.
I spend hours in a cosy cafe.
I reserve a window seat.
I have lunch there every Friday.
It is a tasty treat.
Their coffee is the best,
That I have ever tasted.
And would stand up to any test.
And not a drop is wasted.
I love sipping my coffee,
And watching people as they pass.
It's like I can see the world more clearly.
As I quietly sipped coffee behind the glass.
King Midas cannot compare with an abundance of gold
Such earthly treasure ground, roasted and lo and behold
Blessed from the ancient merchants of the Africa’s and the East
It is more than a suave sip, for mortals are drawn to a feast
Of an aroma that cascades and hits all the right notes
Served on the world’s climates, iced, chilled, warm - a hot roast one dotes
That occasionally makes the heart skip a beat
The bold bitter brown elixir tingles one’s feet
Surely, we are bestowed such pleasures to alleviate strife
Craving that one sip and revelling in our short worldly life
Listen to the silence,
before the sip of this brewed potion,
an enticing concoction,
Do you hear the harvest ,
The songs oozing from the volcanic sandy loam,
perspiring earthy herbs that graciously glow,
sprinkling notes of the sweetest flowers,
the heavenly dark red golden lake that awaits,
in the ark of this marble mint mug,
For a minute, the rich roast takes hold on to these lungs,
Pulverizing every weight that rests on my ribs,
Singing songs of spring to my winter brain,
Have I been too needy,
for the touch of coffee to run down my throat,
hoping it would wipe away every artery clogging my heart,
Maybe I yearn for these beans way too much,
Or are they simple my subconscious crutch.
“Breath by breath thus that my soul presence be chaste.”
That first scented breath inhaled
as sweet as e'er I have smelled.
The first, the fine nonpareil,
only lasts till death expel.
Oh, that prime refreshing breath
leading to ultimate death.
I atone for sins unknown.
A mere babe, my courage flown.
A sip from the flowing Fount,
living a life to surmount.
With the angels as my guides,
a chaste life in me resides.
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