Swilled Poems

Toxin

Taken from the chosen reality, have the locks of the celestial Edens gate been opened by the stained keys of a belladonna bloom, where the palate of its enchanting toxins have been sown as hells ploy, swilled continually as an enriched elixir of a paralyzing elation that's only self serving in its allure, as it can only offer ruin.

Alfredo Gonzales
5/23/2024

Pain of Ardor's Woes

A cup to slake the parch of thirsty lips
Spilled from heart to goblet, with love twas filled
Words penned from the nib of inked fingertips
Bouquet of wine breathed before being swilled

Seductive the taste, fervid the senses
In pursuit of desire's indulgent throes
Breaching love's barriers, hurdling fences
Therein lies proof and pain of ardor's woes

Elation lasts 'til sparks turn to ashes
Afterglow fades and impassioned flames die
Welling to surface, tears moist'ning lashes
Parting's ne'er sweet with whispers of 'goodbye'

Juliet once smiled from her balcony
Doomed in Shakespeare's romantic tragedy

Full Throttle-Hlm

tubers on the vine
flourishing in fertile soil
field of potatoes

I swilled vodka made of spuds ~ Absolut
Distilled veggies that were grown as a root
Drank another bottle
Hit the ground full throttle
Grossly soused but I didn't give a hoot

ingested as French fries, potatoes are better for human health


~     ~     ~     ~
January 21, 2022
Charlie Hai-Lim-Ku Contest sponsor: Charlie Messina

Luscious Wine

A silken drop nectar refined,
Delicious, smooth, it’s taste sublime,
Worshipped and revered in times of old,
Bacchus it’s God, his hand-maidens bold.

The Romans swilled, the Greeks imbibed,
The British drank, the French prescribed.
The Church just called it Christ’s own blood,
Believers flowed as if by flood.

This luscious liquid as fine as honey,
The fountain not of youth but merely money,
Small price to pay for so much fun,
When it can turn a dowdy day to sun.

Clinking glasses moments shared,
The more imbibed the more is bared,
Food important or so they claim,
When as a smokescreen its main aim.

All that said let me be clear
There’s a reason we choose wine not beer,
Wine is healthy, helps the heart,
Beer is fattening and so tart.

Extremely Exhausted

Willed

Vague sword

Weak heart and sight

Boundless wisdom, although

My soul has full enthusiasm

Body growing old and becoming weak

My resolve outweighs the bullet

Reeled swilled

Billed.

(The Bell)

Written: June 27, 2021

Ring My Bell Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Anderson

Whipping Post

Whipping post

Didn't  you watch the on coming storm,  alchalic words ! blew
Dry into my wired mouth , the art of conversation is stilled, while
Your streets soon boiled in fury  , watched by A Queen in her linen and volts
A Doppler Queen, who feasted on broken wombs, swilled down,
Eased in its swallow, phlegm tears of the poor, street dogs
Tired eyes decades in the ruining, dripped like damp ochre leaves
Metal, stone, burned, smelt like flesh off the bone, her veil held dignity
Washed in a puss of lies, psalms hidden, in heavy false books.


And I watch through tired eyes of decades,
the crinkle cut ochre leaves parachuting gently
and with no choice to ground.
The tree has become seasoned and not opaque anymore, 
in a light breeze its finger like twigs snap open the clear view beyond
And, i wonder, how many leaves have fallen pointlessly from my tree
Clearly the amount of leaves left swaying on my branches are foremost
In my waking dreams, thoughts, my roots still, and firmly covered.

A Gal Who Grew Up In a Barn

Gather round while I spin a yarn
  'bout a young gal, grew up in a barn
With horses and cows, she had her own stall
  She loved taking care of them, most of all

She'd feed the horses and milk every cow
  Nobody ever showed her quite how
She worked so hard, she rubbed her hands raw
  Baling the hay and bundling the straw

Well, year after year she took care of her tasks
  Secretly hoping that someone would ask
Her out on a date or some such like that
  But she was afraid of men and a little bit fat

One summer day the sky turned pitch black
  A tornado was brewing, there was no turning back
It stormed right on in, a-whirling and whooshing, a picture of awe
  All her hay swept away, she clutched at two pieces of straw

She hung on to those straw strands with all of her might
   As they swilled and swirled, and flew up out of sight
The last folks saw of her, she was high up in the sky
  Singin' -- "To heck with horses! I'm a bird; I can fly!"



             September 10, 2020  
     Clutching at Straws Poetry Contest
        Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann

Pirate Love

the old swab barnacle bill
swilled all the grog at his will
chases the young winches
and never once flinches
knows pirate love is a thrill

Pirate Themed Limerick Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
4/9/49

My Loss

Oh, how I love that Jamaican rum!
In my coffee, it is pure yum.
In cake it’s even better;
My roommate loves it too.
He swilled mine away,
Now it’s all gone;
No rum cake,
To dine
On.

Getting Caught In a Net On a Motorway

Oh look a tantric tangerine slice is walking in high heels with a melon man. Moody mouldy men make monetary meals. And who can eat a coin with a note anyway? Swilled down with a cup of golden nugget juice? Great isn't it? Wow. It is in every endeavour of a particular partridge that a feather forms a quill. And quills are neither queens, quotes, nor questionable questions. They are in fact a sight that is rarely seen. And a duck bomb dive into a sea is an airbed for the head chef on board an ocean cruise liner. And that is it. Great. No ha no x no z. Transmitters translating tasks taken. And a globule of fat from a loin of salmon in a salon having a great hairdo. Peanut peanut pop pop pop. And a little wafer smiling in an ice cream cup. Globalization

I Think, Therefore Am I

I Think, Therefore Am I?


Neck cracking penumbra
shines on starlit mundanity
ebon macabre epiphanies
fogwebs of my morality
my tongue twists ceaselessly
trinkets of truffled profanity
dearest mirror, mirror reality
has humanity cursed me?
For the fatality of dreams
bared in broken bosoms
of madness and brutality
masked by faux urbanity
crowns like a dead infant
delivered from its womb
into the arms of inanity
a morbidly, tragic formality
But still steadfast I warrior
heart held bleeding in hand
cur-sed whispers of volcanity
bent echoes of forced vitality
to sever the seams of malady
and hand scribe the braindust
of my cursive minded mentality
upon reams of papered therapy
shrouded by inky black misery
of things thought but never told
to a world swilled in sugar beliefs
of dappled sun and spun parasols
rainbow thoughts and red carousels
while I continue to wander down
this darkened tunnel of insanity


January 27, 2017

Moxie

my Love mustered moxie
and disused me one night:
she left me victim
to a pitiful plight
while she raised the gall
to doll herself up
and go to a ball
on the arm of a date
while I languished alone
with a case of cold beer
that I drank to forget
the heartbreak she caused,
the pain and the doubt
of first being jilted—
those longnecks went “pop”
and quickly got swilled
while in dimness she danced
and merrily tittered
that regrettable night
of drinking those beers,
I drank them alone
all bitter and rueful
while she was out dancing,
holding tight to a tux,
one I hadn’t rented—
how drunk and forlorn
that Love of mine turned me
the night she found moxie
to leave me alone
and utterly lonely.

The Errand

Wee Luck McGee, came into the pub
And the Barman started pouring a beer
"No Tanks for me, a martini you see
Is what you'll be serving right here"
Then McGee with one hand, pulled a jar from his coat
Removing the lid with the other
Plucked out the olive, and swilled down the Gin
Then abruptly ordered another
With each martini he knocked back with cheer
An olive was placed in the jar
And when it got filled, He screwed on the lid
Then started to walk from the bar
But the barman called out "What's that about ?"
To McGee with the jar he did cling
"It's me Mrs you know, she told me to go 
And get Her a jar of these tings"

Men of God

MEN OF GOD

Kenya is a Godly nation
Check on any TV station
Starts at dawn and goes all day
Teaching people how to pray

Then at night it's shilling serious
With the watchers drunk –delirious-
If you want the chance to pray
First you get the chance to pay

“Men of God,” my colleague swilled--
“Deserve a special God-rate bill.
When I do a job for them
Charge them twenty not just ten.”


 Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
12/01/12  Juja, Kenya  Africa

Fledgling

Fledgling



The world is so new to me

I awoke in shattered shells
In a nest of razor edges

Everything so familiar
But nothing I remember

The taste of bitter sadness
Lingering in my mouth
It swilled beneath the sweetness
Of a newly fledgling life

A new sun dripped on drops of bliss
While age-ed bones
Forgot their creeks and groans
And flexed untested wings

Something in my heart
Was calling
Though its pang lay dark and dismal parts
It dared to try those feathers winging 
Though this birth
It seemed issued from drowning

Skies beseeching
Was in this love so beckoning
The stumbling dreams
Flap awakening
Drew me to my feet
Standing on the razor edged nest
Just ready
For the leap of faith

Out into the unknown yonder waiting
The first glide
Fledged
On vapour trails
I let go
To a sky
I didn’t know

Seems anyone can be
Born again
From the heart
Of a hard boiled
Egg

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