Drunk Weather (Life Poem)
An altitude of ale
A barometer of beer
A circulation of champagne
A depression of damassine
An equilibrium of eau de vie
A fractus of fenny
A gust of grappa
A hail of horilka
An isotherm of icewine
A jet stream of jenever
A kilopascal of kirsch
A layer of limoncello
A metamorphism of mead
A nocturnal of nuvo
An overcast of ouzo
A persistence of porter
A reaction of rakia
A storm of sake
A torrent of tequila
An updraft of unicum
A vortex of vodka
A winter of whiskey
A disaster of drink.
poem by Ian Beckett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Whiskey's to tough, Champagne costs too much, Vodka puts my mouth in gear. I hope this refrain, Will help me explain, As a matter of fact, I like beer.
quote by Tom T. Hall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deportee (solo Demo)
In the Arrivederci Roma nightclub, bar and grill
Standing in the fiberglass ruins watching time stand still
All your troubles you confess to another faceless, backless dress
Schnapps, chianti, porter and ouzo
Pernod, vodka, sambuca--I love you so
Deportee
There's a tatty beauty talking in riddles
Rome burns down and everybody fiddles
Deportee
But a thousand dollars won't buy you a Yank, you wife, alas
There's a thousand years of history ground in this chaser glass
And how I wish that she was mine
I could have been the King in Six Eight Time
Deportee
Oh, it's a brittle charm, but she's had enough
Still she wrote her name upon his paper cuff
And you don't where to start or where to stop
All this pillow talk is nothing more than finally talking shop
When I came here tonight my pockets were overflowing
They took my return ticket without me even knowing
Well, I pray to the saints and all the martyrs
For the secret life of Frank Sinatra
But none of these things have come to pass
In America the law is a piece of ass
Deportee
So it's Schnapps, chianti, porter and ouzo
Pernod, vodka, sambuca--I love you so
Deportee
Deportee
Poor Deportee
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Purple Lady
A welcome Christmas break.
Half a week off the turps.
Time for wine, whiskey, gin,
vodka, sambuca, ouzo and peach schnapps.
Or peach schnapps vodka ouzo combinations.
But what is the exact formula
for Helen’s secret recipe?
A really well mixed purple lady?
Sixty percent meths
to forty percent
straight orange juice.
Or meths seventy thirty
to get really spacy
before getting drunk.
Helen said getting back
on the meths
is like
‘holding hands
with a long lost lover’.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Turps and Meths – both are colloquial New Zealand kiwi
terms for methylated spirits.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Deportees Club
The demo of deportee has essentially the same lyrics as this earlier version of the song
In the arrivederci roma nightclub, bar and grill
Standing in the fibreglass ruins watching time stand still
All your troubles you confess
To another faceless backless dress
Schnapps chianti porter and ouzo
Pernod vodka sambuca I love you so
Deportee
Tatty beauty talking in riddles
Rome burns down everybodys on the fiddle
Two thousand dollars for wife and some class
A thousand years drowned in a chaser glass
How I wish that she was mine
I could have been a king in six eight time
Schnapps chianti porter and ouzo
Pernod vodka sambuca I love you so
Deportee
Its a brittle charm but shes had enough
Still she wrote her number on his paper cuff
You dont know where to start or where to stop
All this pillow talk is nothing more than talking shop
When I came here tonight my pockets were overflowing
They took my return ticket without me even knowing
I pray to the saints and all the martyrs
For the secret life of frank sinatra
But none of these things have come to pass
In america the law is a piece of ass
Im a deportee
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Obras De Arte
it is all art
there is not much intelligence
all decors
nothing functional like a picture
of a garden of roses
there is no scent
just words imagining the world
of their existence somewhere
it is all style
there is no bread and butter and
coffee
tea is prohibited and
smoking sometimes is allowed
as coping up
mechanism so with a little drink
that takes another drink
beer, rum,
vodka and the tequila against
the rising sun
in the desert
obra maestra he will justify it
no lasting
but keeps on saying
something too trivial
sometimes is too precious
that it is not
for sale
only for reading.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Have A Drink On Me
Whiskey, gin and brandy
With a glass Im pretty handy
Im trying to walk a straight line
On sour mash and cheap wine
So join me for a drink boys
Were gonna make a big noise
So dont worry about tomorrow
Take it today
Forget about the cheque
Well get hell to pay
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Yeah
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
On me
Come on
Dizzy, drunk and fightin
On tequila white lightnin
My glass is getting shorter
On whiskey, ice and water
So come on and have a good time
And get blinded out of your mind
So dont worry about tomorrow
Take it today
Forget about the cheque
Well get hell to pay
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
On me
Get stoned
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Yeah
Have a drink on me
Come on
Oooh
Gonna roll around
Gonna hit the ground
Take another swing
Have another drink
Gonna drink it dry
Gonna get me high
Come on all the boys
Make a noise
Chorus
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink on me
Have a drink oooooooon me
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scotch Is A Secret
If drunken is a verb, then death is one too,
For they both induce violence, and if not, radical truth.
If a last wistful breath is what's seen as a plea,
Then please, gentle secrecy; let me fall down to knee.
Whiskey is a worry, and vodka is a vice,
I may once taste sweet blissful beer, but only once or twice.
Preach for the obvious, the sacred; the life;
Hypocrite be an innocent; a daughter a wife.
Let us all hide our secrets, behind the worrisome wine,
Charming be the chardonnay, as we taste flask flat beer fine.
Let the priest sip clandestine champagne,
And let all be right with the world,
Let a liar be justified a fight,
And a mute have the option of word.
If all of this be true; and the alcohol stable a fire;
Then let scotch be kept my secret,
And I, a truthful liar.
poem by Dayna Mortimore
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Whiskey on beer, never fear. Beer on whiskey, mighty risky.
Don't Drink
Don't drink, boys, don't!
There is nothing of happiness, pleasure, or cheer,
In brandy, in whiskey, in rum, ale, or beer.
If they cheer you when drunk, you are certain to pay
In headaches and crossness the following day.
Don't drink, boys, don't!
Boys, let it alone!
Turn your back on your deadliest enemy-Drink!
An assassin disguised; nor for one moment think,
As some rashly say, that
true
women admire
The man who can boast that he's playing with fire.
Boys, let it alone!
No, boys, don't drink!
If the habit's begun, stop now! stop to-day!
Ere the spirit of thirst leads you on and away
Into vice, shame, and drunkenness. This is the goal,
Where the spirit of thirst leads the slave of the bowl.
No, boys,
don't
drink!
Boys, touch not, nor taste!
Don't think you can stop at the social 'First Glass.'
Too many have boasted that power, alas!
And found they were slaves to this seeming good friend,
And have grown into drunkards and knaves, in the end.
Boys, touch not, nor taste!
Don't drink, boys,
Don't
!
If the loafers and idlers scoff, never heed:
True men and true women will wish you 'God-speed.'
There is nothing of purity, pleasure, or cheer
To be gotten from whiskey, wine, brandy, or beer.
Don't drink, boys,
Don't
!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Whiskey Man
Whiskey mans my friend, hes with me nearly all the time
He always joins me when I drink, and we get on just fine
Nobody has ever seen him, Im the only one
Seemingly I must be mad, insanity is fun
If thats the way its done
Doctors say he just a figment of my twisted mind
If they cant see my whiskey man they must be going blind
Two men dressed in white collected me two days ago
They said theres only room for one and whiskey man cant go
Whiskey man will waste away if hes left on his own
I cant even ring him cause he isnt on the phone
Hasnt got a home
Life is very gloomy in my little padded cell
Its a shame there wasnt room for whiskey man as well
Whiskey mans my friend, hes with me nearly all the time
He always joins me when I drink, and we get on just fine
Just fine
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harsh Winter Storm
harsh winter storm
life is like weather always changing
sometimes for good and sometimes for the bad
life is all but change
to all that loves or is loved be forsaken
words of hate and hurt
turn to stone
life is harsh winter storm
blistering and freezing everything in its path
to what extent must this go on
peace at mind seems impossible
darkness around consealing him in a cage of disaster
lost with out a sight blinded cant see
come to the conclusion one life is a harsh winter storm
pulling its victims one by one
seeing happyness all around
secluded and alienated unable to find true happyness
life's a harsh winter storm
slowing destroying us all
poem by Mitchtifer Lederer
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A Son Of A Gun
I wish I had a barrel of rum
and sugar three hundred pound.
I’d put it in the College bell
and stir it ‘round and ‘round.
Let ev’ry honest fellow
drink his glass of hearty cheer,
For I’m a student of old Dartmouth
and a son of a gun for beer.
I’m a son of a, son of a, son of a,
son of a gun for beer.
I’m a son of a, son of a, son of a,
son of a gun for beer,
Like ev’ry honest fellow I like my whiskey clear.
For I’m a student of Old Dartmouth
and a son of a gun for beer.
And if I had a daughter, sir,
I’d dress her up in green;
I’d put her on the campus
just to coach the freshman team.
And if I had a son, sir,
I’ll tell you what he’d do
He’d yell, ‘To Hell with Harvard!’
like his Daddy used to do.
(Chorus)
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Much Tequila
How much tequila did i drink last night?
It's really anybody's guess.
I poured them so fast,
I couldn't keep them in the glass,
But this morning i sure am a mess.
My head is four or five times its normal size
And i got this big old cactus stuck between my eyes.
I can't recall a single thing i did or said
Or the names of all these people sleeping in this bed.
Tell me how, tell me how, tell me how, tell me how,
Tell me how much tequila did i drink last night?
How did i get these cuts and bruises all over my body?
I must have fallen down somehow.
I believe it had something to do with karate
-- it's all coming back to me now.
I was standing in a bar with king kong's cousin,
He must have been seven foot three.
His elbow gave me a bump, and so i said "hey, chump,
Would you like to step outside with me?"
Tell me how, tell me how, tell me how, tell me how,
Tell me how much tequila did i drink last night?
My mouth is filled with cotton and my brain is sore.
I left last night's dinner on this morning's floor.
My stomach is swollen and my eyeballs shrunk.
I drank so much that my hair got drunk.
I see a big old worm about ten feet long
Hallucinating purple cows.
Somebody moved the furniture while i was gone.
Uh oh, this is not my house.
I could call us a taxi on the telephone
If i only knew where we are.
I guess i'm gonna have to drive myself back home
As soon as i can find the car.
Tell me how, tell me how, tell me how, tell me how,
Tell me how much tequila did i drink last night?
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Big Night On The Town
drunk on the dark streets of some city,
it's night, you're lost, where's your
room?
you enter a bar to find yourself,
order scotch and water.
damned bar's sloppy wet, it soaks
part of one of your shirt
sleeves.
It's a clip joint-the scotch is weak.
you order a bottle of beer.
Madame Death walks up to you
wearing a dress.
she sits down, you buy her a
beer, she stinks of swamps, presses
a leg against you.
the bar tender sneers.
you've got him worried, he doesn't
know if you're a cop, a killer, a
madman or an
Idiot.
you ask for a vodka.
you pour the vodka into the top of
the beer bottle.
It's one a.m. In a dead cow world.
you ask her how much for head,
drink everything down, it tastes
like machine oil.
you leave Madame Death there,
you leave the sneering bartender
there.
you have remembered where
your room is.
the room with the full bottle of
wine on the dresser.
the room with the dance of the
roaches.
Perfection in the Star Turd
where love died
laughing.
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Streams Of Whiskey
Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of lifes philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that Ive a pile
Ill go down to the chelsea
Ill walk in on my feet
But Ill leave there on my back
Because I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
Theres nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
Ill walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer
Iam going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I learned early to drink beer, wine and whiskey. And I think I was about 5 when I first chewed tobacco.
I've been drinking tequila for a long time now, and it's never been about drinking to get drunk. I don't do that. I never drink tequila during the day, and I don't drive at night.
quote by Sammy Hagar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What's The Use Of Getting Sober
Dv = deep voice, sv = squeaky voice
Dv: boy, you listen to your old pappy
Sv: yeah, pappy
Dv: and stop drinking so much
Sv: i'm-i'm ain't been doing so much drinking, pappy
Dv: shut up, boy! you drink all day and you drink all night and you know, son, that that ain't right
Sv: oh pappy, you just give me a chance. i, i can, i . . .
Dv: shut up, boy! boy, you're lookin' thin as a twig
Sv: i know that . . .
Dv: look likes your dear old pappy - about to blow your wig
Sv: oh i'm gonna blow my wig, pappy
What's the use of getting sober
When you're gonna get drunk again
Oh sam done something fine
When he bought that good whiskey, beer and wine
I love my whiskey and i love my gin
Every time you see me i'm in my sin
So what's the use of getting sober
When you're gonna get drunk again
Dv:
I went out last night about half past one
Thought i'd whoop it up a little and have some fun
I got me a half pint about half past two
Mmm, mmm, the way i was feeling you know what i wanna do
Got me a pint about half past four
Felt so good, went out and got me some more
Got me a quart about half past five
Boy, that was so nice didn't know if i was dead or alive
So what's the use of getting sober if you're gonna get drunk again
Oh sam done something fine
When he bought that good whiskey, beer and wine
I love my whiskey and i love my gin
Every time you see me i'm in my sin
So what's the use of getting sober
When you're gonna get drunk again
Well i've been thinking
But i keep drinking
I guess i'm 'bout lose my mind
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dolce Far Niente
(sweet idleness)
in the near zero visibility
of a winter gaining its momentum
i felt as if i was the only walker
on this winter road
through the thick fog
that insulated me from
the world known and unknown
your desire for me touched me
lifting the fog
layer by layer...
08nov2009
14.44hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Winston Churchill My Kind Of Host
Let us party with Winnie
Winston Churchill.
Perhaps we might partake
of brandy and cigars?
I rather liked the wine tipped
rum flavoured cigars as a lad.
Winnie is my kind of host
Champagne Pol Roger.
Winnie offers guests unlimited
Champagne, Cigars and Brandy.
Champagne chilled a little please
room temperature simply appalls.
Champagne in the refrigerator
an hour and a half before serving please.
Or into the ice bucket with a suitable
ice-water mixture, at least twenty minutes,
before serving really if you please.
Ah a nice vintage-dated Champagne
a high-quality bubbly, let the bottle then,
warm up we don’t want to miss out on,
mature character of seasoned Champagne.
An awful lot of character, particularly
with respect to aroma can be lost,
when wine is served a little too cold,
a little too warm don’t you think?
Champagne and dry white wines of quality,
are best served at a temperature,
between 8ºC and 10ºC perhaps a little higher?
Perhaps you would care for
a Churchill Martini mixed?
Shake gin with cracked ice,
strain into chilled cocktail
glass, & garnish with olive.
Winnie rather likes to drink it while
looking at a bottle of dry vermouth.
Perhaps a Highball then Sir?
Winnie prefers just whiskey & water.
In Africa Winnie adds whiskey,
to make unsavory horrid water potable.
Yes of course Hine Brandy an excellent choice.
Distilled. As Winnie always says.
'I have taken more from brandy than brandy
has taken from me.' A health elixir!
Simply superb Johnnie
Walker Red Scotch.
Winnie is a good friend
of Sir Alexander Walker.
Yes Winnie is my kind of host. Winnie
truly is the epitome of a great man.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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