Alcohol
When I was nearly round the bend
I turned to you,
I had a drink or two,
I thought that you would help, False Friend!
And so I drank and drank and drank,
And hoped that you would fill the void!
But look at me now, defeated and destroyed,
My misery will never end,
What can I do?
Where is my hope?
Where are the things that I enjoyed?
How can I cope?
By finishing with you, False Friend!
This is the End! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
I sung sometimes
I sung sometimes my thoughts’ and fancy's pleasure,
Where then I list, or time serv’d best and leisure,
While Daphne did invite me
To supper once, and drank to me to spite me.
I smil’d, yet still did doubt her,
And drank where she had drank before, to flout her.
But oh while I did eye her,
My eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire.
poem by John Wilbye
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Water Fountain
I drank glasses of water,
I drank water from office coolers.
Many people drank from water fountains.
I thought my thirst I could slake,
If I drank water from a cool lake.
Then I would would drink cold water,
From gushing waterfalls.
But much to my surprise,
I thirsted for all of Earth's water.
I couldn't fathom my inner self,
About slaking my thirst insatiable.
I couldn't come to grips about,
The deep waters of my life.
Was it my body? Or was it my soul?
Then I very quickly learned,
That this thirst for water that was burning in me,
Was my unending thirst for love
That everybody yearns for.
And everybody needs.
In quantities of glasses, coolers, waterfalls,
Lakes, oceans and seas.
poem by Vera Sidhwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Over Dose
As i got into the van i smelled weed
sweet weed the one thing i craved
as my best friend looked at me
she took 3 hits and passed it to me
i took a look at it and as i took a hit
i began to smile
the wanting for it was gone
with every hit i could feel my troubles leaving
we passed it around till it was done
then we went to the store and bought a 40
as me and my friend passed it back and forth
the horrible taste sat in my mouth
once again i craved weed
she rolled another and passed it back
i took more hits ever time
i got a little sick but kept going
i drank more too
the next day was the same
we smoked 5 joints
drank a whole bottle of whine
and drank some beer
the next day was the same
except the second night i did it
no matter how much i tried
i couldnt cry
even though the feeling was there
as my friend watched me get sick
from the over dose
i closed my eyes
i remember crying make it stop
and her light voice saying its ok
you will be fine i promise
when i look back on those nights
i wish it would have killed me some times
but that was last weekend so the past
is the past and theres always other days.
poem by Sandy Vanity
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Thanks for Everything
thanks for being there
when i had to go
for all of the comforting words
when i had no comfort to show
thanks for merely your contact
when i was alone
for lending me your spirit
while i drank in my deep sorrow
thanks for everything
you're a dear friend
for all the things you've done
for all the love you've sent
thanks for making me into a liar
for you never did those things
you fed me to the wolves
after cutting off my wings
you left me to die
was that what you sought?
what a friend you are
or at least that's what i thought
poem by Something Changing
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Boy Growing Up In The Sixties
Played football
played marbles
played cricket
played truant.
First girl
first kiss
first fumble
first slap.
Drank orange
drank Cola
drank lemonade
drank beer.
Acted tough
acted silly
acted up
acted the fool.
Just young
just a boy
just a lad
just me.
The sixties
The Beatles
The Stones
The Who.
Great days
great times
great decade
Great Britain.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hope
Hope was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars, one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again!
poem by Emily Jane Brontë
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stewball
(yellin / rinzler / herald)
Old stewball was a racehorse
And I wished he were mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine
His bridle was silver
And his mane it was gold
But worth of his saddle
Has never been told
The fairgrounds was crowded
And old stewball was there
But the betting was heavy
On the bay and the mare
Oh, way up yonder
Ahead of them all
Came prancing and dancing
My noble stewball
If I bet on the grey mare
And I bet on the bay
And if Id bet on old stewball
Id be a free man today
Oh, the hoot owl she hollers
And the turtle dove moans
Im a poor boy in trouble
Im a long way from home
Old stewball was a racehorse
And I wished he was mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Hope
Hope Was but a timid friend;
She sat without the grated den,
Watching how my fate would tend,
Even as selfish-hearted men.
She was cruel in her fear;
Through the bars one dreary day,
I looked out to see her there,
And she turned her face away!
Like a false guard, false watch keeping,
Still, in strife, she whispered peace;
She would sing while I was weeping;
If I listened, she would cease.
False she was, and unrelenting;
When my last joys strewed the ground,
Even Sorrow saw, repenting,
Those sad relics scattered round;
Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again!
poem by Emily Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
The Well of St. Keyne
A Well there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.
An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.
A traveller came to the Well of St. Keyne;
Joyfully he drew nigh,
For from the cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.
He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he,
And he sat down upon the bank
Under the willow-tree.
There came a man from the house hard by
At the Well to fill his pail;
On the Well-side he rested it,
And he bade the Stranger hail.
"Now art thou a bachelor, Stranger?" quoth he,
"For an if thou hast a wife,
The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
That ever thou didst in thy life.
"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast,
Ever here in Cornwall been?
For an if she have, I'll venture my life
She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."
"I have left a good woman who never was here."
The Stranger he made reply,
"But that my draught should be the better for that,
I pray you answer me why?"
"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, "many a time
Drank of this crystal Well,
And before the Angel summon'd her,
She laid on the water a spell.
"If the Husband of this gifted Well
Shall drink before his Wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,
For he shall be Master for life.
"But if the Wife should drink of it first,--
God help the Husband then!"
The Stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the water again.
"You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?"
He to the Cornish-man said:
But the Cornish-man smiled as the Stranger spake,
And sheepishly shook his head.
"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my Wife in the porch;
But i' faith she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to Church."
poem by Robert Southey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Little Long Time
At breakfast tea & some toast are nice
the TV's on I'm lying in bed
My feed are cold and my cheeks are red
I pat my real fat cat
Nobody knows my secret dreams,
Nobody knows why I can't sleep
But if you ever felt before
like I feel now you know much more.
A little long time I watched TV
A little long time I drank my tea
A little long time I tapped my feet
But all the time I thought of you
The spinach tastes like raspberry jelly
The snow sounds like the buzzards bees
The rain is like the childrens laughter
And everything is like a dream.
A little long time I watched TV
A little long time I drank my tea
A little long time I tapped my feet
But all the time I thought of you
A little long time I watched TV
A little long time I drank my tea
A little long time I tapped my feet
But all the time I thought of you
song performed by by Wonderwall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Man And Bottle
Just an empty brandy bottle by the door
An empty bottle standing on the floor
Last week 'twas worth a carpenter's day's pay
But now it isn't worth taking away.
Last week 'twas full of brandy to the top
But in it now there's not a single drop
Just like a candy box without the candy
What value a brandy bottle without brandy?
The man who drank the brandy he is dead
Like all dead men a pine box is his bed
He rests in peace where all dead people lay
Six foot under graveyard earth and clay.
He drank the brandy and then drove his car
But alas the poor man did not travel far
His car left the road and crashed against a tree
And with his life he paid for gluttony.
Next time you're in a bar and have to drive a car, do think
Hard liquor is a thing you ought not drink
Spare a thought for the poor man who drank the brandy
And ask the publican for a beer shandy.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sleep
she was a short one
getting fat and she had once been
beautiful and
she drank the wine
she drank the wine in bed and
talked and screamed and cursed at
me
and i told her
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Caribbean Night
Tropical night, starlit, if I recall rightly; there was
sliver of a golden moon also. We drank beer too,
the sea is an enormous waste bin, plop, plop.
Someone brought guitar, nights like this ought to
have music, the gentle murmour of voices stilled.
The guitar player wasn't any good, but for awhile
we sat politely listening to his pathetic attempts.
His friend got up, threw the instrument overboard.
We drank more beer, listened to our own dreams;
mine was about a guitar playing dolphin.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I drank a lot when I was a teenager and I don't drink any more, because that's when I thought, you know, I'm gonna end up a car wreck.
quote by Kristin Davis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
World Was In The Face Of The Beloved
World was in the face of the beloved--,
but suddenly it poured out and was gone:
world is outside, world can not be grasped.
Why didn't I, from the full, beloved face
as I raised it to my lips, why didn't I drink
world, so near that I couldn't almost taste it?
Ah, I drank. Insatiably I drank.
But I was filled up also, with too much
world, and, drinking, I myself ran over.
Translated by Stephen Mitchell
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Remorseful Plea
If I should drink from the nectar of the Gods
and return to my youth once more,
Would the Gods be with me
or would it be as before?
For all that I did was not enough.
My life was left undone.
Would the sweetness of the nectar
be accompanied by the sun?
Or would my life be a revolving door
making me atone
for all I left unfinished
and all I did bemoan?
As the bitterness that quenched my thirst
was not a pleasant drink,
still I drank and drank of it
and never stopped to think
of time I wasted on trivialities
which hindered my eyes
from seeing the most important of all
before a teardropp dries.
To become at home with all there is
to make me feel complete
and never wrestle with 'What should I do? '
with the sorrowful ones I meet.
Oh that the Gods would hear my plea
and understand how I feel,
they would offer that cup of nectar to drink
so that my soul could heal.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
By The Fireside : King Witlaf's Drinking-horn
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons,
Ere yet his last he breathed,
To the merry monks of Croyland
His drinking-horn bequeathed,--
That, whenever they sat at their revels,
And drank from the golden bowl,
They might remember the donor,
And breathe a prayer for his soul.
So sat they once at Christmas,
And bade the goblet pass;
In their beards the red wine glistened
Like dew-drops in the grass.
They drank to the soul of Witlaf,
They drank to Christ the Lord,
And to each of the Twelve Apostles,
Who had preached his holy word.
They drank to the Saints and Martyrs
Of the dismal days of yore,
And as soon as the horn was empty
They remembered one Saint more.
And the reader droned from the pulpit
Like the murmur of many bees,
The legend of good Saint Guthlac,
And Saint Basil's homilies;
Till the great bells of the convent,
From their prison in the tower,
Guthlac and Bartholomaeus,
Proclaimed the midnight hour.
And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney,
And the Abbot bowed his head,
And the flamelets flapped and flickered,
But the Abbot was stark and dead.
Yet still in his pallid fingers
He clutched the golden bowl,
In which, like a pearl dissolving,
Had sunk and dissolved his soul.
But not for this their revels
The jovial monks forbore,
For they cried, 'Fill high the goblet!
We must drink to one Saint more!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Have A Friend
I have a friend who cannot walk
I have a friend all he does is talk
I have a friend, Philippe is his name
I have a friend and we are just the same
I have a friend he’s seventeen years old
I have a friend who has a heart of gold
I have a friend who would catch me if I fall
It is only that he has no legs at all
I have a friend and when my friend was seven
A car ran over him and he almost went to heaven
I have a friend with a smile that I adore
I have a friend who lives in a house of four
I have a friend his family is his home
I have a friend who dreams of visiting Rome
I have a friend who is still finishing school
Yet some people tell him that for that he is a fool
I have a friend they say he is disabled
He has no legs and for that he is labeled
I have a friend who has a friend
They were made for each other; their love will never end
I have a friend who likes to name the stars
I have a friend and what he hates is cars
I have a friend who’s happier than you and me
I have a friend who’s shown me how happy I can be
I have a friend who’s had his bad times too
I have a friend who’s better than me and you
I have a friend so dear to me and kind
That another one like him I shall never find!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
You Are What You Drink
The mare had a foal, but it still had to work plowing
a meager field. The foal, prancing about on thin legs
when we stopped for a rest it quickly drank from its
mother´s udder and there was pastoral harmony.
I thought about this when reading about a six year
old boy in India who drank milk from a female dog
that treated the child as one of her own. Of course
this had little to do with rural accord, but stark need.
I once suckled milk off a ewe, sweet milk I thought,
but grew up fearful of people and shy of aspiration;
be unseen in the world´s field of humility and graze
in peace. Hope the dog- boy will grow up with big
fangs unafraid growl at people who try to dominate
him and only respect what his inner voice tells him.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pain Giving Water
My heart aches from an Attack
of loneliness
brought forth by a pain giving water
water I drank willingly in hopes it would quench my thirst
Oh how I was fooled by that short moment of relief
Cool and refreshing, moist and Satisfying
Then it was over
Leaving me thirsty once more with no water to drink
I kept asking for more of the water I drank but there was none left
I pleaded, I begged, I sobbed, and I moaned but still no water
Now left dehydrated I press on in search of new water But
hurt so much I wonder how Much Longer
I can go on
Were is my water?
poem by Christopher Powers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!