Short Mary did drink one hot beer
And thought her destruction was near.
She drank wine then thought
To read, write she God taught,
Then champagne and ne`er was her head clear.
quote by by Luis Estable
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Thoughts Whirling
The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind
poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thoughts Whirling
The need to write
Get rid of these mixes mass of thought
What to write?
Yes, something is amiss!
Talking is not enough
Yet thoughts whirling in my head
Unaware of revelling in the words
Which flow from this pen?
Still no words
Not sure what to write
Yet here it is
A whole massed mess of words
For all to read
Thought this medley of words
Brought some calmness
Shoulders more relaxed
Fragments of each thought
Clear as daylight
This muddled mass of thoughts
A verse created
By, a whirling mind
poem by Persian Khushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cool Tubrid Water
The day is warm and dust fly in the breeze
And a forecast high of 35 degrees
And to quench my thirst I would need a cold beer
For no water like cool Tubrid water here.
Near Daylesford there's a spring well I recall
And I drank some water from it in the Fall
Of that clear spring I now could drink my fill
And Tubrid water even better still.
The skylark comes to Tubrid's bubbling spring
To bathe and drink and then fly off to sing
And o'er the bogland in the morning sky
You hear him pipe his heartfelt notes of joy.
I often called to Tubrid seldom though in May
And not to kneel at the grotto to pray
But to drink the water cool and crystal clear
A drink far better for your health than beer.
The water from the tap don't taste so nice
Though it feels cooler with a cube of ice
I have drank far better near Daylesford last Fall
Though Tubrid water still the best of all.
The day is warm and dust fly in the breeze
And a forecast high of 35 degrees
And to quench my thirst I would need a cold beer
For no water like cool Tubrid water here.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Cute small glasses [Drăgălaşe păhărele]
Cute small glasses with short stem
Lay in front of me with joy,
Pour wine sweetish into them,
Do enjoy!
Let us drink up without fear,
If one hates it, let him say,
And instead to have some beer,
Drink your way!
Who gets dizzy and can't think
On the floor may start to creep,
And when glasses break or clink,
Let them sleep!
Let's cut short the talking then,
Life is brief, life is forlorn,
So, let's drink until again
Comes the morn.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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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
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I Thought
Tense is the arm and the head I thought,
Together the chest is august and like lead, I thought.
Too many collisions are made at once,
'By the body', says a man dead, I thought.
To see a ghost appear from nowhere
Is controversial, never said, I thought.
Find the banshee and stride in front of it,
So that the banshee is read, I thought.
Place him on a plate, the ghost I mean,
So I can eat it like I said, I thought.
Please, I'm haunted, and by a stranger,
A stranger that doesn't know it is He, I thought.
poem by Naveed Akram
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For drink, there was beer which was very strong when not mingled with water, but was agreeable to those who were used to it. They drank this with a reed, out of the vessel that held the beer, upon which they saw the barley swim.
I never thought I'd be a writer. I never thought I'd be able to read a book, let alone write one. So if books like this inspire kids to write, or even read a whole book, I think it's good.
quote by Don Novello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Fixed Within It and Will Not Leave
The thought of it is easy to read.
That is the intent.
As if it had been concieved.
And for you meant,
To exist and breathe.
Had it not been composed...
None of it you would believe.
And that is why each word of this...
Has been selected,
For you to digest.
Think about it and re-read!
And while you are doing that...
Think of it as something you thought easy,
To read.
Then think of it as something nonexisting.
You can't can you.
Because this was given life to breathe.
And each time it is read...
It is in your head!
Fixed within it and will not leave!
And your thought of it at first was easy.
Why should that be?
When I took my time to insure you'd be pleased.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Go To My Head
You go to my head
And you linger like a haunting refrain
And I find you spin'n round in my brain
Like a bubble in a glass of champagne
You go to my head
Like a sip of sparkling burgandy brew
And I find the very mention of you
Like the kicker in a julep or two
Oh the thrill of the thought
That you might give a thought
To my plea
Cast a spell over me
Still I say to myself
Get a hold of yourself
Can't you see that it never can be
Yes
mmm You go to my head
With a smile that makes my temperature rise
Like a summer with a thousand Julys
You intoxicate my soul with your eyes
Though I'm certain that this heart of mine
Hasn't a ghost of a chance
In this crazy romance
You go to my head...
You go to my head...
You go....to....my....head.....
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Boss
(nickolas ashford/valerie simpson)
Fancy me
Thought I had my degree
In life and how love
Ought to be a run
I had a one step plan to prove it
Guide in my pocket for fools
Folly and fun
Love had to show me one thing
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(taught me who was who was the boss)
Id defy
Anyone who claimed that i
Didnt control whatever moved in my soul
I could tempt
Touch delight
Just because you fell for me
Why should I feel uptight
Love had to show me one thing:
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(taught me who was who was the boss)
Love taught me
Taught me
Taught me
Taught me
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(taught me who was who was the boss)
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boss
(Nickolas Ashford/Valerie Simpson)
Fancy me
Thought I had my degree
In life and how love
Ought to be a run
I had a one step plan to prove it
Guide in my pocket for fools
Folly and fun
Love had to show me one thing
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(Taught me who was who was the boss)
I'd defy
Anyone who claimed that I
Didn't control whatever moved in my soul
I could tempt
Touch delight
Just because you fell for me
Why should I feel uptight
Love had to show me one thing:
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(Taught me who was who was the boss)
Love taught me
Taught me
Taught me
Taught me
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(Taught me who was who was the boss)
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is My Preference That Has Changed
You've adopted images created,
To become your beliefs.
Even love you claimed for me,
Was conditional.
And now the functions of your conditions,
Increasingly appear to be dysfunctional.
To make my 'nonacceptance'...
Tastefully more appealing than ever.
Well...
Let me say this to you,
I was never into champagne.
And you made it quite clear,
You would never drink beer.
And even if you did...
You couldn't afford me or it.
Not now.
It is my preference that has changed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Addressed to ------, 1736
With toilsome steps I pass thro' life's dull road
(No pack-horse half so tired of his load);
And when this dirty journey will conclude,
To what new realms is then my way pursued?
Say, then does the unbodied spirit fly
To happier climes and to a better sky?
Or, sinking, mixes with its kindred clay,
And sleeps a whole eternity away?
Or shall this form be once again renew'd,
With all its frailties, all its hopes, endu'd;
Acting once more on this detested stage
Passions of youth, infirmities of age?
I see in Tully what the ancients thought,
And read unprejudic'd what moderns taught;
But no conviction from my reading springs --
Most dubious on the most important things.
Yet one short moment would at once explain
What all philosophy has sought in vain;
Would clear all doubt, and terminate all pain.
Why then not hasten that decisive hour;
Still in my view, and ever in my pow'r?
Why should I drag along this life I hate,
Without one thought to mitigate the weight?
Whence this mysterious bearing to exist,
When ev'ry joy is lost, and ev'ry hope dismiss'd?
In chains and darkness wherefore should I stay,
And mourn in prison whilst I keep the key?
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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A poem for Kafka
My elder brother Lalith.P
Who taught me to read and write
And lot of things about fading life.
He's a humble Encyclopedia.
We drink together as friends
When our holey pocket bit sounds
And we had a common sickness
Allergy for money but not alcohol
Villagers amazed of our Brotherhood!
He who introduced me Kafka.
'You should read his The Trial, The Castle
Amerika, The Metamorphosis and the penal Colony.
Most of his unfinished novels published Posthumously.
And He's a German speaking-Jew.'
My brother was really mad of Kafka.
I read few lines of Isaac Bashevis Singer's short story recently
'A friend of Kafka.'
And I write this brief poem underneath for him;
'I am sorry Kafka and still I couldn't touch
One of your golden books
But my inner feeling speaks
You're great among others.'
As I always respect of my Corsican brother's word!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Mary, Mary
Words and music by michael nesmith
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, can I go too.
This one thing I will vow ya,
Id rather die than to live without ya.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, tell me truly
What did I do to make you leave me.
Whatever it was I didnt mean to,
You know I never would try and hurt ya.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
What more, mary, can I do
To prove my love is truly yours?
Ive done more now than a clear-thinkin man would do.
Mary, mary, its not over.
Where you go, I will follow.
til I win your love again
And walk beside you,
But until then.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, mary, mary, mary, where you goin to?
[repeat adlib]
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Go To My Head
You go to my head and you linger like a haunting refrain
And I find you spinning round in my
Brain
Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne
You go to my head like a sip of sparkling burgundy brew
And I find the very mention of you
Like the kicker in a julep or two
The thrill of the thought that
You might give a thought to my plea
Cast a spell over me
Still I say to myself get a hold of
Yourself
Cant you see that it never can be
You go to my head with a smile that makes my temperature
Rise
Like a summer with a thousand julies
You intoxicate my soul with your eyes
Though Im certain
That this heart of mine
Hasnt a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance
You go to my head
You go to
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bolshie Nurse
He was a man of the union clan
And a Labor secre-tary.
He fell unwell and beneath the spell
Of a little nurse named Mary.
Now, Mary was no little lamb,
And the tenets that he taught her
They turned her head and she voted 'red'
When the mad strike fever caught her.
Then he missed his gruel, and he thought it cruel
That he was so neglected
One winter morn; and, all forlorn,
He rang - and was neglected.
And when she came she said, 'My name
Is henceforth Trotsky Mary.
We've downed thermometers, my friend:
You've won, dear secre-tary!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Glass On The Bar
Three bushmen one morning rode up to an inn,
And one of them called for the drinks with a grin;
They'd only returned from a trip to the North,
And, eager to greet them, the landlord came forth.
He absently poured out a glass of Three Star.
And set down that drink with the rest on the bar.
`There, that is for Harry,' he said, `and it's queer,
'Tis the very same glass that he drank from last year;
His name's on the glass, you can read it like print,
He scratched it himself with an old piece of flint;
I remember his drink -- it was always Three Star' --
And the landlord looked out through the door of the bar.
He looked at the horses, and counted but three:
`You were always together -- where's Harry?' cried he.
Oh, sadly they looked at the glass as they said,
`You may put it away, for our old mate is dead;'
But one, gazing out o'er the ridges afar,
Said, `We owe him a shout -- leave the glass on the bar.'
They thought of the far-away grave on the plain,
They thought of the comrade who came not again,
They lifted their glasses, and sadly they said:
`We drink to the name of the mate who is dead.'
And the sunlight streamed in, and a light like a star
Seemed to glow in the depth of the glass on the bar.
And still in that shanty a tumbler is seen,
It stands by the clock, ever polished and clean;
And often the strangers will read as they pass
The name of a bushman engraved on the glass;
And though on the shelf but a dozen there are,
That glass never stands with the rest on the bar.
poem by Henry Lawson
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