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
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Related quotes
4. A Merry Christmas
Gone shopping for good brandy butter
My homemade plum puddings in need
I don’t want a tin of rum sauce mix
It just wouldn’t do no indeed
Last night’s Christmas Eve rush was crazy
The shop had none left on the shelf
So I bought half a pound of best butter
To mix up with brandy myself
My mixer took brandy and butter
It churned the lot up to a paste
I drank what was left of the brandy
As I don’t like things going to waste
Everyone had a good dinner
With plenty of wine, port and sherry
But no one got fresh brandy butter
We all fell about slightly merry
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Another Yankee Doodle
Yankee Doodle had a mind
To whip the Southern traitors,
Because they didn't choose to live
On codfish and potatoes,
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
And to keep his courage up
He took a drink of brandy.
Yankee Doodle said he found
By all the census figures,
That he could starve the rebels out,
If he could steal their niggers.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
And then he took another drink
Of gunpowder and brandy.
Yankee Doodle made a speech;
'Twas very full of feeling;
'I fear,' he says, 'I cannot fight,
But I am good at stealing.'
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
Hurrah for Lincoln, he's the boy
To take a drop of brandy.
Yankee Doodle drew his sword,
And practiced all the passes;
Come, boys, we'll take another drink
When we get to Manassas.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
They never reached Manassas plain,
And never got the brandy.
Yankee Doodle soon found out
That Bull Run was no trifle;
For if the North knew how to steal,
The South knew how to rifle.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
'Tis very clear I took too much
Of that infernal brandy.
Yankee Doodle wheeled about,
And scampered off at full run,
And such a race was never seen
As that he made at Bull Run.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
I haven't time to stop right now
To take a drop of brandy.
Yankee Doodle, oh! for shame,
You're always intermeddling;
Let guns alone, they're dangerous things;
You'd better stick to peddling.
Yankee Doodle, doodle-doo,
Yankee Doodle dandy,
When next I go to Bully Run
I'll throw away the brandy.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Murphy and Brandy-the love dogs
Murphy is his name,
of a Corgi mix
is he.
2004 we brought
brandy home,
she is a Border collie mix
Murphy fell in love,
it was love,
at first sight
Brandy acts like,
a brand new puppy,
she passed this on to Murphy
Murphy is ten,
had him since 1997,
brandy is six,
both act much younger.
Watching these two,
brings much joy,
as it does for them.
They both demand,
our attention at same time,
it is so hard to do it
Somehow we do it,
Murphy begs,
Brandy lies on her back.
They both do this,
to get our attention,
the more we laugh, the more
they do it.
So much love these,
two dogs have for us,
and for each other.
We will enjoy every moment
until that dreadful day
but happy is this day,
to have them both here.
wrote 12-23-06
Brandy Eyes
Eyes that send me
Chasing after feelings that I lost one day
Why befriend me, when the brandy tells me
What they want to say
Playing big protector is a grand disguise
Till you contradict yourself with brandy eyes.
No beginning, still no end to let me shrug and walk away
Silly grinning, teasing talking promise of a kiss someday
I would put you out of mind if I were wise
But wisdom has no power over brandy eyes.
Maybe Im wrong
If I am please pardon me and pat my head
Sing an old song, sing of one more foolish heart
Thats been mislead
Take the points for winning and donate the prize
And keep right on a-scoring with those brandy eyes
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Guile of Dad M'Ginnis
When M,Ginnis struck the mining camp at Jamberoora Creek
His behaviour was appreciated highly;
For, although he was a quiet man, in manner mild and meek,
Not like ordinary swagmen with a monumental cheek,
He became the admiration of the camp along the creek
'Cause he showed a point to Kangaroobie Riley!
Both the pubs at Jamberoora had some grog that stood the test
(Not to speak of what was manufactured slyly!)
And the hostel of O'Gorman, which was called The Diggers' Rest,
Was, O'Gorman said, the finest house of any in the west;
But it was a burning question if it really was the best,
Or the "Miners" - kept by Kangaroobie Riley.
Dad M'Ginnis called at Riley's. Said he "felt a trifle queer",
And with something like a wan and weary smile, he
Said he "thought he'd try a whisky". Pushed it back and said, "I fear
I had better take a brandy." Passed that back and said: "Look here,
Take the brandy; after all, I think I'll have a pint of beer!"
And he drank the health of Kangaroobie Riley!
"Where's the money?" asked the publican; "you'll have to pay, begad!"
"Gave the brandy for the beer!" said Dad the wily,
"And I handed you the whisky when I took the brandy, lad!"
"But you paid not for the whisky!" answered Riley. "No," said Dad,
"And you don't expect a man to pay for what he never had!"
- 'Twas the logic flattened Kangaroobie Riley!
"See," said Kangaroobie Riley, "you have had me, that is clear!
But I never mind a joke," he added, dryly.
"Just you work it on O'Gorman, and I'll shout another beer."
"I'd be happy to oblige yer," said McGinnis with a leer,
"But the fact about the matter is - O'Gorman sent me here! -
So, good morning, Mr Kangaroobie Riley!"
poem by William Thomas Goodge
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Brandy
There's a port on a western bay
And it serves a hundred ships a day
Lonely sailors pass the time away
And talk about their homes
And there's a girl in this harbor town
And she works layin' whiskey down
They say "Brandy, fetch another round"
She serves them whiskey and wine
The sailors say "Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"Yeah your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea"
(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)
Brandy wears a braided chain
Made of finest silver from the North of Spain
A locket that bears the name
Of the man that Brandy loves
He came on a summer's day
Bringin' gifts from far away
But he made it clear he couldn't stay
No harbor was his home
The sailor said " Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea"
(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)
Yeah, Brandy used to watch his eyes
When he told his sailor stories
She could feel the ocean foam rise
She saw its ragin' glory
But he had always told the truth, lord, he was an honest man
And Brandy does her best to understand
(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)
At night when the bars close down
Brandy walks through a silent town
And loves a man who's not around
She still can hear him say
She hears him say " Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea"
(dooda-dit-dooda), (dit-dooda-dit-dooda-dit)
"Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
FADE
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"But my life, my lover, my lady is the sea
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Candle, pen, fools-cap and brandy
A candle… a pen
A glass of honeyed brandy
Close at hand
The taper…for which to see
The pen with which to write
And of the honeyed brandy?
Well that's just for me
To write through the nite, you see
And to make me feel just dandy
poem by David Whalen
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Perhaps A Brandy
perhaps a brandy....
the shovel still caked with dirt,
the body restless, turns and groans.
the shade o'er the window
yellowed by mold,
the frail hands of the clock
do not move or whisper.
the scent of love,
lingers and stutters.
the fireplace empty,
the books weep on the shelf.
the old tree fallen
just outside your window,
the barking of dogs,
the prayers of rust.
children without faces
carry the box into the night...
the hoot of the owl,
another mockingbird dead!
moonlight, perhaps a lie,
even the stars remain distant.
nothing dressed in wrinkled clothes,
squats by the fire,
humming an ancient tune.
the spider's web reflected
on the oil tinged dew,
tastes like love remembered!
perhaps a brandy?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lived in dad’s house
August heat, he trekked north
I looked after it
Nothing to do, drank brandy
And dynamited his abode
tanka by Oskar Hansen
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Look at the Time! (A Drinking Song)
Look at the time! It's half-past six!
Time for me to be getting my kicks!
I'll have some whisky,
It'll make me frisky,
And then I'll get up to my usual tricks!
Look at the time! It's half-past seven!
And I feel that I should be going to heaven!
I'll have some rum
'Cos I'm not dumb,
And then I'll be drunk by ten to eleven!
Look at the time! It's half-past eight!
I didn't know it was getting so late!
I'll have some brandy
Instead of shandy,
And then I'll be able to face my fate!
Look at the time! It's half-past nine!
(And I know that this doesn't really rhyme!)
I'll have some gin,
It's a bit of a sin,
It's time for a party and I'm feeling fine!
Look at the time! It's half-past ten!
Time to go back to bed again!
I really think
I've had enough to drink,
But I'll be back on the bottle tomorrow again!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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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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Eternity, And Such...
eternity, and such...
the stain in the coffee cup,
the holes in the old man's underwear.
the rough tongue of a stray cat,
the shadow moving in the alley.
the trail left by the snail,
paper cups blown by the wind.
the blood left on the highway,
the dog dead in the ditch.
the glass shattered on the floor,
the stink of the body
three days after...
the limb torn from the tree
by the memory of storm.
your pillow, my hat,
a shot of brandy in an empty room.
the sound the heart makes...
when no one can hear!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Fredman's song no. 10
Drink till after twelve or more,
Live it up with madmen !
Earth is but my chamber floor
And the sun my lantern.
Nothing else is worth a pin
If my head but giddy spin,
Giddy spin, giddy spin,
Giddy spin, giddy spin,
Until it's so drowsy
Nothing more can rouse me.
In my grandad's overcoat,
Torn and out at elbows,
Here I stand, on brandy dote,
'Mid the queerest fellows;
Out of pretty goblets bright
Tipple morning noon and night,
Noon and night, noon and night,
Noon and night, noon and night,
Till I'm just another
Boozy red-nosed brother.
If my sainted father stood
Suddenly before me
"Son", he'd hiccup, "skål ! That's good,
Brandy best doth warm me."
"Brother mine," I'd then reply,
Let us toast the morning sky,
Morning sky, morning sky,
Morning sky, morning sky,
Then to thy repose, sir,
Thou again mayst go, sir."
Were I but a man of wealth,
Gold my pocket lining,
Christmas day I'd dress myself
Like the king, when dining.
Then I'd purchase and I'd use
Coat and waistcoat and new shoes,
New shoes, new shoes,
New shoes, new shoes,
And of course I'd buy, sir,
A watch upon my thigh, sir !
But my throat can't stand such loss,
'Tis a very drought, sir.
What is gold, when got, but dross ?
Pull the cork right out, sir !
Let us steady on our legs,
Drain this bottle to the dregs,
To the dregs, to the dregs,
To the dregs, to the dregs,
Then let death attack us
In the blood of Bacchus.
poem by Carl Michael Bellman
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A Ballad Of Refreshment
The lady stood at the station bar,
(Three currants in a bun)
And oh she was proud, as ladies are.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
For a weekly wage she was standing there,
(Three currants in a bun)
With a prominent bust and light gold hair.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
The express came in at half-past two,
(Three currants in a bun)
And there lighted a man in the navy blue.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
A stout sea-captain he was, I ween.
(Three currants in a bun)
Much travel had made him very keen.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
A sober man and steady was he.
(Three currants in a bun)
He called not for brandy, but called for tea.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
'Now something to eat, for the train is late.'
(Three currants in a bun)
She brought him a bun on a greasy plate.
(And the bun was baked a week ago.)
He left the bun, and he left the tea,
(Three currants in a bun)
She charged him a shilling and let him be,
And the train went on at a quarter to three.
(And the bun is old and weary.)
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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The Rebel Bard Is King
The rebellious poet creating his authentic truth
Older than pyramids but speaking for youth
Constantly bending genre, he is so diverse
Creating new dimensions with metaphor in verse
He’s an actor, a prophet, and a superhero to
He’s a killer, a leader he is anything but you
He sat with pharaoh’s and drank brandy with kings
Ate peaches with angels that were playing harp strings
The ruler of millions of planets he gave birth
An exploding star with infinite worth
With his words only he can stop time
poem by Sam Edison
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My suicidal candy
There’s candy everywhere
Littering the floor
My candy openers still here
The bottle’s near the door
And so to open that candy,
The opener had to touch my wrist
And out flowed wonderful things
My Twizzlers, and my Licorice
And it hit the floor
Never stopping, my Licorice spring
So I drank my bottle of wonder potion
That dissolved almost everything
And little pills of chocolate
M&M’s, can’t you see?
A bottle of a magic Fruit Punch
All this candy is for me
More Fruit Roll up
Go down my arm
More white Skittles
They are my charm
And I keep slipping,
With my opener knife
Oh Butterfingers!
Life Savers with no life
Keep ‘em coming hands
More Jub Jubs, more Twix
More chocolate coated apples
Now they are my fix.
And I know what you’re thinking
How can she eat so much candy?
But don’t worry, I won’t be long
But they do come in handy.
Because now I’ve escaped
Now I’ve tricked thee
I’m leaving this awful world
And taking my suicidal candy.
I wrote this because some bad things are happening to me, and i needed to get it out. If you didn't notice, the candy represents something else, but since food has been my recent problem(I don't like to eat) , I wanted to show my previous/recent problem with that problem mixed in. And all of the candy means something else. I just hope everyone gets what i meant....
Scar of Scars
Scar of Scars.
Around the cut, some are smooth.
Moist and true.
Bereft of moss or beard.
Pie faced and candy..ooh.
Every life savers.
Candy cake is brandy wine.
More, many more and edgy.
Leafy rims pink petaled.
Sharp razors, just more sweat and juicy.
Either way it's coming in,
Through the floor.
and your consciousness is expanded.
Red faced and over the clouds the moon
does look closely down,
and Scar of Scars, dropps drippy more milky.
There is only one cup from every one, some
have two and being with certain preference's.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Doomed Padre
The Loss of Faith
Fated priest when he walks in front of a funeral
procession his gait is often wobbly, says it is stiff
joints; smells of aftershave lotion and brandy.
Lost his faith years ago, in the night his prayer
echoes in the village church.
Thinks it his fault that god has left him in a vacuum
of disbelief a penance for not having a total godly
deference. In his dreams he meets god who speaks
in a language he doesn´t understand; he wakes up
bedroom bleak, and the voice of god has gone.
He says as Jesus once did, why have you forsaken me?
Has a brandy goes back to a restless sleep.
And there is no peace as sexual needs takes over,
actions he will not abide. Morning and he is thankful.
Routines of the day someone has died, funeral service,
and a woman who wants confess her banal sins,
he murmurs prayers, waits for god to answer why he
has lost his faith, but there is only silence.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Continually finding excuses for taking a small glass of brandy and water.
quote by John Leech
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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