NaPM April 9 2014

[milo]

Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month.

Topic 9: Today's prompt comes from trueenigma who would like a drinking poem.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more

Questions?

[Blake]

I may not drink and I may not smoke,
I may not shoot and I may not toke.
But give me a glass, I'll pour some coke,
Drink it all day until I am broke.

Once at a bar, I asked for root beer,
A request I guess they never hear,
They went to check as they were unclear.
Sadly my drink never did appear.

[Erthona]

.

I must decline your kindly offer,
but I have an allergy,
I break out faces
break out doors,
you could fill my glass, and more
the oceans and the seas.
If I take one which is too much,
the rest is not enough for me.


Dae

[ellajam]

Saturation Point

What was a giggle's now a groan and a roar,
an ocean of turning tides, sea-legs buckling.
You're aware of calls above the surface
but they're an incomprehensible murmur
as brain cells and receptors abandon ship, leaving
behind someone who looks vaguely like you...
goal achieved,
oblivion.

[ChristopherSea]

Wine Maidens

I fervently await
their superb autumn crush
and reap the fine harvest
of these inviting sprites.
My maidens of the vineyard
craft a piquant blush.

When their clothes are shed,
pulses quicken underbrush.
Thigh high in Pinot Noir,
they dance to my delight.
I find myself impassioned
by their autumn crush.

Mauve adorns their derrieres,
summoning a rush
of blood to my loins,
as they tread the pulp of light.
These ladies of the vine
compose a thrilling blush.

They glow in the sunlight,
effuse a rosy flush,
but their enthralling stomp
will march into the night.
I’ll readily consume
their viticulture’s crush.

On a grape-stained oak
dance floor, their breasts gently
brush; as they press the rare juices,
their blithe gestures excite.
My vineyard lasses
decant an enticing blush.

Their cellars are top-shelf;
the inventory lush.
By way of their charm and craft,
my ardor ignites. I eagerly await
their superb autumn crush.
These maidens of the vine
create a tempting blush.

[Keith]

Drinking with family

The bicycle seat scraped
the rough brick wall,
fringe matted to his forehead,
smoothed by a grubby mud hand.
His puffing cheeks reflected red
in the chrome of Billy's front door.

He rocked from foot to toe,
already slipping off his shoes.
Can I use your loo?
as he shot past his uncle
in hot socked feet,
streaks on the kitchen floor.
Ay up sweaty Betty.

I suppose you'll be wanting a drink?
Yes please, got any Coke ?
Coke! you'll have corporation pop
when you’re in this house,
If you want bloody coke go your mams.
Waters fine thanks.
Don't forget to wash your hands;
and flush;
and put the lid down.

Oh that's better,
thanks Billy, where's aunt Eileen.
Never you mind, now supp up
and bugger off you mucky pup.

The pure pint glass was guzzled in one
complete with sound effects
of glugs and ahhhs,
slammed down bar tender style,
and finished with a contorted belch.
You get that from your mam
now sling your hook
and watch my car with that bloody bike.

As the boy peddled away
Billy wiped the kitchen surface
and put the glass in the dishwasher,

cheeky bugger he smiled.



Ha Ha just read this back and thought of milo's comment....what the difference between prose and poetry....random line breaks

[Truerenigma]

Wares
​

She waits with daisy eyes upturned, a glint
of emerald center set in bezel head;
as if in fear of wilting, searching for what fled
Sun's light is left, trembling in the dint
of dusk.

I walk the streets at night. The motorist
who doesn't slow or swerve can't seem to see
the headlights play across my tapestry
of threadbare hand-me-downs. I don't exist
to some; they argue on the upper floor
of Main Street's newest spire. Go home, some say,
but I don't know where home is. Point the way,
and save me from the missives on the door.

The local grocer greets me with a smile,
and trades fresh fish and broccoli for a word,
and help with legal matters. But I've heard
new laws have passed, he says, and hands the file
for me to read, revise, and stamp my seal.
They'll lock you up as vagrant: On what grounds?
It is illegal now to roam these towns
without a home, too broke to buy a meal.

He offers me a wage, and room upstairs,
then sings the song he sings to me each day:
Go home to Caroline, she loves and cares
for you; she's knitting socks and hats today
to keep you warm. You need your winter wares;
Go home to Caroline, go home and stay
the winter where you wife can warm the years.

I stumble to the liquor store, to trade
some fish for booze and sleep. A memory
creeps in the corners of my mind: The fade
of sunset when scarred corneas can't see;
a little girl who's playing in the shade.
Oh, Caroline, have you forgiven me?

[milo]

The Fox and the Stork an Aesop's Fable

Back when the stork believed the fox a friend,
the fox, always a joker decided to pull
a trick upon the stork. “Come spend
The evening at my home, we’ll dine and speak
he said. But when the stork showed up excited
the fox served soup in such a shallow bowl
that the poor bird could only dip his beak.
The fox laughed, “Does my spicy bisque offend?”.

When several weeks went by, the stork invited
the fox to dine with him this time but when
the fox arrived he brought him out to eat
some soup in a small-mouth jar. He joked,
“Aren’t you hungry?” “Yes, I am” The fox choked
through feathers, “but I was in the mood for meat.”

---

[milo]

Wares
​

She waits with daisy eyes upturned, a glint
of emerald center set in bezel head;
as if in fear of wilting, searching for what fled
Sun's light is left, trembling in the dint
of dusk.

I walk the streets at night. The motorist
who doesn't slow or swerve can't seem to see
the headlights play across my tapestry
of threadbare hand-me-downs. I don't exist
to some; they argue on the upper floor
of Main Street's newest spire. Go home, some say,
but I don't know where home is. Point the way,
and save from the missives on the door.

The local grocer greets me with a smile,
and trades fresh fish and broccoli for a word,
and help with legal matters. But I've heard
new laws have passed, he says, and hands the file
for me to read, revise, and stamp my seal.
They'll lock you up as vagrant: On what grounds?
It is illegal now to roam these towns
without a home, too broke to buy a meal.

He offers me a wage, and room upstairs,
then sings the song he sings to me each day:
Go home to Caroline, she loves and cares
for you; she's knitting socks and hats today
to keep you warm. You need your winter wares;
Go home to Caroline, go home and stay
the winter where you wife can warm the years.

I stumble to the liquor store, to trade
some fish for booze and sleep. A memory
creeps in the corners of my mind: The fade
of sunset when scarred corneas can't see;
a little girl who's playing in the shade.
Oh, Caroline, have you forgiven me?

Much of this is quite strong. This is another one that could use a sharp pencil come May.

[Truerenigma]

Thank you, milo.

[Brownlie]

I hopped aboard a train at night
Imbibing smokeless flames
And sat inside the boiler room
With a blackened spade

I fed the furnace until death
Betook the final lick
Of leaping manic embers bright
And lit a candle wick

Another blush of artifice
To rage against the dusk
And dim my way until the dawn
Befell the deserts dust

I left behind the engine, left
The rusting steamless husk
And prayed to thunder birds for rain
To quench.my thirsty lust

Since man crushed grapes I bid oh hell
And anteed all my cents
In witless mind I scratched the gods
And sought all revel and no pent.

[cidermaid]

Bar humbug

I want a little drink or two,
I get that Nanny knows what’s best.
Her daily deluge: spewed views.
I want a little drink or two.
“Oh no! It’s not so good for you”.
I plan to gargle just a few,
I want a little drink or two.
I get that nanny knows what’s best.

[ChristopherSea]

The Fox and the Stork an Aesop's Fable

One time, the stork thought the fox a friend
but that deceptive fox hoped to pull
a trick upon the stork. “Come spend
The evening at my house, we’ll dine and speak
he said. But when the stork showed up excited
the fox served soup in such a shallow bowl
that the poor bird could only dip his beak.
The fox laughed, “Does my spicy bisque offend?”.

When several weeks went by, the stork invited
the fox to dine with him this time but when
the fox arrived he brought him out to eat
some soup in a small-mouth jar. He joked,
“Aren’t you hungry?” “Yes, I am” The fox choked
through feathers, “but I was in the mood for meat.”

---

One bad turn deserves another
and another!

[justcloudy]

parched
reality overwhelms
dry country

[Mopkins]

Snug in my lounge-room with
Catoctin Creek in my
glass -I sit wondering
drinking my gin.

For it’s the thought of you
not just this alcohol
intoxicatingly
doing me in.