“No! Get off me!” Bessie screamed as she ducked and wriggled her way free of her abusive husband's clutches. The bar-room was in an uproar, a myriad of drunken sailors guffawed as Tobias Nelson dragged his wife from the room. “If I've told yer once, I've told yer a thousand times about spillin' good beer when yer clearin' the damned tables!” Bessie Nelson's eyes flashed wildly in the dim light of the lanterns hanging from...
The woman in my life had just left me. She said I’m a loser and a perpetual drunk. I don’t know if she was degrading me. She’s ugly, but she sure had spunk. I went to the bar feeling lonely. My tail had no wag as I drank. A woman just sat down beside me. She asked me if she could be Frank. I said, “Frank, you can be who you want to. If you’d like I can buy you a drink.” Well, she drank with me then and she told me, That I...
The name ‘Big House’ had to do with the people who lived there allowing almost anyone to use it as a temporary shelter. Of course, preference was given to “heads” with dope or booze and to all females. The two-lane asphalt highway crawled with summer congestion. Once an especially slow, snake-like section skirting a picturesque bayou had been navigated, however, the white, travel-worn, 1959 Ford Galaxie 500 hit a straight...
Beer, beer, a magical drink, The more I drink the less I think. If I drink a few, and that’s more than two, My mind slows down and I don’t think of you. It’s not that your leaving me has driven me to drink, Nor the fact that you're dating my ex-friend, the fink. If that were so, and I think I’d know, I’d probably punch him in the nose then go. But that’s not me, as you can see, For these twelve beers should set me free. A...
I stroke my beard,am I weird? Well you have to be weirdto wield a beard!Like a Lord,I strut about with a sword.Am I a Lord? No, but I have a sword!A bacon sandwich,I eat at Nantwich.I have a stitch,Oh, bloody sandwich!I’m an ordinary man,eating a sandwich,but I didn’t planon going to Nantwich.I wanted a beer,but there wasn’t one here,so I went to Nantwichand ate a sandwich. Now off I goto drink a beerwith a queerand say “...
Yes, it sucks to sleep alone.Wouldn't we all like a warm body beside us?To cuddle, to kissthe affection we missCould I give it to youtonight?Oh, how I want toand if drunk I just might.But during this episode of sobrietyI'll pass.Next time you ask(if you ask) I promise to reconsider.Just be sure it's notthe beer talking.
A trio of poems about my favourite drinks, first Tea:A cup of tea,is a labour of love,boil the kettle,warm the pot...A spoonful of leaves,One for each personand another for the pot,it really requires very little thought,but a lot of love.Infuse infuse, for five minutes or more,it really never is a chore.The satisfaction of a lovely cup,is that "aah" at the endand the warm feeling deep inside...a cup of tea, a labour of lo...
