Posts Tagged ‘beer’

man-sleep-apnea-using-cpap-machine-18586450

 

When I’m alone in my head

Possum headed and cosy

Ready for my voyage through the night

Willing on dreams

Of naked women and beer

And vast swaying fields of marijuana

Wishing and waiting on sleep

RTR on the radio

Some weird disconnected hip hop spoken word extravaganza

Loaded up on psych drugs

Name yourself

Critical unit

Bloated man

Cliched stoner

Madman magnet

Smelly hippy

But in dreams

Not

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Medical Marijuana Doctors

Captain Conehead has balls of brass

Captain Conehead has an iron plated ass

Captain Conehead says pull that cone

Captain Conehead has a huge bone

Captain Conehead says skoll that beer

Captain Conehead isn’t queer

Captain Conehead will kick your ass

Captain Conehead will smoke your grass

Captain Conehead writes dodgy poems

Captain Conehead sees underpants gnomes

Captain Conehead takes lots of drugs

Captain Conehead buys them from bullies and thugs

Captain Conehead is single and free

Captain Conehead drops LSD

Captain Conehead is a psychedelic freak

Captain Conehead is strong not weak

 

messy-room

 

Beer bottles of yesterday’s binges are spread out on the floor like dead soldiers on a battlefield
War against sobriety was waged and won
My chair is festering in guinea pig piss
The kitchen is a hurricane nightmare
My coffee table is rotting in ash and memory
Filled with all my essentials so they are easily at hand
Cigarette butts overflow in the ashtray
There also parts of old newspapers, chip-packets and empty orange juice bottles all over the place
Quite a few energy drink cans and some empty beer bottles
It’s a fucking mess
But it’s my mess damn-it

lonely-person-thumb-300x240-27530

Solitary Man
Dead inside
Aching all over
Fading away for want of a good woman
When will you come, insatiable one?
Woman with eyes of fire and sensuous curves
Woman of wisdom with gorgeous hips and pouting lips
Woman with ripe breasts and marvellous hips
Woman from my deep unconscious, loving and healing with abandon
Woman- a heavenly angel who burns down my personal hell

Solitary man
Bent and rendered kinky by loneliness
In a room with precious cuddly guinea pigs
Unhygienic trash and garbage all over the place
Miscellaneous crap on the floor
Dirty coffee cups and plates
Full ashtrays and empty energy drink cans
Underpants drying on top of the TV

Solitary Man
Trying not to listen to the song of solitude in his heart
Blocking it all out with beers, bongs and fags
Anxious and depressed beyond rational thought
Skirting psychosis in paranoia
Getting weirder and weirder inside his mental psych ward
Longing for love in mastarbatory moonlight
Pacing the room with his balls blue as the sky
Scratching and scraping the bones of reality

Solitary Man
Imploding

Death

Posted: January 15, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Angel_of_Death-1
When I’m feeling a little loco
And doubting my value as a man
Because I’ve been reading too many radical feminist websites
And I’ve run out of weed
I imagine myself dying in my fifties
In a room with windows so dirty that they are opaque
Percolating the funk of death in my own muck
Red nose like a bloody cartoon reindeer
Bloated, stretch-marked beer belly and the indelible wounds of drink and drugs all over my wrinkled face
Not Keith Richards- just a fucked up old man
Drool sliding down my dirty shirt
Terminally uncool and terminated
Soaking in rigor mortis
Discarded like an old commercial pop song
Having died alone with no-one to love
Forgotten and friendless
Abandoned and hopeless
Omega male
My name written in water
A malodorous corpse in a festering room with shelves crammed with poetry
By my heroes and heroines

dexies
All aboard for a megaton dexamphetamine rail road
We race at the speed of sound till everything goes white
Hurtling between luscious flora and fauna with a weasel strapped to my trousers
For the moment time is endless and stretches out before me like a wide open road
I yelp with random joy at the accelerated pristine possibilities
I feel like beating my chest and my nipples tremble in the succulent sunshine
Beer tastes more fantastic than ever and I drink it like water
Suddenly I am overflowing with talk and disgorging discourse
Beautiful women seem to want to listen to my bullshit
I feel like Oscar Wilde as I wind out the witticisms
They smile and flirt as I remember to ask them questions about themselves for once
But I don’t get any phone numbers

winona4
Beautiful people have beautiful lives-
Love is easy to find.
Ugly people have ugly lives-
Love is a dream and a gaping hole in soul.
Longing for touch is a way of life.
If the lights were out, the ugly wonder,
If anyone would dare to touch them,
Or kiss them full on the mouth and hold them.
Oh take me out my darling,
To where there’s music, and people, and beer.
Dance with me and make me forget the secret suffering of yearning for you.
Wipe out my loneliness with the power of your smile.
Help me not to think of myself as ugly,
As we square the circle of tedium that binds the town.

meatbone
Rook fresh meat from white bone,
Pack a dignified cone.
Manifest turbulent new born love.
Pale the Mandrake sunlight,
Inhabit a space of twilight.
Finger the runes of your deepest thought’s consequence.
Dread-drink down death and ponder the topography of oceans.
And wonder, keep wondering ‘Where will it end?’

‘When will I go out to meet the one that I love?’
On saccharine sad-eyes Tuesday with a pocket full of promise?
On misty windswept Wednesday with my hair tied back?
On a beer-drenched six-pack Saturday night in a pub?

A mystery like a knot of wind, never untangled and hard to contain.

Published in The Bithchn’ Kitch

Beer

Posted: May 7, 2014 in poetry
Tags: , , , ,

beer
Just one more drink to warm the bones and cool the throat,
Just one more drink to burn up hate,
Just one more drink to knock down death,
Just one more drink then a torrent of love,
Just one more drink to break conformity and cripple mediocrity,
Just one more drink to set the night alight,
And keep the fascists from the door.
To tingle the toes and bring a smile to an old man’s face,
To comfort the empty heart and scratch the balls of destiny,
To kill time and make sanity beg for mercy,
To dredge the unconscious for songs of fun and debauchery,
To make something happen.
The bottles are all around me, these empty husks of nothing,
Testify to a love of excess and an excess of love.
I turn on the Pogues and sing along to a rebel song,
Of death and love and drink and true religion,
Banjos and fiddles and Irish punk rock jiggery.
So let’s drink to Shane Macgowan and his liver and his brain,
Open up another beer and drink it down again.