Bibliophile, or: Dipsomaniac

A limerick Though Grampa Joe was quite ruddy and jolly, His maid Molly touched his books at her folly. When she dared peek within, She discovered his sin; And when out fell his gin, she yelped, "Golly!" Image credit: Svetlana Gumerova (Unsplash) What do you see #180 For this week's WDYS prompt, Sadje offers us… Continue reading Bibliophile, or: Dipsomaniac

Sauvignon, or: Merlot

A poem in 'Memento' form The candles lit; the blessings said; All gathered for dinner As one; Sometimes the wine goes to our heads; Sauvignon's a winner- All gone. Relaxing, we ease weary minds; And feeling the warm glow- Hearts soar; On our Day of Rest, let's unwind- Please- uncork that Merlot- And pour. Memento?… Continue reading Sauvignon, or: Merlot

Cold, or: Hot

Bottles never used to last me too long; now cognacs and whiskeys stand around bored for many long months on our kitchen shelf. Sure, I pour a glass every so often (rarely, truth be told); but excitement's gone. Is it my writing, my medication, my age? Hard to say, but that beer I had yesterday… Continue reading Cold, or: Hot

Kentucky, or: Jerusalem

Blank verse in iambic heptameter 80 doesn't even burn, but I'm drinking 94, feeling its sting against my throat before the smooth warmth spreads; soothing, relaxing; though nothing like the pounding, scalding water on my shoulders, back and buttocks just earlier. Sitting in my yeti hide fleece pajamas afterwards, I thought to describe the sensation… Continue reading Kentucky, or: Jerusalem

Fallen apple, or: Tree

A Choka Punch-drunk love sours to white wine vinegar over years, as tensions spike at home... voices drip acid upon the floor tiles... brother and sister tripping over themselves in familiar apprehension... their little feet, hearts pounding the stairs to safety... "F**k!" He raises the bottle. Choka? The most intricate Japanese Poetry form is the… Continue reading Fallen apple, or: Tree

The barkeep removed his spectacles

A 'Drabble' "Who's the kid, Julius?" "That's Aldo, Boss. He worked for Marcus 'til his joint got shot up. His cocktails are the best around." "That so? Hey, kid - what's your specialty?" Bashfully, the little barkeep adjusted his spectacles. "Well, Sir, I've been working on somethingโ€ฆ" "Ok, Albert. Why doncha make me one? Maybe… Continue reading The barkeep removed his spectacles

New friends, or: At the dance

A limerick Dirk ordered Scotches for new friends at the dance, followed by several Bordeaux from France. Lastly, for himself, a Belgian beer. Then, as he turned, his ex pinched his rear. Dirk squeaked, stumbled, & ruined his dance pants. W3 poetry prompt This poem was written in response to Steven S. Wallace's W3 prompt… Continue reading New friends, or: At the dance

Under control, or: Under advisement

My 1st Constanza This is not a poem as such... I'm writing these lines off the cuff and tipsy off the stronger stuff. I simply can't be bothered much when my head is heavy and tired... when I'm so bloody uninspired... As my fingers firm table clutch, I realize I might collapse; my concentration's long… Continue reading Under control, or: Under advisement