Beer Poetry

[lob]

a beer in my hand

go f--- yourself!
with a beer in my hand
a mouthful of swear words
mournful lost soul
yip, i'm the foul-mouthed wanker
the tank full
full of war-like anger
beer spilling over
every girl screwed has cum back to haunt ya
she's naked wearing that piercing body armour
poisoned arrows pointing and poking at ya
pushing ya to the ground
multiplying her once-love 'til the heart boils over
opening ya up with a scalpel
her nurse-like hands have now killed ya
the same hands that once feeled ya
a beer in my hand
and my mind soaked in anger

lob

[ryan]

the meat raffle (part 1)

the meat raffle
was held at the local where else
in the smoke pit
where the punters kept fit
throwing darts or clenching fists
grinding teeth on steak sandwiches
standing to attention
as the baidmaid gave orders to drink
covered in sweat
swearing their way
between unknown aggressive faces

lob

"Number 27 won the meat tray. Come on, one of you bastards over at the corner table must have it...... TWENNTTY SEVVVEN."

[Smabb]

Take a bow Lob.

[ryan]

??
he had 26.
his poetry`s good tho.

[lob]

pub floor

pub floor is dirty it's filthy
raw timber stained in tooheys
nails rusty loose
cranky under foot

wanky polished concrete
hard against the barmaid's sole
mop it up, wrench every drop
recycle it out back

stained carpet spilt glasses
bar waitress dressed in black short skirt
doing her best to hoover over
under tables and tight corners

look around this place is pissed

lob

[lob]

pub on a long stretch of road

pub on a long stretch of road
sits alone
farm labourers come by
they sit in bewilderment
like its not meant to be here
look for the girls who've
deserted to the city
look at the walls all covered in
past glory and farm machinery
pub on a long stretch of road
just keeps going
drought after draught after drought after draught

lob

[lob]

beer and bed

a keg of beer on the lawn
neighbours party on
i fall asleep on the doorstep half past pissed
she opens the door sometime around three
i sleep-on on her dusty lounge
as morning glares my head swirls
my eyes fix on her fridge contents
lids half open
carton of milk flowing
settle the stomach
keep the vomit at bay
she stands in the doorway and smirks
but i'm still half pissed and can still
picture her and that mini skirt

lob

[lob]

i robot [song lyrics]

[OK Off Topic, but I was completely pissed when I wrote this. "I Robot" btw is an arcade game from the 80s]

hail robots
hail i say
walking on ice
frozen 10 miles thick
on some moon off Jupiter
planet of the robots
planet of the robots

hail hail hi ya
hail hail hi ya
best to be polite
the robot police don't like ya
human scum
human scum

we walk the thin line out here
please don't hurt us robots
hail hail hail
hail hail hi ya
best to be polite....

lob

[lob]

a beer for the brave

ye brave bastards on ya bar stools
calling the names of the twelve sacred beers
german and belgium and one from f---ing france
one from f---ing france
drink them till ya drop from the last poisonous ml
for the terrorist is the brewer, the drink-master, the beer-hunter
the bartenders tending their flock of stool bellies
in the folly of pubs and bars and back ally tall-necks
resting on the back steps of whore houses
so ye brave bastards drink up to get up
and don't stay sober long for the pub needs ya belly
and the whore house your thirst for...

lob

[lob]

barmaids

barmaids are laid back
they're good
a good lay
sit at the bar all day
tell her your invented life story
and f--- them later either
impressed or sorry for ya

lob

[lob]

vodka in her

vodka in her
in her mood
her pose in the cosmopolitan cosmos
her talk is telling
truth and lies in halves
vodka in her
can't seem to remember much
last night/week/year
last time i saw her near/far/gone
shots silent in a Canberra bar
vodka in her

lob

[lob]

Random Thoughts for the Next Beer Poem

Beer IT puSHed me
Over the Edge
cReated in me
MonsTERs that do not SPeak
Shribble UP TErrifiED
They Hide
Their backsides on STOOLS
Countless drinking f---ing FOOLS
mOronic Iconic caricatures
Sniffing and puffing and driveling their way HOME
2AM and the Bus is late
Shriveling against the concrete shelter
a Wellington storm
a thin blue jumper
Girl in a TAXI her
Makeup still intact
Revelers spilling onto every street
Gate crashed and cops passing
sirens flash as light noise
Bushes are moving BONKing
Every thing clicking forwards yet back
Time is running ruined by our
short sighted needs

lob

[lob]

pale skin on grass

pale skin on grass
blonde hair laid back in the sun

relax recline into the afternoon
on into evening as Konig flows

never getting tired never drunk
always pretty always showing

somehow somwhere some way
she'll return like next summer

lob

[lob]

under the radar

under the radar
a house in white waters estate
periscopes glide by
we wash up, sink
suburban sprawl
lawns, lawns, everywhere
garages and cars and
glucose high kids on Playstation bikes
a wife with her status symbols
an aging, grown up, McBloated, Barbie doll
novels by C K Stead, reading slow
45rpm records by The Verlaines, playing fast
ten o'clock in the afternoon, and we are
standing in the fridge light
looking out over the last Chimay Blue
to the white abyss

lob

[lob]

Spilt Beer

four walls of a pub could talk
they'd talk and talk endless
'bout nothing much
just mortar and bricks and
us mortals pretending we're not

rotting away

lend me your wallet and
i'll shout the next round
portals of space/time
tall stories of depression, war
hey what about those girls in France, 1944

in the end we're all just spilt beer

lob

[lob]

sober thoughts return

sober thoughts return
the pub is morning-closed
workers not yet working
road still shinny-new
every girl under curfew
walk round every corner
houses
look down on ya in judgment like small gods
cars
multi-coloured rats that line the street
discarded bottles
broken glass
girl on a billboard is mostly naked

when the f--- is this pub gonna open?

lob

[lob]

beer bully

beer bully with his
beer belly
wobbles like jelly
can't get any
doesn't give a f---
opens doors with his belly
works in Roads and Transport
stands with the lollipop stick
keeps ya on stop for forever
talks to ya rough
mean bastard to lean non-drinking types
no tats on his belly
but loads on his arms
shoulders and H A T E and K I L L across fingers
butt crack will crack you up
or make you puke
one time friend of Malat

lob

[lob]

the beer on the shelf

the beer on the bar shelf is dusty and old
a relic
a time capsule
empty yet full
memory intact tho the label fades and peels
faint smells quell the need of thirst
a distant past
the strange presence of
ghostly punters from a time
gone forgotten buried and dead

[lob]

beer #234

beer number 234
so many have gone before
this one's kinda slack
i wrote it on back of a beer coaster
in the time it takes to swallow
a tic tac

lob

[lob]

Fires burn, Beer pours

fires burn
beer pours
in denial
the forest
the fridge
its contents
the kinder box inside
walls of flames
approaching like
a car driven by a maniac drunken moron
throat cooled
body cooked
soaking in it
get out
drive drive
through the thick smoke
thru ya drunkin state
past burnt out lives
through smoked filled rooms
past the pokies and the burnt-out farm machinery
on into light
at the end of a fire filled night


lob