HomebrewandBeer.com forum

Beer #3,467,890,876,562,145

I wrote that many in my head
on paper only the weak with good linkage would speak
the others impressionist portraits in grey matter
discarded before fully created
let lose in short synaptic bursts
never gathered pace
only known to wires that cannot
connect fully
yet independently they think

lob

telling a joke

telling a joke
'bout yanks and poms and a scot and a maori
and an ozzie called Dave
a bar that someone walks into
a comment a barman makes
a sheep that appears
a shella that looks outta place
a smoke in her hand
the beer begins to pour
the froth flows over
the shella looks excited
a crow cries nearby
the irishman looks around
the shella begins to smile
a glint forms in her eye
the scot kills a cockroack
crawling from his spaghetti bologese
the blood and sauce entwine
beer and wine and vodka mixed
to drink and puke then
drink and puke
until death it leaves us blind

lob

Dunno what you`re on lob, but it must be mighty pow`full shit

Keep the poetry coming

Enjoy Your Drink

enjoy your drink
keep it sober
make sure it doesn't go flat
or is lonely
order it another for company
look after it
don't let it mix
that wrong crowd across the bar
or spill it's brains out over the stained carpet
provide it with shelter inside
use it as a dowry for the thirsty girl at the bar
bribe the cops who pull you over
wash your pills down with it
enjoy...

swindle your way thru every human encounter

telly all day
keeps the inner drunk at bay
wife is shooting up and I'm running wild
round the backyard in a trance
party all night makes up for the fight
but the grog runs out by eight
drive to the bottle store
fly past the checkout
fake smile on my face
back at the estate
neighbours and dealers and someone named Steve
takes a call on his cell
needs my wheels for a while
okay
meet a nice girl while the wife is passed out
take her out back to the shag house, the shed
tell her I like her and I'd like to forget
all that is forgotten, the past and the pretense
morning cums
burnt-out cars on the lawn
lazy cops patrolling the estate looking
like they give a shit
head it aches
and I can't forget what happened last week

lob

Strange drunkin rant deleted.

Self-censorship : )

poem i wrote at the duke at enmore (sydney) on 13/3/09

at the Duke at Enmore
and all i see
my wifi pc in front of me
a fat guy eating chips
a waitress depressed
several musician-types amusing themselves
- swallowing beer and flicking the pages of The Brag

these Friday afternoons go too soon
as eminem plays to the background rap crowd
the song the same, the same, the same
each coopers pale similar till the keg bottom is reached
then it's cloudy as
but the taste still great
tell the waitress i don't mind
and remind myself later
she was alright

ryan wrote:Dunno what you`re on lob, but it must be mighty pow`full shit

Keep the poetry coming

No shit i reckon your on to something there, hey lob why not go write a book if you havent already, could be profitable and you would have enough material on here alone to fill it lmao!! Keep up the good work

beer #97 & 1/3

beer breaks the sound barrier
as the bird beaks are spat out
the engine thrust declines
feathers light and fluff
bundled heavy whirling mesh
gears heave and grind
from the stool
i fall to the bar room floor

girl in the atari t-shirt

drunk '93
in a bar in sydney
looking at the girl in the atari t-shirt
watching the breasts as they
caressed the atari logo

Beer #2

Beer. I'm in a swimming pool of beer drowning and drinking and swimming.
Learning to dive. There's swimsuit models but they're all cardboard-cut-
out advertising. Beer. Drive me insane or at least to the courts where they
cancel my license. I dunno. Talk to me beer. Tell me about barley and malta
and all the places where naked ladies gather. Beer. Why are we still here
in a pub lost in time five past nine. What's it all about?

pub gone

the pub is gone
sixty years now no more
just a "dive" filled with locals slowly dying
make way for highrise apartments
with gym and pool and high strata
and a bar downstairs owned by woolies
young fools mortgaged to the hilt
botox oldies and some queens from surrey hills
the pointless-who-cares-past erased in a Sydney knock-down-throw-up craze
and the junk that replaces is such shit it leaves you dazed
depressed and slightly crazed

i think this stuff is a bit deep for me

TWELVE GAUGE LAGER wrote:i think this stuff is a bit deep for me

You need to read it totally trashed

lob wrote:

TWELVE GAUGE LAGER wrote:i think this stuff is a bit deep for me

You need to read it totally trashed

it's great stuff whether pissed or not.

keep up the good work Lob

Beer Babes

beer babes are fake but nice
they're just doing a job
selling some Sydney-brewed Byron or Snowey Water
in this downmarket VB/Tooheys waterhole
want to be frosty but they're so cool
and i'm such a sucker, a fool
as they stand so close
their breasts seem to speak
my eyes try to stay head-high
but drop to the breasts, the thigh
probably fosters owned
20-something girls like these shouldn't be single, alone
if i had a million an apartment
their own beer fridge
i'd call twice a week
i'd fill it with La Trappe Dubbel
keep them warm inside

the pokie pub

the punters were lined up
arses and seats
cigs and schooners
fingers and buttons
taking a puff
thought of a win
a small one
a big one
a really big one
the jackpot
just a spin away
life and money in free fall

pub lifeless
talk to the bar waitress
everyone else occupied
let her ask herself
'what the f--- are you doing here'
ask her what she's doing after she knocks off
and leave those losers pushing their buttons as you poke hers...

ryan wrote:Northerly at Night
{for my father}

A warm gale
is making the house creak.
I think of you half dozing
in your half lit hospital bed,
the whole night streaming south
around you

This weather
is a land hurtling by,
striding out
with a huge dark rhythm.

I hope you can hear it
this vastness walking in the wind.

There is a life
ravelling and unravelling in the long gusts,
hauling at us as it swarms past.
Our hearts ribbon out
on its fierce, thawing current,
a river of air in which we could live forever.

There`s a dream of the roaring world
lifting us up in a kind of love.
I wish you a true sleep,
I wish you this dream.
Ross Gillett

I was up in Sydney from Canberra late last week. A fricken ass-wipe tenant had trashed our townhouse. Stole a hanging pot-rack, left lots of his crap in the house. Lots of "cat-damage" and nothing (including toilets) cleaned. The gardens were overgrown. Five weeks rent owing. I went across to the people at number 9 on Thursday. Asked Ben if he wanted some beer (VB and Tooheys) and a BBQ left behind by the tenant. Ben collected both the beer and the BBQ. Later I took across a beer mat and spoke very briefly to Ben's father, Tony. Tony is about 70 years old and very obese. He was in the garage of his townhouse working out something on his motorized scooter. A couple of days later I found out that Tony died Friday night (last week.) I'm still in shock. I didn't know him that well, but he was a good bloke.

Cheers lob
A bummer, but on the upside, things can only improve for you.
Re. "Northerly at Night", I lost my father 38 years ago and every time I read "Northerly" it still gets to me.
Keep it coming
ryan

driving home

driving home
road becomes dual highway
signs a fuzzy-yellow
a judder bar from nowhere
flashes of blue, gray and red
a dent in my bonnet
i steer on eyes fixed straight ahead

blasted talk-back station talking to their dead
lawyers and litigation ads interspread
trees whiz by
flashes of green, black then bright red
i swerve to miss it
an ambulance coming straight on
then from behind the blinding light
happens every time i drive too slow
lower the bottle as it passes
glance over to check
another punter?
not sure

somewhere else a knock on the door
bad news from the cops

f---ing road spikes up ahead