Drinking in Literature

The paper waltzed out of the poet’s hands, as if it preferred a dance of its own.

In honor of Jimmy Buffet’s passing, the Parrothead drank 76 Landsharks. The ringing in her ears was from the gong they hit every time a drink was consumed. Her eyes were playing tricks on her as surely no one could drink 76 Landsharks and live to tell about it. She tried to speak up, but the “5:00 somewhere” refrain drowned her out. She gave up, rubbed her hands over the bar counter and did a shot of tequila. RIP.

Her ears spotted the malfunctioning traffic light first.

Kevin traveled so often his nickname became IATA and he chuckled as he snapped an IG at the Paris CDG airport.

The Parrothead actually drank 76 margaritas ~ how many different kinds does Margaritaville serve?

How many margaritas are there in the world? Do skinny margaritas and name brands count differently?

The Falcon Tesla had doors that almost hit its pompous owner. It’s like gull wings but Tesla renamed it; Starbucks calls an extra large a grande. My senses sipped this tidbit as if it were the only water in a scotch and soda.

Because I heard that Kevin Costner did not have to pay child support, I decided against ever having children.

Prepping to go on stage, he milked up which she thought was urban slang for shooting heroin, until her non-reader-wearing eyes realized it read, “miked” up.

Ah…“The (watery) (pavement) of (her romantic life)…”

The wheels of the car did not help anyone piled up in the dump. Pity no one told the collector.

Alan Jackson decided to actually go back to work and forgo his tall, strong Hurricane.

Miss T often got called, “Misty” which was ironic, given that she refused to ever cry and hated nostalgia.

Luckily, Alan Jackson’s “work” was writing more songs and prepping to go on tour. He’ll play St. Augustine’s Amp in 2024.

The flip-flops had mink linings in rainbow colors.

The children boycotted going to school because it was summer vacation.

The key wailed in the lock as if to warn the person not to enter that door.

The whiskey slid over the ice like a synchronized swimmer, without a songtrack.

Alan Jackson started to write an eulogy to Jimmy Buffett and, for the first time in a very long time, hated that he was a songwriter.

Poem #12: The Sporting Life

So many sports,
so little time.
Which do you choose?

Most people have a weakness.
Sports help us rejuvenate.

If someone doesn’t follow the Rules,
does that matter?
To many of us,
that which is rhetorical doesn’t matter.
But does a guilty conscience govern?
Who chooses?

Play and play some more.

Sentence: Most sports have Rules which govern play.

Poem #11: Greenland exists, doesn’t it?

So many places to visit…in my mind’s imagination. Yet…
Before Lockdown, there were excuses: expenses, time, obligations and the list goes on. And on.
Or, you just book a ticket and travel. That was me.

Now, I sit quietly and imagine …
that I am in Greenland.
Is it green?
I don’t speak their language.
How do I manage?
Kindness and graciousness, just like everyday life.
Clean air, healthy living.

When must I go home?
Fire up your imagination and please join me.

Poem #10: The Fun of Sharing Joy Riding … Together

I’m being followed by a moon shadow;
Moon shadow, moon shadow.
I may lose my eyes, my legs, my voice, but I won’t ever lose my imagination.
I close my eyes and see myself…
Leaping and hopping on a moon shadow
Above the clouds
Above the fray
Going just as high as I may.
Best of all, I’m not alone.
I’m with you, mi amor.
We’re leaping and hopping on our moon shadow.
Shared joy. Shared fun. Shared adventure.
Never lose that. Never.

Poem #9: No time for Porridge

Certain foods and images I associate
with a specific season or experience.
When it’s cold, it’s porridge in the Irish countryside;
When the crispness of fall beckons,
homemade ice cream after our favorite Montana hike
provides a comforting way to relax
and finally

How to celebrate that it was finally summer?
Desiring a peaceful respite from
Urban life.
My husband and I drove out
to our cottage by the lake.
The lethargy from the heat had set in
and we didn’t feel
like moving.
At all.

He took off his mask
and I followed suit.
We popped open a chilled bottle of rose
to share.
That horrid beep of the computer reminding us of our meeting.
Dare we attend another zoom call?
My eye caught the stunning sunset,
framed by the treeline.
We exchanged a knowing look and
he shut the computer off.

“Here’s to a rejuvenating time away,” he grinned.

“To more wine and special times together.” I added.

He kissed me and
I was transported to
when we were newlyweds.
Just a few months ago we would have been too absorbed
in the hustle and bustle
to ever slow down and
appreciate each other.

A firefly and then
a family of fireflies
dart around a nearby camp fire.
Their happy movements seem to tell us
we made the right decision.

Poem #8: Dissecting Emojis

What’s trending?
A tidal wave of emotions.
Expressed with a quick push of a button.
Repeat. Delete. Tell a story.

I contemplate the ones I most frequently use…
Champagne flutes, red wine, beer mugs,
Cake, coffee, salsa dancing.
Surfers and palm beaches and my home in L.A.
What do they say about me?
I scroll through the screens. Which ones do I never use?

I like laughter, I like happiness, I like fun. And my usage says that.
Doesn’t it?

Poem #7: Season of the De-cluttering Diva

Season of the De-cluttering Diva

Where did all this stuff come from?

Start with the smallest room: the kitchen.
Down came the unused shelving
Out went miscellaneous mugs and dishes
A little new paint made such a big difference.

My walk-in closet did not live up to its name.
Taking everything out
Slapping on my new friend, fresh paint
Gifting to friends, donations to charity
And I can find everything and move around.

My teensy apartment seems bigger.
All the airiness helped my creativity. An added benefit.

“Stuff begone!” is my new mantra.
Am proud of my discipline during troubling times.

Poem #6: Remotely Kind or Removed

Amicable Aliens landed and were disgusted by what they saw.
And decided to take charge. Immediately.

Anyone committing a violent act had to learn 100 happy words and use them repeatedly. If they couldn’t do that they were sent to Rancor of Russia. And never heard from again. If they were already in the Rancor of Russia, rumor has it they went missing.

The cruelest acts were often unintended reiterations of past bad behavior. Hypnotherapy was used to free people from the clutches.

Anyone who swore had to do volunteer work such as picking up trash to help make the environment cleaner.
The streets of Manhattan had never been so clean. In Hollywood, you could eat off the freeways. Noise pollution helped fuel all kinds of other pollution and the world got cleaner.

The world still wasn’t perfectly kind, but this was a good start.

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