Nothing inspires the poetic muse as much as the taste of the sweet devil liquor. And this was proven by the over 100 entries we received for our 'Drunk Poetry Contest!' The rules were simple: 1) The poem must be about drink, drinking, or post-drunkeness. 2) The poem must be 24 lines or less. And most importantly, 3) the poem MUST rhyme!

If truth be told, this was the hardest competition we've ever had to judge, thanks to the considerable talents of all the drunks who entered. However, one winner had to be chosen and that winner is Dave Fitzpatrick of Portland! For his poem (cleverly titled, 'Untitled') Dave wins $57, a box of light bulbs, and a bottle of Robitussin. Congratulations Dave!

And to prove how difficult it was to judge these staggeringly beautiful poems, we have decided to print (in no particular order) the six runners-up, as well. Prepare for a maelstrom of poetic drunken beauty (and you just might want to grab a bucket)!


by Dave Fitzpatrick

Tuesday at noon, in a neon-lit room.
Bartender, make it a double.
Tuesday at Two, what can I do?
Bartender, Man, I'm in trouble.
She's a rocker-chick, Rio. She says she's a Leo.
As if her birthdate actually matters.
She's got tall reddish hair and thong underwear,
Her jean-shorts are cut into tatters.
Her car's got air-shocks, to Journey she rocks,
She told me I sing like Steve Perry.
At Hippies she'd yell, go to fuckin' Hell!
As if anyone really liked Jerry!
And we'd drink 'till we spun, which was loads of fun,
But tomorrow, she's heading for Reno!
Oh, believe me, I've tried, I've plead, and I've lied,
She needs more than just Powerball and Keno.
As she told me last night, over a joint and snakebite,
The wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'.
I know it's not Seven, but I'm heading for heaven.
Off Flavel Street, her porch light is burnin'.
So ring up that tab and dial up a cab,
And pour me one more for my travels.
There's no room in her trunk, for this lousy drunk.
One last bender, and this romance unravels.


I Drink Bud 'Cause I Like It
by Robert Stanley

I drink Bud
Cause I like it
I drink Bud
Cause I ain't no micro-brewing faggit
Anybody don't like it
They can go to hell
Anybody can't take it
They're a weak and balless fell-a
Only problem is when I've had maybe one too many
I get to seein' double and start feelin' on some Betty
Then come morning, I get a rude awaken
When I notice her facial stubble while I'm frying her some bacon
I drink Bud cause I like it
What's it to you motherfucker?
I drink Bud cause I like it
Mr. Bartender, slide me down another

by Mr. Maki

Found in my old room
with a bottle of rum
A finger is broken and
So is a thumb
"How did I get here?"
I asked of my mom
"Your car's in the pool
you miserable bum"
I open the blinds to
look out at the sun
"There is a man here to see you
little pile of cum,
He carries a badge
He carries a gun!"
I shut my eyes tight
I see Demons and Nuns
Pull hard on a trigger
I leave only one
The body submits
The fun has begun
And the Angel can't sleep
Til the Devil is done.

O! To Be a Sailor's Lass
by Laura Koonce

A lonely night beside the pier
my heart had fallen low.
A handsome sailor found me there,
his name was Captain Mo'.
He swept me up and held me near
and though his breath was foul,
my heart sang out a joyous cheer.
He answered with a growl.
I danced, I laughed, I shout and fought,
so woozy with his kiss.
But in the morn I always swore
"I am done with this!"
To Captain Morgan, I surrendered all,
my love for him was true.
But every morning was the same;
he left me black and blue!
At last one day, my sailor left
shedding not a single tear.
But I think of him with each full moon
as I wait beside the pier.


by M.G. Sutherland

How many times said I NEVER AGAIN!
with my dry-heaving guts in a porcelain pan?
My skull BONG BONG Bonging like Notre Dame's bell tower
the hunchback a'swinging with his face all a'glower;
his hideous laughter seriating my brain,
each cackle a knife slash of exquisite pain.
The late morning sun never seemed quite so cruel
to my slitted red eyeballs in no shape to duel
with daylight so harsh, so flashing, so glaring.
Each pop of the lids sends my retinas tearing!
And who gave those birds outside in the trees
amplified chirping? My eardrums will freeze!
I'd yell out my protest if my larynx would work,
but right now my throat has this curious quirk.
Constricted so tight I can just barely croak
Till the next wave of nausea opens my choke.
And even though fluid I've no more to give
my stomach starts retching. Ohh, how can I live!
Tomorrow may come but today's a dead loss
and I still have to face both the wife and the boss.
Last night was fun, it was really a ball!
But where, what and who, I can't really recall.
So once more I vow, sobriety's my fate.
'Til headache subsides. Ain't hangovers great?!!

D.D.D. (Dirty Drunk Dyke)
by Sarah Membrane

Y'all ready for this?
Too loaded for walking or diction
Just wanting your cheap friction
'n downwardly mobile middle-class bitchin'
gettin' drunker than the owner of the Egyptian
I'll take you 'fore The Gossip show
Or after Le Tigre
In the bathroom during Dougher
Fuck ya hot rock like the Sleaters
Safe, sane, but not so sober
Batter up, I'm gonna hit a homer
Baby whip out your Avon
Pretend we Bonnie and Lon Mabon
Girl, I'll fuck you drunker than drunk
Fuck ya in combats or pumps
Get on my thigh girl
And hump hump hump
Oversexed Virgo at your service
Drunken virgin not so nervous
Wetter than a cocktail
Hotter than a furnace

Friday Morning and a Weekend
by Jessica Hausauer

Waking up I knew that feeling
A night of drunken, stumbling, reeling
I knew to whom I owed this ache
My tongue of slime, an orgasm fake
It was the same the night before
Yelling, screaming, drinking more
My thirst insatiable, my libido high
Friends all pissed with a wallet dry
Waking with sunlight, cursing, numb
Booty call still sleeping, feeling dumb
Clothes in a pile, condom wrappers parade
I hardly remember getting laid
Dry cardboard contacts, brushing my teeth
Cigarette booze breath, finding relief
Shuffling in to wake up fella
Shoving, nudging, a Helen Keller
No aspirin, no Advil, bad for the liver
Saving the wreckage for a bottle of Miller
Clothes put on in moaning duet
Stinky shirts, pants, shoes all still wet
"What time is it? Do you wanna eat?"
Not a bad booty guy, kinda sweet
"I tell you what I need right now,
a Bloody Mary, a shot, and a ride downtown."