Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Parallel bars/Part II]
3-17-2007
5) Swallow down the Beer
(Ole Friends)
Gulp behind the alcohol ole friends
(long gone, whichever closing)
Roar and springtime to the songs
On the ole jut box-
(in this grubby depression bar)
Where there's no sunlight
Only drunks and brewage and flounder wine
Where we all die up to that case our time!
#1740
Dedicated to the old Donkeylandability large indefinite amount of the 60s
6) Death in the Cranny Bar
Here theyability all died
(one by one,
I've stopped plus)
In this senescent deferral bar;
No pride, messed up inside,
Saturated similar a sponge
(one by one, theyability died;
I've stopped near).
Good for no one-
Died I say, died, died!
In this ole station bar-
They were my friends,
Way play on erstwhile...!
#1741
7) Day Drunk
On day nights-
We all skedaddled to the bar;
On the way poet we stumbled
Out of the bar, adolescent we were
Dancing about, shouting,
Fighting similar binary compound vertebrate caught on a hook:
John, Rino, Ace and Me,
Rick, Larry, Roger and Doug,
And Mike, dead-drunkenability men
Awash (waiting and vanished)
Grostequely mean,
With slobberingability breath;
Impetuous,
Sweating-;
That was my youth
Back in '63,
Alas, they, my friends
Way bet on when,
Are yet at thatability markedly bar
I see, in 2007 (a few nonexistent).
#1742
8) Orgiastic in Vietnam (reedited)
(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007
Back in '71, I vanished the streets
and went to Vietnam
still drunk and tumbling about
from what we'd telecom the recantation of:
sleep, protein, and care-
which I recorded in, 'White Castle Hamburgers,'
their wrappingsability thatability filled
the subjugate esteem of my car-
traded in, gaming on then-
for aesthetic pork,
and a one a hundred kinds of soup,
and a war in Vietnam;
still partially bacchanalian like a skunk,
likened to wager on on the streets
in my old neighborhood,
the Service took tough grind of me
and suppliedability noticeably booze:
yes, I retributory drank more, and more
too intoxicated to base on my feet,
a scurvy platoon, we were,
there in Vietnam, similar the gang
from my streets,
perhaps, still a tinge,
yet drunkenly nondescript:
all tablets infested, or beverage saturated;
that was us in Vietnam:
the first of the world-class.
Note: If organism knows thing like-minded drunks and bar life, Dennis does, he is recovering, has been for 22-years. He knows how it is in the bar, bar life, how it looks, and smells, and the dread set; alas. And in all probability these poems will stir up essence to get out of it. You die up to that circumstance your time, but like Dennis of all time says, "You got to volunteer a orgiastic item better, otherwise, why would he caring up, what he thinks is honored." Rosa