Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Bars/Part II]
3-17-2007
5) Gulp downcast the Beer
(Ole Friends)
Gulp low the brew ole friends
(long gone, both on your deathbed)
Roar and leap to the songs
On the ole jut box-
(in this grimy corner bar)
Where there's no sunlight
Only drunks and brewage and ripple wine
Where we all die before our time!
#1740
Dedicated to the old Donkeyland gang of the 60s
6) Death in the Corner Bar
Here they all died
(one by one,
I've stopped numeration)
In this senescent area bar;
No pride, messed up inside,
Saturated same a sponge
(one by one, they died;
I've stopped plus).
Good for no one-
Died I say, died, died!
In this ole cranny bar-
They were my friends,
Way put money on when...!
#1741
7) Payday Drunk
On payday nights-
We all skedaddled to the bar;
On the way married we stumbled
Out of the bar, preteen we were
Dancing about, shouting,
Fighting same aquatic vertebrate caught on a hook:
John, Rino, Ace and Me,
Rick, Larry, Roger and Doug,
And Mike, dead-drunken men
Awash (waiting and lacking)
Grostequely mean,
With slobbering breath;
Impetuous,
Sweating-;
That was my youth
Back in '63,
Alas, they, my friends
Way rearmost when,
Are inactive at that aforesaid bar
I see, in 2007 (a few departed).
#1742
8) Drunk in Vietnam (reedited)
(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007
Back in '71, I vanished the streets
and went to Vietnam
still inebriated and rolling about
from what we'd phone up the paucity of:
sleep, protein, and care-
which I listed in, 'White Castle Hamburgers,'
their wrappings that filled
the backseat of my car-
traded in, backbone then-
for saltish pork,
and a one hundred kinds of soup,
and a war in Vietnam;
still half soused suchlike a skunk,
likened to rear legs on the streets
in my old neighborhood,
the Army took consideration of me
and supplied more booze:
yes, I just drank more, and more
too sozzled to put up with on my feet,
a pitiable platoon, we were,
there in Vietnam, like the gang
from my streets,
perhaps, icy a tinge,
yet drunkenly nondescript:
all agent infested, or alcohol saturated;
that was us in Vietnam:
the best of the selected.
Note: If everyone knows astir 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 worry set; undesirably. And maybe these poems will fill organism to get out of it. You die since your time, but like Dennis e'er says, "You got to volunteer a blind drunk something better, otherwise, why would he snap up, what he thinks is favourable." Rosa