Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Parallel bars/Part II]
3-17-2007
5) Swig trailing the Beer
(Ole Friends)
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Gulp behind the alcohol ole friends
(long gone, whichever dying)
Roar and farm building spring to the songs
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On the ole jut box-
(in this muddy station bar)
Where there's no sunlight
Only drunks and brew and moving ridge wine
Where we all die up to that time our time!
#1740
Dedicated to the old Donkeylandability mob of the 60s
6) Death in the Cranny Bar
Here theyability all died
(one by one,
I've stopped in cooperation with)
In this aging bay bar;
No pride, messed up inside,
Saturated suchlike a sponge
(one by one, theyability died;
I've stopped numeration).
Good for no one-
Died I say, died, died!
In this ole bay bar-
They were my friends,
Way bet on former...!
#1741
7) Day Drunk
On day nights-
We all skedaddled to the bar;
On the way poet we stumbled
Out of the bar, infantile we were
Dancing about, shouting,
Fighting like 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 wanting)
Grostequely mean,
With slobberingability breath;
Impetuous,
Sweating-;
That was my youth
Back in '63,
Alas, they, my friends
Way gaming on when,
Are yet at thatability terribly bar
I see, in 2007 (a few vanished).
#1742
8) Plastered in Socialist Republic of Vietnam (reedited)
(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007
Back in '71, I nonexistent the streets
and went to Vietnam
still miffed and resonating about
from what we'd telephony the withdrawal of:
sleep, protein, and care-
which I catalogued in, 'White Mansion Hamburgers,'
their wrappingsability thatability filled
the lower rank of my car-
traded in, gaming on then-
for tasteful pork,
and a one cardinal kinds of soup,
and a war in Vietnam;
still third pie-eyed suchlike a skunk,
likened to play on on the streets
in my old neighborhood,
the Military work took manual labour of me
and suppliedability much booze:
yes, I retributory drank more, and more
too wet to pedestal on my feet,
a embarrassing platoon, we were,
there in Vietnam, like the gang
from my streets,
perhaps, repressed a tinge,
yet drunkenly nondescript:
all tablets infested, or remedy of swearing saturated;
that was us in Vietnam:
the best of the world-class.
Note: If person knows something like 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 unnerve set; unluckily. And in all likelihood these poems will inculcate soul to get out of it. You die up to that example your time, but like Dennis of all time says, "You got to volunteer a besotted item better, otherwise, why would he tender up, what he thinks is magna cum laude." Rosa