Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Bars/Part II]
3-17-2007
5) Gulp downward the Beer
(Ole Friends)
Few recordsGulp thrown the brew ole friends
(long gone, some dying)
Roar and shindig to the songs
Creative links:On the ole jut box-
(in this dirty cranny bar)
Where there's no sunlight
Only drunks and brew and riffle wine
Where we all die back 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 together with)
In this ageing country bar;
No pride, messed up inside,
Saturated similar to a sponge
(one by one, they died;
I've stopped enumeration).
Good for no one-
Died I say, died, died!
In this ole niche bar-
They were my friends,
Way backmost when...!
#1741
7) Payday Drunk
On payday nights-
We all skedaddled to the bar;
On the way surroundings we stumbled
Out of the bar, new we were
Dancing about, shouting,
Fighting same fish 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 backmost when,
Are increasingly at that self bar
I see, in 2007 (a few gone).
#1742
8) Drunk in Vietnam (reedited)
(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007
Back in '71, I left-handed the streets
and went to Vietnam
still boozy and tumbling about
from what we'd beckon the withdrawal of:
sleep, protein, and care-
which I listed in, 'White Castle Hamburgers,'
their wrappings that filled
the lower status of my car-
traded in, hindermost then-
for brackish pork,
and a a hundred kinds of soup,
and a war in Vietnam;
still partially drunken like-minded a skunk,
likened to wager on on the streets
in my old neighborhood,
the Army took carefulness of me
and supplied more than booze:
yes, I just drank more, and more
too bacchanalian to support on my feet,
a touching platoon, we were,
there in Vietnam, approaching the gang
from my streets,
perhaps, smart a tinge,
yet drunkenly nondescript:
all linctus infested, or potable saturated;
that was us in Vietnam:
the finest of the top-grade.
Note: If someone knows going on for 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 heed set; disappointingly. And probably these poems will shake up cause to get out of it. You die before your time, but similar Dennis ever says, "You got to tender a bacchanal something better, otherwise, why would he distribute up, what he thinks is redeeming." Rosa