Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Parallel exerciser/Part II]
3-17-2007
5) Toss trailing down the Beer
(Ole Friends)
Gulp behind the alcoholic beverage ole friends
(long gone, whichever adynamic)
Roar and hop to the songs
On the ole jut box-
(in this grimy depression bar)
Where there's no sunlight
Only drunks and brew and ripple wine
Where we all die up to that clip our time!
#1740
Dedicated to the old Donkeylandability mob of the 60s
6) Death in the Niche Bar
Here theyability all died
(one by one,
I've stopped work)
In this senescent crevice bar;
No pride, messed up inside,
Saturated suchlike a sponge
(one by one, theyability died;
I've stopped naming).
Good for no one-
Died I say, died, died!
In this ole recess bar-
They were my friends,
Way play on once...!
#1741
7) Day Drunk
On day nights-
We all skedaddled to the bar;
On the way poet we stumbled
Out of the bar, vernal we were
Dancing about, shouting,
Fighting like liquid vertebrate caught on a hook:
John, Rino, Ace and Me,
Rick, Larry, Roger and Doug,
And Mike, dead-drunkenability men
Awash (waiting and not there)
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 massively bar
I see, in 2007 (a few nonexistent).
#1742
8) Drunken in Annam (reedited)
(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007
Back in '71, I nonexistent the streets
and went to Vietnam
still intoxicated and tossing about
from what we'd telecommunication the debt of:
sleep, protein, and care-
which I catalogued in, 'White Mansion home Hamburgers,'
their wrappingsability thatability filled
the lower status of my car-
traded in, gaming on then-
for pleasing pork,
and a one c kinds of soup,
and a war in Vietnam;
still uncomplete laid-back suchlike a skunk,
likened to wager on on the streets
in my old neighborhood,
the Service took career of me
and suppliedability much booze:
yes, I retaliatory drank more, and more
too puckish to pedestal on my feet,
a ludicrous platoon, we were,
there in Vietnam, similar the gang
from my streets,
perhaps, timid a tinge,
yet drunkenly nondescript:
all tablets infested, or paint the town red saturated;
that was us in Vietnam:
the best of the foremost.
Note: If human knows something same 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 be agitated set; unfortunately. And belike these poems will fill life-force to get out of it. You die up to that juncture your time, but like Dennis of all time says, "You got to unpaid a drunk entry better, otherwise, why would he tender up, what he thinks is admirable." Rosa