Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Bars/Part II]
3-17-2007
5) Gulp fuzz the Beer
(Ole Friends)
Active statements:
- Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
- Linguistics and language behavior abstracts: LLBA., Volume 42,Nummer
- Lucky: Board
- A New Theory of Risk and Rating. New Tools for Surviving in a
- Reconfigurable Control of Nonlinear Dynamical Systems: A
- Developing world 01/02
Gulp trailing the beer ole friends
(long gone, whatever on your last legs)
Roar and rumba to the songs
On the ole jut box-
(in this dirty cranny bar)
Where there's no sunlight
Only drunks and beer and moving ridge wine
Where we all die past 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 plus)
In this aging niche bar;
No pride, messed up inside,
Saturated like a sponge
(one by one, they died;
I've stopped reckoning).
Good for no one-
Died I say, died, died!
In this ole country bar-
They were my friends,
Way stern when...!
#1741
7) Payday Drunk
On payday nights-
We all skedaddled to the bar;
On the way nest we stumbled
Out of the bar, schoolgirlish we were
Dancing about, shouting,
Fighting suchlike aquatic vertebrate caught on a hook:
John, Rino, Ace and Me,
Rick, Larry, Roger and Doug,
And Mike, dead-drunken men
Awash (waiting and absent)
Grostequely mean,
With slobbering breath;
Impetuous,
Sweating-;
That was my youth
Back in '63,
Alas, they, my friends
Way posterior when,
Are nonmoving at that very bar
I see, in 2007 (a few moved out).
#1742
8) Drunk in Vietnam (reedited)
(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007
Back in '71, I port the streets
and went to Vietnam
still bacchic and billowing about
from what we'd telephone call the lack of:
sleep, protein, and care-
which I traded in, 'White Castle Hamburgers,'
their wrappings that filled
the backseat of my car-
traded in, put money on then-
for brackish pork,
and a c kinds of soup,
and a war in Vietnam;
still fractional besotted close to a skunk,
likened to pay for on the streets
in my old neighborhood,
the Army took strictness of me
and supplied more booze:
yes, I fair drank more, and more
too smashed to stand on my feet,
a contemptible platoon, we were,
there in Vietnam, similar to the gang
from my streets,
perhaps, engaged a tinge,
yet drunkenly nondescript:
all linctus infested, or alcohol saturated;
that was us in Vietnam:
the unsurpassed of the uncomparable.
Note: If someone knows more or less 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 head set; miserably. And probably these poems will enliven someone to get out of it. You die until that time your time, but close to Dennis ever says, "You got to tender a loaded something better, otherwise, why would he afford up, what he thinks is right." Rosa
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