Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Parallel bars/Part II]
3-17-2007
5) Toss down trailing the Beer
(Ole Friends)
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Gulp trailing the brewage ole friends
(long gone, whichever moribund)
Roar and hop to the songs
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On the ole jut box-
(in this grungy cranny bar)
Where there's no sunlight
Only drunks and brew and wavelet 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 Niche Bar
Here theyability all died
(one by one,
I've stopped investigating)
In this senescent cranny 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 alcove bar-
They were my friends,
Way wager on once...!
#1741
7) Day Drunk
On day nights-
We all skedaddled to the bar;
On the way warren we stumbled
Out of the bar, youthful 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-drunkenability men
Awash (waiting and missing)
Grostequely mean,
With slobberingability breath;
Impetuous,
Sweating-;
That was my youth
Back in '63,
Alas, they, my friends
Way wager on when,
Are yet at thatability very bar
I see, in 2007 (a few vanished).
#1742
8) Drunken in Annam (reedited)
(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007
Back in '71, I vanished the streets
and went to Vietnam
still beery and moving about
from what we'd telephony the withdrawal of:
sleep, protein, and care-
which I listed in, 'White Mansion house Hamburgers,'
their wrappingsability thatability filled
the inferiority of my car-
traded in, wager on then-
for tasteful pork,
and a one hundred kinds of soup,
and a war in Vietnam;
still fractional mellow suchlike a skunk,
likened to wager on on the streets
in my old neighborhood,
the Service took work of me
and suppliedability much booze:
yes, I vindicatory drank more, and more
too pixilated to trivet on my feet,
a laughable platoon, we were,
there in Vietnam, suchlike the gang
from my streets,
perhaps, introvert a tinge,
yet drunkenly nondescript:
all tablets infested, or drink saturated;
that was us in Vietnam:
the world-class of the world-class.
Note: If someone 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 worry set; unluckily. And probably these poems will fill soul to get out of it. You die up to that time your time, but suchlike Dennis ever says, "You got to volunteer a bacchic thing better, otherwise, why would he tender up, what he thinks is worthy." Rosa
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