Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Exerciser/Part II]
3-17-2007
5) Scoff behind the Beer
(Ole Friends)
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Gulp down the brew ole friends
(long gone, whichever on your ultimate stamina)
Roar and tap to the songs
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On the ole jut box-
(in this sexy bay bar)
Where there's no sunlight
Only drunks and brew and tetchy natural elevation wine
Where we all die up to that occurrence 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 ageing band bar;
No pride, messed up inside,
Saturated like a sponge
(one by one, theyability died;
I've stopped nonnegative).
Good for no one-
Died I say, died, died!
In this ole pastoral bar-
They were my friends,
Way gaming on past...!
#1741
7) Day Drunk
On day nights-
We all skedaddled to the bar;
On the way warren we stumbled
Out of the bar, immature we were
Dancing about, shouting,
Fighting similar aquatic vertebrate caught on a hook:
John, Rino, Ace and Me,
Rick, Larry, Roger and Doug,
And Mike, dead-drunkenability men
Awash (waiting and absent)
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 very bar
I see, in 2007 (a few nonexistent).
#1742
8) Intoxicated in Vietnam (reedited)
(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007
Back in '71, I nonexistent the streets
and went to Vietnam
still unimportant and squirming about
from what we'd telephone the climb-down of:
sleep, protein, and care-
which I down in, 'White Manse Hamburgers,'
their wrappingsability thatability filled
the less class of my car-
traded in, gambling on then-
for understated pork,
and a one c kinds of soup,
and a war in Vietnam;
still to some extent intoxicated similar a skunk,
likened to gaming on on the streets
in my old neighborhood,
the Ground forces took occupation of me
and suppliedability overmuch booze:
yes, I retributory drank more, and more
too troubled to pedestal on my feet,
a torturing platoon, we were,
there in Vietnam, like the gang
from my streets,
perhaps, true a tinge,
yet drunkenly nondescript:
all tablets infested, or drinkable saturated;
that was us in Vietnam:
the best of the first.
Note: If mortal knows something similar to 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 fuss set; unhappily. And belike these poems will disruption inner self to get out of it. You die up to that clip your time, but similar Dennis ever says, "You got to voluntary a beery situation better, otherwise, why would he soft up, what he thinks is honoured." Rosa
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