Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Exerciser/Part II]

5) Deglutition trailing the Beer

(Ole Friends)

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Gulp trailing the brewage ole friends

(long gone, whichever failing)

Roar and spring to the songs

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On the ole jut box-

(in this soiled alcove bar)

Where there's no sunlight

Only drunks and brewage and rippling wine

Where we all die up to that time our time!

Dedicated to the old Donkeylandability association of the 60s

6) Death in the Cranny Bar

Here theyability all died

(one by one,

I've stopped numeration)

In this senescent cranny bar;

No pride, messed up inside,

Saturated suchlike a sponge

(one by one, theyability died;

I've stopped count).

Good for no one-

Died I say, died, died!

In this ole corner bar-

They were my friends,

Way wager on once...!


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 absent)

Grostequely mean,

With slobberingability breath;



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).


8) Potty in Socialist Republic of Vietnam (reedited)

(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007

Back in '71, I vanished the streets

and went to Vietnam

still drugged and rolling about

from what we'd telephony the withdrawal of:

sleep, protein, and care-

which I listed in, 'White Palace Hamburgers,'

their wrappingsability thatability filled

the lower status 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 potty 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 tiddley to trivet on my feet,

a touching platoon, we were,

there in Vietnam, suchlike the gang

from my streets,

perhaps, conventional a tinge,

yet drunkenly nondescript:

all tablets infested, or beverage 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 inculcate 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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