214

I taste a liquor never brewed—
From Tankards scooped in Pearl—
Not all the Vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of Air—am I—
And Debauchee of Dew—
Reeling—thro endless summer days—
From inns of Molten Blue—

When “Landlords” turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove’s door—
When Butterflies—renounce their “drams”—
I shall but drink the more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats—
And Saints—to windows run—
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the—Sun—

I am a little prince
Living on a planet
Far too small for you to see
Here is a million stars
But a single flower
To spend all the sunsets with.

Bussinessmen and Tippler's words
They sound as I'm left by birds
With a friend to
Forever last.
And if I could make you mine
You say there's one last goodbye
For you and me
To get past.

What if I didn't care
Would the tress out-grow me?
And sheeps eat my little rose?
Being old is to count
Everything that matters
Grown-ups they're all too weird.

A lamplighter lights the fire
A man lives by his desire
A prince has tamed a fox
'cause his heart is enough.

But now I have to leave
To my little planet
I think someone there needs me.

Pickled on quixotic tonics
he strives for a polyglot's poise,
balancing plaster peas
at the end of his tippler's tongue.

But the rough-surfaced pearls prickle
his too-ticklish bed of pink,
and gulped down, he administers
only a lessoned indigestion.

Flipping the flop, he prevaricates
himself into the tight-fit corners
of a parallelogram traced
by unsolemn processionals

bedecked in platitudinous finery.
Their porous smirks drip sticky
reminders of a plethora
of previously pernicious exercises

and dampen his fluffy ambition,
prodding procrastinations until
his drunken promise dries out
to become a posthumous wish.

tip-tap
the tippler rain drips
tip-tap
the tippler rain's slick
tip-tap
the rain, tippling, wraps
lit-up
city streets in plastic

Sippin from the bottle, Slippin off the throttle
Strippin Inhibition, Wobble out the hovel

THE FLY AND I

fly follows me
from room to room
shadowing my every move

I tell it
to "Shoooo!"
but it is a no shooooo fly

it circles the light bulb
as if orbiting
an alien planet

now Mr. Fly
slyly lands on my hand
my sudden slap misses it

overturns my glass
of wine it sips at it
cheeky tippler

it lands on
the word I am
writing

it studies this
I am
walking all over it

then just as I
tire of it
it flies out the window

into summer
and the bluest of blue
skies to be found

now that it's gone
I....kinda
miss it being around

Before landscapers mow swaths
across undulating waves of clover
(the father/daughter team
usually cut grass every Tuesday)
bumblebees alight from one to another flower.

Meanwhile, I lie splayed
mid morning June 28th, 2022
with stomach upon natural carpeting
quietly basking espying Robins
oblivious to presence of yours truly
pleasantly distracted unable to concentrate
reading latest issue of Mother Jones.

Revered quintessential pitch perfect...
omnipresent natural muse
idyllic and pacific temperature
sprawling within sundry
schema encompassing sundry biota
at Highland Manor Apartments)
with nary any other resident nor human
hypothetically I experience
webbed wide world
imagining domain singularly mine.

Splendiferous sunlight bathed
sol barenaked lady alas and alack
leavening kernels harkening
civilizations bajillion millenniums back
before mechanization punctuated
courtesy opposable thumb
hominids forged, molded, usurped...
mother lode carte blanche
yielding resounding click and clack
blithely extracting resources

disregarding warnings regarding drawback
Capitalism paradigm wrought
**** sapiens witnessed vanquishing
close calls with extinction
nevertheless man/womankind came roaring
full steam ahead stronger analogously
think one who trudges thru thick forests
zigzagging across rudely cleared switchback
already disappeared without a trace
what animal, (perhaps
protohuman) no tell tale track.

Blessed balm of solar warmth permeated
one primate seduced asleep
albeit 245+ months into twenty first century,
where proliferation courtesy since
first Industrial Revolution
circa about 1760 to sometime
between 1820 and 1840,
when bruising bouncer(s) maintained
law and order within barkeep
saloons in colloquial jargon cheap

trick availed supertramp goo goo dolls
guiding drunken proletariat recesses deep
makeshift private booth disproportionate
money forked over cuz
crowded house needed upkeep
occasionally respectable fellow
(an average Joe just Biden time
in tandem with his imaginary veep
enriched coffers, whereby generous money
found vent to all purdy girls to weep.

Daydreaming, and inebriate on air
I taste a liquor never brewed* beware...
potential plagiarism avoided
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) gave clear
signal, though she dwelt (still does)
with dead souls - poor dear
mine non deliberated reference to said poet
spontaneously sprung into logophile engineer

her brief life, yet...
impacted American and English literature
triumphant and devoid of fear
harmonious, prodigious, and voluminous
hand deftly wrought skads of poems
within her noggin cogs and appropriate gear
smoothly meshed only a humble folk like her
muffled modest gaiety only she could hear.
-------------------------------------------------------
*I taste a liquor never brewed (214)
Emily Dickinson - 1830-1886
I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,

From inns of molten blue.
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun
---------------------------------------------
further details:https://
academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/
english/melani/cs6/liquor.html