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neth jones Feb 22
Witnessed uprooting :                  
        ­                                                               in the piracy of night
your sinning          
                                 your human right
time fled along      
                                                     when i witnessed
your trespass
                   your violation
                                                       ­       you
                                                             uprooting the root
in the rivalry
                             of the night

upon the morning                                                          ­                           
                         you raise your muzzle blighted
turn your unprocessed head                                                    
        ­                           to retrieve social frequency                                           
                                                             tune in to the light
cold dew on a damaged lawn                                                
you collect your togs 
                                                        you­r paraphernalia                                     
                                                and pick your way tender:
        a rejoining propulsion                            
                  toward the convulsive city
to bed yourself                      
                 beneath its
quickening day
in selfish
"At dawn the dews of Heaven dry away:
The seeds of Hell are sown again today."
- Issa
on that night
your eyes were drunk
as heavily as you were.
we sat down
star gazing,
and your sweaty, yet cold hand
pointing the sky
one, two, three...
and i could tell
your drunken eyes held more of them
those tiny little stars,
and as soon as that cold wind of August
touched your skin,
you collapsed on me
shivering, wanting to be sheltered
and happily i let you in
in my tiny little cabin.

but what a misery
as the night dawned
you were now sober and
and the stars were gone
the little shelter,
you left it, wrecked

                      _  vargov_
I'm awake. Overthinking :) what about you
I wanted to write a poem
about the incessant discomfort
I always feel in my left eye
whenever my contact lenses
become old and dry
I thought about how it tickles
but scratches at the same time
and starts off alright
just a minor annoyance
but quickly, overtime
becomes almost unbearable
like my pre-school bully himself
is folding down one of my eyelashes
just enough for it to poke me
at the slightest movement
then I thought about how
I'd sooner write a poem about my life
and how it started out equally alright
and quickly, overtime became almost unbearable
as if my pre-school bully didn't do it right

so I found him in his adult life many years later
wife, two kids and a mortgage
yappy staffy-cross, two cars
and an alright job as a graphic designer
his garden full of gorgeous flowerbeds,
a full head of hair and a fading right hook
a puzzled look on his face,
garden hose flooding his drive and the yappy
staffy-cross still yapping away
at the living room window
so he called the police
and I never got to feel young again
unless you count scurrying away from
a council estate under the threat of
a poor meal at Parkside police station
the rekindling of my youth

so this is my infomercial poem
about how not to confront someone
always be fully clothed
that's very important
avoid being drunk
any mind altering substance
is best avoided in my opinion
remember just because you care
just because you remember
does not mean anyone else does
oh and
don't eyeball craft beer when
you still have your contacts in
you know what?
-just don't eyeball craft beer
"don't come inside"
usually, in fact, almost always
I would pull out
with a split second to spare
and ******* all over her
turning her navel in to
some sort of overflow ***-gutter
proceed to roll over
panting like an old dog in the sun
roll a cigarette whilst she
wipes us both down with some nearby
toilet roll and suggest
we watch something on her laptop
this time was different though
I pulled out and she lays there
and starts tugging me off
entirely unnecessarily
as though both of our lives
depended on it
and I'm glad she did
I started spraying hot **** everywhere
and I think to myself
"I'm painting the ******* walls!"
it was nothing short of sensational
and it all seemed very Bukowskiesque
gracie Jan 26
i feel you breathe with your hands in my hair
and if you squint the lights look like stars.

i hold your hand
and you hold mine
and for the first time in a long time
i know we will be okay.
on a wednesday in a cafe i watched it begin again
Elorai Jan 25
Raise your glasses high,
tonight we won’t cry,
the wine is pouring,
and my love is at home, mourning.
Next round is on me,
we’ll get more drunk than sailors at the sea,
just drink from your wooden tankard,
until everything around is blurred.
Let me hear you cheer,
spaced-out from ***, wine and beer.
This is our last night,
next day we march to fight.
Now, let’s dine,
cause tomorrow by this time,
we’ll be dead,
and our clothes will be red,
like this delicious crimson wine.
Echo Jan 23
we drank raspberry liquor
we ate strawberry ice cream
and we danced in closed down bars
the night that i left you
yet when we kissed, my darling
your lips were like vanilla
and all i could think, all i could wonder
was how to chase winter in the summer night air
that time i kissed my crush and then felt like dying for the next 5 days
Laokos Jan 31
i wrote that drunk
i was trying to bypass
an impasse
lucked out and
circumnavigated the
ran into the fox
he stole my color
only to find it again
at first light
and now i nod
to the speed of life
the unceasing turning
of greater and greater
the lightness of death
as it passes

there's no
I raise my hand high
       because I want to feel the Sun
                and keep soberness low
                      because I want to have fun
Ileana Amara Jan 13
most poets seem to be too drunk in love,
vomiting out words as their heart throbbed

while i was one who stayed sober,
after a few bad hangovers;
writing as i clutch a bottle of wine to cope,
maybe next time, i'll pour it onto a glass of hope.

IA ☕
01.13.21. | not really one for drinking but i hope i got the message right.
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