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Ken Pepiton Dec 2020
Who did you imagine,
when I appeared?
Words and nothing more,
more than you
imagined
much less than you have hoped,
had forethought been your reason
to be.

----
Look,
it is 2020, gnoshit, we are the beings involved

in revolution re
defined,
turn, turn, turn, there is a time
for ever in seasons of ifery
wished in comics

Red Sonya, eh, a Marvel Archetype,
or a thought,
a notion, or a gumption to appear as real,
an angel,

a word to the wise.
Stay alive, don't **** the buzz.
Watching comix on Hulu, drinking Thanksgiven leftover maagueeriTAS
Beckie Davies Nov 2020
Tiled Walls
Body Sore
Memories from the night before

Bathtub
***** stains
Bruises on your throat are a dead give away

Empty bottles
****** wrapper
You were sure before but full of regret after

Bathroom
Past noon
Time to put your mask on and face the news
waking up in the bathroom after a drunken one night stand
Beckie Davies Oct 2020
god
must have been
drunk
when he decided to create you
it's the only explanation
for
your
vile
existence
the explanation for your existence
Maria Mitea Sep 2020
Rain is washing its tears
from your longing promises
with the spray of the sea
vanishing on ***** winds.

Rain is washing its tears
from your salty kisses
with cuddly shadowy trees
and thirsty green leaves.

Rain is washing its tears
from your sweet words
with poetic unvoiced verses
drunken by unknown love.

Rain is washing its tears
from your burning pain
with the rays of the sun
drops’smile in flowers beds.
leechyna Jun 2020
There they are
Drinking their sorrows
Some taking beers
They can't bear
Calling themselves single
Behind them lies flawless breakups
Afraid to be in love
Torn to  halves
Hope in heaven they won't be single
I hate carrying drunken masters home
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2020
read his stuff
https://hellopoetry.com/r-2/

n.b. nowadays I write here only in praise of others,
as the rewards are far greater than any of the meager
stuff I got  laying around.

a poem for his summer soul-stice
<>


self-confessed to the priest, we us, both, meeting
in the confess-******, wee needy for a solid projectile
purging, me, cause, I’m a plagiarist of inspiration

**** it every time a ce r tain poet writes,
its a sock to my multi faceted square sided~head,
discoloring my eye shadow, my maskara crazy running,
frustration, admiration, mortar and pestle pounded

into a white powder of unadulterated adultery with a
frothy topping of a jealousy muse laughing face, at me,
cappuccino made from bitter herbs and pink sea salt.

in eight lines the man accomplishes
what would take me eight, eight full
poems, even then, not coming close

still failing to retake his brevity skills,
his summer solstice way of seeing,
by keeping the dark away,
by inviting the dark in,
making it under duress,
spill the beans of his life’s
ironies, some hellish,
some not, all well kept,
in Georgia granite stoney face.

the softest steeling of words that irritates
me into a fine frenzy... what’s the use,
point made, in how he undresses
the eyes
into just outright gasping,

and that is the only
permissible comment emoji.


______

r

Her verse
I need to taste the salt
of her soliloquy
be drunk on the sobriety
of her verse
those words she writes
behind my eyelids
makes me want
to crawl inside her skin
and listen to her heartbeat.
https://hellopoetry.com/r-2/

*************

Postscript:
as a poet, knee’d & head bent, asking you Lord,
would it have soiled a vast eternal plan,
to throw some kosher salt, on mes écrits,

let a soliloquy make my case, my summer
soul-on-ice, hangover from the drunken sobriety
that stays, retained, the sense of loss remains
long after he has left my screen, and I’m

wondering if he gets him poems from that
old yellow dog, if true, no fair, but o.k., I’ll
take it right, any way, I can, **** it. and you.
Mrs Anybody Mar 2020
i was sitting there
drunken and
deep minded

with her
in the cold wind
talking
about everything
and nothing

and even though
i enjoyed
talking with her
i still wish
it was you
also check out my other poems!  :)
​I still haven't found land. I steer my crew in circles, drunken and adventurous, hoping they never see how hopeless I am. I cannot handle this power without something powering me; I cannot see straight and somehow that's less blinding than my own doubts. Than my insecurities, and pain I deal with. I'm afraid their trust will decimate, that this ship will sink. Far down, far away. I dream of the clouds being an island to me. A home. Familiarities I rarely feel in these murky, vast waters. I've let my thoughts wander.. farther than I should have. Do you blame me? I always knew my life held a bitter end. A small fight before the ocean enthralls me once more, capturing me, and I sink. Lower than I ever have. Losing my life to the very thing that kept me from living-
I hope yall like this one. there was a lot of pain and thought put into it.
all feedback is welcome and appreciated
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