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Sumairupoetry Jun 2019
Hello Jim, what woes and sorrows will you drown today.

I cheer to your listening ear, for my problems are many and my words are slurred and winded, but my ol' good friend you are long-suffering .

Nevertheless, I know my secrets will be washed away in your alcoholic oceans of the forgotten thoughts and washed up dreams left by many, and all will be well when I succumb to a foolish stupor and stumble where I trek.

Cheers to you Jim; allowing me to see my reflection when I deplete you.

A constant memento of what a good comrade you have been through and through.
Ode to Alcohol
rgz Jun 2019
Today I awoke
awash in tears
having ended my life
inside my own dream
but the sorrow I felt was for you,
not for me.
What the **** does that mean?
I had a fun night with two.
One died and the other is starving.
They came to see me
like the mysterious sea about to *****,
the kind of sea where often in the evening a dozen clairvoyants ****** by every other god
come to drown!
I had a fun night with two.
One died before I could hold her and the other, I starved her to death.
Honey! Could you please get me my vegetarian horse.
I need to catch a revolutionary jellyfish then feed it with my idea of religion and let it dissolve in the mysterious sea.
You are stupid and so is your god!
I had a fun night with two...

- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Dakota J Dawson Feb 2018
A white porcelain

Sits atop
The stool

Beside a resting
Toilet and silent sink

Drains are clogged
Must be the fog

Airing up
Inside the room

Thick and heavy
Full of cream

Like a hot
French Pastry

Soap melts
Into a fine cappuccino

Skin is soft
Not smooth

Tired of the water's touch

Lips separated
Leaking drool

An earlier soft drink
Makes its appearance

Sake makes my soul
Gold and sublime

A snowball I received
To the face

Magical cocktail
Island tragedy

In Paris
Couped up

Stuck in a bathroom
Head bobbing

And Down

Side to side

Direction unchosen
Ears sweetened

By a tranquil
Heavenly sound

A song
Heartfelt poem

Layne's voice
Shouting from the void

Guitar strings
Beats of a drum

Native quotas

Just peace
No hate

Possible gain
***** to be given

Fall upon my brow

Hissing in the heat
Chilling a man-made sea

Fingers tingle
Fabricating a jingle

Eyes swell
Blochted art on the walls

Feet numb
Deciding to stick around

Like a sore gum
Withered with gin

My armor
Solid arms

Continue to fall
Down with my divinity

I am Lucifer
Shining meteor of false hope

Chest heaves
I begin to grieve

Hope for a dawn
Pray to hear a new song

But here he comes
I am bleeding

Shaken by the storm

And crying

This means
I am dying

Is the time right?
Leslie Ledezma Dec 2017
Vines on the gates in the white moonlight
His show’s in the city that lights up so well
We watch him as he sings, feel redeemed
Jesus on my right, electric all around
Enthrallment in my cup, once an empty stage

And when the stars come out from behind palm trees
There’s the sagacious highway to take
Like opiates, like a match named desperate on fire
We live as if we’ll never remember, decree heaven
To all else, no matter

Dark copper hills abound, he runs wild like lightening
Unveiling God for a flash, this street is the miracle of endless possibility
Takes faith to leave the world behind, heard him say
Freedom in the western wind, picks up faster we drive

Voyagers heightened with the joyish fever of could be
And we don’t mind, willful to see dawn
Take it now, time to decide never comes,
willful to see life as intended, real, that’s divine

And when the stars are about to go back to Eden
We leave for the blackened wilderness
Playing the music in all its casual brilliance
like a near ending taken with inward grace
We live as if we’ll never remember, decree heaven
to all else, no matter

He runs like God it’s mysterious, renown
Said it pleased, here’s the key to the nice dream like you asked
American night is brightening and nothing you can do about it
Play your famous radio song, won’t hear it’s worth till you listen up
Who will open the gates, don’t want to stop but ride smoothly through
You smoked your throat gone.

I'll sit in bed opening and closing my Opinel No. 8 and stare at an unread compilation of a then-alive poet's correspondence with a then-and-still-dead poet and wonder at the cover art, a fishing-line-thin threaded rope that could well be tied in a slipknot. Tendrils that look like loose straw scattered thirty different ways.

He said You can't **** your life away and there are many ways to do that. I'm stuck inside a small bedroom dreaming or hallucinating an open space, streams flowing from nowhere near and flat space so full of sky it is sin to call it empty. The world can be hot and fast;  I am bad at resting. I don't sleep well. I can float a river and not once hear it moving.

You drank and dissected your drinking so it could masquerade as something under your control. We all are guilty of this at some point. In some way or another. I am lucky to sit in my bedroom and write that the next two years of my life have well been mapped. I do not pout, there is no malice here. My head is close, fastened between my small shoulders. I share no heart with Yesenin.

You can't **** your life away he said he thought. These things change. *But you can!
This letter makes frequent references to Jim Harrison's poetry collection Letters to Yesenin, originally published in 1973.
Harley Hucof Apr 2017
The heart of the Lizard King beats with every note
It speaks of a strange tongue and a banned tone

A vision of the future and past incarnations
A trip to the edges of creation

The Lizard King smiles, but it knows him not
He cries but the tears refuses to drop

18th generations of a pure blood race
The Lizard King offers the last chance to escape

Words of a lost soul that won't breed
Pain, pleasure and desires till the Lizard King fals asleep

Words Of Harfouchism
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