numbers & figures are
nothing more than a flicker
of the winter chimney's smoky snicker;
fleeting as the sad beggar's liquor &
grandmother's empty wicker
chair, rocking with the gentle gale
breezing past rootless weeds
to settle on the frozen well —
Farewell, numbers & figures.
Sometimes I think I'm too fixated on numbers & figures, so this is a poem to remind myself not to be so caught up with them because 1. they do not define me and 2. they are as fickle as a breeze, might as well stop caring so much on fleeting things.
He asked her this one question.
She, beside him, curled up in her small frame. Knees tucked to her chest, pink lips, and coffee stained teeth, she smiled small.
"I've been asked this question by many," she says, "And I've always said things like someone's voice, or the way they held me. Maybe it was their laugh or the way my heart ached when I smelled their t-shirts at night.
You, though, will always leave me with an unanswered question.
I don't know why I love you but for some reason, my heart will whisper your name when I'm too intimate with a bottle pressed to my lips.
When the tears I cry are warm from the sound of your voice when it pours through the videos we've laughed in.
I don't think I love you but my heart does. Maybe that's why my mind cannot think of any reasons because you lie in my chest where it aches the most."
Excerpt from a page torn out of my diary of missing you.
Beer for breakfast
Liquor for lunch
Drunk by dinner
Out by 1
don’t work no more.
need some kind of distraction.
**** it, might as well try writing
Je me surprenais à songer aux saveurs de l'âme
Chaque moment où j'avais le corps endolori
Je me soumettais aux tentations les plus profondes, ces flammes
C'est dans la combustion que j'ai pu savourer la vie
Je me souvenais des oublis volontaires de mes récits
Chaque peine est l'origine d'une poésie
J'évite la littérature de mes inquiétudes
C'est dans l'oubli que j'ai conforté ma solitude
there was never a time I wasn’t faking it
sipping on lies like wine and always wanting more
I can’t remember not being thirsty
with liquor, my words run rampant
they slip from my tongue so easily and dance in the streets
they’re willing to burn down cities
they’re willing to cut throats
they’re willing to ruin anything good
another reason I stopped drinking-- I can’t keep feeding myself frenzies
i give up good, i give up so ******* good
After all, shots of straight ***** taste better than the thought of you and her
I deserve to be more than sexualized
Fahr an’ Ice
by Michael R. Burch
(apologies to Robert Frost and Ogden Nash)
From what I know of death, I’ll side with those
who’d like to have a say in how it goes:
just make mine cool, cool rocks (twice drowned in likker),
and real fahr off, instead of quicker.
Originally published by Light Quarterly
Keywords/Tags: Robert Frost, Ogden Nash, death, fire, ice, liquor, quicker, humor, nonsense, light verse, parody, satire
The way the chilled glass sits and liquid pours-
Soulful singing soothes the mind-
No wonder they go back to the liquor-
If I follow the tracks they lay- would I too
Find shelter in bubbles, therapy in fermented steam-
I might need a vice but no-
Such a classy act to chug from tap upside down-
Illegal now but legal Now-
To trick the brain into a floating void-
Oh how wonderful but-
For some reason I fear putting drink to lips
The burning down my throat.
So- in soulful bar, the glass sits on its rim
Await till I fall thin.
Till the day I crumble it sits.
So basically I don’t drink.