#drunken
I drink; therefore I write
I write, therefore I am
Words that can’t be spoken
Must be read with an open heart
My heart bleeds words
I am a poet at heart
My pen writes the truth
The truth comes with pain
The thousands of words I’ve written
Are only tears on the page
A hopeless romantic
Makes a good poet
Love is a teacher
I have failing grades
Only death is permanent
Life is just a temporary dream
Love is a fleeting sunset
I live for the night
Dreams are for the dreamers
Reality is for the wicked
Time is for everyone
No one has the time
I am a heartbeat
Skip to my Lou my darling
The past is a place to stay
The future has no vacancies
The winners take the prize
Second place is the first losers
We are all crazy here
It’s not a contest
In my mind I’m a hero
Time loves a hero
A lost soul is a disguise
Only a fool turns and runs
Life waits for no one
I’m already too far behind
If I only had a moment
I could tell you my heart
Tomorrow only brings today
Yesterdays are long gone
Darkness balances the light
Sorrow weighs the heart
Youth is a fleeting dream
Old age is hell
Mysteries are to wonder
Nature is to wander
I can only speak for me
A speech is for everyone
Sentimental values tax the heart
Letting go is the price
I can only write what I feel
Poetry shows my soul to all
I thank my muse
For making me write
I thank my fellow poets for being there. I know you pour out your hearts and bare your souls. I feel your pain and I respect your words.
With passion and heart; **
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 9:47 PM UTC
These are my English translations of French poems by Arthur Rimbaud...
Ophélie (“Ophelia”), an Excerpt
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On pitiless black waves unsinking stars abide
... while pale Ophelia, a lethargic lily, drifts by ...
Here, tangled in her veils, she floats on the tide ...
Far-off, in the woods, we hear the strident bugle’s cry.
For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia,
This albescent phantom, has rocked here, to and fro.
For a thousand years, or more, in her gentle folly,
Ophelia has rocked here when the night breezes blow.
For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia,
Has passed, an albescent phantom, down this long black river.
For a thousand years, or more, in her sweet madness
Ophelia has made this river shiver.
***
Le Bateau ivre (“The Drunken Boat”), an Excerpt
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The impassive river carried me downstream
as howling warriors slashed the bargemen's throats,
then nailed them, naked, to their former posts,
while I observed all idly, in a dream.
What did I care about the slaughtered crew,
the Flemish barley or the English freight?
The river had taught me how to navigate,
but otherwise? It seemed so much “ado.”
***
Drunken Morning, or, Morning of Drunkenness
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, my Beautiful! Oh, my Good!
Hideous fanfare wherein I won’t stumble!
Oh, rack of splendid enchantments!
Huzzah for the virginal!
Huzzah for the immaculate work!
For the marvelous body!
It began amid children’s mirth; where too it must end.
This poison? ’Twill remain in our veins till the fanfare subsides,
when we return to our former discord.
May we, so deserving of these agonies,
may we now recreate ourselves
after our body’s and soul’s superhuman promise—
that promise, that madness!
Elegance, senescence, violence!
They promised to bury knowledge in the shadows—the tree of good and evil—
to deport despotic respectability
so that we might effloresce pure-petaled love.
It began with hellish disgust but ended
—because we weren’t able to grasp eternity immediately—
in a panicked riot of perfumes.
Children’s laughter, slaves’ discretion, the austerity of virgins,
loathsome temporal faces and objects—
all hallowed by the sacredness of this vigil!
Although it began with loutish boorishness,
behold! it ends among angels of ice and flame.
My little drunken vigil, so holy, so blessed!
My little lost eve of drunkenness!
Praise for the mask you provided us!
Method, we affirm you!
Let us never forget that yesterday
you glorified our emergence, then each of our subsequent ages.
We have faith in your poison.
We give you our lives completely, every day.
Behold, the assassin's hour!
***
L'Eternité (“ Eternity”)
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Where does Eternity dwell?
In the sea,
run beyond the setting sun.
Implacable Sentinel,
murmuring the soul’s confessions
of night’s barrenness
and days ablaze.
Inhuman votary!
Free of human impulses
and penitence,
you flee accordingly.
Since the beginning of time
you have stood alone,
amid shimmering embers,
exuding voicelessly:
“There is no hope,
no logical orientation,
no future revelation of patient science,
only the inhuman torture.”
Where does Eternity dwell?
In the sea,
run beyond the setting sun.
***
Les Illuminations II: Enfance (“Childhood”)
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
II.
The little girl lies dead, behind the rosebushes. – The young mother, deceased, descends the steps. – The cousin’s carriage squeaks through sand. – The little brother (he’s in India!) lies facing the sunset in a meadow of carnations. – The old ones are buried upright in ramparts overgrown with wallflowers.
Swarms of golden leaves surround the General’s house. They’re in the south. – Follow the red road to arrive at the empty inn. The chateau’s for sale; its shutters flap. – The priest’s taken the key to the church. – The keepers’ cottages are tenantless, the fences so high only rustling treetops are visible. Oh well, there’s nothing much to be seen, besides.
The meadows rise to hamlets without roosters, without anvils. The sluice gate is raised, the waters rise. O the wilderness’s crosses and windmills, its islands and millstones!
Magic flowers buzzed. Embankments cradled him. Creatures of fabulous elegance encircled him. Clouds accumulating over open seas unleashed an eternity of warm tears.
IV.
I am the saint praying on the portico, watching docile beasts graze down to Palestine’s sea.
I am the scholar in the dark armchair as whipping branches and rain hurl themselves at the library’s shutters.
I am the pedestrian on the path through stunted woods; the ****** of clicking locks anticipates my steps. For a long time I pause to ponder the sunset’s melancholy golden demise.
I am the child abandoned on the jetty jutting out toward the high seas, the small valet whose forehead brushes the sky as he navigates an alley.
The trails are rough, their mounds haired with broom. The air is so still, so silent! How distant, the birds and the rills! The end of the world must lie ahead.
***
Illuminations VIII: Départ (“Departure”)
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I’ve seen enough: the same vision encountered under all skies.
I’ve had enough: the rumors of cities, by night and by day, the same light, always.
I’ve known enough: life’s tedious decrees, its rumors and visions!
It’s time for departure into new affections, new noises!
***
Sensation
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On blue summer evenings, I’ll stroll the paths,
Pricked by the wheat, tickled by the grass;
Dreamily, I’ll feel the freshness at my feet,
Breathe the wind, then sigh, complete.
I will not speak, nor think, nor muse at all,
Yet boundless love will surge within my soul.
And I will wander far away, like a gypsy,
As happy with Nature as any woman’s company.
***
Antico (“Ancient” or “Antique”)
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Graceful son of Pan! Around your brow, crowned with flowers and berries, your eyes, lustrous spheres, revolve. Your cheeks, stained with wine sediments, seem hollow. Your white fangs gleam. Your lyre-like chest! Chords pour from your blonde arms! Strong heartbeats resound in the abdomen where the double *** sleeps! You stalk the night, gently moving first this thigh, then the other, then the left leg.
***
Song of the Highest Tower
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let it come, let it come,
The day when all hearts love as one.
I’ve endured so long
That I’d even forgotten
The pain and the terror.
I’ve visited heaven,
And yet a morbid thirst
Still darkens my veins.
Let it come, let it come,
The day when all hearts love as one.
Thus the neglected meadow
Given over to oblivion
Flowered, overgrown
With weeds and incense
As hordes of filthy flies
Buzzed nearby.
Let it come, let it come,
The day when all hearts love as one.
***
Rêvé Pour l'hiver (“Winter Dream”)
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Come winter, we’ll leave in a little pink carriage
With blue cushions. We’ll be comfortable,
snuggled in our nest of crazy kisses.
You’ll close your eyes, preferring not to see, through the darkening glass,
The evening’s shadows leering.
Those snarling monstrosities, that pandemonium
of black demons and black wolves.
Then you’ll feel your cheek scratched...
A little kiss, like a crazed spider, will tickle your neck...
And you’ll say to me: "Get it!" as you tilt your head back,
and we’ll take a long time to find the crafty creature,
the way it gets around...
***
Dawn
by Arthur Rimbaud
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I embraced the august dawn.
Nothing stirred the palaces. The water lay dead still. Battalions of shadows still shrouded the forest paths.
I walked briskly, dreaming the gemlike stones watched as wings soared soundlessly.
My first adventure, on a path now faintly aglow with glitterings, was a flower who whispered her name.
I laughed at the silver waterfall teasing me nakedly through pines; then on her summit, I recognized the goddess.
One by one, I lifted her veils, in that tree-lined lane, waving my arms across the plain, as I notified the ****
Back to the city, she fled among the roofs and the steeples; scrambling like a beggar down the marble quays, I chased her.
Above the road near a laurel thicket, I caught her in gathered veils and felt her immense body. Dawn and the child collapsed together at the edge of the wood.
When I awoke, it was noon.
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 7:11 AM UTC
May the devils have their due, and the angels get their share. Long live the home brewer of meads and brews and other godly delights that came from the yeast.
Here, here, to the dreamers that made the flavors of barley, hops, and malts.
Here, here, to the honey the fruits and maples that make the mead so sweet.
So raise your glass and tip your steines to the brewers that made life a lot more easier to shine.
Ziggy, zoggy, ziggy, zoggy, oy, oy, oy.
Oct 8, 2023
Oct 8, 2023 at 10:32 PM UTC
I miss my childhood
Just as how
I will miss my teen and youthfulness
When I get old
Waiting for unkown small kids call me grandpa
Pat their heads
And remind them, how my younger days we only had lantern
Will they believe,when I tel them I attended Jesus birth and death in one year😅😅😅
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 6:08 AM UTC
Town doesn't smile back anymore
Tough would be the word,
Clowny it seems.
All we do,
Is fighting back
Where are you fighting your destiny from ?**😂😂
Apr 1, 2022
Apr 1, 2022 at 11:17 AM UTC
tattoos on my neck but should be your lips instead
tattoos on my neck but should be your hands instead
I want every part of me, enmeshed in you
the sun kisses my back as she creeps up behind the hill
shedding light on the aftermath of drunken thrills
I miss the blaze of the blunt and the bass in the club
relinquish my demons as we are talking it up
do you like my eyes that's where they hide?
do you like my thighs wanna try them tonight?
because tattoos on my neck but should be your lips instead
Oct 31, 2021
Oct 31, 2021 at 8:23 PM UTC
You told me your stories, your past to present, but today lead us to another dimension.
I wasn't there when you dealt with your demons, but now you have me so let's be fair.
You told me you were an alcoholic drunk, with no self luck, ambition or love for life. I never judged you and understood your story.
But now it's time to deplete your new mission.
You left without a say
You parted your lips to the bottled glass and began your sipping.
Waited 8 hours wondering where you were, and it sure felt like forever.
When you came back to me, you told me what happened, but you had a new demon inside you, growing like I never seen before.
You hurt my feelings, because you lied to my face, but I guess that's what happens when you're dealing with the addictions you must really face.
No more you said, You don't like the taste, your stomach hurts but now again you repeat the same mistakes from many years before.
I try to help, frustrated I' am, sad I' am, crying I' am, but you do not care, you're emotionless, because to you, I' am the mean one.
What is it I must do, you tell me to dump you, but meanwhile you tell me you love me, so what is it?
confusion, haste, anger, malice,
you left within a clip of air once again,
because after our talk, you had to disappear from the truth, the bitter cold truth that bit your tongue like a scared cat in the middle of a dark alley way.
I cannot forgive you, not yet, not now, prove yourself first to me and then we will see...
Jul 7, 2021
Jul 7, 2021 at 3:44 AM UTC
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.
Nov 30, 2020
Nov 30, 2020 at 10:01 PM UTC
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
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 3:38 AM UTC
god
must have been
drunk
when he decided to create you
it's the only explanation
for
your
vile
existence
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 12:00 PM UTC
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
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 10:04 AM UTC
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-urinal, 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.
Jun 23, 2020
Jun 23, 2020 at 8:22 AM UTC
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
Mar 7, 2020
Mar 7, 2020 at 3:25 PM UTC
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-
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 1:35 PM UTC
All they want
Is whiskey and a mirror
To see their faces clearer
Steer clear
They'll say
For they want peace and adoration
Yet they're stuck in emulation
All they want
Is a mirror and a gun
For dark reflective fun
Curse the ashtray
They'll say
It ruins their laundry whites
To gaze on their delights
All they want
Is a gun and God
To walk where sinners trod
Drunken Bible bullets
They'll pray
For when the darkness takes its motion
They'll fall to their drunken notions
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 12:11 AM UTC
A drunken angel,
She, the one seeing the possiblity in every risk.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC
Rather have 2 drunken angels on my shoulders
Than
2 sober demons.
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:49 PM UTC
What will come of tomorrow
Will the drunkenness run through and bits fall into place
Or will you forget all of this
Every word whispered in your ear as you’re hands seek places
My desperation of meaning more than this
And you’re simple words used for a girl in desperate need of loving
A drunken kiss and drunken man are all that I accept
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 1:09 AM UTC
Drunken pirates sloshing along
a martini sea, looking for papers to roll some angelfish ****
Then on to Giza to gaze in amazement before we tackle
the Gates of Hell and raze it.
Swashbuckling demons we branded our feet. A duel with
the devil we had to concede
before sailing back up to our Martini sea.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
“i’ve always felt
like i was searching for
some place
something
someone”
those were the words
that slipped from your
alcohol infested mouth
at 3 am
windows shut
lights off
just us two
and only i could hear
i could have ignored it
pretended i didn’t hear
as if i had
no idea
what you were saying
i tried
but i couldn’t ignore
the words that next came out
“i think i’ve found it with him”
— i wish you said you found it with me.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 11:20 PM UTC
I am an odd little lullaby.
The kind of which who’s existence
You question until you reach
That one sentence that defines
The exact pain wrapped around your soul.
Then and only then
Do you begin to find value in my words.
You see, I have spent my fair share of
Moments crumpled up in a heap
Of weary bones and heavy tears
Wishing I was anyone but me
And yet I have survived.
I have become a vibrant nobody.
-ARI
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC