"sobers" poems
Who put that crease in your soul,
Davies, ready this fine morning
For the staid chapel, where the Book's frown
Sobers the sunlight? Who taught you to pray
And scheme at once, your eyes turning
Skyward, while your swift mind weighs
Your heifer's chances in the next town's
Fair on Thursday? Are your heart's coals
Kindled for God, or is the burning
Of your lean cheeks because you sit
Too near that girl's smouldering gaze?
Tell me, Davies, for the faint breeze
From heaven freshens and I roll in it,
Who taught you your deft poise?
3.3k
I can see into the 5 minute future
It's not even six o'clock
Music defines time
I'm furious for not knowing this before
Your name sobers
Me in a different
Way than getting
Sober
Does
Different from this control freak
I am compelled to write this for you
I love you I LOVE YOU
more than Germany
Loves you more than anyone
Loves you falling
Razor sides moves to the
Rings there's still liquid
In it I don't know
All I know is
I shouldn't be this sorry
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
i drink whiskey because
after so many
shots
something like a dragon wakes up in my stomach
and crawls out my throat with the exhalation of cigarette smoke
i drink whiskey because the dark brown
mingles with the fire in my veins
and the wild south of my soul is reawakened
a part of my soul that lingers in the bricks of marie laveu's and between alleyways in the french quarter
stirs up like a ghostly collection of downy feathers
and the fear that is carved into my ribcage seeps out
i drink whiskey because the salt of my fingers plays
with the back of my throat
coaxing all this fear out, chased with mason jars of water
i drink whiskey because it makes me feel ugly and fierce
i drink whiskey because it makes it easier for me to burn bridges and sever ties
i drink whiskey because it makes being used by men with pretty faces and holes in their dead chests easier to swallow the next day
i drink whiskey because it makes me rowdy and alive
i drink whiskey because snarling rage needs to be let out sometimes
i drink whiskey because it sobers up my headi drink it because it helps me forget that i didn’t say no
i drink it because it makes me angry about what you did
i drink it because i remember the way your hand pushed mine down and the way your hand curled into a fist in my hair and yanked at the top of my dress
i drink it because i didn’t tell you no
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
Maybe I do believe in love.
It's just my jealousy blinds me.
My passion has no one to love and everyone to envy.
My heart confuses me,
My mind sobers me,
A thin balance that is easily tipped either way.
Tipped towards my heart,
I fly upwards into pink skies
With fluffy white clouds and sunshine.
I love and feel loved.
I wonder if anyone likes me.
Maybe he likes me, maybe he doesn't.
That thought bursts my bubble,
And down I fall to the dirt,
Crying and bleeding.
I lie there until I can get back up and keep walking on the road called Life.
Tipped towards my mind,
I crawl into the caves,
Soothing darkness,
A balm to my hot head,
Silence and solitude to really think deeply.
I marvel at the glittering gems underground,
Gems of thoughts and wise quotes,
Ideas and dreams.
Then my ruby heart cracks
And my sapphire eyes cry diamond tears,
Falling on the stone floor,
Each one precious.
I feel lost,
Forgotten,
Nothing more than fools gold.
That thought causes me to fall into the deepest darkest catacomb,
A trench so deep I can hardly breath.
Now without wisdom or ideas,
Only pain,
I lie and wait until my strength returns,
enough to climb out of my pit and into the blinding sunlight.
With the perfect balanced life between my heart and mind,
I can climb mountains to touch the pink clouds,
And explore caves without falling down.
I fall down into the caves more than I fly to the sky.
I can't decide which hurts more though.
I do believe in love.
I believe in love in stories and fairy tales.
I believe love is possible in real life,
But not for me.
Love is like a wax and feathered wings-
They help you fly,
But if you fly too close to glory,
Like Icarus you will fall and die.
Your heart will burn and melt,
Then drown in tears until you forget the pain.
I don't want to die.
Again.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
“To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late
And how can man die better
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods”
Soft murmurs along the front line crackle like a broken prairie plough,
The maples and oaks snapping with
Every burst of the cannon.
Crested breaths choked out by
The ferocious blasts of this entrenched
Jungle.
Shrieks punctuate the deathly silence,
And sobers the divisions thirst for war.
I, a dead soul among the living.
The soft wind at night is the nefarious fingers of death,
Soaking the earth and ****** boughs
Of the old oaks with the veins
Of golden purity.
(I am standing on an eagles skull.)
I can hear the Rebel yell beyond the tree line,
BLASTING the barreling notion of liberty,
Stacked within our Union souls.
A Bundren coffin takes form in the mist beyond the wasteland.
My kin lay wait at home,
Shall I return one day and parade through pastures
And creeks until the days grow old
and so shall I.
With kin side by side.
My vacant mind floats off to distant lands along the
timbered forests of the Free North.
Orations from my Grandfather resonate like wind chimes
Rattling among the inner confines of my sanity,
Strewn images flash like the lines of Virginian regulars,
A sparse reminder of my ever so soon fate
In the Wilderness.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC
i make love with Death every night.
during the day, we go our separate
ways, but she's always on my mind.
after work, we meet up.
same routine. dinner, occasionally.
but always drinks.
she downs a bottle
of Cabernet
with no help
from me.
the red compliments
her dress and flushes
her cheeks with pink.
i just take coffee. black.
afterwards, she needs
a lift home. i'm her dd.
the city lights blur
indigo and violet,
blossoming like flowers
in the pavement
of the night sky.
we arrive. she invites
me to come inside,
looks me in the eye,
says, "i love you."
i believe her,
even though i know
it's a lie.
the minutes hang thick.
while she sobers up,
we roll dice
and tell stories.
then, breathless and slick,
it begins in the kitchen.
gasps come in spasms, pulsing
in tandem with our obsessive—
compulsive—desire.
we continue beneath the duvet.
i sample the flesh between her legs.
she tastes like pomegranate
and bruised starfruit. her sweat
is second-hand smoke. my brain buzzes
from Marlboro Lite cigarettes.
afterwards, we lay over the sheets
as the ceiling fan rotates eternally
overhead, humming a tune we both hear
in our dreams but cannot comprehend.
her head rests on my chest,
she loses herself in the gaps
between each heartbeat.
wordless, we drift.
when i wake, she's always gone.
the space in bed beside me
has grown cool. jealously,
i wish Death had taken me with her.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 10:35 PM UTC
you stood, elevated, as if you belonged there
dark hair, dark eyes
dark with infinite depth
mystery radiated off you
and hit me with desire
eyes closed
fingers strumming effortlessly
your lips moved in slow motion
I’ve been locked inside your heart-shaped box for weeks
I look down overwhelmed with emotion, and catch my breath
my eyes rise to see what I’d been both desiring and dreading
you
staring back
[hello]
the sky resembled an intangible black ocean
with small beams of hope falling upon us
together, we calmly sit on ground made of wood
your hands are small,
yet fit perfectly with my own
my pencil-like fingers trace the tattoo on your forearm
you lean forward
I can feel your words in my ear
the unheard music playing in my mind
I came here with a load, and it feels so much lighter now I met you
my permanent smile widens
I reply
look at the stars, look how they shine for you
you smile as well and we sit in a comfortable silence
you are my canvas
and I your instrument
I paint our world with color
and you are our background music
but time has never been on our side
always too silent and conniving in our presence
I have to go
a look of understanding and sadness washes over you
your lips touch my forehead in farewell
[see you soon]
*yesterday you asked me to write you a pleasant song
I’ll do my best now but you’ve been gone for so long*
there is a song for every mile that divides us
lyrics repeat themselves over and over in my head
my dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room
my body aches from the lack of your touch
your voice is silent
my paintbrushes dry
my hand becomes heavier with each hit you take
my mind sobers as yours blurs
still can’t numb the pain
you fill everything in me that was left absent
now you’re absent
and your absence has left me drained
drained of emotion
drained of a voice
drained of pain
drained of love
drained of myself
all that’s left is
you
[goodbye]
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
This kid I go to school with told me his “Perfect way to be a nice guy and get girls to like you” today in math class.
He said to find a girl who tends to get drunk at parties and sleep with random dudes and regret it later.
He said to go to a party with them and get them drunk and then instead of sleeping with them let them sleep in your car and take care of them if they get sick or whatever.
He said than you had to make sure to tell her about it when she sobers up and how it’s “no big deal”
He said doing the right thing makes you a good guy.
I guess what he doesn’t understand is that setting yourself up for personal gain by using people with personality flaws is not what makes you a good guy.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
*The beauty of this expression,
Makes a difference in any situation.
An alternative to voiced words,
A weapon against the sharpest swords.
Panacea for the painful heart and tearful eyes,
Connects to the soldiers under other land’s skies.
Exchange of feelings between lovers,
In tough times, one inspiring peace, sobers.
Under the spell of rain, flows straight from the soul,
Always successful in covering those doubted holes.
Fills the silence with its devices,
Holds the power to fill the crevices.
It helps in the appreciation of the serenity of nature,
Although boneless, full of life and soul, it indeed is a living creature.
Yes, poetry is this electric and colourful magic.
Captivating all hearts and minds, its effect is so pelagic.*
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
It beats, and rumbles, and breathes;
like the roar of an irrepressible beast
our lust and desires shake the earth below,
fracturing the dusted dirt of our hearts.
Cherished hopes become slow dancing trees
we burn to feel warmth
as we chase after an unsustainable beauty.
Then with an abrupt ebb,
our intrepid recklessness sobers,
So we turn to jesters and alleyway fools
to learn how to quit.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 12:50 PM UTC
49°f on the sunrise, wind in your sails
the coast all calm, my mouth all red
"you want this?" you say, and i kiss you
quick and sunken, teeth like graves
with every inscription an old treaty
international law between the lines
of our coexistence; it is: definition
and redefinition of forces
peaceful conflict, maybe
content desolation
i say to you shining, i say "of course"
i am: the golden boy with a fog on his heart
you are: slimy, so sweet, a snail full of kisses
dismantling the borders of my skin like
a needle, a bug, pure irrationality;
but the sea-breeze sobers
and i know i will be fine
in the stability of your hands
and the love story of your fists
and when i breathe into the sand
i can feel my bruises swell
my scars flutter
the sky burns grey and my thighs
ever pinker; my lips ever more split
and now you hold me like the tide
and i come home with you smiling
52°f on the morn, salt on my face
and i know, i know i will be fine
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
i.
Kathy tells me about god in the bathroom stall.
She tells me about the time when he told her
that we’re really all just suffering together.
“I was at Harry’s basement party,
drunk leaning against a wall, standing by myself,” she says.
She says she can taste the suffering the most when she’s standing in church,
eating one of those **** communion wafers.
I laugh without knowing; I’ve yet to eat a communion wafer.
ii.
When Kathy gets really drunk
she grapples at my hand
and forces it to her skin.
She says my hand sobers her up
more than water does. When I touch her forearm
it is as though I am touching a dead infant.
When I touch skin I am thinking about standing outside
in air that could only be so cold in the summer,
my body all bare, my body standing outside
of a loud and lit up house
with me whispering, “please don’t touch me, just let me shiver,
just let me faint here peacefully.”
When I think of skin I think of my grandmother and her wrinkles,
of generations of wrinkles.
Looking into the bathroom mirror
I see the body of my grandmother and the face of my mother.
I am desperate for a toilet.
iii.
Kathy knows about the days when all I do is eat.
She knows about how much I like peanut butter,
about how my skin sags from my ankles,
hangs around my wrists. But still
she holds me when I must *****
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 4:14 AM UTC
I still think of you,
sometimes late into the night,
eyes wide awake and body aching,
pulsating and confused
Perpetual shifting,
tossing and turning
Staring at my clock,
waiting on my phone,
I lay in silence and shut my eyes tight,
until they're little slits
Avoiding thoughts of you is despairing,
because you make my dreams golden,
it's a euphoric escape
Rolling over,
pretending to sleep
I conjure up your image
and call you to my bed,
to my despondent embrace
The daylight sobers,
and puts my mind at ease
You are easy to forget here,
but when the moon beams into my window,
that's when I'll miss you,
that's when the real darkness will come
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
Sometimes I get that feeling
I'm sure you've felt it
I feel as if I'm 16 again,
My most valuable possession
Is the skateboard I built.
It's a Tuesday and I've ditched school again.
The twelve dollars in my pocket
Is burning to be spent.
At the used book store
I spend eight of it on a paperback copy of
The Fellowship of the Ring.
Up the street to the Curly Wolf
I buy a cup of coffee.
Skating with a cup of coffee isn't hard for me.
Moms drunk again,
Probably will be for the rest of the week
And so it looks like I won't be going home
Until she sobers up enough to wonder where I am.
Can I sleep on your floor?
Only for the night? That's fine,
Liam said I can stay at his place starting tomorrow
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
I flung my screams over the gunwhale
Into the unhearing sea
And lowered my anchor, weighted
with an ignominious plea:
Just as a single dark wave
Costs the vessel its course,
So did my evanescent joy
cost me you;
Even the riverbank is changed
minutely by its waters,
and so my life alters
with you
The storm stirs wildly,
but sobers, from thence
coming ashore
and so does my spirit for
you
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
::::
::::::::
Sky is a blend of pink-orange-violet,
dim...but birds are already awake
steaming coffee wakes the senses
rooster calls on and on.....its silhouette
completes the early morning landscape...
it's that perfect moment...when
tradewinds blow...carrying scents
of the harvest season............when
horizon turns to the clearest of blue,
the eyes feast upon moving straw hats
...big and small.....
under the radiant morning sun
sparrows fly high and low
over lush golden fields of rice,
stems are now bowed....grains are ripe...
maidens' sweet voices join the air
hands and sickles move with flair
cutting.......in practiced strokes,
small hills are formed from gathered stalks
feet move in their rhythmic walks
laughter and conversations become songs
their cadence, brought by joys of the season,
weary thoughts have no space.....no reason
to exist, when sounds of glee are seizin' in...
hours can't be stilled.....excitement sobers
sun gives way to the moon and stars,
sickles are kept....laid beside mortars
and pestles......voices turn softer,
waning...slowly fading...into dark corners
................soon, crickets' song takes over...
when harvest moon glows, a breathing silence
rules over the shadows of the field...no fences,
just the moon watching, and a Guiding Presence...
thank God for another bountiful harvest
threshing awaits....but bodies are spent
..............tomorrow's another day!
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 15, 2018
::::
::::::::
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
the sky today reminded me of my mind when i’m with you.
It was clear, periwinkle-blue with lazy clouds that take place
like my half-formed thoughts around you.
You are the sun,
and I’m the sky wrapping around you.
My thoughts wander,
but you are my core.
The weather changes,
from rain to thunder to snow to fog,
but you remain
throughout it all.
The rain shows me the reality,
the thunder is the qualms of our friendship,
the fog clouds my brain when we’re pressed together on the couch.
the snow was when you fell asleep on me that one time, and I could have stayed there
forever,
slightly uncomfortable but too much in love to care.
But the rain sobers me up from your intoxicating elixir,
the rain is your ‘girl’,
the rain is my insides melting, melting, melting.
And yet the clouds still clear,
the rain still dries
and the sun still shines
whenever you’re near.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 12:27 AM UTC
Stupid General
A Passionate Romance
From a dream by Poet Ron
Queen Hyun is a **** strong and smart woman from the city of Seoul. Her life is going nowhere until she meets General Gyeong, a tall, handsome man.
Queen Hyun takes an instant disliking to General Gyeong and the drunken and cowardly ways he learnt during his years sailing the Eastern sea.
However, when a dragon tries to **** Queen Hyun, General Gyeong sobers up and comes to her rescue. Queen Hyun begins to notice that General Gyeong is actually rather charming and brave at heart.
But, the temptations of bottles of wine leave him blind to Queen Hyun affections and Queen Hyun looks to the stars for answers.
Finally, She notices an invisible but handsome swordsman, Warrior Young
A fighter that always stood guard over her since she was a child. A fighter that would do anything she asked of him. In fact, he would give his life for her.
While General Gyeong, sits at a table with a glass of wine still wishing for passionate love.
Stupid General Gyeong chose a glass of wine over spending his life with a beautiful queen.
Copyright © 2015 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
The feeling is like mushrooms.
That's the only way I can explain it,
but to sobers I say,
It's like being reminded of an old truth
you once learned, but forgot about
until recently.
You've wandered into the forest
taken an inviting path
And when you come to the tree
at which you usually glance,
acknowledge in passing,
You decide this time to stop and take in
its bark-bound beauty.
Tall, cylindrical like a leg
rough skin with feather hair,
the tree is still, like calm,
harmless.
Unable to resist, you reach out to touch it
feel the hard bark under your palms
the whisty brushes against the leaves
As the breeze makes movement
all around you, small rustles,
Nature at rest...
It is the same tree you've always passed,
but something has changed.
- Flashes of an old lover laughing
or pulling you into an embrace,
eating,
walking up to the car,
looking away -
You withdraw your hand from the bark
and use your eyes instead
to survey the trunk you thought
was shallow.
Though you are alone
it seems that something is aware of your presence,
not a threat to it,
not like a predator aware of its prey
or even visa versa;
But for some reason
you get the oddly familiar sensation that
This Tree
is looking back at you.
And indeed it is rational
to decide that you were in
a nostalgic mindset,
an imaginative contemplation
on such a natural force as
Momentum,
and you can wiggle free of the feeling
that way;
But you have to admit,
there is something about
the moment,
about the tree
and about the way you're almost finally
seeing each other
that seems...
intuitive.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
I have found a way
To hurt myself
Without making
One slice of skin
With a pretty razor.
Instead I say no to
Lunch and breakfast.
The pain in my stomach
Is almost comforting now.
I go home
Have a snack
And eat a small dinner
And I love that hunger
That physical want towards life
It sobers me a little,
Makes me lose a little,
Makes me seem real.
But nowadays
Nothing seems as real as
My growling stomach.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 1:54 AM UTC
I say I love you
too much when I'm
drunk, but how cant
I say I love you?
Maybe I love you
too much.
Your presence gives
me hope.
It sobers me up
enough to muster a
hello.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 11:02 PM UTC
Once again, the shattering shard of the approaching night beats and sobers up: in a precious day, less can be lived again! The longevity of our promising promises disintegrates when we understand our shining, precious Star-eyes, our lies pity! Our exaggerations are already emerging from the cavities of the eye-craters aching like stigma - we should divide our days, which are scarcely tailored in the final Time, better! It would emerge from all the ashes that failure could only hold - it could resurrect with a stubborn blaze for yew-flowered Hope Days!
So few could have been left wrapped in unquestioning words of Faithfulness by the Judging Handshakes, forever confidential gazes! Celebrity graces, mannequins, money-hungry gorilla-jams with swollen biceps, who are accustomed to bowling in the crossfire of suspicious Cherub and Jackal glances, prevail sooner than a comet dying among vulnerable Humans! Eden tomatoes are just the redeemed gon, if they exist! A stranger and a stranger who came out of their rags and you could be the only weed-bitangs, knowledgeable relics that you did not listen to the words of a wise-prophet!
Behind the paved paths of your career, you laughed at your stumbled victims rather than uplifting them! "My never-before-seen confident smile only exists in legends!" It would be good to survive even among predatory fish!
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 12:26 AM UTC
That vintage ache circulates
Intoxicates and sobers alternately
Spreads shame then clarity
Hindsight is a cruel curator of the mind.
Mar 13, 2022
Mar 13, 2022 at 6:09 PM UTC
Write a poem and drink some wine.
In an ideal world of sobers, be a literary swine.
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 9:53 AM UTC
Maybe i'm just drunk
But it seems i'm just a bother.
I thought you liked me better
When i'm buzzed
But you won't even speak to me
And why does it always go like this?
I honestly don't care
That you're distracted by your game
And i honestly don't care
That when i try to not pay attention to you
You suddenly want my attention.
It sobers me up
Off that giggly buzz
When you ignore me.
So thanks,
You're a literal buzz ****
Maybe i'm just drunk,
Or i'm just unappealing.
Maybe i'm just drunk
But you could pay me some mind.
And maybe i'm just drunk,
But i'm not just a fly on the wall.
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 9:13 PM UTC