Rules of the Game
Before you open the bottle
You need to lay down the rules
What’s in and out of bounds
But don’t spend too much time
Because once the game starts
There are no rules
And that’s why we love to play.
(9/8/25)
Does it consume my time? Sure.
My money? Of course.
My health? Probably.
My ability to think? Naturally.
Is there great risk in it? If you're not careful ...
but of course you'll be careful
even if it makes you less so by nature ...
So why?
Why flirt with disaster? What's to be gained?
Escape.
Relatively inexpensive; perfectly legal; sometimes quite celebrated.
Christ said not to worry, didn't He?
Well - here's how, you nervous, fearful fool!
And the sweet icing atop the cake -
you ease up on the reins.
You lose the mental strength
to rein in your appetites.
So you'll get your escape - and the sickly sweet thrill
of knowing that your most selfish, raw desires could gain control
and do what your right mind would be far too shamed to endorse
in the Light.
24 August 2025
finished last few lines by 8:31 AM; started the poem some days prior.
Tipsy when under the influence
world closes in for a private party
~ the illusion of escape brief
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
When cage is cask,
And whip is knife,
Blood's to flask,
As wrist's to life.
For every sip,
There's but cage and whip.
Tis better to skip,
And equip your grip.
That clean crisp bubbly taste.
That clean crisp bubbly taste I crave.
That taste just one more sip, one more sip to drown out the noise, one more sip to forget about everything.
One turns into two, two turns into six, God knows it goes down easier than water.
I used to be able to hold so much more, or at least it seemed that way. I just want to relax, to stop the stress just for a minute. But next thing I know, my lips become loose and words that were hard to share now start to flow without any effort.
Eyes no longer bright white around my irises, now bloodshot.
Stumbling over my words, thoughts hazy, tripping over myself and my head becoming scatterbrained.
Just one more drink.
Just one more drink to keep my emotions at bay.
That taste of clean crisp bubbly sedative.
Just one more drink.
LETTER TO ALCOHOL
Ingested poison
Ingested pain
Ingested hurt
Constant rain
Consumptions of an illusion,
Bruised, Bitter, and Broken.
Ingested false realities and Trumas never spoken
Secrets within the eyes hidden behind a smile
Ingested loss of self gone for miles and miles and miles
I allowed you Jack to plot with Daniel
Jose to lead me astray
And Johnny to walk me down a path that led to a permanent grave
But now the Death of a spirit has gracefully been reclaimed from what you once shattered and broken and held with liquid chains
So Goodbye to your wicked lies
so long to the days I've carved
You flowing through my veins that made me an addictive slave.
Toppled by a bottle, collapsed upon
her painful past, asleep—but well awake!—,
unmoving, but for her mind stirred aquake,
the girl is yawning before her black dawn.
Alone, couched by a burning blanket drawn
over a conscience guilty at the stake,
slipping into the sly hands of the snake,
she sees not clearly the sickening con
which lures her slowly to her deathly state.
Unknowingly, she’s dozing, edging deeper
into the dreamrealm, into the hazy
murk of the promised land.
Her name was Daisy—
until, unexpected, said the reaper,
“Poor thing… if only you could now change fate.”
When you partake of substances, the light grows dim/
A spark once divine, now lost within/
The mind, once sharp, begins to fade/
A prisoner of choices poorly made/
Chaos reigns, where order stood/
A life derailed, misunderstood/
The buzz, the high, a fleeting flight/
Leaves only shadows in the night/
Men deceive, diseases spread/
You will wake up not knowing how you got pregnant/
Regretful mornings, words unsaid/
A stolen future, a fractured soul/
A body poisoned, far from whole/
But say no and let your light ignite/
A beacon burning, pure and bright/
For God has crafted you with care/
A temple strong, beyond compare/
Choose the path where wisdom leads/
Plant the seeds of noble deeds/
Say no to drugs and alcohol, stand and fight/
And let your soul reclaim its light/
self disgust
and disappointment
for the slip-up
but I need to know
what cheapens intimacy
devaluing myself
devalues anyone
with whom I
would share something
valuable
it's why
I'm detoxing from
all these dopamine pumps
and anesthestics
(gambling and alcohol)
how could online "intimacy"
not be included in
the mix that
keeps me from
feeling
all must go
until this backlog
can be managed
‘I’m a failed Muslim.
I drink raki now,’ he says.
A bottle twinkles
on the upturned orange box.
On the unmade bed,
a punch-drunk pillow
lurches in a sea of ruptured quilts.
‘I never pray,’ he adds,
as hawk-eyed Ataturk
retreats to an ascetic frame
and glowers at the room.
And we who are too precious
to confess our faults
feel awkward in the silence.
Turkey, 1990
First published in Blue Minaret
It would seem that our early ancestors
Foraged afar to find the freshest fruit
But sometimes they would have to eat windfalls
That were covered with that white fungal fur
Which made the windfall fruit start to ferment
And making alcohol from the sugars.
Was this fermented fruit more popular,
Perhaps providing them with much pleasure?
Did fermented fruit become preferred food?
Maybe over many millions of years
Our human genes then slowly did evolve
So we take to consuming alcohol.
• He should've been back by now
• "Where did he go?" you ask
• "Downtown in the straw market," I replied
• "He tends to carry a flask"
Both selves have fallen, to the drink at last,
A time to forge the third, and split anew.
The first: Too funny, fleeting dreams have passed,
Too light for purpose, upside-down yet true.
Beloved by all but self—so lost, so sweet,
Its hollow laughter echoed through the night.
The second, cold with empire’s pallid beat,
Kept the professors' chickens up in fright.
The wine—transforming masks of elf and self,
A cruel trick, as one dissolved to two.
The world feigns wait, confused, upon a shelf,
Not knowing which of these it wishes true.
Yet seasons change, and with them comes the call:
To walk as one, or split, to rise from fall.
Cleverness in chaos.
Twisted mischief threads
beneath razor intellect.
Urban antiquity,
out of place,
sherry to eyelash to eye.
Her cigarettes go better
with beer wisdom and
starry sky humidity.
Grand Dame, ferocious girl.
Lead me up a garden path that
stings until 5am on barren streets.
Vampiric. Languid.
There is no elegant sufficiency,
no want contained.
Faded lilies.
Threadbare wisdom swings
to giggling gallows below, aloft.
One more drink?
Reckless friend, take my hand
and drag me sweetly away.
Whom of you have never felt the pinch and pain
when inebriated thoughts begin to fall like rain
whom of you have ever poured it down the drain
when a loved one says, " this is insane"
Whom of you have peeled the mask of hidden truth
pushed beyond the shove and talked about your youth ?
Whom of you, worn down by life whipped the scourge
sobered up and restrained the urge...
Whom of you at a ripe old age still cry for your mother
when times get tough, do you have a sister or a brother
Whom of you faced and stoned don't give a damn
when a child cries out like an angry ram ...
Whom of you have ever been perfect before you were broken
when the hourglass of time says enough/here take this token
Whom of you grasped it with two shaking hands and said yes
I'm gonna rise up and be counted for I have made such a mess.
Whom of you like me still cry for the love that refuses to die,
when the stars of heaven split open their light, do you cry ?
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