LAST CALL

I rail against it Lean into its Unforgiving wind Curse its unfeeling cold Savor fleeting moments Left hanging In quivering limbs. Not time But time’s assassins Long trails Forgotten paths Unsteady gait Wandering In a morass Of melancholy. Searching for death In mumbled Prayers.

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Maurice Rigoler

Date: 1/12/2024 11:06:00 AM

Old age has that effect (and affect) on us, John. It also takes courage to admit it! Thanks for stopping by and commenting on my poem. / Maurice

Panagiota Romios

Date: 1/11/2024 7:03:00 PM

Well, John..those words ‘last call’ were anethema to me in my younger, wilder years.i was so crazy! I would hang on to the stool with both hands,..The kind bartenders then, carried me, sitting on the stool, to the door. Last call, were cold, icy words! I loved my friends at O’Rourkes Pub. So many writers were there. Huge pictyres of Brendan Behan and TS Eliot on the walls. Life was never the same once I left Chi--cago. Adventures of SF awaited me. An excellent write! ~Pangie

John Lawless
Date: 1/12/2024 4:35:00 PM

Yeah, Pangy and there was a lot of Bs flying in the bars of Boston although most of the pictures on the walls were of noted felons

Sara Etgen-Baker

Date: 1/11/2024 2:58:00 PM

your poem of transcendence left me almost speechless with its profundity. I liked 'wandering in a morass of melancholy." I guess we all sometimes get caught in the loop of melancholy. Well done! enjoy your evening, Sara

Paula Goldsmith

Date: 1/11/2024 9:48:00 AM

Your "Last Call" is a wonderful write/ending. I enjoyed reading this one... Have Blessed day writing away.......................

Hilda Greenhough

Date: 1/11/2024 8:24:00 AM

Wow. A very transcending poem that takes a path to frustration of mental worries. Thank you for this poem.