My father died three times,
defying death’s rule of one.
Statues of stillness,
an unintended museum of moments
I revisit often.
His first death still haunts me.
One drink summoned the thief.
A stranger’s eyes appeared in my father’s face,
grinning at the ground he’d gained.
His second death was a slow detonation,
a bomb held between im-
and ex-
plode.
Each sip he took turned want into need,
never quenching the thirst of the thief.
The third death came on a winter morning,
his body deserted, hollow before me.
A final offering from the grinning thief,
the discarded bottle he finally drained.
My Dad is done with his dying now,
the final funeral for all his deaths.
We stand shoulder to shoulder-
five descendants of dad and thief-
to say one last goodbye.
Each of us
looking back with his light blue eyes,
curating what remains.
Hello honey
I’m here to tell you
Dad is drunk again
He lost his ‘bout
An hour ago and
by gawd
He’s an animal
In every sense
goddamn
Yet I want to assure you
He is ever so thankful
You got your heart to lend
With your beautiful existence :)
Most drink for the after effects and others for the taste
Some tend to over enjoy it then do something debased
It seems to be the invited guest at every get together
The myth seems to be that alcohol makes it better
Then you have those who try to flood out their problems
Hoping to find the solution at the bottom of the bottle
It may be true that this poison tends to numb you
Not long enough to ease the pain you've been through
Which is the reason why some people remain that way
You find them unstable and drunk day after day
Alcohol has a way to wash away our insecurities
Men would say it makes an ugly woman pretty
This awesome liquid seems to blur our vision
Makes us express words we never would mention
It also puts us in these horrible situations
Someone's accused of rape or life is taken
Every group of friends need that designated driver
Because of one fool who thinks his tolerance is higher
What was the real reason alcohol was made
Is it to help the real person inside of us fade
You have some that choose not to drink at all
Is it for the right reasons we're drinking alcohol?
Vineyard discovery
Winery cellar somewhere in Pennsylvania
It was an Escorted Tour by Defuncted BISS TOURS
We tasted several wines
The alcoholic Apple Pie wine caught my attention
The blend of ingredient
No nutrient
Senses of aroma opened and taste
I am no wine drinker
I was intrigued in the Apple Pie wine
It was genuine
No bake nor oven
Quality at its best
From the very first sip
That was my tip
Brought a bottle of the Apple Pie wine to take home
Remember and always will of that wine
Didn’t get drunk
First time hearing of Apple Pie wine
Compelling name
No shame
Only the taste taking aim
Lightheaded I ambled
towards the lonely pub.
Liquor helps sometimes you know.
It burns the mind,
empties it
of niggling thoughts,
of subtle yearnings,
of ambitious aspirations.
There she was
redhead and flushed.
A companion in distress.
We drank together,
confessed together,
envied together.
Time's up.
Outwards we lurched
hugging each other
towards the beach
where empty cabins
gave us respite.
Morning arrived.
She was not there.
Pity!
I knew not her name.
Might as well call her
whisky.
I drink more than I should,
But not as much as I can,
Which in my world makes me,
A moderate man.
The Alcoholic
Parley poem
Lionel Derbyshire
Dirty dufflecoat wino
Zigzag up the street
Wobble wobble..
Topsy-turvey on the one side
And half past puzzled
His body form
Is out of order
His odour sour
Orphaned at eight
He explained
Never had a chance
Of a lifetime
I am just the formation
Of Adam's forlorn spawn
I the opposite of pleasant
Eat my dinner
On the floor
Without gravy
No one ever
Belled out a
A good word to me
Not even at home
Mine hands were
Cooked on the stove
I was called
The Bastard in the house
And it was painfull
Sensitively he said.
What do you have?
I only have lonely
Never ever heard
I love you
What do you want?
Just cheer from a
Dumb bartender
What do you fear?
The confrontations in
My nightmares
Pardon me..
I am bitter.
Never had a chance
To be a revelant guest
Just a parched alcoholic
Dry in overtime captivity.
I tang of dispair.
I have tiny gravity
But heavy
To hoist..
And a will
Which is lost
This is my lot
He told with
Blue eyes beaming
I am member
Of the human race
And then he laid
Amazing Grace
On my ears.
It tells the soul,
I’ll give you wings.
I’ll enlighten you and bring peace.
I’ll fill your mind with a brilliant idea.
I’ll cause your heart to feel like it agrees…
With me, anything is possible –
Even the darkest doubts will see…
With me, the champion, the star –
There is a promise of no worries, no qualms,
No reason to doubt the alcohol.
It tells the soul,
You’re free to do anything,
You can dream and believe.
You can always achieve.
You will know and agree… this drink,
It provides your mind with ingenuity,
Gives your heart wings, your life originality.
It tells the soul,
Yes, oh yes, you are free,
While, in secret, it locks the chains,
Chains sent to expose your insecurity,
Chains meant to destroy your certainty,
Chains sent to darken your skies,
And bleed worry into all of your nights.
As it tells your soul – you are free,
It imprisons you with bonds that, in fact,
Will make it nearly impossible to breakout,
Escape the tears, the fears, the years…
Seas of heartbreak and loneliness,
Seas of misery and melancholic fate,
Seas who drown you in an alcoholic’s regret!
I am tested
Everyday
To love
For no other reason
Then love itself
To love
The alcoholic
That’s in need of a drink
To love
Those that wish
To share a blame
To love
Those that stalk
To prolong a pain
To love
One
That wishes to love me
But has a love at home
Waiting patiently
To love
Myself
One’s own
Fielty
Written by Gail DeBole
on July 7, 2015
Updated Feb. 22, 2023
At first...
Cheerfully shared for liquid celebrations
For all of the right reasons.
And then...
Abruptly emptied to become a whine bottle
For all of the wrong reasons.
Not much of a drinker but I might start carrying a flask
So, I can sip something a little stronger than my depression
Because this counseling session is not helping
My life right now is just a hangover that last week's
Or a bad break up that only repeats
Sadness eats more than happiness
And these tears water my dying heart, like a dying flower
But I can't find the sun, so I think I'm drowning
And some days I'm at peace with the feeling
While other days I fight to breathe, breathing heavy
Trapped in anger and frustration
Born from my personal recession
Not much of a drinker, but I'm tired of tasting my bitter tears that fall from my eyes and rest on my lips
I need something a little more sour
Because my tart mood is starting to taste good
Maybe this alcohol will give me a revelation
Or at least a break from the pressure
Distancing myself from my peers
Can't hear anything positive mine as well cut off my ears
Mine as well cut off my years
A life short lived but at least I know what it is to truly live
Too many people choose to pretend
Today I picked a date
And I'm not going out
But I am leaving this world
p.s. so raise a glass to being alive...
His blood wasn’t red
At least in my head… that is what I said
To myself, believed, accepted
As fact – absolute proof that he was better
Than the mere human, the simple man
The one who took my hand when I needed him
His sweat didn’t smell
But, oh, my heart did swell… never would repel
This heart who loved him so
Knew he was like the sainted ones
Despite his addictions and secrets, the darkness
That whispered doubt from his soul when I prayed for him
His light wouldn’t fade away
Never giving in to dread or delay… a soul who would betray
Reflections of kindness and grace, inspiration
Faith that soared over the hesitation, the suspicion
To make a way through each conviction,
Destroying the grief that lives inside bitterness and resentment
His life wasn’t honored by praise
There were worries and tears to rephrase… they amaze
Bold fears who haunt like dog days, more than just a phase
They left my spirit gloomy and breathless
With the feelings that bled dark red, crimson stories
Reminding me he died from his revulsion to hope
When my walls I face
Or round my room pace,
My gaze windows meet
And my two eyes greet …
The same as all doors
But stigma do bear;
Better on all fours
In my finest wear
Through all types of doors
And face foes’ teeth and claws
Than through a window
Asking Barking Bingo!
On the spot ‘Burglar’
After valuable,
Save Room’s Regular
And it thinkable:
One’s door key mislaid;
Dodging The Not-Paid …
Windows then Garlic
Doors, Alcoholic;
Not of the same smell,
One your doom could spell.
On a city sidewalk, I handed her money
I knew inside she must be someone's honey
After giving her all I had, I walked away
As an afterthought, I took time to pray
It was a clear day, so bright and sunny
She might have thought I the easter bunny
Because her heart I sought, never a phony
As I passed on by, I thought she did sway
On a city sidewalk
The next day I walked along feeling funny
I didn't expect to see her again, the honey
Surprised to see her frame in the doorway
Of an ABC store, where she was waiting to pay
Saddened by the sight, I bowed to the knee
On a city sidewalk
MY FOOLISH HEART Cash Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS
April 2, 2022
Steadily beats he a drum,
Heavily drinking stiff rum;
Zestfully tours he a slum,
Masculine tunes does hum.
Later, his fingers are numb,
Not excluded his half thumb;
Decides he then to sit his bum
For an unfinished chewing gum,
To him released by a chum,
When he couldn’t from him a plum…
Later, shall workout the sum
Of how to get back to doting mum;
A drummer alcoholic,
At times, a workaholic
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