Best Alcoholic Poems
He has no
longer his own will
Caught in the lion's caves
dark gray clouds closes sunlight
He wants but can not
nothing to lose,
is he a loser?
Thoughts about life
worthless
The past, no roses without thorns
A zero
Tomorrow will come
He sits on a bench in the park
cold and dirty
a half-full bottle of spirits
This is his life
a day without sunshine
He hears the lions roaring
trying to block out the sound
19.05.2013
A-L Andresen :)
I smoked a pack of Marlboros
Every day, left butts smoldering
In dirty, smelly ashtrays
The nicotine addiction compelled
Me to quit… yet, I did not
I smoked until there was only
Short, spasmic breaths
Left in my black lungs
And oxygen had to be taken aside
So I could light up
I drank a fifth of vodka
Every day, left empty glasses
In a sink that hesitated
To risk the flood of last drops
Being washed away with Dawn
And the tears that poured
Down cheeks who knew
I was an alcoholic who couldn’t
Quench my thirst with anything
That didn’t say 90 proof
I swallowed a Percocet every time
The pain that pierced my heart
With regrets, remorse, remembrances
Started to edge between me
And the familiar feeling of numbness
That comes from taking a pill
Every time the feeling that rises inside
Feels like you have been slapped
With the truth, the facts, the reality
Coming alive without that 10 mg capsule
The addiction flowed through me in waves
Caressing the beach of my thoughts
Like a sea laps at the sandy shore with
The familiar touch of hope for the sun
Who will light up, with rays, hues of gold
Whispering through the morning
Embracing the pastel shells and mysterious
Swells of ocean water, pushing against the beach
Like a gentle hand will push against my habits
With the knowledge that this dependence is vile
I clasp hands with the truth when I take a breath
And look up at the heavens with a broken heart
Who listens to the words that come alive inside
When the heavenly Father looks down at me
The child who is drifting on waves of sin and shame
And, in a still small voice speaks…
Even the richest, most blessed nation can pray
For redemption.. just have faith,
God bless the USA and AAA
In the shadows of my mind
There is a memory of you, laughing
Despite the pain that hung like a curtain
Shading the windows of your heart,
Stopping the light who glistened
Just beyond your feelings,
Where doubt told you to disregard
The gentle touch of its shafts,
Promising energies that would silence
All the grief that followed you
In my memory, you are laughing
But it is a sham, filled with false promises,
Forged in pain and counterfeit like the summer
Who can’t last, who will move into autumn’s bleakness
Despite all the flowers who bloom with such joy,
The picnics and barbecues, the reminders
That every moment is a treasure,
Blessing those who know that summer itself
Will not last and is a blessing to be thankful to know
Even though autumn is fast approaching
In the days before your death
You were like a fast approaching autumn,
Dressed in laughter and promising to listen
To my encouragement, the praise and support,
Like tokens of my love on display – yet
You were still dependent on the feeling, kneeling
To the bottle, the pill – abusing your body
And your bogus laugh told the story of doubt
That you would ever find your way out of the habit
Before autumn claimed you and then…
Death whispered your name
Before I had the chance to say I love you – once again
hallucinations
- wise enough to understand
... castles in the air
- world seems different and changed
... lonely and empty bottle
22/07/2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Tanka 5-7-5-7-7
Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
wooden legs
betray
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
bourbon tweaked philosophies
of life begins
at forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
the glass that begins another
day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
lipstick coated leeches who prey on
your diminishing
breath.
Through these wintry days pass faces long past
into what was then
while with the coming spring ...
at last! at last!
One can remember
and want no more
what could never be:
a Mother.
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.
Your eyes are glazed
As if you're already dead.
I'm afraid that the bottle
Has finally gotten to your head.
You sit in your own filth,
And you don't even care.
Have you given up?
You don't even brush your hair.
I wish things could go back
To how they used to be.
Seeing you like this
Really eats away at me.
You swear that you're fine,
But your health is breaking down.
You're stuick in that bottle,
You're beginning to drown.
Let me help you back up,
Give me your hand...
Tell me what's wrong,
I'll try to understand.
He is addicted to the bottle
Despite what his words tell a friend
His hands reach out to the liquor
As if it contains the cure for his failures
He takes a drink, never thinking
Of all the pain this poison will bring
To him, his wife and their children
Everyone who truly cares about him.
Everyone has seen this demon
Bring greater men to their demise
Without a second chance to stop him
He’ll be filling up his entire heart and life
With a sickening scent of alcohol that
Makes him more brainless than anything else
He’ll keep drinking until this strong drink
Kills him – and his family will grieve for
The one they knew before he was a drunk
He’s addicted to the thing that hurts
Him and everyone who cares for him
He thinks he can handle one drink of it
But a few bottles later tells the true story
Even though the bottle is his best friend
It’s actually the enemy to the one inside him
He thinks it can mend whatever hurts him
While it actually ruins what’s left within
Alcoholic, lost in the toxic liquid
That destroys more than his sanity
This drink will take away all that is good
And leave a broken down failure, most likely
Dead on the inside before he actually dies
Proverbs 23:20f: "Do not join those who drink too much wine or gorge themselves on meat, for drunkards and gluttons become poor, and drowsiness clothes them in rags." ... Ephesians 5:18: "Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit."
I’m the first one to admit
that I do not mind a beer
or two, or three, or many more
and toasts that bring on cheer.
At each Sunday bar-be-cue
while the kids go off to play
can after can is opened up,
so beer wastes the day away.
But one day when out fishing
from the banks of Shady Creek,
I was asked for information
that my young bloke yearned to seek.
From someone in such tender years
his mind can be rather slick
and so he’s always curious -
Dad ‘what’s an alcoholic?’
I had to make a clear example
that my Son will understand
I took a sip out of my can,
and spoke the way I planned.
‘See those four trees over there,’
before I then chose to add,
‘alcoholics would see eight’ -
‘But there’s only two trees Dad.’
I
am
so sad
my soul aches
I don't want to drink
but it allows me to function
when gin is not in my system my body just shakes
I'm an alcoholic that's lost self, family and job, a loser without a home
Contest:Writing Challenge Fibonacci
Sponsor: Dear Heart
1-5-19
I drink more than I should,
But not as much as I can,
Which in my world makes me,
A moderate man.
My father drank himself half to death.
I tried to understand why.
But I became stumped and hurt every time I thought about it.
He became drunk and argumentative but always assured us he never meant it.
I became my mother’s best friend more than a daughter.
She would ask for advice and I would give my honest opinion.
Whether it was offensive or complete profanity.
She took it in and thought yet never took any suggestions.
My parents fought like siblings with a huge age gap.
Neither ever understood the other.
Late nights at work and early afternoons at the bar.
I was born in the middle of a fiery war.
My older sister is lucky she isn’t related to my father.
Her father may be a deadbeat but mine, in a few years, may actually be dead.
My brother has enough of his own problems, why distract him with our fathers’.
All of us aren’t full siblings, may be that’s a good thing.
I’m talking to the younger me when I write down my memories of my dad.
But I’m giving my future self more reading material for cringing.
Reliving the memories I never understood as a child.
And once I’m older I’ll relive the memories again, but this time understand them the way 16 year old me did.
Having an alcoholic father taught me that I’m not the only one with trust issues.
Seeing another empty bottle but only seeing another broken promise.
Having an alcoholic father taught me that sometimes you can find closer family in strangers.
My friends are my non-biological family that grew closer to me than my father and I since I was 7.
Having an alcoholic father has taught me that my heart has been broken so many times.
It’s hard for me to love and become close to people anymore.
Having an alcoholic father has taught me to open up my eyes to others problems.
That’s why I can now see I have a sister who’s addicted to pain meds and a brother who’s handicapped.
I Am Alcoholic
Unable
to regulate my soul
my thoughts
are doomed
IT
Defeated my entity
dictated my pleasure's
I am Alcoholic
I sense it's tantrum
everywhere
I am helpless
Constantly
yesterday today
NOW
Tomorrow
Anyone
help me?
Alcohol
My unique enemy
haunted since years
Deserted
by my Mother
IT
Dominated
my shadow
conditioned
my brain
Provoked
my tears
drowned
my vitality
allowing
it torment
my darkness
dictated my pain
Captivated
ME
Consciously.
I was born
Unwanted
with a heart
I cannot find it
how weak have
I gone down
The ladder
How desperate
have I allowed
IT
Be taken
for granted
by a bottle
NO
Bottles
I became
so wounded
Giving up
my strength
My life
To a glass.
Why?
Mother.
Therese Bacha
29 June 2013
Blinded by love,twisted in pain,i didnt think id ever be his victim again,replied when im spoken to,done all that im told,all his meals cooked on time,his washing i fold...look after our children,several trips to the shop,my life aint worth living,wish his drinking would stop...Try my best to help him,try not to get in his way,oneday ill take our children,and have somewhere safe to stay...Cant handle his slaps,the punches,the mental abuse,free from his clutches,i need to break loose...I deserve to be happy,just like my friends,not stuck in this rut,where abuse never ends,i just need my freedom,to do as i please,not cowering in a corner not pleading on my knees...
Step 1: Admitted we were powerless and that our lives had become unmanageable.
But I admitted that long before your lips knew my name.
I shook hands with the darkness and deals had already been made.
Step 2: Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
By that point it was easy to see that I believed even a 12 watt light bulb burnt out still held more power than I did
Step 3: Prayed to any God that would listen and hoped they checked their voice-mail regularly.
Step 4: Pieced together the butterfly wings and dimes from dark alleyways. Pinned red string between the people we used to be and these more recent newspaper clippings.
Step 5: Admitted to the 12 watt light bulb, to ourselves, and to the only other person we could trust the depths of our confessional.
I watched her lips entranced as they moved in the mirror.
Step 6: Said enough. I dug out old running shoes and stole your shoe laces. The ones they wouldn't let you have beyond the locked white doors.
Step 7: I humbly asked the 12 watt light bulb to go off over my head for 's sake just once.
Step 8: They told me you made a list of all those you'd harmed. I wonder how many times you wrote my name, and at which point you finally wrote yours.
Step 9: I guess you didn't make it this far because my voice-mail still sits silent.
Step 10: I laced up those shoes and ran. Fast and Far. Kept taking Step after Step until my ribs screamed for air and I could finally laugh again.
Step 11: I changed out that 12 Watt for one that glows steady.
Step 12: I bask in the glow of the new light without the fear of the darkness I outran. The closet monsters can't touch me now. No darkness is more frightening than my own, and deals have already been made.