Best Alcoholism Poems
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
Day old coffee
in its maker
a cold witness
sometimes
to broken dreams
and war stories
and proclamations
of
getting well
of
new beginnings
of
hearty hope.
Solemn stories and
cloudy memories
and Joe
laughter’s echo
at some obscure
joke but
the window
knows
how schemes get
distorted
deformed
disfigured.
Some have just
flown that way
inevitably
some do go
without ceremony
without fanfare
no hoopla
simply vanish
and all that’s left
are
empty seats
empty room
empty maker
waiting for
the next batch
of sunshine.
(click the picture to buy my poetry book!)
Coffin lungs unhinge a chest open bare,
fragile skin ripping thin as bat membrane-
flutter in waves of vapor, from the heart that beats itself,
exhuming an illusive space...
defined by all that never was.
The only promise left unbroken,
held against all petty wills,
is the nothingness that eclipses the tangible-
contoured by chaos, it stands tall and futile,
leaving no shade for the shelter of lost dreams.
And so let the old void fill the new,
where Only Hope's clumsy shadow filters in,
and Fear blows every breath of whim,
Asphyxiating in this open cage,
for too long I chose to stay and wait
for empty promises to take,
and take,
and take.
Alcohol consumption can be a complete nightmare
You can lose your life and your family
So drugged up, you can’t even play solitaire
Alcohol will give you a sense of disorder
Missing your child’s birthday party
From one drink to the next
Never knowing your life is a complete wreck
Not knowing the alcohol long term effects
Not getting any respect
Considered by non-alcoholics as one of life’s rejects
Soon to be one of life’s unknown subjects
Alcohol makes you do stupid things
Sleeping around, married and hiding your ring
Continue to go to your AA meeting
Remember, it’s alcohol you are defeating
Life is tough, but keep God in it
Trust in him and see how you will benefit
Live life and don’t ever quit
Look in the sky, so beautiful and blue
Remember, it is God’s creation and so are you
An opened fifth of hangovers
rests beside his dried driveled arm
(drug used by underachievers.)
Out cold, head resting on forearm
Unconscious in a dreamless world,
a portal often frequented:
an alcoholics netherworld
and mind most disoriented.
A parched throat forces arousal
And miasmic exhalations
rekindle once more pitiful
repeated, inebriation.
A morning swig begins his day
and ends the same as yesterday.
It crept upon me,
From the age of eight,
Who knew the depths of hell,
That that first taste would lead?
The singing and jokes,
The dancing and shouts,
It all seemed grand to me.
It ate deep inside,
My nervous system,
Trapped by age twenty one,
The gates of hell opened,
For a ten year slog,
Jobs ended, friends left,
Caught in the jaws of death.
Guinness, Jack Daniels,
A Stella Artois,
Ten pints of Heineken,
Two bottles of strong gin,
Brandy, Vodka, wine,
Amazing amounts,
And then came the extras,
Speed, coke, weed, crack, meth
All leveled by booze,
I couldn't leave the house,
Without inebriation,
It soon gets lonely,
When you're a soaked souse,
Even dealers hate drunks.
Deep in the gutter,
Too bruised and battered,
The world keeps spiraling,
Choose terror or madness,
An endless nightmare’
Of fear and denial,
That severs brain from heart
To go into hell,
Is to find yourself,
Ironic: loss is gain,
Who knew that addiction,
Was a path to truth,
You stand face to face,
With the cruel facts of death.
I can’t believe I’m out,
that colossal maze,
Of grave embarrassment,
You must lose everything,
Not least dignity,
Alone, naked, raw,
Stood on a precipice.
Hard to make it out,
Make it out alive,
It’s hard to make it out,
Your face in the mirror,
Stripped bare and empty
It feels like the end,
But a crossroads appears.
Try until you die,
Fight against this curse,
It’s inherited,
And ingrained in culture,
Anyone can fall,
And it’s amazing,
You may seem to fall far,
But it’s never too late.
Nepenthe numbs ye,
but wither away your soul
that lies neath the tree.
Why do we go around seeking each others frowns?
You’ve got to let go of preconceptions to make friends down town.
Begrudge no man his time in hand.
A little known something isn’t enough to go around.
Attentively looking out of glasses that make the world seem round
Don’t get caught up in the hold down wearing dressing gowns.
Wino’s and dino’s keeping flies down
Jumping hoops and flying coops keep the whining clowns
And in the end you must look for a hand
Underneath there’s so much going around
There’ll be no more sighing and lying down on the ground
And oh 'shoot' you say it was me who was found
And it’s all going to be ok when they take you away
Yes it’s all going to be ok on your final day
An end to tears and frantic breath
Let it go until there’s nothing left.
And it’ll be ok when it all goes away
No one can have a final day
With tears of joy I’ll hear you say
Let it go until there’s only peace left.
Alcoholism, the pariah
feeding on the collapse
of self-control
befuddling the brain's sensibility;
transforming intelligence
into ridicule.
SOBER-:-
teetotal
sustainability
abstinence
nonfermented
sobriety
rewarded merits
a CLEAN BILL OF HEALTH
unmalted
dealcoholized
balancing
restart
recovering
SEVERE DIPSOMANIA
anonymously
attends
powwows
shared
stories
"Alcohol does not solve any problems but again, neither does milk" anonymous
Only my family finds this being the best line anyone ever came up with, we've laughed a lot about it
I have laughed about it
Only my family will joke of The drink and give it respect at the same time
Only my family, because I am the only family I know of that well
But let me flip the coin, and see the other side
I have an uncle who died of alcoholism and sadly his sons follow the same path
Of my four brothers, only one doesn't drink
One has mental illness and tends to mix the drugs together (you know, alcohol plus his prescriptions)
Everyday he is always "quiting"
Or my other brother who has been in trouble with the law because of The drink
Or my other brother who can drink from Sunday to Saturday, from day to night
This one has become a regular pick up from ditches
Or my youngest sister. She has the best spirit. She loves fun. Her idea of fun usually entails The drink
Sadly I've noticed the tremors in her hands
Or my other sister and i. Me and her are what I call closeted drinkers.
We do it openly only after analysing the surrounding and those with us
We have it more tamed, I guess it's because we are mothers
Or my dad. He doesn't drink. I have never seen him drink. My brothers always brag of how he used to drink alot and how sometimes he will take them with him to his drinking endeavours
My mother only talks of those days with horror
But he quit, became born again in time for i and my sisters births
Am glad I never saw him that way, because maybe I'd be a different woman today
Maybe I should flip the coin again
And stop being such a Debbie downer
Maybe on this cold Friday night,
I need to get myself a pack of woodstock beer to sleep too
I expected my life of days would be fairly calm.
Only the enlightened ancestors would follow me.
I’d mimic them and love and sing their favorite psalm.
Instead this mystic mind does not escape blood’s history.
Where can we go where it won’t be in our sight?
Why do we swallow enticing liquid until blind and then insane?
Terror incinerates every cell and sweats thick human fright--
As ninety proof storms of liquor reign.
Repeat, repeat, repeat the ritual of hell, while lips pray but know,
That the incremental burning flavored sips will win.
Stop! Wait! And shake and wake and gasp and sob, “Death let me go!”
Release, please, relief please, release, take out the liquid knife.
Save this non believer even if it means, feeling.
He was locked inside his own mind
searching for the key to freedom
that he'd never find.
Daily struggles led to addictions.
He fought the devil while he prayed to God
"tell me what's real and what is fiction."
Loneliness ate at him every day.
He wondered what he'd done
to chase them all away.
He was afraid to close his eyes
so he dare not go to sleep,
else the devil heard his cries.
His Mama told him about a savior
who could take his pain away,
so he put his faith in God
and he accepted Christ that day.
At the bottom of the bottle, he finally found rest.
Now all his Mama can do is pray,
that God had mercy when he took his final breath...
Dedicated to my son, with love, Mama
She cannot keep a job; she has had several. Anger issues.
Cannot spell or write either, or be nice, but those are secondary problems.
Showed up at ten, was supposed to be there at 7:45; always good excuses.
Creative anyway.
Wanted them to give her a recommendation; highly angry at them for not doing it.
Called them prejudiced. They hate the Irish! She told me. Wait, their names are McCormick.
She tried to find another job from the luxury of her bed, circled lots of them in the paper.
Did not make the phone calls though; the valium she was taking for her perpetual migraines held her off.
What about the children? Her neighbors ask her. She was too ill to worry about them.
They were six, eight, ten and twelve, time for them to get jobs and take care of her. Right?
The school bought them Christmas presents, and she was furious they would not give her receipts.
Complained because they were not even getting a turkey for Thanksgiving, so her neighbor brought her one.
That damned social worker was really mad on the first when she realized the turkey had never been cooked.
She did not have a computer or anything. They should have brought her one that was cooked anyway.
That was on them. The crumby neighbor is pounding on her door again. She opens one eye.
Damned kids must have forgotten their keys. She can keep them for a while, she thinks. I am sick.
As she falls back to sleep, she wonders what will become of her, who will take care of her?
Why has this happened to her? Her uterus moves in a little hop like way, a happy baby this time.
Thank god. The other ones are always wanting something, begging for stuff, complaining.
Maybe this one will be the one who makes the difference. She pats her tummy and smiles.
Maybe she has a good one in there, this time.
Her eyes close.
Anger, guilt and pain,
those are the only emotions
I feel; my skin crawls whenever
my mind flashes those painful
memories that I try my best to
forget.
Mornings are normal; I do my
every day chores like clock-work.
The daily grind embeds emotions
long since forgotten; their existence
remains a definition in a dictionary.
Night slowly comes and everything
changes into chaos.
The chime of bottles that I hide
suddenly calls to me and I
succumb to its dark grasp; its
claws sink deep into my heart.
Sadly, I do not listen to the angel
upon my shoulder that tries so
desperately to guide me into
the light.
As the liquid drowns my senses
the anger is released causing my normal
self to transform into a monster that
no-one knows.
Pain fuels my outbursts against
whoever is present regardless
of who it is I cause hurt and
unseen fear that they try to
hide in a futile attempt to
protect themselves.
The bottles dwindle but my
anger only increases; all those
years of hiding it has created
me into a ticking time-bomb
that no-one wants to be near.
The angel upon my shoulder
continues to provide guidance
but the liquid I have consumed
has caused its voice to become a
whisper.
Many things I have lost over
the years but I fruitlessly deny
my own faults.
Will I ever be able to resist
reaching for the bottle?
I do not know but the pain,
fear and loss I can no longer
endure.
Maybe one day I will
say those infamous words
and the angel upon my shoulder
will guide me towards the light
of inner peace and harmony.