Best Inebriation Poems
Oh, toilet bowl
Did you hear me in the hall
Talking to that bastard wall
Asking who moved the door
Oh, toilet bowl
Don’t ever have gin and tonic
Cause inebriation is quite ironic
When lost in your own home
Oh, toilet bowl
So accessible and cool
Forgive my 90 proof drool
Irony is about to surface
Oh, toilet bowl
We're no longer alone
I’m talking to Ralph
on your big white phone
He says he’s sorry
Oh, toilet bowl
My porcelain gold
If I may be so bold
Meet my bottom
Oh, toilet bowl!
Get ready cause here is the next pontification
In regards to my said, beloved’s infatuation
Hear me thee, here do be, the truth of the situation
Which once was the source of said aggravation
After having arrived at many carnal rotations
Yet to me this was more than just merely fornication
Unless it is just about you and your manipulation
Telling me that there was never a foundation
That it was all about the sexual sensation
Confusing are your words in there translation
They were your words of emotional declaration
Saying, that they are your truthful and honest proclamation
That we were was then had been your chosen words of articulation
Did they not bare as authentic in authentication?
Yet, I would never take advantage of your inebriation
You had already been thru enough of that brutalization
Though we both do know, we do have difficulty in communication
Though to me, it is just temporary blocks of frequency channelization
Amplified by the vodka laced with fruit juice for your gestation
This does be the biggest and truest reason for our causation
And the reason being for my excommunication?
If this does draw me as the fool in this poetic explanation
Then paint me as the man who holds much inner vexation
As we come here now to this thee summation
Because I still feel this be your true vibration
You are truly good enough and worthy enough for a higher lofty elevation
11/29/2015
Idioma
There is a man with a gun.
His finger taut,
tensed and still,
the intention obvious,
no reason instilled.
Because guns kill people.
Or do people kill people?
I can never remember.
Let's take a look at entropy.
A molecule hits a molecule
hits a molecule and
BOOM - a bomb.
Thousands dead.
More on the way.
But of course that's a bit clumsy,
seeing that entropy's remorse
only marginally taps the
frayed edges of something,
Atomic.
So what stops it?
Science might tell us
Energy.
That’s a bit broad though.
Come back to the man with the gun.
Naturally he's drunk,
and not a man,
an adolescent.
Waving the gun -
the weapon in your face.
He points it at you.
So what do you do?
What can you do?
One might pray
and hope his hand is stayed,
for in the land of entropy learned helplessness breeds
Power.
And the masses will pray and cower.
Some might fight,
or fly,
in instinctual flurry.
But these options are
few and far
too crude for more, sophisticated tastes.
So this sophistication leads us...
Ah, but sophistication sounds so posh.
Let's instead call this
Order.
And so you order,
Yell,
or speak,
rather;
yelling is so harsh.
You speak,
maybe even
whisper.
You don't want to antagonize this
kid
willing to put a hole in you
- you in a hole -
covered by the thoughtlessly certain curtain of
uneasy infinity.
So you,
oh so subdued,
whisper,
Please.
But a simple please
has never gotten
anyone anywhere
worth being,
so you follow up with
a more firm
Stop.
And in his inebriation,
the most powerful
being in your world stumbles
upon a moment
of lucidity.
His finger slips,
sending a .45 caliber
bullet - lead some might call it,
but this is grossly anachronistic -
into your frontal lobe
and out your cerebral cortex.
Enter.
Exit.
An open system.
Because in an entropic world,
Language languishes in its ephemeral rags
and is wasted away by greater things.
MY 37TH ANNIVERSARY
After years of inebriation
My life was just a mirage
My friends had lost all favor
Communication was all nonverbal
The smiles were no longer dulcet
My diligence to be a model employee
Had become a delicate affair
The allure of a promotion vanished
My life had become unmanageable
Then, I hit a pivot point
I finally came to my senses
Like the Prodigal Son of Scripture
Who returned home to his father
I returned to my Heavenly Father
And now live a life of serenity
On January eleventh 1982
I lost my desire for alcoholic brew
I now have the consolation
Of living my life anew
23 February 2019
For the contest sponsored by Michelle Faulkner
Stumbling all over the sidewalk....
Eyes completely glazed.
It was something that had to be done,
It was one of those kind of days.
So after work, I went to the store,
With only one thing in mind....
To take the edge off of my soul,
To leave this day far behind.
I took my first shot, and started to feel great.
I took my second shot, and began to celebrate.
Third shot, fourth shot, fifth shot....
I kept on going.... it felt so good.
Plans to stop? I think not.
I began to smile and laugh at the inebriating pleasure,
Of knowing I could end the day, happier beyond measure.
I walked down the road, dazed and out of it....
When I got the phone call.
I answered with a slurred speech, "hello!"
"Let's go buy things from the mall!!!"
"Let's ride down the street with the music up loud,"
"I feel so good right now, as if I'm on a drunken cloud."
Little did I know, upon reaching my destination,
I fell down to the front porch, drowned in inebriation.
I was too gone....
I was way too gone....
I crept up the stairs into my room,
Not making one single peep.
Tripped over my daughter's toys and passed out....
I fell fast asleep.
Hope springs eternal, they say
Robin red-breast seen with the blue jay
Flowers poke their way up through hard ground
Buds on tree open, prisoners unbound
The sky is a pale azure-blue
Her breezes so warm and inviting
Spring's yearly hope's again sprung
The very air whispers promises exciting...
Then what to make of renewed hope in mid-Winter
Rivers and streams no longer flowing
Icicles hang from stark tree limbs midst snowing
Few hints of life outdoors stirring or growing
Yet it's in with the New Year, decked out in gay flirtation
Spirits soaring higher, with each clink of inebriation
Optimism peeking into every nook and cranny of our nation
There's a feeling of can't-miss anticipation --
This year will usher in an era of Lasting Peace and Jubilation!
December 31, 2018
Rain whipped by,
And the wipers tasked with maintaining sight struggled to keep up.
Despite the wiper’s determination though,
the driver needed not look,
As in his inebriation his control would merely worsen with sight.
The wheels upon which he rode turned quickly,
yet slid along the unstable gravel.
And as the driver lost consciousness,
The road gave way just in time to spite his drunkenness.
First the headlight cracked,
Then the metal upon which the car was supported bent and split.
And finally, the separation between the derelict and his storm gave way:
As the window shattered beyond recognition.
Now,
Rested upon an old willow,
The manifestation of all inadequacies lay;
A young man,
who failed to drive the car upon which fate destined him,
Met his end -
in introduction to the monsters of his irresolution.
"Hyar she comes! The weekly stagecoach is a-comin' to old Santa Fe!"
The driver cracked his whip and blowed his klaxon to herald the way!
The weekly arrival of the stagecoach was cause fer raucous celebration!
The town's ne'er-do-wells found another excuse fer excess inebriation!
The excited citizens one and all awaited its arrival with bated breath,
To see and greet the motley rogues brought to town by the driver, Seth!
Seth descended from his perch midst snarlin' curs and guttersnipes,
Gun-totin' hangers-on, genteel ladies, the sheriff and other sundry types.
Grizzled Seth cut loose a stream of cussin' and in a furious rage,
Yelled, "You'uns clear the way and let them people git off'n the stage!"
His bedraggled passengers set foot on the dusty streets of old Santa Fe,
Happy to be relieved of the stagecoach's nauseous lurch and sway!
The Baptist Ladies Guild gasped when down stepped a lady of the night,
But she was greeted by the fellers of Buster's Saloon with a cry of delight!
Next was a feller all dressed in black scannin' the crowd with a gloomy glower.
He was a preacher-man causin' fellers from Buster's Saloon to cringe and cower!
A steely-eyed dude with 44s on his hips viewed the mob with condescension,
But his shifty manner put the sheriff on alert and merited his attention!
Down stepped a foppish dandy wearin' diamonds and dressed in fine attire.
He was a gamblin' man aimin' to see how much town capital he might acquire!
Seth hollered, "All aboard! I gotta git to Albuquerq' by six tonight!"
He whipped his steeds to a gallop and soon old Santa Fe was outta sight!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
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.
365 days of the Alcohol Experiment
After 30 days the need to continue was evident.
Italian adventure to Rome Florence and Venice, cosy restaurants and no wine a penance!
Elation on completion of a holiday with alcohol deletion.
Real rest, renewal and recuperation.
Not hangovers, exhaustion and a turn to work depletion.
No barriers of painkilling built up around me but open and available and at last truly living!
A feeling of real health never known,
sober sleep the deepest.
3 am awakenings not repeated.
Weight more stable than for 35 years
Alcohol free means energ--ie
Faced my AF fears and after 8 years trying, succeeded.
Now Coffee and company with intimate conversation not superficial chat, slurred speech and inebriation.
AF tribe explosion. Deep friendships unfolding.
laughs and special moments. Discovering worthyness and self love and whaw that I am enough!
Lliving in the moment not for the alcohol moment.
Sober socialising discovered.
Alcohol companies, brainwashing adverts pedalling lies uncovered.
Culture driven by alcohol is epidemical
Profits & Taxes guaranteed by a chemical.
Facing trauma and grief with a stable mood. Alcohol as the cause of anxiety and depression understood.
Just 10 months AF with my beautiful mother.
Such quality time above any other.
Emotional transparency, expression and facing the pain. Not numbing and smothering self again.
It's a brave new world of no regret experience.
Just wished I had known and not spent years delerious.
I'm not looking back not giving in now!
This new life I've found will much more than do
Cause it's wonderful, beautiful, amazing and true and I wish for a total culture that's new!
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.
Lemmings’ Cliff Run
by Odin Roark
Might it be
We are naively gullible
Believing like the Lemmings
From the ocean-cliff’s edge
Down below looks like a lake
So it must be a lake
Even though our species
Should know better
Could it be
We abandon
Those extra synaptic gifts
Deceive ourselves
Take the leap
Find we can survive the jump
But the endless “lake”
Like to the lemmings
Has no opposite shoreline
Within eyesight
And like the lemmings
Struggle concedes to
Physical and mental fatigue
Delivers exhausted neurons
Into blissful compliance
Such might be
The place where
Credit card inebriation
Staggers us into the “lake”
Only to find we’ve extended
Beyond our means
No shoreline in view
Sadly
Many might survive their “ocean”
Until they are but floating bodies
Bobbing with the waves of commerce know-how
As it pushes the tide
Back to the shore
Ready to lure
Fresh
Delusional
Lemming-headed targets
Awaiting atop cliff’s edge
Staring into that intoxicating money-colored
Blue/green color we’ve grown to glamorize
Fantasize
And worship
Thinking it will always be there
Until it's not
Nature’s perfection
Transparency’s metaphor
Seldom perceived
Often ignored
WHY THOMAS K THOMAS LEFT A SUICIDE NOTE
Nothing left aside,
He lay on his back
Eyes fixed at ceiling fan.
Reminiscence of Predicament
Of travels in shade
Sojournment in places many.
Land of beautiful women
Back waters,
Port wine and pure lust
Day of extravaganza
Deep poverty and sickness
Malaria and white gold
Girl with wheat complexion
Singing and swaying
"By the rivers of Babylon
..........................................
....................................
Song bringing sad notes.
Trafficking powder,
False passports.
My Babylon girl,
Let not the blue venom
Gushing in veins
Graze your purity.
Move along.
Dirt in prison, cockroaches
Unspent day and nights
Unseen hands plucking
From cells with sticky sweat.
None to see
None to visit
Branded jail bird
Salty breeze from
Back waters.
Brought back past
Like a roll of film.
Mom's eyes rolling
To void yonder
Mutiny in the house
Dad like St. George
Killing the dragon with spear.
No love, but barrenness
No cups filled with dew
Mom , salt of life, gone.
Dirt and grease nauseating, stinking
Life........rotten smell in air.
Leaves of fan rotating
In a primitive rhythm
A sterile thought
Death wish-
Sorcery of rotation
Sweat and inebriation
An outcast
A glide, a long curve
The knot
Tightening-
Paris, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem : Paris
( For those who may be interested, this poem by Paul Verlaine presents more difficulties than his other rhymed quatrains I have read, but then this may only be a personal feeling. T. Wignesan)
Paris cannot lay claim to beauty but through its history,
But this history is by beauty all through possessed !
The river Seine lies so absurdly sheltered,
Yet its bright green hue all on its own deserves glory.
Paris cannot be thought gay but by virtue of its chatter
Yet this loquaciousness, a teeming vulgar vice,
Springs from a throng of tongues in its voice,
Stirring this insipid linguistic stew into spicy banter.
Paris can hardly be considered wise but by the demure
Flux of its populace and its diverse factions,
Even if it can engender revolutions
It lies in ambush in the shade with its sense of Order.
Paris can boast not just with its charming Girl
Who has no need to envy those who’re Exotic
But for harmless wrongs and sins not quite endemic
Such that they come to pass in a detached swirl.
Paris thus may be held to be good but for its flighty
Inebriation with lust and with pleasure,
Nothing much more than a flirtation with desire
Such pleasure as at the expense of a brother be duty.
Paris doesn’t display anything as sad and as cruel
As the poet we see by the year or at random
Dying of ennui under clinical surveillance
Not far from the old worker fraternal.
Long life to Paris, likewise for its history,
For its eloquence and its Girl, naïve
Products of an art both perverse and primitive
And die the poet purging himself by duty !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
How quickly I got drunk on him
He was the salt I licked off the rim
of glass after unsatiable glass
Intoxicated on love, over the brim
I drank beyond limit, beyond control
until inebriation took an ugly toll
Then the drinks became too bitter
like sparkling champagne loses its glitter
In sober state I admitted my mistake -
drunkenness is a hard hitter
I taste salt from tears upon my tongue
because of a song I should've left unsung