Best Sobers Poems
He could be someone’s father
Or brother
Or friend.
He could be
The one to cure cancer,
The one who
Saves a child
From a burning building,
The one who
Sobers up
And leads
Others to
Do so as well.
But right now,
He’s a drunk
Who has probably
Spent all of his money
On booze,
The one
Who is ungrateful,
The one who
Won’t remember,
The one who will
Lose his life
Over a fallen shoe.
And you are the one
Who can save him.
~As The Clouds Dance In The Sky~
( Free Flow )
As the clouds
Move in the sky
I can see their shadows
Dance and play
They shrink and
Expand in diverse sizes
Till they fade away
Or change their disguise
Little by little
I recognize
A few shapes
Till they get lost
In the nights’
Sobers drapes
As the clouds
Move in the sky
I can see their shadows
Again dance and play.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2007
January.17.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain
Slenderly community
The land of sobers
Enough for plunderers
Ground of Ivory
Home of diamond and gold
Is now Magufulized
No more embezzling
Lazy are working
Respecting their roles
No more liquoring
This is the land
We all dreamed by
Reviving the airline
Is the biggest witchcraft
7 wings were booked
5 have already landed
I enjoyed several trips
It is a miracle that exist!
The giant is shining
Suffocating capitalist
As much as fraudulent
For they are terribly squeezed
In jail cell like shanties
For they lacked patriotism
By smuggling national cake
Go Magu, go!
Dig down to their pockets
Suffocate them deeply
Till dehydrated completely
Do more, do!
Open the roads for business to grow
Build flyover for traffic to perish
Construct SGR for easy transportation
Do the stieglers to boost economy
Our thumbs are yours 2020
For ant corrupt Tanzania
As sheriff chasin’ on the run
I shot at outlaw and injun
with my colt Pony Boy cap gun
my badge pinned to my chest.
When a neighbour I’d hear and see
climbin’ up a big mango tree
bawlin’ “jack spanias bitin’ me!”
swarmin’ around the nest
He ran into my fender guard
as the wheels spun a loud spoke card
ridin’ my bike in Nanan’s yard
and soon his knee did gape.
So I pullin’ its string in flight
flew instead my prized Batman kite
and watched it fly at a great height
in my Bat mask and cape
In floodin’ storm canals we’d lay
racin’ popsicle sticks all day
then crawl under the house to play
where we’d forbidden sneak.
Or leapin’ in a mighty bound
but not makin’ a ghostly sound
hidden somewhere I can’t be found
playin’ hide and go seek
On the battlefield that I led
my toy soldiers killed Nazis dead
along with every Jap and Red
till tender age of eight.
Silks and riders I’ll not forget
when my brother and I would bet
on our hand-wound horse racin’ set
windin’ up the home straight
The girls all arms and legs pumpin’
played hopscotch and skip rope jumpin’
as the boys were crazy bumpin’
crashin’ my pedal car.
But we kids did roam and skylark
till in the far distance we’d hark
Monica callin’ in the dark
“come, wherever you are!”
I cheered as a wicket would fall
heroes over The Oval wall
like Carew, Sobers, Lloyd, and Hall
from grandad’s house upstairs.
But my greatest heroes bar none
whom I love and whom I champion
gave me dear life and called me son
all through their livin’ years
Written: May 1996
garden hands caress
herbal scents intoxicate
sharp bee sting sobers
Copyright, July 1, 2017
A commoner King usurps the crown
Marries a blueblood of royal renown
Drunk as can be, in an imperial mood
Orders the Queen to appear stark nude
Before his commoner friends, no less
She refuses, of course, precipitating a mess
The King has the Queen killed
Then sobers up and isn't too thrilled
At the loss of great beauty
For just doing his duty
To ensure that every man is king of his castle
Not subject to wifely disobedience or hassle
So, he holds a beauty contest, and the girl who won
Won't tell her real name, who she is, where she's from
'Til the day she tells the King that his right-hand man
Is plotting to kill her, her family and all Jews in all lands
Wicked Haman is hanged, and the Jews skirt disaster
The Holiday of Purim's today ~ May we never outlast her
According to Jewish tradition, the Coming of the
Messiah will cancel all Jewish festivals---except Purim.
I made my way across the drunken pavement,
Glimpsing at the sun, which kindly offered a watery beam.
The sweet, earthy air filling my lungs,
As the weary clouds crawl aside to reveal,
Behind that translucent wall of wisp,
A stream of rich shade,
Stretching across the hazy blue canvas.
I pause, to admire this alluring marvel,
Blood flowing from an open wound,
That spectrum pumping rapidly from its side.
The pale golden glow,
Soaks into my skin,
And I watch as this great show draws nigh.
The pavement again sobers,
The clouds slink together,
And this masterpiece shrouds behind the curtain,
Gradually fading into nothingness.
So my first lesson taught me, if intellect spawns logic, then of that I want no part!
“Orwell” Had the answer;
in satire the presidium displeased, when he made it plain to everyone,
one cannot rule with precision as one would a farm yard,
whilst to break life down to simple motivation, one would easily find, that profit in the making,
would ne’er be a grind!
My first ever tea break, the day just got more gloomy, the Daily Mirror headline
“Cyprus” Reels in ethnic turmoil the “Middle East” In rebellious mood,
the old “Empire” Pursues its ethical standards only to find sorrow and historical hate.
But master the establishment is, come subtlety, to keep enquiring minds within the bounds of decency.
“Garfield Sobers” Takes the heat off, when he scores one run for each day of the year. 365
Eighteen year old “Pele” The “Black Pearl” Creates a purpose for millions,
his country “Brazil” And the World cup, headline all of the sports pages.
The newly elected “Pope” Gives hope to many, a new era, upon the old cross?
Yet it is man himself that needs the time, to seek the understanding that bewails his plight.
Alas, of that he has no one to blame only the system, that gave fame to
“Tommy Edwards” and his number one hit “IT’S ALL IN THE GAME”
© Harry J Horsman 2012
What if I told you the sky was purple
and that the clouds were really a dark green
could you imagine the luscious possibility
Or is your mind a reality check machine
Take a trip into your subconscious
maybe what you see is a dream
maybe the stars bleed blue
as red seeps into the ocean stream
We are taught as a child what to think
The language and colors of life
And not to challenge the system
Not to looks back, like Lot's wife
So imagine, you lay out in a field
Yellow grass sways in the wind
The lavender sky stretches before your eyes
and nature's balance hazily ends
Forget what you've been told
Forget it while you can
Before you become too senile
Because time waits for no man
The clouds are green I tell you,
The vast oceans are red
The purple skies adorn a silver moon
As it shines through the window near my bed
Sleep well love, because in the morning
The skies will once again be blue
After your imagination sobers
The possibilities become few.
If poetry were a man
And he would be a man
As he exhibits all the symptoms of the most haunting members of that sex
On the one hand, a near-crippling arrogance, yet balanced by great likeability
He dons black vintage t-shirts and a bomber jacket
A girl in a red halter lights his cigarette
He drinks espresso as lesser men drink water
And the night, the beautiful night, is his.
With us, his poets, he intrudes with a strange codependence
And we respond with ready affinity
His favorite time to visit is 3 am
Drunk, of course.
We make the coffee
And as he sobers, he tells the most wonderful stories
As we wait, pen in hand.
A drunk man sobers and takes a look at his own life.
Only after he loses his children and his wife.
And all of the things that he once held dear.
To give that all up for whiskey and beer.
He cries and prays the Lord would bring them back.
But hope of that is fading all so fast.
A mother and father to bear in his pain.
And others who knew him all are ashamed.
Ripped and torn their lives fall apart.
He prays to the Lord to heal broken hearts.
He lost all the things that once made him smile.
Joy turns to tears that his sorrows defile.
In silence he sits just to try to answer the why.
Only then does he see and start to realize.
What a mess he has made with drinking through time.
But this is the worst and no end could he find.
Why did I drink was the question for thought.
When he remembers the sorrows that drinking has brought.
The answers came quickly when he started to think.
All the reasons that caused him to want to drink.
He felt like a failure in so many shapes and size.
So he'd drink it all away to just try to hide.
He drank to forget the bad times we had.
And the things in his life that made him so sad.
He thought that drinking would make him feel good.
But that didn't work like he thought it would.
The things he lost he'll never get back.
He tries to go on though his heart is so sad.
He questions God and keeps asking him why.
God softly answers sometimes drinking brings out the demons inside.
I remember the man.
He is the best friend that one could ever have,
he truly knows me like the palms of his hands;
through thick and thin he is always there for me -
I remember the man.
When I come up with lines that perfectly rhyme
he says “Gee, you are the greatest poet alive!”;
when I mess up ‘It’s good for the competition’ -
the man is my biggest fan.
He is my toughest critic and taskmaster,
not content to see me rest on my laurels,
but he does it with love shining on his face -
how I love the man.
After each fall he is there to pick me up,
when I’m up he pushes me even higher;
to him there is nothing that I could not do -
I appreciate the man.
To him this fool could not make any mistake
yet when I’m down he rushes to lend a hand,
forcing me to rise up and fight like a man -
I remember the man.
When I sin he says “It’s alright, just move on
but make a pledge to do good next time, son,
shape up, you can be a much better person” -
that man, he understands.
At times when I’m too drunk he sobers me up,
when I forget to zip up, he rushes to zip me up,
when I stink he drags me to the nearest shower -
he cares for me, that man.
Through every heartache he is there to listen,
through each pain he is the first one to worry,
in my triumphs he advertises my every glory -
how can I thank the man?
When I was younger, brash and impulsive,
he would whisper “Slow down a bit, kiddo”
but now that I’m older he says to work faster -
I can’t understand the man.
In my youth 'You’ll make Cary Grant insecure'
now that I’m old 'You look better than Redford!'
His belief in me is something I’ve never seen -
God, how I love the man.
As I face a new day I pause to give praise
to the most devoted friend that I ever had;
thank you, buddy, for being there for me -
you're a beautiful man.
I remember me.
Dinner was over an hour ago
Counters wiped clean, dishes are washed and dried
I hold my glass up to the light like a color slide,
and see the world, warped, and blurred through the half glass of rosy wine
It makes everything seem clearer, somehow, and sobers my mind
From our long silhouettes, we sit on the lawn, and gaze to the mountains,
talking quietly, and sipping the pink charodonnay
Dark of the shade seems to drink up the light of day
Summer carols being sung by two mourning doves,
are accompanied by a choir of crickets in the dewy grass
calling for reverence in honor of a dying sun
Soft voices are lifted in still air
The pink light seems to paralyze time.
We have found kindness here,
and somehow the grueling trials of the year
seem smaller than they did yesterday
Now the day turns toward the darkness
and we have rid our taste of the dry and bitter dust
of everything that has been said and done
The north wind shakes the trees
and the last leaf that clung so fast and tight
releases its grip, and disappears into the dusk
We shall never need to see where it lands
for we are forbidden strangers to the dark
Let us remain friends with the light
Let us unclench our old resistance
And after we have finished the last drop of wine
we will turn, and go inside
and thank our stars
for the pungent taste
that yet lingers
on our tongues
in case
we might
need
proof
that some years will harvest a bitter taste....
and
some
years
will
harvest
a
crop
blessed
by
the
sun
_____________________________________
For Deb's Contest: "Referential"
reference: Chris Aechtner's Poem: unclench fists
It sobers my soul to see Christmas end,
on its soothing presence I came to depend.
It will take practicing the love of the Son
to feel again the spirit of that immortal one.
It's earned by those who know He is alive
and strive to one day be at His side.
Mourn not the Christmas that's now the past,
cherish its spirit and year long make it last.
Momma went crazy again
drinking up a storm
She just wouldn't stop
through night til early morn
She punched her new boyfriend, Tyler
Gave him a shiner that closed his eye
Tyler called my dad, he came,
to take me away for the night
Tyler looked at my dad
asking how did he do it
Dad touched me on the head
Said I was worth all the ****
Momma broke everything
but worse she has broken me
Tyler is a nice stepdad
I like him and he likes me
Don't know where I'm going
tomorrow seems so bleak
but for now I'm with my dad
I won't worry and will not weep
So today I am with dad
While momma sobers up
inside her broken mess
while her and Tyler broke up