Best Soused Poems
Fly me to the moon
And let me play the stringed tunes,
The nod-nod head of a lover’s hoot
Let me dance among the stars
The tap-tap feet of a chivalrous heart...
When my gaze beheld you-my spouse
In our heart true passions doused
Draped like silk, a face with love soused
A new home in you I found.
I saw in you a beautiful wife
A flashy rectitude that brought new life,
That ravished me with sapphire eyes so fine
Fitted in your pearl socket, not of swine
You have triggered the jubilee of sunshine valentine
Now torch me with the kisses of your lip so bright
And swing me with the noontide delight I delight
Tangoing the tango of moonlight
I woo you with a honey tongue
Like silly doves we coo this carol song
In the sonority of your voice is compassion
Borne in a roomy heart for sacred fun.
… Fly us to the (honey) moon
Play us the bedroom tunes
In a solitary nook,
Let’s twirl this ballet as David in jolly mood
And wreathe in celestial honeymoon cocoon.
Prince Agba.
Dedicated to those who are facing diverse marital squalls in their homes, may God
mend your broken hearts and homes.
Part 1
Onion
the delicacy of friendship
I found you in the flowers
Standing tall we become one
Looking down from gangly towers
Squash, you burn, you pillage, son.
Follow me you say in tongues
Thy shallow mind reveal me tell
Whisper lies clean load the guns
I feel the burn I rot in hell
Friend folly menacing the liar
I loathe this coffin how it leaks
Dear foe you raped me set on fire
The onion peal itself and weeps
Part 2
Traitor
dear monkey boy
Older eyes eat themselves,
glance and kill the other
Unified in the dance,
they steer the musty rudder.
Pained and sweeter deeper wells,
poised buckets drunk with water.
Singled out the one that dried,
handed weights to pull him under.
Wiser times capture the mind,
death justifies dishonor.
Knife slice neat through the devil's back,
who stares blank and milks the udder.
Part 3
Tempest
patron saint
Inside this box
Goodbye tempestuous fall
My puppet of steel coiled thread
Smashed buttons and twisted dread,
Alarm these doors, and
Escape this delusive bunker bed
Stamp the spiders
Thief, vulture of the deflection
The mocking patron of the sinners
Erase this affliction
Relating inward at the reflection
Rise you fool
Part 4
Phoenix
i love you
close the grip
cinched hematic grip
drenched, clawing
seeking the sheave
becoming the counterweight
i absorb, now
extracting the heat
rise like a phoenix
away to be gone to be free
fix me! i have fixed me
i am alive and i love you
Part 5
Aye, Damager
Abolish her state of disrepair
Scattered, spattered drippy thoughts
All around this box of soused leaves
Soak, ferment in the faith of our love
I can't fix this, you know
I loathe this misunderstanding
Of what I am speaking, projecting
To me, Aye Damager, to you
This devil in me
turned and twisted
A wrecked elevator in rejection
Years locked painfully aware
...
Let's live in a fairytale,
you can chase away the dragons,
who's smoke breathes to life,
the nightmares in my dreams.
I can be your Princess,
You can hold me in your arms,
Like a Knight in shinning armor,
And hush away my screams.
No more wasted time,
with smoke and mirrors,
You're not a Court Jester,
lets speak the truth.
Will you say a sweet goodbye,
Or will you not shed a tear from your eye,
There's a dagger in my heart,
The icy pain is all I need for proof.
Diamond teardrops from my eyes,
Hurry dear, they say you must be quick,
To capture each before they dry,
The tears of when a Gypsy cries.
Are you, nothing more than a collector,
Do I hold no beauty in beggers clothes,
Lets face reality my love, you are no knight,
And neither a Prince if truth is to be told.
And I am no Princess,
Did I once have you fooled?
Though once we lived as such,
Our love has ever cooled.
Must I break through,
Past the freezing layers of your heart,
To see if the thought still pains you,
Of us being forever apart?
I must open my eyes,
And live in the truth,
That dragons do not exist,
And are just fiction of the soused.
You will not ever save me,
from their tongues of flame,
But burn me with your own,
And make me feel my shame.
You will not shield me,
from poisened arrows that fall,
but with the anger in your eyes,
I'll feel as if they've broken through the castle walls.
I was once, the Juliet,
That led you to your death,
Venom rampent through your veins,
Revenge seems to be your quest.
At each word you say,
It feels as though I'll die,
My heart breaks and shatters,
And you show no concern of why.
And yet at night you pull me close,
Whispering sweet nectar to me,
That makes me wonder,
Must we still live in their reality?
Is there hope left for our fairytale,
To have a happy end?
Love like a fairytale, or Harsh Reality,
No time left to pretend, I must know the end.
It's shadowed in darkness, growling like a hound
Creeping about, whispering as it slithers around
Begging for attention, for it desires to be found
Silence is loud when its echoes continually resound
Behold, it comes masked, disguised in these places
Preying on the gullible ones with innocent faces
Cajoling as a lover would to gain their good graces
Offering false humility with arms of frigid embraces
Silence cries out with a stench breath for adoration
Quietly seducing the naive with phrases of flirtation
Long ago, spawned to be the wielder of denigration
Contrived as a stealth mute, soused on pride's libation
Writes with ink splotches, dripped from a toxic tongue
Its poetry is deceiving, lyrics not meant to be sung
In darkness, it leaks toxins with the scent of dung
Disguised as a pacifist, but its bile words are flung
Silence, speak what you should be wanting to say
then fade back into the shadows where you often play
Your acrimony doesn't fool the many you did betray
Sheath your querulous pen, for it leads people astray
Locked inside a summer dream that never ends
I am a breathing tree, a pushing flower, a seedling
Hemmed in by a sun that shines and never spends,
I am a rose in a garden, filled with mystical healing
Enfolded in the hour I am a sunny season of joy
laughing, giggling, scintillating, playing with the wind
Concealed with beauty that never ends nor deploys
I am June, July and August, rushing in without rescind
Immersed in the scent of sweet mulched fruits
I am an apple in the orchard of crimson cherry red
Soused in heat I dip into pacific waters find my route
I am all the things you can imagine in your head
Locked inside a summer dream that never ends,
I am hemmed by a sun that shines and never spends .
Early morning delivers birdsong joys,
as the darkness is swept away by God.
Undulations for my ears, sonorous
and dear, over and over - I ponder
small bodies with feathers, noteworthy songs.
Why does their cadence console us each day
as the sunrise breaks forth with cheeriness?
How awfully sad that the night dwellers sleep!
They douse their ears with flammable liquid.
I weep for soused sufferers who miss out!
I spied the church steeple, with a “caw, caw.”
I bet those crows are there each day to greet
those seeking the inner doors of its peace.
Who notices but I, the poetess?
Who cares at all if crows speak well of us?
September moon,
celestial skinny-dippers,
sangria soirée, so soused,
starlight swimming,
summertide celebratory,
singing soon sepia snapshots,
streaming in soulful sisterhood
psyches of sorrowful separating friends,
sadly, still scattered,
sweetly soliloquizing of
September of ‘76. ~
Praise my poetry prowess
I'm a man not a mouse
With my prose and my rhyme
Yes my ego's been soused
And is big as a house
At least most of the time
When level, I canter
I revel in banter
I'm not anyone's mime
Put me up on that stage
Though I don't act my age
And I'm well past my prime
So come in for the show
It don't cost much you know
Just a measly red dime
Said you're saving your bucks
And think poetry sucks
Then I say that's a crime
He could fight and win battles, could this General Ulysses Grant!
Other of Lincoln's generals were continually sayin', "I can't!"
Though 'twas well-known that General Grant relished his schnapps,
Even soused he could concoct solid battle plans by studyin' his maps.
Becomin' frustrated with his other generals and their lack of action,
Abe suggested to an aide that if it would help them get some traction,
He'd like to know what Ulysses drank and where he got the stuff,
So he could send a barrel to every general to get him off his duff!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
through dawn fuzzy haze
soused in sunrise cointreau rays
sits the woozy moon
Viv Wigley July 4th 2015
(For contest 'Drunken moon' sponsored by SKAT A)
Hoping everyday there will be a vicissitude in your thinking.
Irritation and repose.
Waiting.
For a text, a call, reticence.
White space on paper.
Empty.
I drank your wine.
I reveled in your game.
Laid nude and bent over your couch while you created rudiment on the floor beside my foot.
Vessel.
Held my breath, eyes shut while you finished yourself.
Watched you cook steak on the grill.
Men get hungry or sleep, you were hungry and I have told you;
I don’t eat red meat.
You tell me to retire myself from cooking because our duties are equalized though our genders are not.
I ate the steak.
Copious house, sizeable paycheck, exiguous man.
Microbic consort.
Missed appointments.
“You should have reminded me….” you say
But I know anything important is worth remembering or writing down.
I am sullen.
In life I am compensated to remind men of various appointments.
“Could you jot this down…….remind me on this date….”
Though it’s not my berth, my disposition to succor puts me in this bearing, and in my own dash, I don’t find gravity to prompt a man that we have a reservation once every few weeks outside his couch.
I won't ask again for what I demand in whole; time, allotment, an epoch.
Time spent unbent over leather couches in precarious manners, minds soused with wine.
I am letting you go.
I am detestable, inconsequential.
You are pulchritudinous and astute.
White space on paper.
Someone is waiting to write me a poem.
On Ladies' Night, there was
A little discount on the drinks,
A custom quite old-fashioned
And surprising, too, methinks.
Who wouldn't like the bill reduced
When going out to eat?
A savings of some buckeroos
Is always kind of sweet.
But Ladies' Night in modern times
Just sounds so not P.C.
It harkens back to times before
So-called equality.
The purpose then (and maybe now)
Was getting women soused
So men would have the chance (they hoped)
To get a gal unbloused.
My dinner with a girlfriend
Got me two bucks off my beer,
With not a man in sight
To give a glance or, much less, leer.
shadowed in darkness, sniffing as a hound
creeping about without releasing a sound
begging to be noticed, wanting to be found
silence is too loud when its echoes resound
behold, it comes creeping to known places
among those of us who wear innocent faces
cajoling in soft whispers to gain good graces
offering false humility and fridgid embraces
silence cries with stale breath for adoration
quietly seducing with phrases of flirtation
spawned to be the wielder of denigration
a stealth mute, soused on pride's libation
ink splotches fingered from hushed tongue
will never be songs aptly written to be sung
in silence it leaks acid and toxins are sprung
disguised as a friend but what lies it's flung
SPEAK the truth you have neglected to say
then return to shadows where you oft play
your silence has not fooled those you betray
sheath your vile dagger then be on your way
Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting soused in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!
O Captain! Shift Captain!
Apology to Walt Whitman
O Captain! Shift Captain! Our dreadful shift is done,
The bar has survived the night, the clock has ticked to one,
Let’s have a beer, that’s silence I hear, the drunkards all exiting
While follow steps on unsteady knees, the vagrants soused and high;
But O stomach! Stomach! Stomach!
O the putrid drips of vomit
Where on the floor my Captain lies
Passed out, drunk as dead.
O Captain! Shift Captain! Get up and pay our wages
Get up-for you the party’s over-for us our anger rages,
For you a tepid pool of urine-for you the door’s a-closing
For you we call, your disgruntled staff, our eager palms extended;
Now Captain! Dumb manager!
Your arms beneath your head!
It is your routine that on the floor,
You pass out every night.
My Captain does not respond, his eyes are glassy and bloodful,
Our Manager does not feel our pain, he has no heart nor soul,
The bar is closed safe and secure, its neon sign turned off,
From a wild night the popular bar closes with profit won;
Complain O staff, and wring O hands!
’Cause I with no one else’s aid,
Nudge the butt of Captain who lies,
Fallen and we don’t get paid.