They gather beneath flickering neon,
in narrow alleys where the pavement remembers rain,
where glasses clink like distant thunder
and the air smells of sweat, stale tobacco, and old promises.
A woman’s laughter, cracked and sharp,
spills into the room like broken shards;
a man leans on the bar—his elbow’d sorrow
ordering another round, trading hours for oblivion.
The jukebox—wounded, nostalgic—
grinds out a song of ghosts and faded dreams.
Bartender’s hands shake between bottles
as shadows press against the windows, watchers wanting in.
Walls scribbled with names never spoken—
with hearts shattered, hopes pawned.
Outside, the city coughs, writhes in sleepless neon;
inside, time stands still, drunk and defiant.
We are all believers here—
in the altar of amber liquor,
the hymn of poured whiskey,
in the communion of husbands and strangers.
Midnight cracks open like a broken mirror—
edges sharp, reflection distorted.
Beer calls; gin beckons;
the bouncer counts bodies, not sins.
And when the music fades,
when the lights cut low—
they linger, some to forget, others to feel everything
in the hollow between heartbeats.
Disturbed by the interruptions
He would be disrupted by my
Skill
Thrill of collaboration
When ones partners are
Determined and real
In that self satisfaction
If achieving a goal
What's in it for me
Ain't gonna work cause
We are not in control
Tallow shall disguise the
Earthy taste of the ostrich
and garlic and onions
Shall compliment it's already
beefy taste
the mushrooms and wines shall
Subdue the gameness
and crumbled bacon shall
Enhance it's taste
Cerleies and salts
With sun-dried peppers and
Sun-dried tomato's shall
Crust the external show'd
Display
We shall cheer with wines that
are appropriate and garnish
Shall accompany the display!
An anchovies and lemon sweet
caper sauce was an alternative
To the cowboy gravy show
I adored them both
But wanted the
Wagyu burger
I longed and lusted for it
One of the lady body guards
Bought six burgers
Up to the room after
The ice cream and cake show
I knew her Friend from Canada
He had been a Bouncer at my
Club in lobster town Maine!
Hollywood thumped with disco
I danced to a
Slutty Opera Tune
I love my wife
Aria Concerto
She make love just
Likes she dances
Moon-bouncer
never high enough
to let go.
They gather where the signs hang crooked,
under gaslight glare and broken clocks,
where the barkeep’s eyes are twin shot glasses—
fogged, but watching.
Gin Lane rolls in on tired boots,
her laughter sharp as shattered glass.
Beer Street hums a fatter tune,
slumped in booths of sticky leather.
They meet at the hinge of last call,
where poetry is slurred and prophets mumble.
A jukebox wails old revolutions
to a crowd too drunk to notice.
The walls are graffiti'd with regrets,
phone numbers of ghosts,
and chalked-up debts no one will ever pay.
Outside, the world is coughing up history,
but in here, time stirs with a muddler.
The bar is a church with no god,
only spirits, and the faithful who sip them.
Some come to forget,
others to remember louder.
A woman in red sings with her back to the room.
A man orders another round
and trades his name for a tab.
Everyone claps when the glass breaks.
Midnight hits like a bottle to the head—
the bouncer shrugs,
Beer Street staggers,
Gin Lane pirouettes into the dark.
meet the go-to guy
better behave in the club ~
a hulking bouncer
Lily is quite a looker
She dresses like a hooker
Dave made a mistake
Asking her for a date
Her husband is a bouncer named Butcher
NOT ON THE LIST
I assumed the mantle of an entitled snob
Pushing toward the bouncer in a tuxedo
Some bruiser of a guy, but it’s just a job
I suspect that he had an unsatisfied libido
Patting down the girls for guns and stuff
But I wonder, why does it affect me so
After a few minutes I had seen enough
I stepped forward with my clenched fist
Hoping after all, that he wasn’t so tough
He smiled that satisfied grin and hissed
Sorry old fellah, you’re not on the list
~ All My Life a Waddie…
I have lived the life of a country bumpkin
matter of fact I came into this world where
Every day was lived hand to mouth so to speak
poor as a church mouse with not a crumb to spare
I’ve lived among the bright lights of the city
just doing the nine-to-five job everyday
Worked my ass off for less than minimum wage
took a few odd jobs for whatever it paid
Been a soldier, farmer, manager and cop
dug ditches, cleaned toilets and worked in a bar
Business owner, cashier, bouncer and a bum
laid highways, built bridges and washed people’s cars
I’ve flown through the sky and sailed over the sea
worked on mountains, the beach and in the forest
All through my life no matter the job I had
I have always tried to do my very best
Always lived the life of a hardworking man
never given a silver spoon that's for sure
I want you to know that I feel still quite blessed
and I would never ask for anything more
Now that the end of my working life is done
time for this old man to quit roaming about
Find a place I can sit and write poetry
until my final flicker of flame burns out
They wait in the night-lit brightness.
I watch them from an over-magnified telescope;
youngsters and older
some dripping a scent of latent maturity,
a furtive effort to blend and not offend
the judges
who have sly thoughts
in their searchlights eyes.
The bling, the gewgaw glints,
the small of fake gold,
the shot passions of high skirts.
They form ordained disorderly lines
eager to bow before the bouncer,
to pour themselves
into the melee and scrum
the jumping pump of ecstasy.
Night life is wanting, is waiting,
it needs to club together,
to sweat the music,
to throb with the sound
of aortic rhythmic impulses,
to dance upon a crushed floor
breathlessly offering upwards
their erotic prayers,
on baited hooks of desire.
The young must,
they simply must,
and we trust they will be tired one day,
too tired, too busy, too distracted
as we are
to dance death away
while drugs snack on their meat.
Life Weary, So Hungry I Could Eat A Dry Bone
Trekking through fire breathing desert, yes all alone
Mouth full of sand, shattered heart so heavy too
Life weary, so hungry I could eat a dry bone
Looking back at this life, where were the breaks my due
I recall all hellacious bad times that came
The motorcycle wreck when I was but fifteen!
All those shots that should have given me greater fame
Those barroom brawls, man that one dude was so damn mean
I laughed, I ran full amok, a bit crazy
I cried like a baby when they shot down Dean
I raised hell doing farmwork but was not lazy
School was a blast but math work I wasnt too keen.
Trekking through fire breathing desert, yes all alone.
Life weary, so hungry I could eat a dry bone one.
Mouth full of sand, shattered heart so heavy too
Looking back at this life, where were the breaks my due.
Robert J. Lindley, 6-08-2023
16 VERSE SONNET , WITH 12 SYLLABLES
EACH VERSE
Note_
My life in my youth was anything but dull.
I worked as a club bouncer, farmhand, factory working manager 4 times, carpenter, roofer, bricklayer, metal fabricator, even worked at a car repair once.
Tom dug deep in dell
had been on the way to hell
would sit for short spell
Brady we could tell
in love all the women fell
head started to swell
who would take Tom's place
down new candidate will chase
between ears short space
be big bar bouncer
a super sports announcer
some event sponsor
was Tom Brady
many deals may be shady
loved by each lady
Mobility Ability Full of Senility
need ability
to have much mobility
also agility
Many Gentlemen fancy Nancy
But for one Nancy kept her fancy:
Thirty- year old Gilbert Tansi,
Whose meeting with her had been chancy…
The- Interested-in-Necromancy,
Near a cemetery his tenancy;
Now, Nancy wants him “Necromancer”,
Leave his Hotel job as Hot Bouncer;
If Tansi does so, he’s paid her price:
Indeed, from Hollow Cup thrown Best Dice…
Nancy with Cancer might soonest die
But would still want his kisses like Pie:
A Necromancer- Necrophilia
Would match a Deceased Nymphomania.
A unique bar with chicory coffee
side by side our famous praline whiskey;
The ‘Black Heart Masquerade’ reinvention
we have completed all the construction;
Fangs out to raise the vibe we are after
with each step your heart skips a bit faster;
The feeling in the lounge achingly hot
comparable to a dopamine shot;
Opening ten minutes after sunset
a man walked in that I won’t soon forget;
He stood behind the bouncer at the door
and headed toward me on the dance floor;
“Did you just step out of one of my dreams? “
I replied, “You can call me Inalem.”
Lord, deliver me from pride-filled arrogance
For it is perfectly clear, I should not dance,
No matter how much I envy others’ their prance.
These days I dare not even risk the chance
I should've known, I saw the bouncer glance,
But that disco beat actually had me in a trance.
Years of practice my dancing did not enhance,
Last time I tried, they showed me the entrance!
written December 15, 2021
I solemnly propose thirty seconds,
As it isn’t at all a search for diamonds
And hasn’t been delivering stronger, bonds:
Only pleasure-soaked “Ohs” and excited diphthongs
Almost always depleting a womanizer’s funds,
Wherefore intercourse should be a little longer than a cock’s
Or the time it normally consumes to put on ones socks...
Perhaps the time it takes a grenadier
To dive for cover after a throw
Or for the grudging handshake between a lack lustre brigadier
And a junior officer of more decorations and glow!
Preferably, the time it takes a cock
To perform its roles of a professional time announcer
Or the uninvited, not hard like a rock,
To be forcibly shown the door by a bouncer.
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