I used to know a poet. His slovenly disheveled poems reminded me an alcohol-prone loser’s beard, but in person he happened to be a clean-shaven, well-tailored gentleman who hasn't had a drop since Bicentennial. And sometimes it's just the other way round: aristocratic rhymes on closer examination turn into dipsomaniacs.
poets and their poems
don't resemble each other -
poets die poems don't
Categories:
dipsomaniacs, poetry,
Form: Haibun
This is a lateral Christmas,
The reasons for red-nosed reindeer,
Rudolph was on the booze, my dears,
Santa and Rudolph were dipsomaniacs,
They drank all the booze in Santa's sacks,
But worse, Santa's in a Stroke Unit, we fear,
We knew it was a bit hard,
For gifts, Santa maxed out his credit cards,
Red cheeks meant high blood pressure, we fear,
There's worse, Mrs. Santa was a real vixen,
She drank all the eggnog with Rudolph and Blitzen,
The drunken elves kept all your gifts for their party,
They drank all your Christmas bevvies, party hearty!
There's worse, Christmas fairies live in fear,
They did ask Santa one year,
"What to do with the trees, Santa dear?"
"Wait and see!" roared Santa, O dear,
There's a fairy with a tree up her blip here,
Now, Santa's in the Stroke Unit this year,
Folk at the North Pole, too much Christmas cheer,
So, there's no Christmas on Earth, my dears,
This is the lateral Christmas year......
Categories:
dipsomaniacs, christmas, fun, nonsense,
Form: Free verse
That good music has always been played,
To whose tune we've always been made.
Come and see how we dance ourselves to death,
While they prepare our places in the earth.
We are puppetted by crook fingers
Muted by prospects of our bread.
Oh! That strain again, an abomination.
Our ancestors rusting in the earth
Weeping.
We sing and pray to their heaven, their white God,
Praising them drunkenly in the taverns
Our funny suits clinging to dripping bodies-
Cups filled yet again for our health.
And we sing, drunks babbling.
And as we wine like dipsomaniacs,
Our gold and fruits are minded-
We sing in ecstasy urging the crime
Pleasing their greed and killing the time.
When they have stolen enough and gone,
Back to those taverns we run
To sing and dine with ghost
Laughing at us from the shadows.
Ha!Ha!Ha!
Categories:
dipsomaniacs, africa, betrayal,
Form: Didactic