Drunk Poems - Poems about Drunk

With nothing but a jawbone, I unhinge the night, let silence die— book of broken psalms, toothless songs of what was right, of what went wrong beneath the hush of watchful sky. No prize, no game, no lullaby— just marrow's oath and blood gone dry. I didn’t mean to last this long with nothing but a jawbone. Still, blood remembers how to lie, to shape...

Continue reading...

Your seawater stirs in me where fire balances high on oil You clasp my candlefire, wick's motioning coil — A sweating kind of missing A burned open kissing The glass shared between us two Flames in our faces as we move To the synchrony past Our dressing these masks These temperatures rising in veins of you and I God, brief tourniquets in time...

Continue reading...

Summer Hiku 34 jasmine flowers in bloom fragrance fills my room~ drunk with perfume. ...

Continue reading...

As happiness now, Johnson thunk, Requires that a fellow be drunk, Pursuing the happy, A literate chappy, So happy became that he stunk....

Continue reading...

Whispers Long and lost Loud and low “S e i z e t h e d a y” Touched my ears, Poured into my soul, Vanished my inner ghoul, The night nostalgic, new, Nectarous and nefarious, Feathered my hands, Floated me from my desk, I sniffed soul soothing poetry Intoxicating from the dusty old Buttery books shelved on, inviting. I drank one poem, And another, Then another,...

Continue reading...

A night in fragments— Breath reeked mildewed regrets, and static collided behind my eyes. I tasted shattered neon, sipping cheap club gin. Even alcohol can’t silence the poet— I mock her perfumed clichés, but still draft her eulogy in thrifted elegance. “I hate writing blind,” I muttered as gin bled through crooked verses— March 14th, a drunk poet sighed— Her pen staged the week’s second...

Continue reading...

Write Eight Beautiful Lines Poetry Contest Constance La France Wrongfully wheel with wanton wills which wastefully works By Author In the aftermath of his tragic fate When adding two plus two is too late I don't understand drunk drivers Why risk it all and leave survivors Now he's resting at a funeral home Lifeless because of a unwise syndrome Yet yesterday he's weaving on...

Continue reading...

Not the First Time By Cathrin Stuart Late at night, you came home drunk Not the first time I heard you and Mommy talking Not the first time You came and pulled me out of bed by the hair Not the first time You beat me in the passage until I bled Not the first time I was not allowed to cry, mop up...

Continue reading...

Old Drunk McNab stumbl'd to confession The priests waits and waits to start the session The priest then knocks on the wall “Occupied…, comes a slurr'd call, …an’ no TP so don'ask the quess’ion!” ...

Continue reading...

You’ve lived through loss— you’ve battled unuttered shame— yet you hold onto Love like it is more than a Delusion—it is Honor—precious and rainbow-like—shimmery and shadowy all in one. You speak to her with Soul, truths that seem simple— truths that survive in warm hands, in melodies, in cadences, in overtones, in steady Voice. You are creased at the edges like...

Continue reading...

Fog unravels its gray threads to smother the sky and numb the mind, words slip away to find other mouths to fall from. Wallowing in a low funk, enveloped by a dull dislike of these sprawling hours, and this gun-metal sky shuffling along as a ghost in carpet slippers. Into a deep glass of wine shrinking spirits sink, listless lips sip mechanically. Words wriggle away as if escaping...

Continue reading...

Rudolph and Santa, two jolly good friends, On their own friendship, so much depends. One day, they both fought, 'Cause someone stole what they'd bought But soon, they were able to make amends. Later that day, they caught the thief, But learning he'd sold their goods caused them grief. They then informed the police, Who gave them ten Pounds apiece. That their kind...

Continue reading...

They embrace the illusion, loud noises of praise - in lieu of the mirage, I opt for unblemished soul. Hidden symphony conjuring reckless gambit, in the open they unveil their virtuous guise. They are drawn to one another like magnets, embracing shared values, dancing with darkness. They cast stones at the different, branding diverse worship as heresy, but God's ways...

Continue reading...

Have you ever been drunk, and submersed in a funk, as if trapped in a trunk but then asked to write junk in a poem which stunk though your mind has been shrunk by a psychotic monk who’s been beaten punch-drunk and if not a slam dunk as a poet you’ll flunk?...

Continue reading...

Like a helpless child he was taken Could not be roused even after being shaken Like one recently deceased Even when gently carried Like the dead away he was taken...

Continue reading...