the door opened ajar
there stood a drunken man with an empty bottle
looking afar
pleading in eye
hobbled in, a shaky wobble
bit high
got Ales
mouthful gobble
bales
A Squirrel,
Through the trash can searching for food
Hungry and thirsty mouth drooling
A sudden find of a bottle of booze
Thrown in the garbage, the squirrel thought it was water and got a sip
Drunken tip
Feeling no pain
I am sure the Squirrel had no idea if it was day or night
Going through fright
A scene for sure
Sparkle I couldn’t ignore
Leave it to a Squirrel
He is not on mind spiral
Drunken Squirrel
How will be sober?
Tiptoeing around
the small house
He is drunk again
Will he be foe or friend
Hard to know
Whether to be fast or slow
Hurry get the coffee
Or help him sleep it off
Just let it go
When he wakes up
Will he be in love
Or still pickled from drink
Will he yell or sing
Waiting on the aftermath
Of his drunken stabs at coping
With frustrations of
Being black in a white world
No one understands
Why beside him I can stand
Is it because we are
Till death do us part
Yin for yang despite
Heartache rain pain
I am calm he is storm
This is our norm
It is when we are most vulnerable that we have love come to us!
It ends up being a quagmire of emotions to calm a savage breast!
A calmness of proportions that are well endowed to bring our emotions into a bus!
Maybe it’s a best of comfort that causes the heart to beat calmy in comfort to the chosen one’s breast!
Big or small they offer the comforts of Proverbs number 5!
The rib protects the vital organs of the body!
Let it be that this calmness causes us to become alive!
It is the only safeguard to our heart that cannot belong to anybody!
Kiss me with love that is overwhelming as if I was drunk!
Only my rib can make me weak as it is the longing for this one flesh!
Because my heart feels like that of a person that is the metaphorical punk!
You are the part of me that is more than a mesh!
My love may be distant
But my heart is not distant
My muse is drunk this New Year’s Eve
Not caring about my desire to write
Slurring words ideas ruining peach poetry
As lit as fireworks in an onyx night sky
His cigar smells and as he yellow yells
Thinking it a funny whispered joke
Jack Frost a blue friend will sit a spell
Jack Daniel flowing down his throat
Eyes so red glassy seem to blur
His vision of the world this night
Ideals still fly high as a blue bird
Despite fluctuating laughs and cries
I offer him coffee strong and black
Same as his views when not drunk
He drops the cup it now has a crack
New Year’s Eve isn’t going to be fun
On the day of your party
Please be sure to invite
The Drunken Clown.
He offers steady humor
At a pace everyone can measure.
His drinks, give love and laughter ,
his expressions: love and empathy.
In a graded lawn he falls and tumbles,
His eyes red and bleeding,
Look to him to point and laugh.
Our drunken clown gets his payment
In full, pursuing the right wingers,
And guffawing with the left.
His sincerity bobbles in an ocean of booze.
Cheers and Slaintè to our drunken clown.
Salud, and Prost!
To our home
And I sleep the sleep
Of a thousand filtered souls,
In ungracious betterment,
And a hope to die by my own hand.
Vicious visions of a youth undocumented,
And a prayer I never have the balls to do it.
Drunk and kinda tipsy, I stumbled lost and
into the enticing embrace of a fair maiden.
She enchants me with her sensuality—
Oh, my total surrender is inevitable now.
Captivated by her luscious lips
Entangled in her aromatic tresses
I staggered across her twin jutting hills
through lush rolling meadow
past her passionate plateau
leading me down a ravine
to her warm well of life
from which I drank to my heart’s content…
By and by, I came back to my senses.
Pleasant pulsations manifest;
boons bestowed by bliss magnetism,
wherein troughs, which once were the crest,
biding their time in body prism,
resurrect at our heart’s behest,
creating for us a new ism.
Pheromones strike joyful poses,
shape shifting in a dance sublime
on a path that’s strewn with roses,
wherein betwixt love’s blissful chime,
synced with a rhythm God composes,
in repose we heavenward climb.
Grace in-pours through heart’s open door
but drunken delight keeps no score.
I fell in love with a Drunken Poet
When with light My Grail He fills
Lyrical Creativity intercourse with pen and paper spill
With Rhymes and reasons salutations
Filled so full, Colorful My imagination
Drunken poetry obliteration
He drinks sooo much, his touch Intoxicating
Slurry words with breath of sweet Rum
Penetrating and Pouring light until I succumb
He woos with words and stirs Me up
I have gotten addicted to his Liqueur syrup
Transporting my mind to Celestial Bliss
Overflowing with every Drunken Kiss
Drunk in Love, my heart Enshrined
Top shelf Libation pours, He wants me to Shine
He slurred" let go baby, I'm yours, You're mine"
I got sooo drunk, couldn't hold My liquor
Fondled My Pen, vomit on paper
He slurred, " Go on baby, it's best for your liver"
Now my speech is liquored sweet ingredients to my potion
Drunken poetry creative recreation.
Shout out to Elliott Bowe>>>creator of drunken poetry.
May one love you like Shakespeare?
Write verses to bring you near.
In delicate sighless sips,
taste wine from your drunken lips,
as drops induce and seduce,
become drunk from your sweet juice.
The night comes back in flashes,
As I look for the pieces,
Buried somewhere in these ashes.
So what changed that one time?
We were an acquiescent class
Where talking was a crime.
Maybe we had too much to drink,
A mess and an introvert
We simply forgot to think.
Did I say something senseless?
I don’t remember much except
Your hand under my dress.
Oh what I wouldn’t give
To rewind time
To remember what I did with you
And how it felt to look at that azure blue
"drunken ADD"
i need
a bottle
of gin to
begin my
hey it's
a
tequila
sunrise
"drunken canuck roadside assistance" or "AA eh"
perhaps i can
't cook with
out a
douse
of what's
not out of a
moose's
snout
or
what snot
is not
a
boot or
about
but
i know what i
knew i now
know
now
that
then
if your day
begins then
it should also
end with a
Guinness and
an absolvo te eh
men
An English accent helps,
if you’re at least half well dressed
in an American bar.
Your voice maybe a passport
to getting yourself laid
or it may perhaps be an invitation
for some young buck to spoil your night
in a fit of beer rage.
However,
if you leave with the girl,
it was because of your good looking
accent;
and I thank you
Sir Winston Churchill.
Drunken joke
smelling blood
dirty hands
broken bones
who was him?
I don't know
brought me here
without love...
Drunken joke
what was that?
why did you do this?
why were you mad?
what turn a good man
so deeply bad
who did this to you
I wish I could ask.
Drunken joke
drunken lie
made my mother mother
before time
I can't hate him
but I won't lie
I hate every single step
that brough him into our lives.
Jessica
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