Long Hard liquor Poems
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This won't be a pretty picture, but I'm going to use this paper to put my art on
I'm not heartless, let me show you where my heart's gone
Should I be ashamed? Should I hide my scars?
Some were gave to me, others inflicted from self-harm
The weight of the world on my shoulders, is easy to carry compared to the pain in my heart
I fell so many times and had no one helping me up
How could I be alone when I have depression telling me I suck
I wanted to get close to you Chantal, but depression was right there
It made me push away my dream girl and continued to be my nightmare
Age 13 I lost my virginity to a girl called Meg
I grew up quicker than I should have
I wonder if she ever thinks of me? Do I pop into her head?
It wasn't her first time, so I doubt it was as special for her
If she reads this, I hope I can make her feel special with words
There I go, Putting out stuff about me the world doesn't need to know
I'm probably wrong for putting my heart on display when I write this
I just hope people who give this a read will grow
Even if they judge me, I don't think I can hide this
I battle suicidal thoughts daily, so a lot of people consider me weak
I can rhyme my pain perfectly, but I'm unable to deliver a speech
When my ex cheated, was the guy richer than me?
Was he bigger than me?
I don't need to know, tell the bartender it's a hard liquor for me
All of my mistakes came with a lesson attached
I've never touched drugs, even though my brother and sister are injecting smack
Who am I to judge, when I used to pick up blades and made myself start bleeding
Depression makes me tired, anxiety prevents me from sleeping
I was bullied at school and made to feel worthless
I can't be a good poet, because I don't know how to word it
Got told I shouldn't love hip hop cause I'm a white dude
You don't have the right to listen to Rakim, Nas, Big Pun and Ice Cube
I was confused as to why they cared so much about what's playing in my earphones
Dealing with my fears alone
Bipolar so a lot of people label me weird
Sometimes I wish I wasn't able to hear
I find it hard to open up to new people who come close
I hide my feelings to the best of my ability from people I know
I'm only human, I hope you can learn from my mistakes
This is my real life pain, but to you its just words on a page
KEROUAC THE WORD SPEAKS JAZZ/Tony Adamo
Spoken Word All in Caps for Better Reading While in Recording Studio/10/14/23
THE JAZZ COOL AND BEBOP MUSICIANS MADE MUSIC THEIR OWN/
THE BEAT GENERATION WAS A NONCONFORMIST CULTURE MOVEMENT OF THE 1950’S/
WRITERS, POETS SUCH AS JACK KEROUAC, NEAL CASSADY, ALLEN GINSBERG, DIANE DE PARMA, WILLIAM S. BURROUGH, AND PHILIP LAMANTIA, AND A WHOLE BEAT GENERATION OF AUTHORS WHO TOLD YOU LIKE IT IS/
INNOVATIONS IN THE COOL OF WORD SPEAK POETRY/ THE BEATS WERE A LITERARY SUBCULTURE THAT WAS DEEPLY ROOTED IN THE TOTAL REJECTION OF STANDARD NARRATIVE VALUES/
MAN, HARD LIQUOR, DRUGS, AND MAD SEX FUELED THE BACKBONE OF THE BEATS ALONG WITH THE HARMONIC SYSTEM OF BEPOP IMPROVISATIONS INFUSED INTO THEIR WORLD OF THE NEW POETRY SPOKEN WORD/
THE BEAT GENERATION’S MOVERS AND THINKERS HIPED THE WORLD TO A NEW WAY OF KNOWLEDGE WITH FLOWING THOUGHTS AND IDEAS ABOUT PERSONAL FREEDOM WITHOUT GOVERNMENT INTERVENTION/
SO, DIG, LIKE THE BEBOPPERS STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS ON THE BANDSTAND, IN PARTICULAR, CHARLIE BIRD PARKER IMPROVISED HORN SOLOS/
SO WAS IT FOR THE BEATS' FAST AND SLOW MUSIC TEMPOS IN THEIR WORD DELIVERY/
TAKING MELODY BEBOP MUSIC LINES, IMPROVISATION ON WORDS, AND INCORPORATING THE SOUNDS INTO THE BEAT THINKING AND WRITINGS/
MAN, THESE JAZZ POETS WERE DEEPLY ROOTED IN THE ARRANGEMENT OF JAZZ WORD SPEAK, BEBOP JUMPING FREESTYLE IN WORD WRITING TO PAGE AND BEYOND/
NOT ALL BEATS WERE JAZZHEADS/ BUT JAZZ MUSIC IN THE 1950s GAVE VOICE TO A LOT OF THE BEATS' POETRY AND WRITINGS/ LIKE DIG KEROUAC ON THE STEVE ALLEN TV SHOW TO SEE AND HEAR WHAT I MEAN/
LIKE IT IS BABY, LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI, KEROUAC, AND GINSBERG, WERE KICKIN THEIR WORD SPEAK WRITINGS WITH A BEBOP INFLUENCE AND A MARIJUANA, HIGH BALL HIGH/
THE BEAT GENERATION FREED THEMSELVES IN THEIR WRITINGS AND LIVES FROM THE SHACKLES OF WESTERN THINKING IN SEEKING NEW WAYS TO EXPRESS THEIR TIMES ABOUT LOVE, LIFE, DEATH AND POETRY.
My grandfather taught me an unusual way to catch fish.
I tried it out one night I went with mom who is a musician.
During the day, she gives well off kids, music lessons, piano, guitar, and so on.
Mom is versatile in the music realm, not only instrumental, but composes and sings.
At night she plays in a hula dance troupe known as an Halau (hah-LAU).
They perform at hotels for the tourist, one was Ross Martin from 'Wild, Wild, West', TV series of the 60's, who met personally with the halau, backstage--and an 8 year old me.
I did what was told me by grandpa.
I brought from the house a few bread in its plastic bag.
Where mom plays at night, there's a hotel bar, the hotel sits on the bayfront of Hilo.
Outside the lounge sits stacks of discarded hard liquor bottles that's not always completely empty.
I would pour whatever liquor into the plastic bag of bread, as it sops it up really fast.
I would break up the soaked liquor bread and toss into the bay that's a few feet away from the hotel.
I would have dad's big net with the long handle and wait a short while.
Soon, fish will float up on their sides, stiff and not dead.
I would scoop them up and put them in our Hinode Rice cloth bag.
As they are a variety of fish that would float up, I scooped only one that I like.
The rest would revive and swim away, whilst the caught ones would be slammed onto the ground until the bag stopped moving--better than a prolonged suffocation and or fried alive, which is the method since they are too small of a bother to chop.
We call them, Manini (MAH-knee-knee) which means small in Hawaiian.
They are really good eating fish, very oil enriched--great frying fish.
Silvery body with sparse black stripes going down their flat sides.
Night trips with mom produces a catch between 12 to 18 manini's.
We also have spaghetti, beef stew, curry stew, and I am not listing any Hawaiian food as they are too great a variety.
Date: 06/15/2019
Retrieved Passage 6:
From The Book of Days - The Cellar
Don't send me down to the cellar
I swear I won't do it again
lest my sanity goes inter-stellar
and I beat myself senseless in vain
Don't send me down to the cellar
there are things there that scuttle and crawl
there are gnomes there that sing a capella
and an evil old troll in a shawl
There are heebies and jeebies aplenty
who leave trails of slime on the stairs
and their brains are undoubtedly empty
and their long arms have unsightly hairs
So leave me my cape and umbrella
and my half-eaten poems of woe
don't send me down to the cellar
nurse, not again, let me go!
Retrieved Passage 7:
Overboard
"Potato Overboard!"
Came the loud mid-shipman's cry
the Potato King had fallen in
we hung him out to dry
dangling from the mainsail mast
festooned with swaying weeds
it cured his hangover quite fast
it usually succeeds
"Oh Your Majesty"
said his fair queen, in dismay
the gulls had eaten both his socks
and took his wig away
he was a spud of rangy height
wall-eyed, with lantern jaw
but now he was a sorry sight
as many times before.
"Potato Overboard"
was a common cry, those days
We never cured His Majesty
of rabid dipso ways
he would fall into bouillabaise
cow troughs, and out of ships
and always buy up hard liquor
on foreign shopping trips.
Retrieved Passage 8:
The Hour of Cool is Nigh
I came to chill
I came to mellow down
I came to groove about in a yellow gown
hey man, I want to shimmy like a yak
this is the hour I have my cool attack
I came to chill
I came to croon for lurrve
I came to give coolness a helping shove
hey maestro, hit the bass and timpany
this is the funk hour, in the Name of Me
Dressed to thrill
I came to chill this town
to say "one has to get up to get down"
I came to watch the bumble bees go by
hey give it up, the Hour of Cool is nigh.
The Un-Cowboy Like Cowboy
this is the story of cedric hyde-fleet
the most un-cowboy cowboy you ever would meet
cedric was english, not british you see
but, being a cowboy was what he wanted to be
he was from england
as i said before
never ridden a horse
and well, what's more
his image of cowboys
was of those on tv
but, being a cowboy
was what he wanted to be
he was all set to travel
and leave his home land
out to the west
but, he was allergic to sand
the dust would wreak havoc
with his pale, flaky skin
ten miles from home
was the furthest he'd been
he had a six shooter
which he'd nicknamed Old Burt
but, he didn't have bullets
they made his ears hurt
the smell of the powder
and the noise of the gun
made cedric wonder
if this would truly be fun
he needed a cream
for the chafing down there
and a specialized hat
to protect his thin hair
a brush wouldn't do
he would need a nice comb
he reacted to flannel
so he'd get shirts from rome
he'd fly out from london
head out west to a ranch
find a town just like gunsmoke
and a bar....the long branch
but, his stomach was tender
hard liquor was out
and the salt in the food
would just trouble his gout
but, cedric hyde-fleet
was determined to go
to the united states
to join a wild west show
he'd start out learning riding
how to shoot, and all that
he'd learn about cattle
he had his own hat
he was the most un-cowboy cowboy
they would have in the west
but, with his dedication
he would soon be the best
he would get all equipped
from dolce and gabbanna
his shirts and socks matched
his silk plaid bandanna
now, cedric hyde-fleet
never ever left home
never got on the horse
or got shirts made in rome
the things that he wanted
were the things that he'd seen
and he forgot about cowboys
when he first saw ....The Queen
JOE HENDERSON’S PROLIFIC OUTPUT AS EITHER A SIDEMAN OR LEADER/
IS SHEAR SONIC VELOCITY OF MUSIC COMING FROM HIS TENOR THINKIN' MIND/
NO HALF-STEPPIN HERE BRO/JOE’S INSIDE-OUTSIDE APPROACH GOT YOUR BACK TO EVERY SIDE HE PLAYED ON/
TO THE LIVE SHOWS WE DUG HIM AT/
HE BLEW HIS TENOR HORN UP TO AND LET HIS PLAYING SPILL OVER INTO HARD BOP/
HENDERSON WAS ALWAYS DIGGIN' INTO THE HOT-N-KOOL VOCABULARY OF JAZZ TO COME UP WITH
NOTES THAT AREN’T ALWAYS OBVIOUS BUT ALWAYS FIT/
HE WAS A BRILLIANT COMPOSER AND ATMOSPHERICAL MASTER CREATING THE SPACE FOR THE
LISTENER TO DRIFT INTO AND CREATE THEIR OWN SOMETHIN ELSE WORLD OF MUSIC IN DIGGIN HENDERSON’S JAZZ CHOPS/
JUST COOK-N-BURN BABY/ ALWAYS STICKING TO HIS UNDILUTED APPROACH TO HIS TENOR HORN PLAYIN'
FROM FIRST POPPIN ON THE JAZZ RECORDING SCENE WITH HORACE SILVER, LEE MORGAN, AND McCoy TYNER/
JOE EVENTUALLY CAME TO SIT ON ONE OF THE PRESTIGE RECORDING CHAIRS AT BLUE NOTE RECORDS/
AS A TALENTED WELL TRAVELED AND VALUABLE NU HIP VOICE AS A BLUENOTE SIDEMAN TO THE MANY BLUENOTE RECORDING STARS OF THE DAY/
JOE’S PHRASING AND MODULATION
ARE FLAWLESS/
HIS FLOATING THOUGHT PROVOKING SOUND’S THAT WERE AT THE TIME’S HARD LIQUOR JAZZ MIXED WITH
MAD SEX MUSIC/
SET THE STAGE FOR THE JAZZ AFICIONADOS TO DIG THE DEEP GROOVE IN JOE’S RHYTHMIC TEXTURED
LAYERING ON HIS SPEED RUNNING TO HIS FLAME-THROWING ICE-HOT SCALES THAT BURNED THROUGH THE ORGANIC JAZZ ORCHESTRATION IN HIS SOUND ARCHITECTURE/
THAT HYPED UP THE NATURAL THINKIN' IN HOOKIN UP THE HIGH VOLTAGE IN HIS HORN TO FRACTURE YOUR HIPSTER THINKIN' TO NO END/
JOE HENDERSON
BLUE BOSSA
LUSH LIFE
BLACK NARCISSUS
POPSICLE STICK
JOE’S SCATING HIS VOCALIZE
TO HIS SOUNCLOUD JAZZMIX
It sits back and waits, it lives in your soul.
It slams you and breaks you when you finally feel whole.
It’s been so long since you’ve let it in.
Standing on guard, it just wants to win.
You finally give in the force is to strong.
You remember the time it helped you belong.
Falling so fast, it sucks all your being.
It’s got you again with you not even seeing.
You sit all alone, wonder how you got here.
You remember the pain, the shame and the fear.
You want to put down but its too hard to fight.
You are just days away from turning out the light.
It is growing and growing, it is growling so loud.
By you giving up this demon is proud.
It waited so long to steal you for good.
It pounced on your weakness, it knew that it could.
Now your heart slows, your body shuts down.
It looks from above you and laughs like a clown.
Whether heroin or crack, whether beer or hard liquor.
It runs through your body, you get sicker and sicker.
Your plan did not work, it takes off your mask.
Your soul leaves your body, remembering the past.
How did this happen? This can’t be the end.
You have so much to do and so much to mend.
It is raining outside, there are so many people.
Looking down on the church, you watch from the steeple.
Mom please don’t cry, I did not mean to die
All that I wanted was just one more high.
The casket now closes, I’m scared full of fear.
I can’t believe I caused this, the end now is here.
The pain that I’ve caused, the lives I have ruined.
I put them through this, it’s all of my doing.
My family now throws that final black rose.
The end now is here, this now is my low.
It wasn’t worth this, it was not even fun.
It accomplished what it wanted, addiction has won.
Old boozed Willy was hostile and not ready to lose;
a dirty face, a glowing nose...
only a firefighter's water hose
could have put out the heat he had gotten from the booze!
All the boys of Tumbleweed scampered like chased mice
as they saw his bulgy belly hanging from his trousers...
ah, his bad breath had the stench of a piggy;
they yelled angrily, " Go to another town, fatty! "
What was on his hot, red tongue?
The smell of Johnny Walker's whiskey?
They always saw him leaping like a frog...
when he finally got up, he looked so scary!
Who crossed Willy...driving him to drink that poison?
He cussed everyone getting a bit closer to his whiskey,
never did he mess with a chubby, bickering mommy,
who came running,...brandishing a long, black baton!
One noon there was a large rally by his door
to evict him from his bungalow...what was the reaction of Willy?
He brought out a case of expensive whiskey,
and offered them lots of drinks...they drank and felt mellow!
So they kept on drinking the hard liquor...
until it hurt their full, burping beer-bellies,
but one of them quite sober hollered with a stuttering voice,
" Get Willy, he stole all the whiskey from the Happy Hour Bar!
Old boozed Willy was hostile and not ready to lose;
a dirty face, a glowing nose...
only a firefighter's water hose
could have put out the heat he had gotten from the booze!
My comment:
It wasn't fair to chase after Old Willy after
they drank his whiskey, even 'though they found out
it was stolen. They weren't a bit thankful or compassionate,
but drinking it without asking him how he got it,
made them his partners in crime!
Pool's Prince Charming
by Michael R. Burch
this is my tribute to the legendary pool shark "Saint Louie" Louie Roberts
Louie, Louie, Prince of Pool,
making all the ladies drool ...
Take the “nuts”? I'd be a fool!
Louie, Louie, Prince of Pool.
Louie, Louie, pretty as Elvis,
owner of (ahem) a similar pelvis ...
Compared to you, the books will shelve us.
Louie, Louie, pretty as Elvis.
Louie, Louie, fearless gambler,
ladies' man and constant rambler,
but such a sweet, loquacious ambler!
Louie, Louie, fearless gambler.
Louie, Louie, angelic, chthonic,
pool's charming hero, but tragic, Byronic,
winning the Open drinking gin and tonic?
Louie, Louie, angelic, chthonic.
NOTE: If you like my tribute you are welcome to share it, but please credit me as the author, which you can do by copying the title and subheading. I used poetic license about what Louie Roberts was or wasn't drinking at the 1981 U. S. Open Nine-Ball Championship. Was Louie drinking hard liquor as he came charging back through the losers' bracket to win the whole shebang? Or was he just pretending to drink for gamesmanship or some other reason? I honestly don't know. As for the word “chthonic,” it’s pronounced “thonic” and means “subterranean” or “of the underworld.” And the pool world at its worst can be very dark indeed, as Louie’s tragic demise suggests. But everyone who knew Louie seemed to like him, if not love him dearly, and many sharks have spoken of Louie in glowing terms, as a bringer of light to that underworld.
To be these days on the front line sucks
but also, to be last in line sucks
to get hit from behind when you are at a stop sign sucks
A sour grape (not just one on a vine) sucks
Pandemic’s closing of your favorite place to dine sucks
To be a cat on life number nine sucks
To be so sick you always must recline sucks
To learn one’s cult is not divine sucks
During Xmas time especially, to be allergic to pine sucks
To see those protesting destroying your beloved shrine sucks
To want hard liquor when there’s only sweet red wine sucks
To want red wine when all you find is moonshine sucks
To learn your faux fur coat is made from an exotic feline sucks
Asked to explain a word you used (but can’t even define) sucks
To never be able on issues with your partner to align sucks
To have to be with people who act like swine sucks
To be a someone who lacks a spine sucks
For you to have to listen to me whine sucks
To have to stay inside your house confined sucks
For me to end this poem with two near-rhymes really really sucks
N/A
Aug. 10, 2020 for the "It Sucks" Poetry contest