I found today
I found a start
Along the way
I found my heart
I felt the pace
I felt the beat
I saw her face
I felt the heat
I fumbled nouns
I fumbled verbs
I mispronounced
I slurred my words
I felt her hand
Caress my face
I understand
I found my place
It was after midnight,
when he slipped out of bed,
careful not to disturb,
the trailing streamers
of dreamers in la la land.
The house held its breath warm—
willing all within its walls
to stay asleep; not be stirred.
The creaks of timber stairs
were never heard, never slurred,
to blurt out their secrets and
break the stark, thin, brittle hush of night.
As he snuck into the kitchen,
the night light came on,
saving a bare-foot snub.
As he stooped to open the fridge,
he saw the note she left on the door,
from the day before, saying:
“I forgot to tell you the milk's a little off.”
He smiled at the crooked charm of the message,
feeling a ghost in the whispered warning.
Fed the milk to the cat.
It purred with delight.
Sometimes he thought, such tiny phrases,
slip in before they're noticed,
curdle before you taste them.
Only to slink away with a sting in their tale.
With that, he nodded and returned.
The fridge door slammed itself shut.
He wandered back to bed, on tiptoe, making no sound.
He left the light night burning,
for the shadows that rose on the landing,
and for the cat.
Both slunk away, back to bed.
Ive been told not to judge a book by its cover
But now that our storys over
I see the cover was right
You wernt the one for me
You were the one who made me internally bleed
The one who broke me and made me wanna leave
Every word you said like a knife to my back
Thinking if i sat quietly my heart would stay attached
But im still on the curb sitting lost words slurred
What was the point on running me away
Making me carry all of your pain
Nights dark, time sparks
Wish we spent all out time apart
But i let you in, i gave you control
Thats a story always untold.
I shall read you a poem in my drunken state,
if my speech is slurred, forgive me mate,
it is a cocktail of rum, vodka and cognac,
if boss finds out I will surely get the sack!
so am i drinking at work? you may ask,
yes, my mate, from my steel thermos flask,
I bring in to work each morning with me,
everyone thinks it is my Yorkshire tea,
but I need a bit more to help me work here,
we haven’t had a pay rise in full ten years,
I sit around and look busy at work all day,
but just do enough to justify my pay,
boss is a bully who always gets the praise,
when company makes profit, he gets a raise,
all our hard work, and boss gets the cream,
morale is pretty low in the whole office team!
today unfortunately i have had too many,
i meant to kiss Isabel, but I kissed old Danny!
I am sitting stiff in my chair, so I do not fall off,
beginning to see double, now and then laugh!
friends around me know what I am up to,
if boss walks in I will rush to the loo!
Meanwhile my mate, I read you this verse,
if you like it, then raise your glass! Cheers!
(yes, I'm serious)
Three minutes.
That’s how long it took
to name a swarming mess:
A self-appointed poet
with rogue chemicals sizzling in her nerves.
The diagnosis long and fancy—
bitter but addictive
on my tongue,
like the gin I’ve grown fluent in.
(Is that why his voice was slurred?)
“…The patient flinches
at the morning rains in May.
Her ink contradicts herself…
…and her thoughts betray.”
“…Well, this is why.” He pointed at my brain.
I sighed and rest
my head against the chilly wall
painted a welcoming shade of yellow.
The nurse lit branded candles:
they reserve lavender
for calming the stormier souls—
but I blow out the flame
with laughters drumming in my rib cage—
All this time,
I’ve been stuck
in debates on who’s to blame
But finally—finally,
Printed on stapled prescription bags—
a long, fancy name.
Now we can toast
with tablets in paper cups—
Here’s to
finding an enemy that's not me.
Bartender
Somewhat listening
Pour another drink
Another sad story to tell
5 O’Clock somewhere
After hours
A sad break up
Hard day at work
Problems echo
Room spinning
Regrets climbing
Broken down old man in the mirror
Another drink, going under
Bottom of the glass
Acting delirious
Playing the victim
She walked out on me
Baffled through gravity
Another violin
A revolving door
Words being slurred
Bartender said, I’ve heard it all
I dreamed I was in Café Terrace with Toulouse-Lautrec.
We were downing glass after glass of orange triple sec.
And quite drunk, he muttered something that shocked me so ~
he slurred he'd eaten the ear of Vincent van Gogh!
And I jolted awake ~ sunflower bedsheet wrung around my neck.
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.
For the rush of water through pipes
For the sounds of Saviour's screaming
For the gentle touch of night
It is a play toy for madmen
With children's voices silenced
Listen
For a door silently closing
A neighbor's defiant cry
Or a baby weeping in the sullen
darkness
Listen
For the unrung phone
For spiders crawling
Across yesterday's destiny
For a drunkard's slurred voice
When he falls
Listen
For the knocking of souls
And the plaudits of martyrs
Silenced
Swirling my slurred thots
around and ‘round and ‘round
with my miniature blue plastic sword
I’ve pierced my brain
All green and stuffed with blue cheese
Oh, I’ll live
Oh, live
Olive
bottles clink like keys to hell's doors,
my hands shook before they stilled in gin,
first it was a love affair—
warm whiskey whispers on cold nights,
the booze bloomed,
and I rode the flame like a fool on fire.
years lost, sweat-soaked in bars,
conversations slurred, jobs slipping
through my fingers like sand.
I traded promises for the bottom of a glass,
women for the next cheap thrill—
a barstool my throne,
but the drinks never loved me back.
the mornings were cruel
with the sun stabbing my skull,
and all the friends turned to ghosts,
I was king of my own wreckage,
but the throne was burning,
and still, I drank
Darkness walked quickly to me from its abodes,
Silence of the night then dealt me a heavy blow,
Except for the loud scary croaks of flirting toads,
And some short sharp chirps of birds on trees near the roads,
The loud silence would have been without any foes.
Foolishness isolated me there to my plight,
I thought the babbling of evenings lives in the night,
But as soon as the dark sky smiled, noise took its flight,
Then the tall trees of the forest brought me a fright,
The deafening silence around me wasn't right.
I cried for the echoes of my voice to be heard,
Silence allowed them a while before they slurred,
I was scared by the illusion of ghosts with beard,
Tracing back the way given by the sun was hard,
Childhood made the path back to my home very bad.
Then an echo of my name played drums in my ears,
The distant voice of my father pried through my rears,
I ran to the voice that was whispered by the seers,
The more I ran the more the voices removed fears,
Then an ocean of faces greeted me with cheers.
Amber alerts won’t find you
Diction slurred because you use
Drugs enough to kill you dead
Indigo soul please clear your head
Carry your heart to the Son
Two bullets shot from your gun
In denial that you need help
Onyx crack smile and ill health
Not even your child can make you care
I don't feel to great
take a look at my heart rate
don't know why I'm in this panicked state
is it from my overthinking
zoned out I have to start blinking
everything just passes by
your talking I'll try to reply
my speech can be slurred
I understand if you don't catch every word
just don't push me away
my mouth has a slight delay
so give me time to have my say
it always depends on the day
Indeed, I declare, I have seen God.
However, He emerged and vanished.
I was climbing up the hillock to visit the deity.
Noticed an aged-man with scraggy structure
Sitting cross-legged on the verge
Stretched his dangling frail hand
Seeking alms with slurred voice
I could read the pain behind his sunken eyes.
Instantly offered him what I was holding.
Indeed, I affirm, I saw God in him.
He emerged and vanished.
I climbed down as the purpose was fulfilled.
Thereafter, I went on many a time
Offering many to the gathering there.
Intended to envision Him again but in vain
How could it happen earlier?
I deduced that my first impulse was out of spontaneity
But not unpremeditated
I was amazed at this knowledge that beyond the mind.
However, until what is ingested is processed, I fear I may burn.
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