Its like you always have the last word
And nothing then ever gets resolved
At times what you say seems slurred
Though still what you have said bold
Makes me feel like a complete nerd
As again l am left back out in cold
Though what now seems so obserd
I choose silver though you still gold
And l ask how this ever occured
When upset ,you l so want to hold
Yet the truth then be really heard
Like you say ?if the truth be told
A follow on from open ended
About past relationship
Battle axe (For the 2nd Half) ... "At last!"
Way too fast past the rescue rascal hassling haphazardly mastered dastardly bastards' fractions of captioning cast iron spiraling wired wax on wax off golf cart Bart Simpson minced garlic cubes boob tube huge goober schooner dooms Days Taser taker wafer run stun gun NOT funny honey bun for one shunned lonesome wholesome quotient potion grunt of a stunt punt the ball into mid autumn leaves fall raking reiki draped date maker place mat patty whack hacky sack crap slapped happy tap dance romance slanted jambalaya riot spliced mice diet quiet cheese, please teases on both knees bereavement easing Fort Leavenworth girth that brings birth to twerk twerps slurred slurping squirts of hurting beef Jerky lurching around the church yard disbarred and charred crash cars 100 yards too far to see scars Mars rover Range Rover Red rover come over 4 leaf clover lawn mower seed Sower leaf blower as NOT just another voter devotional spokesperson swerving tertiary but too scary hairy fairy blue berry merry go round sage turns the page safe and sound clown town brown bag the sandwich fad dude and all of that...
At first appearance
you stumbled drunk and slurred words
I was not impressed
Literature is a compliment
Extending outwards
Into a muted feigning of remorse
A removal of the fat slurred tongue
And buying a drink from a bartender
Just to spend time melting cubism
Squarely unfairly unsung young flung across the ditch flee
Happy for me to be the snitch as the rich get off scot free
Property toffs scoff as our nation’s next generation f*ck off
Another bung at the trough child’s play while we all pay GST
Fast lanes or in chains those with the reins no capital gains
No refrain from more cranes poor poured down the drains
Got wonga join the conga to Rarontonga on private planes
Our saviour.. greedy behaviour giving trees to Scandinavia
Relax those with the max keep their stacks with tax so lax
Life givers charming rivers harming for lairy dairy farming
Have observed scary what we’ve heard's absurd have a word
Got to roam can't afford a home blame Luxon's chrome dome
Uncle Fester a Stooge for every corporate Scrooge does pester
We've all been had unless you go to the bank of Mum & Dad
Undeserved the herd as endangered as our sad flightless bird
Blurred after all that has occurred society stirred then slurred..
Mad everything pricey everything dicey plea to free every KIWI
A moment of dread
The world crushing inside my head
The mind throbbing
All thoughts locking
Eyes gone blurred
Speech slurred
Head spinning
Lights dimming
Sweat falling
Feel yourself dropping
Grab anything to steady
Palms sweaty
Heartbeat sky rockets
Tummy vomits
Hard to catch each breath
Hoping next is death
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
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