I found myself in Japan,
somewhere on a highwire-bridge,
balancing two feet in a haze.
More than two feet above the solid ground, way up high.
My eyes dart to and fro. Where I started from, I don’t know.
In a country, not my own. Travelling with eyes shut.
I’m with someone - my spouse?
In a dream with forgotten baggage,
it seems - do I remember this clearly?
Clearly not, as I’m told to roll over,
and by the way I pressed the snooze
button half an hour ago, or
I’d not progressed over that bridge without rails and eyes.
Somewhere in Japan - having no idea where I am.
I woke up thirty minutes later, back at home.
I roll out of bed, instead of onto my side,
pushing the sheets, pillows, my spouse
aside for the coffee cup, wondering why
I remember this dream where I left my feet and my eyes.
Is there really a bridge of this sort - how can I find it?
Where did I leave my baggage? Back at home with all my clothes?
Who needs more clothes when you are who knows where?
My mind seems topsy-turvy, as if I’m three sheets to the wind.
It is not a puzzle worth solving; stirring cream in coffee. The end.
Taken the high road
Every damn time
Ending up in the gutter
No matter how hi I climb
Saddle up my high horse
Lead it to water
Same creek different source
One paddle is all they offer
High strung out and out of sorts
Last blast comes with no laughter
Burning bridges the last resort
Blown sky high regret pours soon after
Settn sail three sheets to the wind
High as a kite in lightning storm disaster
In a handbasket hell is destined
Desperate high times spent n plastered
Chasing that dragon that's got me imprisoned
Hell or high water the path to rock bottom is the only pursuit I've mastered
His fits, in a fitted, offend
With a top sheet, he made his amend
So he opened a store
And he drank a bit more
And now he’s three sheets to the wind
H/T, 2nd verse for Daisy Ward's The Mind
I have fashioned my desire from Carpathian obsessions,
Indulging in the calm between extremes.
It’s a blood and iron promise that sets my soul alight,
Embarked upon a pilgrimage of dreams.
Standing on the foredeck in a silent, moonlit trance,
Sipping from a chalice rimmed with stars.
Knowing when I find her, I’ll be three sheets to the wind,
Branded by an irony of scars.
homeward bound three sheets to the wind
floating like a butterfly from a night with some friends
singing hello walls at the top of his lungs
hoping that the gin doesn’t give him the bends
little miss betty with a pan in her hand
waits on the porch for the sight of her man
eight pounds of cast iron should just do the trick
he’ll beg she forgives at the sight of her plan
here comes old bob with a grin on his face
climbing the steps as they creek in the night
as he opens the door with grace and some care
the site of betty’s frying pan brings him sheer fright
without a word spoken she leaps to her feet
frozen with fear now gone is his grin
with a mighty grunt she aims and then swings
bob takes it full force with one on the chin
October 6, 2020
One On The Chin Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Alcohol
Social lubricant?
Laughing, falling, fighting.
Three sheets to the wind!
Drunk
I pegged them out on my clothes line,
Like puppets on a string.
Those baggy pants fit for a clown,
Such laughter they did bring.
That claret shirt, high as a kite,
And three sheets to the wind.
They will dry out, to my delight,
My wet suit it has sinned.
George. Seal. 4/ 1/ 2015.
No. 3 clothesline.
Let me feel your lines.
Inebriated
Three sheets to the wind
Bent, sideways strut
We have all seen the results....
Our minds disconect and ramdomly fire through nonfunctioning organs
such as the thickly paralyzed tongue with no back up thought processes
Rational actions are no longer possible and the mind imagines greatness
Superperson from local pub nation. Kryptonite would be black coffee and food.
(Tears) ooops! Did I soil your paper my.... bad man!!
Words don't
FLOW.
~~~ZZ
ZZZZZZ
ZZZZZZZZZZZ
ZZ
SNORE!
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