12 Bar Blues

They say that Santa's comin'
with his reindeer through the sky
but Santa he ain't comin'
and since you left me neither am i

Christmas is a lonely time
so pass me a bottle of booze
you can call me Ebeneezer
but you know I got dem Christmas blues

Tathagata said:

They say that Santa's comin'
with his reindeer through the sky
but Santa he ain't comin'
and since you left me neither am i

Christmas is a lonely time
so pass me a bottle of booze
you can call me Ebeneezer
but you know I got dem Christmas blues

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You can deck these halls anytime,
you can hang up mistletoe,
You can climb konglike right up the tree,
but baby please don't go.

If you light up my menorah,
I'll shine eight smiles your way.
Auld Lang Syne's an attittude,
mine's raptured when you stay.

darkmaas said:

as jugs of draft labatt’s and molson’s
slid down lonesome throats.

.

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Nice little story in your poem.

As a musician I could relate.


best,
andy

The neoprene glass,
All foibled and stanced,
Rises up above the community
Tonight, in pensive glances
As I watch the Piemen with their chances,

Parked illegal I dash,
Two bucks for a tip I dig-
The foggy December moon
In the west looming ever so big.

He's playing Gershwin but
no one listens.
he doesn't care
really
the air is blue
with the blues and smoke
that curls up
from his unattended cigarette.
he leans in over
beer stained keys sticky
with history
and swallows loneliness
the better to feel
minor notes that make
him remember her.

Wiping off the bar and rolling up the blinds



bump

Raising a round
to lost and found
out this way some folly
drunk

As if the drink can bury the
sad that sits in some pit
inside, eyes cast down
like whisky shots
slammed fingers and
fuck what else is there but
another
glass to pour my thoughts in
gather round this rounds on me
the money ain't worth drinking lonely

so have a glass of melancholy memories
dance a jitter bug in cigar smoke
blue light down
and down goes the other just like the last

and I'll sit and drink them down
till I can't get up
and cry a tear on some strange shoulder
because this weight presses
a boulder in my heart

so raise a glass and chink
it's edge to toast
a memory
of some time when

we were something more than nothing.

Better friends
or bitter friends,
let's find us a bar
that smells of the memory
of cigarette smoke
and laughter.

Some old man
sitting at the upright
making love to the ivories
with singing with the sadness
in his eyes
and on his lips.

I think every blues song
has the taste of that last kiss
before the morning
brings reality.
With maybe just the hint
of that last drop of scotch.

A Toast

To all the ones that came before
Who laid their heart upon the bar

To the ones who kept their time
Felt their rhythm and sang their rhyme

May they all find their peace
In the music which does not cease

the karawarra

In the midst of slums Ville
glasses are plastic after 8
too many people going home
with extra holes in their face

this was not the place
for some metrosexual
with an outback beer fetish
this was for the lowly wage earners
who earned respect with their fists
their feet
and the women drank blood laced vodka

duct tape held the front window together
Al Sat in the corner
shoulders bulging some boulderous mass
Nick named ashtray for smashing them
on his own head when ever he was pissed
testosterone fuelled party tricks rule the roost

a place for men with slow brains
fast hands and tough mouths
beer guzzlers, goon swillers
the metho drinkers sat curbside
order orange juice to cut through
the poison taste

ripped felt
splintered pool cues
dot the floor
tight jeans bald heads
ripple shoes and steel toe boots
have a drink with the drinking class
bring your steel knuckles
swalllow you fear with every beer
and bring on the pain

The photographer waved his wand pulling lies and posterity
out of the rabbit's ass
knowing time
would foil the trick.
the cardoard hat cheaply
covered in the telling black,
a perfect contrast to the
virgin white, once worn,
and there, Frank shaking
uncle Milt's hand, for
every game has its rules.
So said the rabbit, but
it's 2am now, dropped cake marinating in spilled
champagne on the rented
dance floor,
trays of ham, turkey, kebabs,
colder than snow, wilting
shameless in excess.
And the laughter of children
pretentious toasts, crafted
smiles~and the chicken dance
have gone the way of helium.
The priest, knowing
how the story ends, left
before the blade broke frosting.
He and Sister Margaret got
drunk again, on pilfered gin
and wicked taboo.
The only ones
with a lick of sense.

Club 108

club beats base deep sounds
trick shot hotties
slinging drinks and titties
extra for a nipple dip

dark permeates
to marinate the seedy underbelly
and hide the face of those
well passed the age they
should be taking clothes off for cash
in enough dark
with enough drink it doesn't matter any more
she'll smile with her lips
eyes dead as fish
gyrate her hips and walk of with your tip
tucked into a G-string along with her dignity

all she wants is a man to appreciate
the sensuality of
the way she moves
not the tits and ass all in his face
cant resist
like a pizza delivery boy
that has to have a bite of the pizza
down the stairs
in slooooooowwwww mo
slinky tumble.
the rules dictate how much touch you can make
run by coin
extras not here.......
shhh that isn't on the license

heels, lace mother of grace this place
smells of sweat stale cigarette
stewed in beer, served up
for you on a dented pewter platter

top shelf gents, tip of the hat
round of cigars, Cuban import
and her
and her
and her
we'll shoot pool
in strobe light flash
until candy sweet water
pours and hung mouth slack jawed
poleaxed by her every move

eyes reflect the red peek
of the sun, vomit detritus strewn concrete
palms on eye brows head down
it al flashes in staccato's
stumble as if on sea legs
case of blue balls
empty wallet

see you next week?

The London Tavern

underground surround
the bars a round service station
in the middle
dance floor blocks rock
the sight of flirting hips
swinging drinks,
slinging wolfwhistle clean cut
through the baseline

the doof doof pillpoppers
disco treat tasting freaks
line the street, chew gum
taping feet,
the place to be to grind somebody
one night stands slide off with every glass
tight ass long legs
men cut from blow mould steel press
open shirt tan and sweat

smells of sex and decadence
hard beat glow stick twirl
shake that ass
sprinkler dance and shopping trolly
running man
box the floor
no line dance fool

licked lips lit in high gloss
ass pinching women
wink luscious and wanton
toilet stall quickies
condoms slung

sambucca shots
dark liquorice
drunk down in savour sweet
flavour bursts

awake in a strangers room
with pinks walk of shame
running a back drop theme song.....

Me and Hank

Woke up in the backseat
of Hank William's cadillac
once again
me scrunched in one corner
him in the other
and I felt his dull kick
"get up, boy, we got a show in Jackson tonight"
the blinding light, blazing
through the trees,
through my one eye barely open, seared my fried mind.
'where are we?" I mumbled
through desert lips in my drift back to numb
'How the fuck should I know?
Alabama I think"
falling out to take a piss and
get my bearings I took note
of the surroundings;
a gravel lot on the side
of a backwoods roadhouse
now abandoned, cept for us
and a few memories kicked in.
"hey, Hank~
what happened with that blonde
all painted up like a
circus clown?"
he was pissin off the other
fender and as I waited for him
to stop coughing, I knew
I should cry or pray
but all i could do
was giggle stupidly
'The one with the red pants?"
I laughed
"yeah, she looked like cherry jello
In an earthquake"
Hank hawked up some stale
whiskey, spit, and his shaking
fingers lit a cigarette
"I don't know, boy. The barkeep said she was buggy and she smelled bad"
Wonderin which way Jackson was, I fell behind the wheel
and she fired up, as Hank
plunked away in the backseat
warbling, I saw the light.
I guessed left, not really caring
as i flung rocks and broken glass
on another fucked up night and
glanced to the mirror.
Hank sat looking like a pile
of bad shit, smokin a Lucky,
the smoke searching for new chords to bend.
"hey Hank?"
"yeah, boy?"
"how come we live this way?"
Hank stopped strumming and
looked out the window
far beyond my seeing
"cuz some of us were never
meant to get old, and dyin young
aint as easy as most people
think"
I just smiled and nodded
knowing Hank was right again.

pensivepoet said:

Woke up in the backseat
of Hank William's cadillac
once again...

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This is wonderful stuff: evocative with excellent images and a great flow. Kudos.

Angeline said:

This is wonderful stuff: evocative with excellent images and a great flow. Kudos.

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Thanks Angeline. I actually wrote this one a few yrs ago and posted it on one of my blogs, back when we thought blogs mattered. I was reworking it today, and decided to post the new version as it fits the thread.
I hope you're doin ok

pensivepoet said:

Thanks Angeline. I actually wrote this one a few yrs ago and posted it on one of my blogs, back when we thought blogs mattered. I was reworking it today, and decided to post the new version as it fits the thread.
I hope you're doin ok

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I'm hanging in there. I have good and bad days but it's a process. It's going to take a long time to get my head wrapped around this, but I have a lot of support from my kids and his. And I'm writing again, which I know is a step in the right direction. Thank you for asking.

Angeline said:

I'm hanging in there. I have good and bad days but it's a process. It's going to take a long time to get my head wrapped around this, but I have a lot of support from my kids and his. And I'm writing again, which I know is a step in the right direction. Thank you for asking.

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It actually hit me hard as i spent much of a week reading him, and felt a real affinity.
He wrote things that i feel, and i'm a prime candidate and age for the same surprise.
If it happens soon, i hope i can catch his train.
Glad you're writing.
Take care
~alex

pensivepoet said:

It actually hit me hard as i spent much of a week reading him, and felt a real affinity.
He wrote things that i feel, and i'm a prime candidate and age for the same surprise.
If it happens soon, i hope i can catch his train.
Glad you're writing.
Take care
~alex

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I hope it doesn't happen for a long, long time. We need all the poets we can get around here. You take care, too.

the holdfast

The Holdie, beach shore bum about
loose dress code same as the women
three quarter pub/restaurant a place
for the local wannabies to strum a chord
crack a voice and tune a tambourine
some had talent
going no where faster
than dark light smoke machine haze
the tune plays on my time
some one that just won't shut up in a movie

interrupting my melancholy a sad beer
flat and frothless warm as monkey piss
the last dregs of swill
payed my fill
order up tequila and salt
best remedy to flog your memory
tired bloodshot glaze
missed the glass on first attempt
then she lit up the night

the quaver in her voice the same timbre
as that sad little hole I've been pouring drinks in
the blues baby, oh the blues
she has us in the honey of her throat
that drips sweet sadness
fill your pockets lads
this is bankroll payday for us sitting here
trying to die slowly because we lack commitment
for fucking anything
bar the bar that holds us steady
dulls the tremors and that ache that tells you
you are too old for this, but to young and dumb
to retire,

Her voice drops to an amplified whisper
that slices the air keen cut
it wafted on the ocean slick breeze
and fell into my brain
punched my eyes
till they bled tears

I don't know to this day what she sang
never saw her again but I can still
feel her
in that tired place I try to drown.

todski28 said:

The Holdie, beach shore bum about
loose dress code same as the women
three quarter pub/restaurant a place
for the local wannabies to strum a chord
crack a voice and tune a tambourine
some had talent
going no where faster
than dark light smoke machine haze
the tune plays on my time
some one that just won't shut up in a movie

interrupting my melancholy a sad beer
flat and frothless warm as monkey piss
the last dregs of swill
payed my fill
order up tequila and salt
best remedy to flog your memory
tired bloodshot glaze
missed the glass on first attempt
then she lit up the night

the quaver in her voice the same timbre
as that sad little hole I've been pouring drinks in
the blues baby, oh the blues
she has us in the honey of her throat
that drips sweet sadness
fill your pockets lads
this is bankroll payday for us sitting here
trying to die slowly because we lack commitment
for fucking anything
bar the bar that holds us steady
dulls the tremors and that ache that tells you
you are too old for this, but to young and dumb
to retire,

Her voice drops to an amplified whisper
that slices the air keen cut
it wafted on the ocean slick breeze
and fell into my brain
punched my eyes
till they bled tears

I don't know to this day what she sang
never saw her again but I can still
feel her
in that tired place I try to drown.

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I had me one of these. Her name was michelle mcarny (i think) and she became my obsession
Then she got hit by a house on the highway. Literally
Thanks todski for bringing her back for a moment.
Really great write

pensivepoet said:

I had me one of these. Her name was michelle mcarny (i think) and she became my obsession
Then she got hit by a house on the highway. Literally
Thanks todski for bringing her back for a moment.
Really great write

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Thanks, yours was really friggen good, as Angeline said evocative with great word choices, line breaks and your final six lines are sublime.

I've been rolling through my memory to get some of the bars and night clubs I have bounced at not too long ago, I didn't mind the Holdie, some nights though the lack of musicianship was staggering.

Todski~
Seems i've been in nearly every kind, coast to coast, border to border
But not the perfect one yet
That'll be a chicago style pizza
A very dark place, with a touch of dank.
It'll stink as it should
The smoke will hang heavy
A brick front and a back door to the alley, dripping with disease.
There'll be a dozen people scattered to small round tables, no two people together.
And there will be a guy on a small makeshift stage that'll make joe bonamassa seem soul-less
Then i can stop searching
Damn! Now i need sloe gin

Burton Broke My Heart

Old boards of gin-soaked history
and echoed tunes of guess
who and you say could never
happen but I grew up where
Toronto shines in the south
and sexy boys from Winnipeg
could take that mellow voice
away to find girls more eager
more practised at groupiness
to kneel down and show them
that head games are played
with tongues and teeth
when your mind is so blown
that you can't think beyond
another bar with prettier
American women.

Church

On synagogue place
in the hearts and minds the young
worship at the alter of ecstasy
speed lines trickle out card cut
in mirror meth
hard music fast beats
a round of coke
wash it down with rum
to ease the edge
chewed cheeks chomped
between restless teeth

its all dark as they gather in owl eyed
twitch-tick
a trick
of flayed fried frayed minds
that unravel in the slow down
the here hold my glass
with your teeth times
the chest puffing gunslinger stance
rattlesnake spit bite
venom flows in bottled water
they'll have you in stitches
slings and lung gurglings
help me's in broke jaw whisper

the new religion of cracked ice poison
go fast till you crash