Drunk Meanderings

[OhMissScarlett]

Thanks for the kind words, MissScarlet and Cantdog!

In the poems I posted, the first one was beer drunkenness, the second one vodka. I'm just thinking that it would be interesting to explore whether different types of alcohol tend to produce different qualities in the poetry. I think that to produce any sort of accurate results, a larger sample size is necessary. Anybody want to join me in doing some research?

This sounds like a great project. I wonder if we can get some sort of a grant for our expenses. Just don't give me any tequila or I'll be sobbing and losing my keys.

 

[The_Fool]

Thanks for the kind words, MissScarlet and Cantdog!

In the poems I posted, the first one was beer drunkenness, the second one vodka. I'm just thinking that it would be interesting to explore whether different types of alcohol tend to produce different qualities in the poetry. I think that to produce any sort of accurate results, a larger sample size is necessary. Anybody want to join me in doing some research?

Formal Poetry isn't my favorite. The following were posted on a Poetry thread called "Lachrimae Challenge." This was a tweek on Angeline who was of course being aggravating. It took most of two hours and a major portion of a bottle of Scotch. I did submit them as well, because Literotica makes a great repository. I don't have to go looking through disks and threads and papers and...you know what I'm talking about. Anyway that is unimportant. What is important was the it was Single Malt....

Angeline,

Just quoting you to let everyone know that it is all your fault...

Angeline,
have you seen
what life’s got
out there
for you.



Drink the Villanelle, Hear the Blues

I never knew I had so much to lose.
That you would leave me all alone tonight.
I got that feeling Mama called “The Blues.”

I’d stepped out with the guys from work for brews.
I got that need to get a little tight.
I never knew I had so much to lose.

I know you hate it when I smell of booze.
You came along and tried to pick a fight.
I got that feeling Mama called “The Blues.”

You told me there was no excuse to use.
And that I really wasn’t very bright.
I never knew I had so much to lose.

You hit me hard enough to leave a bruise,
And told me I had best stay out of sight.
I got that feeling Mama called “The Blues.”

I couldn’t stand it when I heard the news,
Her Sis told me she left that very night.
I never knew I had so much to lose.
I got that feeling Mama called “The Blues.”


Trumpet Triolet

That rising note was sweetly crisp and clear,
But left no doubt that sorrow sang it out.
That trumpet player held all that he held dear,
That rising note was sweetly crisp and clear.
From far away that ragtime band drew near,
From one to many a cry became a shout.
That rising note was sweetly crisp and clear
But left no doubt that sorrow sang it out.


Hey Bartender, Pour Me Another Sestina

That upright piano sings out its tinny song
An old black man lends to it his whiskey voice
A half drank beer holds his sheet music in place
A cigarette, half ashes, makes him a wreath of smoke
His eyes, half closed see only far away
The music that he makes can only be called the blues

I listen to him play, I know all about them blues.
I hear what he's a singin', but already know that song.
I wish this bottle of whiskey would help me get away.
The singing that I hear is not that haunting voice,
The tears that fill my eyes are not because of smoke,
What makes me want to cry is no one in this place.

She left me. She left me an empty place.
"She left me, She left me longin' for the blues.
I look around and see her face in trails of smoke.
She left me. She left me singin' a sad, sad song.
I'm haunted. I'm haunted by her sweet, sweet voice.
I done said it, whiskey, take me far from here, take me away.

I've thought hard, I don't know why she went away.
Travelin', I've gone from place to place.
Every place I stop I keep listening for her voice.
Listenin' all the time, for a voice tuned to sing the blues.
The tears begin to flow, when the radio plays our song.
I just keep a dreamin', but my dreams scatter in the smoke.

Reaching for my cigarettes, I light me up a smoke.
A woman comes on by and takes my bottle away.
I'll stay here just a little while, I'll stay for one more song.
There's nothing for me here, there's nothing for me any place.
There's nothing for me anywhere, There's nothing for me but blues.
I can't hear no music, no matter how good the voice.

I've heard that call from that silent voice.
I've seen the words written in smoke.
I've felt in in my bones, that rhythm in the blues.
It's time for me to leave. It time to go away.
Its time to find me another place,
Its time to find another bar that plays a different song.

Blues help me hear her voice.
Song sung far away, hard to catch as smoke.
Away from here I'll travel, to find another lonesome place.

 

[sincerely_helene]

Thanks, Cantdog!

Incoming PM!

 

[carsonshepherd]

Bumping this for Scarlett ~

who thinkgs this is not a good poem.

This little scribbling might be my worst "poem" ever. I would never actually submit this. I found it scrawled in the back of my checkbook after one of those nights I went to every damn bar in town. No more tequila rose for me!

Dilemma
another drive uptown
take the same way back
watching outside for someone who will never
come over again
Definition
Last chance
Ok, 900th last chance and no more
loose ends that will never get tied
Decision
Leave this place or leave my life
go somehwere that sucks in a different way
Denial

 

[LadyJeanne]

who thinkgs this is not a good poem.

That is a damn good poem!!!

 

[carsonshepherd]

That is a damn good poem!!!

I know, and she wrote it while very, very drunk. Isn't she brilliant?

 

[yui]

That is a damn good poem!!!

What LadyJ said. It's simple and simply powerful.

 

[OhMissScarlett]

Aww, thanks you guys. Once again I'm drubnk and scribbling things in my notebook. I may have something incoherent and brillianbt for you tommorow.
It's Carson's faulbt. We cooked with the wine, we drinked it, it's all good.

 

[TheEarl]

Aww, thanks you guys. Once again I'm drubnk and scribbling things in my notebook. I may have something incoherent and brillianbt for you tommorow.
It's Carson's faulbt. We cooked with the wine, we drinked it, it's all good.

Drubnk! Hooray! My legacy lives on.

Not sure it was intentional mind, but still .

The Earl

 

[Wildcard Ky]

Aww, thanks you guys. Once again I'm drubnk and scribbling things in my notebook. I may have something incoherent and brillianbt for you tommorow.
It's Carson's faulbt. We cooked with the wine, we drinked it, it's all good.

Surely there's a cheez wiz story buried in there somewhere.

I pretty much gave up drinking years ago, so I can't say what I wouldn't write while drunk. One of the things that made me quit drinking is that I had the gift/curse of always remembering every little thing I did while drunk. I never "passed out", and always woke up the next morning able to remember everything. I didn't always have a rational explanation for doing the things I did, but I always remembered them.

 

[carsonshepherd]

Aww, thanks you guys. Once again I'm drubnk and scribbling things in my notebook. I may have something incoherent and brillianbt for you tommorow.
It's Carson's faulbt. We cooked with the wine, we drinked it, it's all good.

I also hit submit before she could edit her spelling

Carson, who is only a little bit drubnk.

 

[carsonshepherd]

Me: I can't believe you're drunk after, what, 2 drinks?

Scarlett: I'm not even really drunk. I'm just, yannow, clumsy and kinda stupid...

Me: *laughs hysterically*

Scarlett: I know, I know... Yeah and fuck you, just fuck off, you bitch...

 

[cantdog]

Wow. I liked revisiting my sonnet, too. I am an egoistic little bastard sometimes. Wine is a mocker; strong drink is raging. Dope rules.

 

[yui]

Wow. I liked revisiting my sonnet, too. I am an egoistic little bastard sometimes. Wine is a mocker; strong drink is raging. Dope rules.

You rule.

 

[cantdog]

I'm generous, though. You can rule with me. 'Salright.