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Outlook Poems [Old Friends, War and Bars/Part II]
3-17-2007

5) Gulp descending the Beer

(Ole Friends)

Information

Gulp downstairs the brew ole friends

(long gone, whatsoever at death's door)

Roar and foxtrot to the songs

Number of statements:

On the ole jut box-

(in this grimy niche bar)

Where there's no sunlight

Only drunks and brew and riffle wine

Where we all die previously our time!

#1740
Dedicated to the old Donkeyland association of the 60s

6) Death in the Corner Bar

Here they all died

(one by one,

I've stopped reckoning)

In this senescent cranny bar;

No pride, messed up inside,

Saturated look-alike a sponge

(one by one, they died;

I've stopped investigation).

Good for no one-

Died I say, died, died!

In this ole alcove bar-

They were my friends,

Way backmost when...!

#1741

7) Payday Drunk

On payday nights-

We all skedaddled to the bar;

On the way hole we stumbled

Out of the bar, new we were

Dancing about, shouting,

Fighting like-minded fish caught on a hook:

John, Rino, Ace and Me,

Rick, Larry, Roger and Doug,

And Mike, dead-drunken men

Awash (waiting and missing)

Grostequely mean,

With slobbering breath;

Impetuous,

Sweating-;

That was my youth

Back in '63,

Alas, they, my friends

Way fund when,

Are still at that said bar

I see, in 2007 (a few gone).

#1742

8) Drunk in Vietnam (reedited)

(Poem #1743)) 1-17-19-2007

Back in '71, I left-hand the streets

and went to Vietnam

still sloshed and moving about

from what we'd telephone the need of:

sleep, protein, and care-

which I listed in, 'White Castle Hamburgers,'

their wrappings that filled

the backseat of my car-

traded in, backbone then-

for saline pork,

and a c kinds of soup,

and a war in Vietnam;

still fractional crocked like a skunk,

likened to subsidise on the streets

in my old neighborhood,

the Army took watchfulness of me

and supplied more booze:

yes, I just drank more, and more

too tiddly to support on my feet,

a pathetic platoon, we were,

there in Vietnam, like the gang

from my streets,

perhaps, inhibited a tinge,

yet drunkenly nondescript:

all drug infested, or drug of abuse saturated;

that was us in Vietnam:

the incomparable of the superior.

Note: If somebody knows give or take a few drunks and bar life, Dennis does, he is recovering, has been for 22-years. He knows how it is in the bar, bar life, how it looks, and smells, and the cognition set; unluckily. And possibly these poems will cause individual to get out of it. You die past your time, but similar Dennis e'er says, "You got to tender a squiffy thing better, otherwise, why would he hand over up, what he thinks is favourable." Rosa