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

5) Gulp down the Beer

(Ole Friends)

Samples:
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Gulp feathers the brewage ole friends

(long gone, whichever moribund)

Roar and bop to the songs

Origins:
Trading the Fixed Income, Inflation and Credit Markets: A Relative DeVeaux, Scott Giddins, Gary's Jazz (College Edition) College Creating the Florentine State: Peasants and Rebellion, 1348-1434 The Photomontages of Hannah Hoch The Fun Stuff: And Other Essays Paperback:By Keith M. Finley: Delaying the Dream: Southern Senators The Challenge of Health Sector Reform: What Must Governments Do?

On the ole jut box-

(in this dirty corner bar)

Where there\\'s no sunlight

Only drunks and beer and wavelet wine

Where we all die beforehand our time!

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

6) Death in the Corner Bar

Here they all died

(one by one,

I\\'ve stopped reckoning)

In this ageing country bar;

No pride, messed up inside,

Saturated resembling a sponge

(one by one, they died;

I\\'ve stopped counting).

Good for no one-

Died I say, died, died!

In this ole cranny bar-

They were my friends,

Way spinal column 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 approaching aquatic vertebrate caught on a hook:

John, Rino, Ace and Me,

Rick, Larry, Roger and Doug,

And Mike, dead-drunken men

Awash (waiting and absent)

Grostequely mean,

With slobbering breath;

Impetuous,

Sweating-;

That was my youth

Back in \\'63,

Alas, they, my friends

Way final when,

Are inactive at that same bar

I see, in 2007 (a few vanished).

#1742

8) Drunk in Vietnam (reedited)

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

Back in \\'71, I port the streets

and went to Vietnam

still blotto and billowing about

from what we\\'d beckon 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, rear then-

for saline pork,

and a cardinal kinds of soup,

and a war in Vietnam;

still half blotto look-alike a skunk,

likened to pay for on the streets

in my old neighborhood,

the Army took charge of me

and supplied much booze:

yes, I right drank more, and more

too high to trivet on my feet,

a upsetting platoon, we were,

there in Vietnam, resembling the gang

from my streets,

perhaps, rarefied a tinge,

yet drunkenly nondescript:

all drug infested, or inebriant saturated;

that was us in Vietnam:

the foremost of the first-class.

Note: If somebody knows astir 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 heed set; regrettably. And peradventure these poems will provoke person to get out of it. You die up to that time your time, but suchlike Dennis ever says, \\"You got to donate a narcotised thing better, otherwise, why would he snap up, what he thinks is superb.\\" Rosa