A Poet Walks Into a Bar . . .

Today I'm seeing my youngest and my almost son-in-law for the first time in over a year now that we're all vaccinated!!! I'm walking on air. We talk daily but I'm finally going to hug my baby and see her beautiful face! Mr. Bartender I'll have a champagne, the good stuff please. :heart:
 
Eleven lines while imbibing

..
Pour 'favor or five, :rolleyes:
sit in the shade of old maples,
look far across mown lawns,
hazy in the grip of afternoon sun,
sucking moisture from lush green and see
tomorrows supper tease naked flashes when
licked by the east winds well satisfied sighs,
tonight there will be heat lightning and the sound
of fireworks in the distance.
frogs will croon love songs,
cough ill caught bugs.
...
 
Eleven lines while imbibing

..
Pour 'favor or five, :rolleyes:
sit in the shade of old maples,
look far across mown lawns,
hazy in the grip of afternoon sun,
sucking moisture from lush green and see
tomorrows supper tease naked flashes when
licked by the east winds well satisfied sighs,
tonight there will be heat lightning and the sound
of fireworks in the distance.
frogs will croon love songs,
cough ill caught bugs.
...
 
..
Pour 'favor or five, :rolleyes:
sit in the shade of old maples,
look far across mown lawns,
hazy in the grip of afternoon sun,
sucking moisture from lush green and see
tomorrows supper tease naked flashes when
licked by the east winds well satisfied sighs,
tonight there will be heat lightning and the sound
of fireworks in the distance.
frogs will croon love songs,
cough ill caught bugs.
...

A gem Harry, a Gem
 
..
I miss you.
..
Pour the whiskey shot by shot.
drink to friends here or not,
those that kept us square and straight,
those that taught us not to hate,
those that always had our backs.

I miss the me that could cast out lines
right the swirling thoughts in my head
left the write polarities as they sing discordant notes
a jumbled un-rhyming rap from a bag I tote
a few pills some tequila a cigar to smoke
find a cadence that’s worth
a shot in the night
internal rhymes and slanted lines
that have depth, maybe a little swagger
some notes on wet nights and drunken dreams
fractured childhood and maybe a time for old friends

But all my fingers hold is silence and empty thoughts
threads that won’t knit into anything more than snags
a few sausage fingered attempts on the keys
of a non existent piano
as if I’m writing for myself
turning out my mind the way you wring out a cloth
twisted till it’s damp and uninterested in wiping up
the mess I left when I spilt ink on a screen
trying to white out the monitor
as if that’ll help more than the delete
and I deleted this three times before I hit post
but a rambled mess is all I’ve left these days
mind overflowing with the everyday and
no brakes
just breaks in the punctuated grind
But I’ll still sink a shot and leave a note for you
put it on my tab because I always come back to pay my debts
 
I miss the me that could cast out lines
right the swirling thoughts in my head
left the write polarities as they sing discordant notes
a jumbled un-rhyming rap from a bag I tote
a few pills some tequila a cigar to smoke
find a cadence that’s worth
a shot in the night
internal rhymes and slanted lines
that have depth, maybe a little swagger
some notes on wet nights and drunken dreams
fractured childhood and maybe a time for old friends

But all my fingers hold is silence and empty thoughts
threads that won’t knit into anything more than snags
a few sausage fingered attempts on the keys
of a non existent piano
as if I’m writing for myself
turning out my mind the way you wring out a cloth
twisted till it’s damp and uninterested in wiping up
the mess I left when I spilt ink on a screen
trying to white out the monitor
as if that’ll help more than the delete
and I deleted this three times before I hit post
but a rambled mess is all I’ve left these days
mind overflowing with the everyday and
no brakes
just breaks in the punctuated grind
But I’ll still sink a shot and leave a note for you
put it on my tab because I always come back to pay my debts
..
I miss me too. Breaks are only good for when there's something ahead worth seeing or avoiding. My mind drips also, but such beautiful sweat at times, lost in the earth turned, the trip home, interrupted thought.
 
..
The bar is dusty but clean,
except for that one tall glass
in front of the stool with the
Annie shaped dent in the seat.
...
 
This place is dead! I need a drink.....................or four. :D (I miss Annie too, she kept the whole joint jumping.)
 
This place is dead! I need a drink.....................or four. :D (I miss Annie too, she kept the whole joint jumping.)
..
(Pours two glasses of red wine) Cheers! Quick question GP, how many lines do you think a soliloquy poem should be? And yes, a lot of poems might fit in this strange genre. (Opens a second bottle)
 
..
(Pours two glasses of red wine) Cheers! Quick question GP, how many lines do you think a soliloquy poem should be? And yes, a lot of poems might fit in this strange genre. (Opens a second bottle)

Thanks for the wine, Harry. :)

I suppose the length of the soliloquy depends on what's going on in the life and times of the soliloquy-er. Do I sense a challenge brewing?
 
The Drunkin' Poet stumbles into the bar.
Looks us o'er both near and far.
She finds the sole somber and stumbles near.
Says, "Hush little baby, shed no tear."
"Soon enough all ye problems be moot."
"So drink an' laugh before ye last toot."
 
Thanks for the wine, Harry. :)

I suppose the length of the soliloquy depends on what's going on in the life and times of the soliloquy-er. Do I sense a challenge brewing?
..
Nah, just a random thought, saw yours but when I started remembering depression set in from all the folks I've met in my life.
...
The Drunkin' Poet stumbles into the bar.
Looks us o'er both near and far.
She finds the sole somber and stumbles near.
Says, "Hush little baby, shed no tear."
"Soon enough all ye problems be moot."
"So drink an' laugh before ye last toot."
..
(Harry wipes the bar top, sets out nibbles) Welcome, what can I get you.
 
Inspired by the 1930s carol version:

Hark the Herald Angels sing
Mrs Simpson stole our king.

To the tune of While Shepherds watched:

Her aides flee from Meghan's Ire
The gutter press fuelled the fire.

Now Harry's in the land of woke.
He could have been a nice bloke.

What use is a prince with no duty?
Living on his Grandpa's Booty?

He behaves like a total prat
Only fit for: Want Fries with that?


Suggested improvements and additional verses welcomed.

(Best sung with a drink in your hand)
 
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