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Poetry Magnum Opus

A Drinking Man [R]


fdelano
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Hell yes. Since unshackling my chains

 

of boyhood slavery. The first shot

 

of bad whiskey almost making me into

 

a teetotaler, but I had buddies who laughed

 

and poured me another.

 

 

Booze, cigarettes and chasing tail,

 

our mission in life and fun as hell.

 

Barely avoiding punishment

 

in the military, by hangdog sorrow and regrets.

 

 

Living only for the next meager

 

pay, doled out by an officer after

 

you saluted correctly and stated

 

your SSN, your life’s ID.

 

 

Good genes from a professional

 

drinker have saved me from liver

 

and kidney disorders, so say my

 

every six-month’s blood chemistry.

 

 

Now I must maintain the balance

 

between good wine and pain killers.

 

Being old does carry experience

 

in survival, thank you Jack Daniel.

 

 

A wee sip does loosen a tight-ass

 

to the point of typing stupid thoughts

 

late at night, something to regret

 

in the pain of rays of sunlight.

 

 

Salute!

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Larsen M. Callirhoe

i would join you for a glass of fine wine a swig of jack and a shot of gin and tonic. the life yes... i hate damn nursing homes. the dead can bury the dead literally LOL... awesome write as always.

 

victor

Larsen M. Callirhoe

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Fine, fine celebration- Poet's and writers tend to be drinkers so much so we take it as a 'fact' ;-) And I enjoy the honest look @ the less than flattering side as well;-) Many thanks- Juris

thegateless.org Come on over and check out my poetry substack y'all;-) Or if your bored, head to the Zazzle store: https://www.zazzle.com/store/gateless. If you buy anything I lose a bet, so consider that before you violate the digital rules.

 

Gate(less.png

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Great subject material. Peer pressure,the social and personal aspects of drinking-- and a philosophy shaped by experience. I was weaned on traditional drinking songs with choruses that ranged from the rollicking highs of “Old Rosin the Beau” to the sombre lows of “Ye Mariners All” and those sardonic last lines, “When I am in my grave and dead/ And all my sorrows are past and fled/ Transform me then into a fish/ and let me swim-- in a jug o' this.” Although I still feel I have some way to go yet. G. :wink:

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A wee sip does loosen a tight-ass

 

to the point of typing stupid thoughts

 

late at night, something to regret

 

in the pain of rays of sunlight.

 

I think that could be a poem in itself, though I did enjoy the irony of 'the buddies'.

 

badge

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My thanks to all who found something in this bit. It actually was written in one of my middle of the night sessions. Not a life I would wish on any other, but the irony at my age had to come out. Benjamin, I recall a song by Willie Nelson that claims "If the ocean were whiskey, and I was a duck, I'd swim to the bottom and never come up." Find a large jar, my friend. lol

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Frank E Gibbard

Easy one to empathise with we drinkers, and the late nights. Spot on, Frank.,

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