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Death Of The Innocent Whore

she submits to the
hold of the chains
hoping to regain her
freedom that he once
took away from her

soon, soon, she keeps
telling herself
the iron chains tighten
on her arms

soon, soon, she keeps
telling her body
gyrating to the feast
of his drunkenness

to Bacchus he cheers
till dusk

until one day a dead woman

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Hated Goodbyes

i too wish of the wine,
the drunkenness, and the togetherness
that night, when we have become
free-willy, no thoughts, just our bodies,
no restraints, nothing about tomorrow,
when we were lost, and yet so happy,
and when we wake up that morning,
we did not really know what we were doing,
we're all wet in dryness, lips cracked,
bruised bodies, strangled hairs,
satisfied navels,
and then, that which we hated,
yes, goodbyes.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One For The Road

just you and me now
we end the stories
we call it a night
i offer you the last drink
one for the road

i will be left here
alone again with an
empty glass and
another bottle of wine

i let the drink take me
to another bout of drunken
poetry, one that forgets myself
as part of this world
one that dissolves me like
ice cubes, for you know
my friend this has been
our longing: there is no
you and i, there is no us,

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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That evening the forest of organ pipes did not play

That evening the forest of organ pipes did not play.
A native cradle sang Schubert for us,
The mill was grinding, the music's blue-eyed drunkenness
Laughed in the songs of the hurricane.

The brown-green world of the old song,
But only eternally young where the Erl-king
Shakes the rumbling crowns of nightingaled
Linden trees in savage rage.

The awesome force of night's return,
That wild song, like black wine:
It is a double, a hollow ghost
Peering senselessly through the cold window!

poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
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Exhausting

Putrefaction of dream-created paradises

Blows around this mourning-filled, tired heart,

That drank only disgust out of all sweetness,

And bleeds to death in vulgar pain.

Now it beats after the rhythm of faded dances

To the cloudy melodies of despair,

Meanwhile the star-crowns of old hope

Wither on the long ago godless altar.

From the drunkenness of fragrances and wines

An extreme awake feeling of shame remained with you -

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poem by Georg Trakl
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3h

this is the nook
some of the words here
are pleasing
prostitutes

they are all well dressed
for the occasion
of loneliness
but they know how to give
the best of
what is here

we toast for thoughts
we murmur the metaphors
all products of
our drunkenness
we shake hands with the
hands of ideas that
we know for the first
time

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love And The Muse

STRUCK down by Love in cruel mood,
That I ever met Love I rued,
Bleeding and bruised I lay,
Wet was my face as with the salt sea spray.

A lovely Muse on sparkling wing
A painless elemental thing,
Free as bird did float,
Swift flames of song light leaping from her throat.

And being more pitiful than Love
Stooped glowing from her path above,
And an unearthly kiss
Laid on my lips: Muse, answer, what is this?

In dreams or drunkenness divine
My life is all transfused with thine;
Like bubbles swept along,
My tears dissolve on cataracts of song.

poem by Mathilde Blind
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Pariah

Pariah's pulsating in sweet reverie
Their love in mine heart voluptuary
No heart love or even accept me
Except my out casted heart in revelry

Doth I drink frothy sweet seas
Of liquors dreams and voracious sprees
Only to find my empty glass
And mine sobriety devoured and my life doth pass

Bent reflections hath showed me
Truth with no lie, nothing flowery
My life drunk in my heart outcast
No sober judgment judged drunkenness vast

Still pariahs pulsate in me
An outcast man no love to be
Only loved by pariahs in me
That reflect bent in mine heart of infamy

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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To Larkin

Is it you I see go by the window, Jim Larkin—you not looking
at me nor any one,
And your shadow swaying from East to West?
Strange that you should be walking free—you shut down without light,
And your legs tied up with a knot of iron.
One hundred million men and women go inevitably about their affairs,
In the somnolent way
Of men before a great drunkenness….
They do not see you go by their windows, Jim Larkin,
With your eyes bloody as the sunset
And your shadow gaunt upon the sky…
You, and the like of you, that life
Is crushing for their frantic wines.

poem by Lola Ridge
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Snow

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes–
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of your hands–
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

poem by Louis Macneice
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