In cheap bars,
few words are exchanged.
Men and women are
lip-locked, desiring
a quickie and
some cheap booze.
Few roadside poets
aroused and induced
by blue gin and tonic,
pretend to dabble in
classical sonnets.
There are no
masterpieces here,
nor heroic tales.
Words are concieved
on the rough edges of
burnt joints.
Midst rivers of woes
and poetic verses
lingers a stench
of dead fish.
Everyone comes
here….
Poets have homes ,
Men and women
have homes but
nothing is going on
in those empty walls.
Words are concieved
on the rough edges of
burnt joints….👍👍….the whole piece reminds me of L.Cohen’s “Closing Time”…I should get my mind out of the Cohen 😇
“Johnnnie Walker wisdom running high”
Thanks for your kind words, if you enjoy Cohen no need 🙏
anytime ❤️❤️
Excellent poem, Tanya.
Reminds me of some of the writing of Leonard Cohen.
Here’s Hallelujah to your poem.
Thanks Dracula 🧛♂️ just wrote that 🙂
I should check out Cohen, his music seems very famous.
Hello dear Tanya. I was the bar room poet for twenty years. A poem for you.
—We talk, we kiss. We dance to the holy Jazz songs. Your body against me tightly and I can feel your heartbeat again my skin. I told you. You are so damn pretty tonight. May I have another dance dear lover? She smiled and she whispered. We are the only one left, baby. We are the leftovers and I appreciate you. You can have more dances if you promise to keep me warm tonight. I told her. I would like this, darling. The Winter nights can be so damn cold and I promise to keep you warm.)
Thank you for the amazing poetry dear Tanya.
Cool 😎, glad to know. It’s different charm of doing poetry in bar room.
The poem is fantastic, love it . Thanks for dedicating it to me, that’s really kind of you. Yes a dance in a winter night can really keep you warm for sure.
You are right dear Tanya and you are welcome.
🙏💐