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It is the hour to be drunken! to escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.

quote by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is time to get drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk; get drunk without stopping! On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.

quote by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be Drunk

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it--it's the
only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks
your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually
drunk.
But on what?Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be
drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of
a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again,
drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave,
the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything
that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is
singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and
wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you:"It is time to be
drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be
continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."

poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get Drunk

Always be drunk.
That's it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time's horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
"Time to get drunk!
Don't be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!"

poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drunk On Poetry

Poetry surges steadily
Through my veins
I grant it to stream through them
Day in and day out
Sleep and awake
I believe it's a healthy obsession
I get drunk on it
The more I inject in me

My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become addicted
Sometimes I absorb too much poetry
Reading, writing and listening
I become drunk sometimes

Poetry spills from my pen
Inking a piece of paper
And unto another and another
Constantly on every thought
Humorous, emotionally, romantic, tragic
Experiencing in life
Opinionated, factual, abstract
Political, any subject that's on my thoughts
Sometimes I become drunk
The more i inject into me

Poetry I live for
Eat, drink, sleep
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
I loose myself sometimes
When I digest too much
Poems that I write
I write for me
I share them with the world
I can't resist this urge
Poetry is what I crave
It happens to be my mistress
I become drunk

The more I inject
My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become so addicted
Breathing in too much poetry
Reading, writing, listening
I'm drunk sometimes

Poetry I write
Write from experience
What I've done
What I've heard
What I've seen
What I've felt
What I've known

Poetry I live for
Eating, drinking, sleeping
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
On my thoughts poetry
Loosing myself sometimes
When I inject enough
This is what I've become
A drunken poet

poem by R.K. Cowles
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Slender: I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick: if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves.

line from The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act I, Scene 1 by William Shakespeare (1602)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.

Poetry...Poetry...

poem by Akash Agrawal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Although

my daughter screams,
'all you do is get drunk and write poetry'
it's not true
i've never been drunk a day in my life
although
i've written plenty of bad poetry

poem by Esteban Arellano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wine, Women And Poetry

I’m drunk on wine, woman and poetry
Drowning myself in an uttermost beauty
Of one such solitary spoken word
I whisper it softly, keeping it close
I share it sparingly, keeping it rich
It matters most, more than anything
And it brings closer, all that matters
Each celebration leaves a memory
Nightly becoming even more perfect
Yet distracting me from everything else
That I may miss on out other hobbies
Drinking, friends and love are hobbies
Picked up by man and woman alike
With such ease they build addictions
They seem to override the mind
Setting a new precedent to be followed
Then that word creeps in slowly
Claiming a higher price than other words
Claiming a higher meaning
I’m consumed by words and meanings
I’m drunk on them all
For they are the speeches which linger
On wine, women and poetry

poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Pull

Summertime came too soon,
Summers in kansas often do.
And the air was still,
I felt the pull.
I recall the heat rising from the ground in a way.
And I knew I was the first to pass this way.
I believe I step across some line,
Or I stumble through the doorway in space and time,
Like a drunk who blacks out from the wine,
Never remembers his name.
Always feel so alone,
Wherever I am I feel the pull,
And the life Ive left behind the pull.
And in case I have no future, Ive got the past
Theres no telling just how long this play will last.
I believe I step across some line,
Or I stumble through the doorway in space and time,
Like a drunk who blacks out from the wine,
Never remembers his name,
Never remembers.
Im down, walking through a storm.
I hear a voice inside, crying,
It calls my name like a judge accusing,
Black robe hanging down, whoah,
Dont forget be brave about your love.
Well I walk across the murky room,
And theres flashes in my eyes,
I dont know what Im doin.
Like a drunk who blacks out from the wine,
Never remembers his name.
Like a drunk who blacks out from the wine,
Never remembers his name,
Never remembers his name,
I never remember my name.

song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An act of poetry

Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry

A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art

Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation

Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:

The pen be our salvation.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010

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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let Us Be Drunk

Let us be drunk, and for a while forget,
Forget, and, ceasing even from regret,
Live without reason and despite of rhyme,
As in a dream preposterous and sublime,
Where place and hour and means for once are met.

Where is the use of effort? Love and debt
And disappointment have us in a net.
Let us break out, and taste the morning prime . . .
Let us be drunk.

In vain our little hour we strut and fret,
And mouth our wretched parts as for a bet:
We cannot please the tragicaster Time.
To gain the crystal sphere, the silver dime,
Where Sympathy sits dimpling on us yet,
Let us be drunk!

poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Time For You Escape

in concrete houses
in concrete silence

nobody can not hear
your call

concrete houses are
sinking more than once

in the wine
when the clocks

are hitting
at the morning hour

concrete hearts
being getting cold

are slowly undergoing
the life

although it this way aches
escape ahead of yourself

nobody will catch up
with you

and even behind you
nobody will dropp tear

you will rescue yourself
escape - already time

poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Don't Drink Liquor Anymore...

i've been drunk many times
not just with wine
but with power
for which when i am sober
the guilt is eating me
over

and so
let me be frank with you
i do not drink anymore
that hard liquor
with those highly spirited vapor

why can't we just sit and let the time drink us
we be the drinks on the vessels of our emptiness
filled by the spirits of the wines
of the moment

let these talks take us
to the surprising places of our hearts
sincere and
illuminating like the early morning sun
arriving
where we are those greenest grass
taking in more
of those chlorophyll

we shall be drunk with our poetry
and dance with the music of our sorrows
let us share all these
on our highly improved
Tu Fu.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Becomes The Poetry

THE POET BECOMES THE POETRY

After years of striving to write Poetry
The Poet becomes the Poetry
No word is not poetry in him
And no silence is not the sound
his own writing makes

Wherever he is
Whatever he does
is Poetry
Mediocre or not
Real or not
Loved or not
Understood or not
The Poet is Poetry
Unable forever to escape
what he Lives.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Red, Sparkling Wine

I Have Seen A Sight
Of a Man Falling Down …
… it wasn’t for a Fight
… but it was due to what He’d Found …

… Red Sparkling Wine… Does It Every Time
Red Sparkling Wine… She Should Be A Crime …
Red Sparkling Wine…

She Starts out – Flowing – Smooth
Gets in Your Blood – Then You got Somethin’ to Prove!
You Chase Her Intoxicating Perfume
… must be Brand X … or Lady-Doom …

… Red Sparkling Wine… Does It Every Time
Red Sparkling Wine… Feeling So Sublime …
Red Sparkling Wine…

… Sweet from the Vine, but She ain’t Vintage
Make You Loose Your Mind and Your Hard-Earned Wages
Her Cheap-Thrills… can’t Heal a Heart, that’s Bruised …
You ain’t in Love! … just in a Bottle of Booze …

of Red Sparkling Wine… Once in awhile is Fine
Red Sparkling Wine… Know the Warning Signs ….
of Red Sparkling Wine…

She’s Beautiful, as She Pours
Your Problems – Passed-Out, on The Floor
She’s Crystal-Blood in an Hour-Glass
Her Pity-Promises… just don’t Last…

Red Sparkling Wine… Does It Every Time
Red Sparkling Wine… She’ll have You begging for Dimes …
… to buy … Red Sparkling Wine…

She’ll leave You Broke, You won’t be able to Think
She’s ‘Madam Dope’ … if You Need One More Drink
… of Red Sparkling Wine… Just a Matter of Time
Red Sparkling Wine… Have Another… ‘ Cause I’m …
… Red Sparkling Wine …

poem by MoonBee Canady
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Is A Time For Poetry

THERE IS A TIME FOR POETRY

There is a time for Poetry
When Life cries out desperately for Help-
Or when Love overwhelms
Or Fear comes.

Spring is a time for Poetry
And Autumn also
Winter has its Poetry
And Summer too.

There is a time for Poetry
Which is any time the human heart needs
A deep time
A sad time
A Lonely time.
Any time-

A time for Poetry- Now.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jibba This

We're slaves to saving time, as if we didn't have enough
We're slaves to the hormone, we're men and must be tough
We're slaves to the dollar, and the happiness that it brings
tradition rules from the start generations running round in rings
[ Chorus ]
I want out I want to escape the human role
They teach us we're fulfilled, when we've done what we're told
Now I feel an emptiness whenever I act out on my own
Now i'm going to break these binds, and get my life back on track
fulfill the expectations with others behind, and fulfill my life with what you call crap
[Chorus

song performed by by Eve 6
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bluebird Wine

(rodney crowell)
Baby brought me in out off the highway
Made me put my money in the bank, bank
Straightened out my crooked way of thinking
Made it purely pleasure when I drank
And its all right
Ive just hit my stride
Right off the bat
Lord, Im drunk on bluebird wine
Baby taught me a diffrent way of thinkin
Like how to spend my evenings here at home
Listning to the music on the radio
Drinking all the bluebird we can hold
And its all right
Ive just hit my stride
Right off the bat
Lord, Im drunk on bluebird wine
Baby says hed really love a party
Well get some friends together feelin fine
Any friend of mine is worth his habit
A belly full of babys bluebird wine
And its all right
Ive just hit my stride
Right off the bat
Lord, Im drunk on bluebird wine

song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dead Follow Every Wind

Logos of pride
Burning eyes of phallus poetry
The over man of Nietzsche
Caged in robust vanity
Scarborough of delicate sanity
We suffer like condemned tribes
The pall of Prometheus fire
All are punished in the true mirror
All are swarthy madmen

Along the shore a ray of sun
Wise hour deems blue asylum
Men of the seventh seal
Tombs of radiant jewels
She hands skeletons her potion
We dance like poised slaves
Numb in totem revelry
Circle around mountains of myth
No fountain of youth shall respite

Wine of Bacchus bubbles like death
The wind blows fierce with portent
Portals of fire summon the locust
Land of giants drunken on philosophy
Golden eyes narrow like serpents
Dance to the sound of draped sirens
Magic hours where time warps time
Leave these feasts of foreign temples
Prince and power of the air rides

Hide your gold in the children’s war
Hide your future in caves of incest
Worship the still steel phallus
Your wet womb reveals Egypt
Visitors fallen and very dark
Musky bed where aliens crouch
Ancient lions wilt the galaxy
Who are you sister of red
The dead follow every wind

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Dont Write Poetry!

i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...

no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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