I couldn't help but be surprised
by the mornings gentle buzz.
It whispered in the ears of the
passed out teetotaller
and quietly lectured the alcoholic,
who steadied his hands over the day ahead.

There was a fight the night before,
where the drunken eyes of the weakest Tom
witnessed his own fear playing the bookies role;
taking bets from all the plump, consuming faces
surrounding his wheezy little soul.

We drank to his death,
we drank deep,
and in our depths, found the guilt
that soon would end up killing us.

And there was no denying
that his little paws would never be able to
steady himself on the window ledge,
in a city that edged the young and sincere forward
and helped us remember that we were gentle, too.

But we knew those heavy,
black mornings would be the crack to his shell.
I knew it, you know it.
And while I'm no brick wall,
at least I'm tall enough to scale it.

Digitally Clean
Last edited by AngryGoldfish at Feb 13, 2009,
This is about drinking. It's about how some will be able to handle it because of experience - alcoholic - while others will not - teetotaller.
I wrote it because my mum came home and found all the whiskey I had been drinking, and she told me about how dark alcohol (brandy, rum, red wine, etc) will give you a worse hangover than lighter coloured alcohol (vodka, white wine)
there were a few ****ups in the rythm - read it aloud and try counting syllables. i'd point out some but am rather stretched for time, sorry.

i dispised how you couldnt go for more than a few lines without seeing some form of drunk -ink -ing or alcohol -ism -ic etc.

and 'paws' was touched upon so very briefly it may as well not be there.

Top 3 from you, without a doubt. This voice you've found lately in your writing is outstanding.

The end is the only part that wasn't as impactful as you could make it, since the brick wall metaphor hadn't appeared anywhere else in the poem. The best ending is one that uses what you've already written and either gives your point one last punch home, or completely changes the reader's perception of the poem.

Great stuff here though, I've been enjoying your pieces more than ever lately.
On the eight day we spoke back...

let there be sound.
I still love you, Jake.
The ending was the only section I wasn't really happy with. I'm going to see if I can change it with your advice in mind.

"paws" (cats) was only supposed to be touched on lightly. I didn't want a huge, silly metaphor controlling the piece. And yes, it would be good if I could change of a few of those alcohol relations. But once again, they are important to help keep the reader focused on the main, overall theme; helping them avoid falling away.
Put a 'by' in the second line, rather than the 'at'. Makes more sense and sounds nicer.

, Dan
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
Eh, it didn't really grip me.

The narrative early on seemed dragged out and well, too "telling a story" than being good poetry.

Going towards the halfway point to the end I felt it was rather underdeveloped, and lost in trying to hard. It felt forced, like an aftershave that is too musty, too strong.

I think to really become a solid writer you're going to have to buckle down and start producing poetry, rather than a mix of images and narrative that form to make a point. That's how I read you right now.

Idk. I guess that's how I read you.

Best of luck, chuck.
This never convinced me. I read through it... and then read through it again... and then waited a day or so and read through it again. There was something to it; but its like you just never really developed enough there for me to stick my shovel in it and really move some dirt around. The brick wall metaphor was nice; but so late in development that it was just distracting. The tone didn't seem constant enough... and it really all felt a bit forced. You just kept pushing the "alcohol" words out there; like you had no faith in the content. It made it feel contrived and soulless. Like funk music that sounds like regular rock but just keeps repeating "we play funk" in the chorus or something. It really stopped this piece from breathing and becoming something living that we all could experience.

Beyond that; I just don't feel like this was up to snuff with your other recent stuff. You recent stuff has really hit me hard; it was written in a way that I could see myself in it and really come onto it as Zach... and leave as Zach with a new view on part of life. This just wasn't to that level. a lot of it was well written and down to earth and whatnot... but it just feels like you had too much planned instead of just letting it spill from your gut.

I owe you like 1000; so don't worry about a return unless you just really want to. If you do "motherf*cker" in the sig.