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POEM STARTER

Write a poem that has three narrative voices.

These three voices may be in a conversation with another, or they can be given separate stanzas. Try to give them each a clear voice that distinguishes who is narrating.

Pour Me Something

Poetry

TW: alcoholism, adult theme,

STRONG STRONG STRONG (πŸ’ͺ🀬) language.


This one would be what I consider β€˜ugly poetry’ - I’m not sure if I invented that phrase (in this context) and I am not bothered enough to look into it atm. It’s basically worthless words. Just ugliness put to some poetic form or language. It’s a picture of a poor moment. Like a picture of something moving through too much light with too little focus, it’s blurry and irrelevant, it’s only real value is it’s uniqueness. My wife once took a picture of me holding a cat, but an extra set of my own hands were reaching to me from the edges of the photo. That has nothing to do with this… im very tired. anyway, I’m sure there’s a poet out there that likes this sort of picture as much as I do. Or hates that they enjoy it as much as I do.

Ironically, it is a picture of a moment that could’ve (probably not) happened and didn’t. So I’ve got that going for me.

I suppose the third narrative voice is mine, just the brief 3rd person narration.

β€”β€”β€”β€”-


𝑻𝒉𝒆 π’ˆπ’π’‚π’”π’” π’Šπ’” 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇-𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍!


What do I care

if it’s half-full o’ half-empty?

I’ve half-a-mind

to take the whole keg!

Pour me something, ye cunt!

I yet remember my name,

and she’s still wearing it!

Pour me something

to make me smile!

Gladness doesn’t care

for bright or dark,

they both go down the same

β€”β€” with no grimace!


Or give me the half-full,

so I may drink my fill,

then too the half-empty,

to make dead my empathy!

Only give me something,

to forget me my enmity,

to forgive me my enemy,

or lose death and it’s bitter sting!

Pour me something,

to make me nothing!


𝑻𝒉𝒆 π’ˆπ’π’‚π’”π’” π’Šπ’” 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇-𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍!

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 π’‚π’Ž 𝒏𝒐 𝒄𝒖𝒏𝒕, π’šπ’† 𝒄𝒖𝒏𝒕!

π‘·π’‚π’š π’šπ’π’–π’“ 𝒕𝒂𝒃, 𝒐𝒓 π’‡π’‚π’“π’†π’˜π’†π’π’ 𝒕𝒂𝒑!


Oh, but I can still feel my

nose, and I am yet awake!

Fill my cup to the brim,

ye grim, rotting soul!

Or where should man

go to drown out sorrow,

but to the cunt behind the bar!

Shall I travel afar?

Or search for this piss you call

ale at the edge of the world?

β€” the man hoists a leg to the stool

We set sail! Raise the anchors!

The cunt has no ale, a sorry tale

to tell! So we go to tomorrow

to drink and feel no more!


π‘·π’‚π’š 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒃, π’ˆπ’†π’• 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒑!

𝑰𝒕’𝒔 π’”π’Šπ’Žπ’‘π’π’†β€¦ 𝒔𝒐 π’—π’†π’“π’š π’”π’Šπ’Žπ’‘π’π’†!


Port to starboard!

Open her up!

We may find decent drink

yet, lads, sailing in an

ocean of piss, foul tides

of no ignorance or bliss,

a sea of pitiless barkeeps,

raging tempests of

the cunt ye see before ye!

Giveth me ale, o’ giveth me death!


𝓦𝓱𝓸π“ͺ! π“˜ β€”


No! You hold your cuntish breath!

Or fold your hands and pray

for our journey, that Poseidon

might make clear the sea,

or have mercy on poor bastards

and tabbed drunkards!

Or spare us from many sirens β€”

withholding the jaws of Scylla,

or grieve not for any bespiked eye!

Or give me some damned ale!

Aye, lad, please give me some ale!

I don’t want to thirst anymore!

I want to drink and I want to sleep!

And I want to set sail and live

or die in some wetter, lettered,

bettered and unfettered dream!


𝑻𝒉𝒆 π’ˆπ’π’‚π’”π’” π’Šπ’” 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇-𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍, π’šπ’† π’•π’˜π’Šπ’•!


Oh! Aye!

β€˜Tis half-full indeed!

That’s a good man!

Thank ye, kindly!


β€”β€” The man drinks and falls dead,

his journey being complete.



(Seems fitting to post about a year later. Haha! πŸ˜†)

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