The Bottom

A sober heart
All knew him to be
Standing good with Bill W
Yes, that was he

Then dark days took
And his foundation shook

From the highest peak
His good standing soiled
Never again found the bottom
To a bottle of Crown Royal

Glass with dark liquor splashing out

I saw the bottle of Crown Royal in my mind and Muse took it and stomped.

dVerse Poets Pub graphic

dVerse Poets Pub | Quadrille #141:
Heady is the Poem That Wears the Crown

De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, lets us have a little crowning glory in the form of a quadrille.

The Quadrille poem must be exactly 44 words in length – not including the title and use this week’s prompt word crown.

the fall

i watch as the world dresses in hues
of goldenrod, carnelian and fawn
shades of reality harden with dollar wine blues
then again, maybe it’s the sixth beer i’m on

refusing to believe the revolution, its been 365 tonight
the encore of champagne promises spilled among burned biscuits
and buns hard enough to make martha stewart cry outright
as i drained bottles and tears over the possible end of us

thrown off kilter i pleaded give me time, you gave me until fall
and seasons of dancing pixies floated atop my vodka on the rocks
waiting for the warm liqueurs to answer the call
but eyes glazed, would i have known if opportunity even knocks

my friend bill w knocked several times but i turned my face
thinking i still had time for you and him after my next beer
i never noticed as i fell from all my close friends grace
i had new friends in a variety of bottles colored and clear

straight faced i refresh my promises
to sailing sober no matter what it took
charm bought time with the doubting thomas’
but it wasn’t a trip I was ready to book

a year of a thousand little cases of dying
slipped by without fulfilling even a shadow of your desires
it’s once again smoldering in fall flair and i’m trying
but all i can smell is the burnt rubber of departing tires

class is over, but for me the lessons yet begun
it took two for conversation to engage
but the play had reached the end of its run
and you, the main thespian had left the stage

the job, the flat, the wheels left too, but still life’s sweet
with a flourish take a sip to autumn in the park
lying on the grass stretching out my feet
and take another sip to life in the growing dark

i note that dry leaves make fantastic kindling
thinking maybe i should extinguish the flame
my mind drunk in suicidal spindling
but i swear dropping the cigarette is not the same

damn i don’t know, did you kiss me goodbye
would i have even noticed after all
my ocean of tears can’t make inflamed kindling dry
i never did recover from the wagon’s fall  



Hyde Park – Thursday Poets Rally – Week 70

Hyde Park Purfact Poet at Rally – Week 70 – The Fall

I accept the award and nominate – Bohdirose