It wasn’t like I could
Last night was a blur of
wishes and was-es
regrets and never-s
sighs and bellows
cries that life
hadn’t come home.
I waited all night,
all my life,
but I was left with
unfulfilled dreams and
a fight that wasn’t worth
Well, another Monday, folks. Here we are again and here we go to another work week. Above I gave you a lil’ diddy that might just explain some of those regrets coming off a weekend high. Or a weekend hangover, for that matter. Either way, hope you enjoy and here’s to hoping you’re going to have a not so regretful Monday.
for the love
write to save
Made it to Monday again, folks. Hopefully your week is off to a good start and that this little poem here might help you get into writing, if that’s your thing. Either way, I hope you enjoy and that your day flies by to find that you’ve got something cold and on the rocks waiting for you when you get home tonight.
The work week snuck
up on me and I’m
grasping at straws,
swing me through
where I’m wishing that
each and every drink
had something stronger than
my paper-thin, another deadline
to get in,
Back from break and faced with another week. Ain’t that the breaks, folks? No matter how hard you fight, kick, or scream the work week comes all the same! Still, I’d like to give an ode out to all those who, like me, find it hard to face it without a good stiff drink. So, to you out there who are wishing you had something more than coffee to guide you on through I feel you. We’ll get through this together, I promise.
Here’s to hoping that your day flies by and that something cold and on the rocks is waiting for you when you get home at night!
The drinks were overpriced and
the ingredients were underfunded
yet, somehow, the show kept on
for hours on end
the clock’s hands went waving off life
while we found ourselves still inside
enjoying the dirty little hole
in the wall
more by the minute
it’s the spirit of things when you
really get down to it, it’s the essence
of the people who show up and aren’t
afraid of losing it
just for the sake
one hell of
a good time.
Mornin’, folks. Hope this finds you still slightly hung over. Or at least feelin’ it a bit. Needless to say, I hope you here in the states had a hell of a labor day and that you’re refueled enough to put up with one more cup of crappy coffee. Just think, least there’s only a few more days till you can do it all over again.
Anywho, hope you enjoy this crude little idea of a fellow. Thought he would be applicable on a weekend where we often find ourselves out in little holes in the walls. Despite the shabby appearances and less than adequate alcohol, I always find it is a hell of a time just if you have some good company along for the ride.
They say it’s where your heart is. The place where you love to rest your head.
Sure, I’ve got a box in a picket fence down on Main Street where I park my car at night, and have one sided conversations about my day or hers. But it’s nothing like here.
Here I’ve got Remmy, Jack, and Jim. Here I’ve got Saul’s long face on the wall. I’ve got color and mood lighting, comfortable seats, and jokes I’ve never heard before. And here, if I ever run out of heart, there’s always some waiting for me.
You see, I am home.
I finally got back on schedule enough to do another Friday Fictoneer’s post! I love these little 100 word prompts so much. They’re fun, and a bit challenging, plus getting to read what everyone else does is equally as awesome. Basically, each week brings you a new picture as a prompt, and you have 100 words to tell a story in. Like I said, fun but challenging.
Well, here’s to hoping that your weekend is awesome and that your Monday takes a while to get here!
It was a rough night;
Remnants of memories flicker in and out
Dancing halfway between reality and dream
Taunting lucid thoughts that have not yet come
To be fully awake.
Sounds ricochete off interior walls
While light fires beams through broken shades
And war drums pound distantly yet instantly inside
While weak knees suddenly give out
Under unstable, strangely sore, legs.
As the calm comes before the storm,
So too does the fun before the fall
And a night of grandeur has been reduced to this;
A battle field where bottle cap land mines litter dark carpets
Waiting for sluggish feet to prick with their Lego sharpness.
A grim, grizzly scene where bodies are discarded
Tossed, limply laying on accent rugs, art prints
And torn gossip magazines that mysteriously
Belong to neighbors somewhere down the street.
It is the punishment for us mortal things
Daring to take part in Bacchus’ revelries
Where we impishly think we can drink the night away
Into a haze of reserved immortal glory
And escape, unscathed, from the theft of what is not ours.
No, instead of triumphantly rising to a day that is ceased,
We find instead our clothes littered around statues, blackened eyes,
Our friends passed out in parking lots and on trampolines
While we still must rise and go forwards, marching ever on
To our own, pathetic inescapable mortal beat.
I tried to capture something as truly dreadful as an actual hangover. Something that sums of the mortality that comes in the morning after the glow of those blissful nights have gone.