Gods, Drunks, and Poets – a poem

Winter Tree I wrote this poem many years ago. It’s a love poem dressed in black. I started it while Freddie the Freeloader was in my life, and completed it after he was gone.

He was a writer. A very good writer. He thought he was headed for fame. He went on to get his MFA, his teaching job, his ball-busting bitch, and his little fame as a writer, as all MFA writing teachers have. I’m sure it’s not the fame he thought he’d achieve, and that I believed he would. Maybe that’s what I found so intolerable. He had ego. So did I.

He was ruthless, stabbing at my ego, stomping on my heart. I bled poetry.

Gods, Drunks, and Poets

When I get drunk
and think I’m a god,
you get so mad
words explode from your mouth

like M-80’s.
I dream of horses
nodding in the distance,
pawing at the dust,
and snorting.

I want to feel the heat
of a hard ride,
to gallop out
naked and bareback.

All poets die alone;
it’s part of the art.
Then we rise like Jesus
and crack the sky.
Awed crowds come
crying at our bloody feet.

You tell me to eat my dreams.
I take a hard drink
and eat you.


About Poet Dressed In Black

Poet. Artist. Grammy of one, a granddaughter. Mom of three, son and two daughters, all grown. Individualist. Care-taker of Isabel, an agoraphobic, fear-aggressive, very nervous, delicate flower, Chihuahua mix.
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3 Responses to Gods, Drunks, and Poets – a poem

  1. Kumar Gautam says:

    Interesting perspective

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