I name this boat ‘Cirrhosis’
It’s part of my neurosis;
And when at last it sinks
I’m finished with the drinks.
© WHB . . . Originally published on this blog in 2016
Cirrhosis Of The River
Tag Archives: drinking
The Guest List
The Guest List
The party was in full flow
Friends and neighbours all
some I liked, some I didn’t,
The short, the fat, the tall.
Hardly a rave, but nevertheless,
A lively gathering,
All members of my social set
Blithering, Swaggering, jabbering.
Sashaying around the village hall
While the Violets were shrinking,
I’ll introduce the ones I know,
Talking, drinking, winking.
Luce Lizzy, déshabillé of course, was there,
Flirting with Slack Edna – loose and sloppy – as usual
Wally Batty, shooting pigeons, most out of character.
Nora Bittov enjoyed nibbling the peanuts.
Hans Zupp showed willing, as usual.
But Dai La Finn enlivened proceedings when he keeled over,
Ivor Ed Aike left early, claiming he wasn’t feeling well’
Jackie Tallin also soon threw in the towel and went home early.
Eva Brick had another tantrum and started throwing crockery,
While G. G. Dunnit spread fertiliser on the garden.
Randy Hertz, indulged his masochistic bent with two Gentlemen of Verona
While Googie Withers wilted by the radiator.
Dai Dinderwool kept telling the same old jokes he did every time we met.
Tara Korsetzov threw caution to the winds and did a streak across the tennis court.
Dickie Bird gave us a rendering of ‘A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square’,
followed shortly by Jim Khana jumping over the bar and helping himself to a flagon of Johnny Walker.
Which, of course, he shared with Don Keedarby.
Sam U Rye crossed swords with everyone he met.
Winnie Bago drove everyone mad with her erratic manoeuvres,
While Frank Insents did his best to spread his fragrance around.
Eileen Dover at the table gave Flo Tingvota her seal of approval.
Abel Toobegood was busy trying to cheer up Elle Hathaway,
While Ann A Babtist and Ann T Boddy reverted to chat on their favourite subjects of religion and Covid-19.
Having long ago decided that this was getting a bit too fractious and quite unsuitable for my daughter’s 5th Birthday party
I thanked them all, even the uninvited, for turning up
And we ended by all joining Hans Toogether
and singing a resounding chorus with
Will Yenokumbakaggen.
A Yard Of Ale
A Yard Of Ale
A yard of ale, that old-time drink,
Keeps us a metre apart;
The distancing solution,
State of the safe-pub art.
And when I want to meet you over
Chips and battered cod,
Let’s use the café garden,
And a social-bubble pod.
We can gather on the beach
A metre-plus between us
A reasonable distance
To keep us heterogeneous.
When at last we can get closer,
Can shake hands and hug and kiss,
We will clutch our sides and laugh
Over these tortions and reminisce.
SUICIDE ON A WHIM
‘River Liffey Incident . . . Pen & Wash . . . WHB – 1994
SUICIDE ON A WHIM
suicide on a whim
is not unheard of
but few such perpetrators
live to tell the tale
one such
rescued from his indecision
by the Gardai
lived through his trauma
sweet Liffey run softly
while I tell the story
distraught by his
gambling debts
and the drinking
his only way to a conclusion
seemed to him to be
voluntary
self-inflicted
euthanasia
yes
he thought
that he wanted to die
half-determined
part irresolute
in a single moment of wavering
he had jumped
just fell perhaps
but the fear
and the cold water
soon hit him
hit harder
than the twenty foot drop
an instinctive cry
escaped him
you could call it
a change of mind
his cry for help
was a second thought
an unintended consequence
of his half-hearted conviction
and now he was held
grasped in a rescue bid
but did he wish to be salvaged
to be pleaded with
would that bring him
the closure he craved
attention unwanted
but secured
attention secured
but unwanted
and still
he could not let go
the ladder
his passport to life
a life he did not desire
could he bear to go there
yet again
to continue
victim to more pain
to yet more anguish
but temporary chagrin
is no killer
his cri de coeur
answered
his indecision
thwarted
is it heads or tails
is it stay or go
is life’s hurt
greater than death’s pain
is future shame
worse than eternity’s
opprobrium
we will never know
the prognosis
I suspect
he is still amongst us
ever indecisive
a suitor for attention
defaulting on his debts
not stopping at three pints
one of life’s
irresolute chancers
Roland's Ragbag 