Oh, but how do drunk people get home?
I wonder
But…
How do drunk people get home?
My careening well…
Scars and scurf
And a long whole ago
….that pill in the morning in the clinic
that pill…
Hmm…
But how do drunk people get home?
I met the man with the box of frogs and had occasion to ask him
Feeling that the rain would stay off a while
as I sheltered under his hanging umbrella
He was too busy to answer
Much too busy,
The boxing of frogs and the herding of cats
Taking up
Way way too much of his time!
But it’d come to a pretty pass
If the only weavers of dreams left to us
Were to be the joke of the bank
(Their jokes are cruel)
And the many sellers of smoke
They there
Still there
There in the glam of the threadbare glade.
Posts Tagged ‘Drunk’
Hotels 2 – By Hermione Moist (With Apologies To Walter de la Mare)
Posted in Art, Funny, Humor, Humour, Poetry, travel, Writing, tagged "Poetry",, Adult Life, Burns, Drink, Drunk, England, Humor, Humour, Romantic Poets, Satire, Scotland, the Traveller, Travel, UK, Victorian England, Walter de la Mare on May 9, 2014| 11 Comments »
‘Is anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door a second time;
Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
Well, that’s what you get for booking on line when you’re pissed.
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