deepundergroundpoetry.com
Le Parade de Vers
The big-tongued waitress calls out my name
Pours a glass “Le Parade” into Picasso as
I slump across the checkered paged floor
Her voice between the tiles,
Here is where I find the world as I am,
Slit into a trillion pieces
Becoming slowly aware,
In every breath of every day,
she is my last glass of god.
Published 28th Nov 2015
| Edited 30th Nov 2015
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likes 5
reading list entries 1
comments 8
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28th Nov 2015 9:07pm
There are few things that drive regret so deeply as those of warm blooded alcohol and cold tiled floors.
30th Nov 2015 4:58pm
Anonymous
29th Nov 2015 9:07pm
The words 'big-breasted' stick out like a sore thumb in the opening line... hmm... a different word, perhaps? Hedonistic? Voluptuous? I just think you could benefit from a singular descriptive word here. Similarly the word 'paged' doesn't add anything to the checkered floor. Didn't like that one word.
Interestingly, you've chosen not to capitalise the word 'God' and that actually says quite a lot in a line. Especially a last line.
The last 6 lines are genuinely lyrical, and offer a beauty that is one of the main reasons I first fell in love with words.
Thanks for the read.
Interestingly, you've chosen not to capitalise the word 'God' and that actually says quite a lot in a line. Especially a last line.
The last 6 lines are genuinely lyrical, and offer a beauty that is one of the main reasons I first fell in love with words.
Thanks for the read.
30th Nov 2015 4:53pm
Too funny, I woke up (yes I have been sleeping) and the first thing that came to my mind was the she was a "big-"tongued" waitress"..I flew to this site to change the poem and once I did I saw that someone had commented ...THEN what did I find after I chaged it? You gotta have faith poet...I know what I'm doing, just stumpling a little these days on the way to Mars..laughing. Thanks for the cane anyway...strange days indeed.
30th Nov 2015 4:56pm
30th Nov 2015 7:58pm
This alone, centered me into
the deep end of some things,
but never heard it put so
beautifully:
"Becoming slowly aware,
In every breath of every day,
she is my last glass of god."
Wow...
-Howlings
the deep end of some things,
but never heard it put so
beautifully:
"Becoming slowly aware,
In every breath of every day,
she is my last glass of god."
Wow...
-Howlings
25th Mar 2016 7:56am
checkered lives reflected in Picasso glass
among the brushstrokes.
flawless but for the lack of tears...
among the brushstrokes.
flawless but for the lack of tears...
16th Sep 2019 6:29pm
I've never read you before you're a gifted poet
this is a gem multi faceted...
love Brenda ❤
this is a gem multi faceted...
love Brenda ❤
