Drink to the Alms

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I miss my home when I’m crashed out in

an autumn for the thrill,

 

I sit alone in a taphouse at

the bottom of the hill,

 

Towns ablaze in the white smoke with

bodies heavy on the lot’s grass,

 

Counting days with knife strokes and

lobbing pennies in a shot glass,

 

Playing war with bandits as the other

smugglers laugh when able,

 

Waiting for a challenge as the

up-and-comers pass my table,

 

Silent, sound truths in the fires spar with

chromed steel when letting up,

 

I can outshoot the entire bar, but

don’t feel like getting up,

 

Swear it’s a farce like a puddle for

a gutter’s galleon,

 

Stare at the cards and then guzzle

another gallon,

 

Brought from the back was a box with the plants

and a rifle with a gullet cold,

 

Lost in a trance with a cross on my hands

and a bible with a bullet hole,

 

A better archer aims to then

spear a choice and fly free,

 

My leather armor fades as I

hear a voice behind me,

 

The scent that filled pals had loitered

with their heavens to meet,

 

A friend was killed, wells were poisoned,

and the vengeance was sweet,

 

Out of gifts and praise where a heart will store

its gun and reject the mad,

 

Now I live my days in the dark before

they come and collect the tab.

 

~

 

Kings of the realms are seen

as the rat fighters,

 

Drink to the alms and drink

to the back-biters,

 

Lost and long gone from the air and land with

days to die and see a face,

 

Cock the shotgun on the caravan and

say goodbye to evil ways,

 

A bleeding crown with ashy blood and a

fletcher cooking crack with grain,

 

I’m leaving town, I’m packing up, and I’m

never looking back again,

 

Sound the sets in the siege and rid

the dream of shit music,

 

Now they’re dead and I’m free, so pick

a team and stick to it,

 

The raiment of a playwright in white mirrors

where the habits mix,

 

Awaken in the daylight with night terrors

until blackness hits,

 

Yearn for asters on the ledge to bait

the truth with a reed,

 

Burn these bastards in their beds and take

the shoes from their feet.

analogyBig SalholorimeOld WestVerisimilitude: Volume 1

◄ Nick the Dog

Castle in a Cove ►

Comments

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Big Sal

Sat 24th Nov 2018 20:20

Ha, I am fucking ecstatic that you found it entertaining to say the least! I was aiming for it to flow with a film-like quality, so I am also proud that I accomplished at least that!

Thanks again, Po. Where have you been all this time? Man, three more Pos and Anyas and this poetry thing would pick up some serious steam for real.👍

poemagraphic

Sat 24th Nov 2018 18:48

This is an F'n block buster playing in my head.

EPIC

Po

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Big Sal

Thu 22nd Nov 2018 12:35

What's up Eric! Glad you enjoyed man, keep reading and you never know what you might find. Thanks for reading.👍

Thank you, Anya, I appreciate you reading this. Even when it's not at the top of the blog list or archive I know you will always find your way to it, so thank you.

You too, Jon, thanks for stopping by and reading.

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Anya

Thu 22nd Nov 2018 09:30

Brilliant as ever! 😘

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Eric James

Thu 22nd Nov 2018 08:25

Dope as hell! Big Sal, you paint some vivid pictures. I'm inspired to kick my game up!

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Big Sal

Thu 22nd Nov 2018 04:20

Thank you, Taylor. I'm always happy to see your reaction to a poem of mine you have yet to read - it's always a fresh perspective.😏👍

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Taylor Crowshaw

Wed 21st Nov 2018 21:33

I enjoyed this poem Big Sal..wonderful evocative poetry..😃

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Big Sal

Wed 21st Nov 2018 16:50

Thanks for reading, Darren.👍

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Big Sal

Wed 21st Nov 2018 14:04

Another one of them freebies I wrote. . .

Hope everyone has a great holiday and enjoys the time with their families. Get off Write Out Loud if you celebrate, that way there are NO distractions people!!!

Let them all know just how much you love them and how much they mean to you. Life is too short.

In the meantime, please enjoy what I wrote.😁

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