Poem about writing poetry and when it finally is released, how it is better than a shot of whiskey at 3 in the morning. 2024 poetry by BW Derge
Better than a Shot of Whiskey
poem by BW Derge, 2024
Like it used to happen, you know
It would spill out like a flood
And get your soul all wet to finally grow
Instead of cooking in the hot sun,
Overheated.
Let’s collapse and move
And spin and turn
And forget that we’re going to die
One day, I swear,
It’s terrible the way
That can sneak up on you
When you’re having
A nice little Saturday,
Drinking beer and smoking
Then you remember
Like “Oh Shit, that’s right…
I’m going to die one day…”
I will cease to be
In a body of a human
And then what?
What is going to happen
When these neurons
Stop firing at the train station?
I really can’t explain the pain
Of not being able to write poetry-
When you know you can’t force it,
And it’s too shy to come out on its own…
It really is the fucking worst…
To not be able to let it spurt out-
I love letting the words come out
Of my fingertips like some haunted magic
I don’t truly understand in the slightest…
But when it comes out, it feels so fucking good.
I don’t care if anyone reads it-
I couldn’t care less if you critique it,
All I know is when it finally spills out,
It’s better than all of the drugs,
Better than a shot of whiskey at 3 AM-
It is in stiff competition with some good sex,
It is like a ride at a carnival,
Spinning and mounting and going up and down-
I want to ride every ride
I want to play every game-
If poetry is a fair, I want to spend all day
At the beautiful carnival
Of love and pain and that sweet feeling
Of getting a little bit closer
To divinity’s heart
Even if truly understanding it
Is forever too far away…
This is how it used to happen,
And that’s the way I love it,
When I can’t control it,
When it spills out on its own whim
Like a fiery dragon spirit
From another iteration of our universe-
When it pokes out of these fingertips
Like I am nothing
But an instrument to spew poetry…
It can rhyme, but doesn’t have to,
It can call out alliteration,
Or other poetic techniques
But at the end of the day,
It doesn’t fucking matter
As long as it comes from your soul,
From the heart,
From the rhythm of the Cosmos
Trying secretly forever
To guide you to where
You need to be…
Which is wherever you are now
Wherever you are when you’re here,
Reading stupid poetry
That means nothing,
But that’s why it feels so good
When you let it flood-
When you let it spill out
Like it used to….
Written by BW Derge, All Rights Reserved 2024
© USA
This was a poem composed in 2024 called "Better than a Shot of Whiskey"
For more writing by BW Derge, check out the store.
