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Splatter of Holes

Open minds are hungry woodpeckers
knocking for sustenance;
I try to dull mine in Grey Goose and lime
only teasing the insatiable thirst,
staid in no reference to time
except the knocking aging minutes.

Age has no concern with gender or creed,
I suppose it's lucky to reach the time of
less than able.

Luck painfully tearing at tendons and joints,
tingling limbs and head rush sensations;
fucking blood,
finds holes it wants to now.

Holes meant for the meeting of meat and mind,
I spray mine in Grey Goose and lime
sing the bird a lullaby
and dream the droning drum

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


Hi Richard,

Isn't it *Grey Goose*?

I'll be back after I've let this one ferment for a while.


Ok. Wanted to change the first *knocking through for sustenance* into boring through the substance until I saw how it was repeated. So many plays on words. So much food for thought and commiseration. ;-)

Outstanding dude, you have come into your stride!

Now change it to GREY GOOSE. (my favs are the flavoured ones)


Indeed the spelling was wrong, I checked the bottle to make
sure they used the corrected spelling, and they do. I'm not much
of a drinker, but once in a while I do like a good mixed drink or some
wine with dinner ... a good ol mudslide is my fav but they are very

thanks Anna, this was one I've been working on for a while, wasn't
sure how it would be viewed, but then I never am, even when I really
like a write, and this one, I'm not particularly fond of for some reason.


author comment

How could you not like it? This poem is replete with all the stuff of a good poem, alliteration, imagery, story, cadence, personal integrity.

Could it mean you hate that knocking...rap tap a tapping?



knock knock ... I think I've spent too much time on this one,
grown monotonous to me maybe, which is why I posted it, to
see if there may be some good suggestions for improvements.

thanks Anna, I did try to enlist some poetic values !


author comment

There is no cure I know of ... the grey goose is a vodka, back in the
day it lent itself to many a night for me, trouble is, I don't remember (lol)

thanks Ian

author comment

We are oldies ... but we're not done just yet!



author comment

can't find anything to knock about this knock out poem lol..........stan

from the UK
he say



"Death" is nonsense: what is there to die?
"Life"? How could " life" "die"? That is a contradiction
in terms. Can "light" become "darkness"?
"Light" can only cease to be apparent

Wei Wu Wei

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