A.A. Problem

To the drinkers and drunks that carry the cheeky rascal monkeys with them dangerous and omnivorous

The hunger awakens

before the mid day sun

stretching it's empty belly

and lion growling

it's displeasure

a thirst for substance

needing filled/fulfilled

fuel for the chaos within

the cannibal hunger

eats my heart, fingers, me

roasting in a whisky sauce

and writing just prolongs 

the pain

and pleasure game

knowing I will succumb

I tease and stray

under hungry watchful eye

that does not deny

                          me

I discard the pen

for an old bottle of blues

and sink

and drink

away today

with only thoughts for food

and narrow burning vision

red rimmed and blurred

like lost ribbons at sea

I crack my broken hands

sometimes clenched

sometimes clasped in silent

pointless prayer

prostrating myself

supplicating myself to the whim

                                              of gods

of wood and stone

who bend in the wind

all quiet and grim

willing me on and out

wanking out reasons

why not to

only takes a minute or two

the end

is always the same,

                            salute,

Reviews

[Eilis]

Your poetry always maintains its sense of humor, and maybe this is what makes some things more palatable. Once again, you lead with your title. It's a subconscious thing. And it reminds me that the real work of recovering from anything does not happen in a room full of people--supportive or not--but in the mind itself. There are always reasons to cozy back up to the thing that kicked you in the knees last week and left you writhing in the gutter while it went on to find another date. There is an allure to even the most painful things that cannot be shaken off.

I really enjoy the way your language characterizes the battle with addiction. It is something that will eat you alive and while it doesn't have a body of its own, it has a soul, or something like, that is powerful enough to make us subjects to desires outside of ourselves. The lion lounges on the grass in a regal posture, and what's not to like. He looks peaceful enough there in the sun panting and lazing--almost on the point of dozing. A few steps closer won't hurt. Surely.

This poem is both pain and pleasure. Pain in the understanding of the seemingly eternal struggle and pleasure at the ways you find of articulating things that bring clarity and even humor to moments that aren't so easily understood outside the self. A powerful poem, Gram. Am always surprised by the power of your work.

[gram linski]

hey, Eilis really liked that line about getting kicked in the knees, before they f**k off on another date, haha, aye I did try and put some humour in there, not always that obvious in some of my poems but you always seem to see it, once again you have grasped what my whisky addled brain was trying to convey, thanks so much for the great review and your understanding, very much appreciated

[PaintedBirdy]

my favorite line is "wanking out reasons." i don't see what this poem has to do with AA, which i accidentally spent years in by mistake; apparently i'm not a drunk but just a fun-loving drunk. uh. cheers, toast, whatever! anything to wank out some reasons! and i started drinking first thing this morning, but mostly just because Trump is president, and I support him, so i obviously need a drink.

[gram linski]

There is no amount of drink that can drown the shame of supporting that c**t, only psychosis, cirrhosis and madness remain,

[PaintedBirdy]

agreed. my political views don't make any goddamn sense. i also supported Obama, lol. and sadly Bush too. i choose drunk enthusiasm over sober realism, i guess. or maybe i just need to wank out some better reasons.

[gram linski]

why not to, is the most important line, think before you spunk,

[Paul Bell]

Drink to be sociable, how we all started.
But what an awful journey to be on when you can't get off the stuff.
Some win in the end, some die young and miserable deaths.
Great write.

[gram linski]

Cheers, Paul, go on take a drink, peer pressure tells you, you must you want, you want to be in our gang, well apart from the quiff and the paedophilia, yes and no, lol

[barleygirl]

I was completely drawn in to your depiction of addiction, so original & filled with details to paint the inside feelings as well as the physical ones. I just read a very long poem where the narrator was obsessing over a person to such an extreme degree, it felt unhealthy. Reading these two poems side by side, I see your poem also as a statement of being addicted to someone, craving another sniff from the bottle of his cologne, etc. This is top-notch writing that feels delightfully careless & thereby authentic upon the page, not overly crafted (like me! I'm envious!) Fondly, Margie

[gram linski]

Thanks Margie, would like to know the other poem you were reading at the same time, lol the only someone I am addicted to is Bacchus unfortunately
I've told you before I am jealous of your crafting of a poem, mine is just unfiltered bile and rage, lol, it was definitely authentic I am recovering still,

[barleygirl]

Can't remember, but if the other writer replies to my review & my synapses are still firing, I'll try to zip over here & let you know! *wink! wink!*

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"thoughts for food" but unfortunately those thoughts don't make it to the page because the drink disables the ability to transfer them from head to page...
so many poems that have been lost in the bottle.
this is really well done, gram.
j.

[gram linski]

Well done being an alcoholic, or well done writing it down, lol slange, j.

[Chris Shaw]

A first class piece of free verse here gram, powerfully written which takes your readers on that journey of anyone who has the misfortune to find themselves addicted to the demon drink. I know two or three who would totally understand this. Some of the ones I know don't even bother with food half the time.

Chris

[gram linski]

It's not all misfortune, Chris, there are some mad, bad and dangerous to know times too, the black outs reveal f**k all,, lol,

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Wow this is a powerful piece of invective writing gram! You certainly know how to string a senrtence or two together like silk. Love so much in this and especially:
I crack my broken hands
sometimes clenched
sometimes clasped in silent
pointless prayer
prostrating myself
supplicating myself to the whim
of gods!

[gram linski]

cheers, John, addiction of any kind is a dangerous, omnivorous beast, thought you might like the quasi religious tones of those lines, lol