Home

crazy party

The poetry of a party

Well, it’s drowned in beer

But here we have a crowd all dressed up

Girls in their disguises, acting to type

The poetry of a party

Is evidently clear

Jenny’s in the toilet getting sick

Carla’s upstairs taking it from behind

The poetry of a party

You can hear the music play

Songs from music’s glory days

When people walked ’round in a confused daze

The patrons all lined up on a couch

Snow white, a witch, Elvis, a vampire

Halloween parade drinking strange coctails

One drunk guy is cracking onto a fairy

I have no disguise

I crawled from another party legless on my hands and knees

I know my actions speak louder than my words

But I keep talking

I have no decorum

My eyes are roaming to see the fireworks

The girls dressed up

I try to chat them up, my eyes are half sleeping in the drunk arena

I cannot see myself

I feel as if I am in control

I am not in control of myself

I am lost in the sea of myself, I can’t see myself

Outside there are loud bangs

There are roman candles lighting up the nightsky

There are rockets, aimed at windows and buses, exploding in delight

Colours sparkle on the black background

I talk about poetry and philosophy

Through a drunk mouth

Though I know not what I am talking about

But I feel I should be taken for real, from now on I am only talking of how I feel

The poetry of a party

It curls up on the couch

After the last smoke curls around its brain

And sleep turns inwards, the mind cannot stay open, it is sick of all the mouth takes in

The poetry of a party

It leers at the pretty girls

It leeches at the beer and the smoke

It is a greedy thing, free food jumps into its mouth

The poetry of a party is a broken clumsy thing

It wants to breathe in itself

Wants all to come unto itself

It wants to come

To come to your party

Wants to lie down in the dirt and rub itself against the walls and the television and the wallpaper in the hall

The poetry of a party

It wants to be the king

But it is a broken kind of thing

The king of broken things

It is a scratched record

Slowed down wit

It tries to stand straight

But prefers to sit

It barks at all rebukes

Pukes in sinks

Shits in flowerpots in back gardens

Eats chicken and fingerpickings

Drinks a mile of beer

Lives in a glasshouse and throws rocks

Thinks of tits and cocks

Fires its torpedos into the sea

Sees rockets in the darknightsky

Its pockets full of change

Which falls into the couch’s drain

It wakes up a pain in the side of the party’s face

It has very little taste

Drinks spirits, spits and falls all over the place

Puts the bottle up to its face

It arrives announcing itself as the friend of a friend

But is no-ones friend

Lives around the party’s bend

Waiting for the party never to end

It sits there in permanent disability

Happy in its own frivolity

Happy to be a nobody

Thinking it’s an everybody

The party explodes in its words

The party dies in its death-throws

The party crashes at its gate

The party arrives late

The poetry of the party is never that great

TheMorningAfter

13 thoughts on “The Poetry of a Party”

  2. Good poem! I wonder though if you would rather have poetry or the party, as it seems that they don’t make good drinking partners. I remember one of the last times I was at a bar to party over 30 years ago and I couldn’t get away from the doorway and standing outside looking at the full moon and the stars (like your “untitled” poem). Needless to say the poetry conquered my soul.

    You can say the sun is shining if you really want to
    I can see the moon and it seems so clear
    You can take the road that takes you
    to the stars now
    I can take a road that’ll see me through

    Reply

    • Thanks Bryan, I am a fan of both, but generally not at the same time, although this one is kind of a combination, trying to capture the chaotic spirit of a certain kind of party. And I think that can have a place in poetry too. They don´t necessarily have to be mutually exclusive. I like the quiet, peaceful spirit of poetry at times, but it can also have a freewheeling crazy buddha like quality too. Like the songs/poetry of Dylan in the mid to late 60´s, and like some of the Irish drinking songs, one or two of which I sang on Paddy´s Day a couple of days ago. Generally I feel better after poems though. 🙂 There can also be really poetic moments in parties, where you can look outside at nature moving slowly, or even bond with friends, or have an epiphany. I had one at a festival once where a leaf fell slowly from a tree, at the beginning of Autumn. Drink may not be the best elixir for that though. You never know, it´s even possible to meet the love of your life at a party. I would say that it depends on the moment. They are both useful inventions, if you could call them that. As long as humans have been around we´ve been both partying and being thoughtful. Long before we were around probably. There´s that old adage, all work and no play too… Then there´s Wilde saying we´re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. The untitled one is one of my favourites. Almost feels like someone else wrote it. Hopefully not! 🙂 Thanks for your comment. I like that poem. You´re clearly one of those looking up at the stars.

      Reply

      • Just to clarify with the last line. I don´t mean that good poetry can´t come out of parties, but just that poetry is generally not that high up on the list of priorities when one is in a party mode, most likely because of all the other distractions. The partying mind is usually much busier, and maybe not as wise, even if it´s trying to be philosophical, as the mind is when it´s at peace. Or something like that! Hope that answers your question…

  3. Yea I actually agree with you, and see your point about the combination, but mainly wanted to say what you affirmed in your reply, that it is generally somewhat difficult to be a fan of both poetry and party at the same time. I don’t know if you thought I wrote that little lyric I put in the comment, but that was the song “Road” by Nick Drake. It just popped into my mind when I was remembering what was essentially part of my exit (perhaps the one that Sartre was looking for although I’m kind of vague about that play). Always great to chat!

    Reply

Leave a comment