Waking up in another bed
of flowers. I should learn
to count drinks instead of cards
since alcohol throws off my math.
Lost another jacket and proverbial shirt.
Sharp rock poking my left kidney.
Hope my wallet is still in my soggy
back pocket and that’s just the morning dew.
Probably a good time to reassess
life choices once my headache lifts
then I notice the host of golden daffodils
reassuring, you’re not rock bottom yet.
And another disappointing morning
ends with my heart dancing.
For the March Visual Poetry Prompt and Monday’s Poetry Prompt and William Wordsworth.
About Bartholomew Barker
Bartholomew Barker is an organizer of Living Poetry, a collection of poets in the Triangle region of North Carolina where he has hosted a monthly feedback workshop for more than decade. His first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular, written in and about strip clubs, was published in 2013. His second, Milkshakes and Chilidogs, a chapbook of food inspired poetry was served in 2017. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. Born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, he worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough where he lives and writes poetry.
Lovely!
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Glad you liked it, JM!
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I’m hoping this was written many years ago!
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Nope, wrote it as soon as I could find a dry piece of paper.
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And now I’m hoping that you’re kidding!
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Great poem and fabulous image!!!
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Grazie, Luisa! Yeah, I love the image too. Very inspiring!
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You are so very welcome my dear Bartholomew ❣️
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Love this poem.
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Thank you, Maggie.
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My pleasure Bart.
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Great Post
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Thanks
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I love this. It definitely reinforces my decision to not drink.
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So glad you liked it.
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Beautifully evocative of an addict’s regrets and humanity.
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Thank you, Mitch.
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Bam! Nailed it! Very good:)
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So glad you enjoyed it!
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Bart, this wonderfully written poem and gorgeous photo remind me that it is a good thing I am not a drinker or a gambler. I am afraid I might have woken up in some place much worse than a field of daffodils! 🌼🌼🌼
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I would assert that there’s no better place to wake up than in a field of daffodils.
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I used to know a young lass whose friend woke up in a skip with no memory of how she came to be there. I asked wasn’t she worried about this, and her answer was that she couldn’t remember, so it didn’t matter!
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Wow! Thank you, Bernie, for sharing this chilling story. At 75, my memory is becoming less reliable, but I see a young girl waking up with no memory of how she got there or what might have happened to her truly alarming! I hope she didn’t come down with a case of something afterwards!
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I’d be jealous that black-out drunk me was having more fun than merely tipsy me. Or, worse still, finding more inspiration and not writing it down!
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Great poem!
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Many thanks!
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Love that he found the hope at the end there.
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Thanks, Nicole. That became important as I was writing.
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Reply to Cheryl Batavia…….. I, too, thought that this should give cause for concern but she was fine – just as full of Ooooph as ever – didn’t cause any pause in her drinking, at all!
I was in my mid-30’s at the time, and the two lassies I mention were in their late teens. I was known as ‘Old Foss’ – affectionate abbreviation of fossil!
At one time, the same lass was working in a Warehouse, when a big box of Pampers (nappies) fell on her head. She was injured enough to get compensation, but not long-term injured. She was, however, from then on known as shit-head among her chums! She’s just one of those people that….things happen to.
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Thanks, Bernie, for the interesting story. When I was young, though not an addict, I engaged in some reckless behavior, and I was also fine. Some others were not so lucky. All of life’s experiences teach us something and are writing material.
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Great work!
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Thank you!
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Tall daffodils hide the small truths …
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That sounds like the first line of a poem, Ivor…
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Thanks … maybe it will be, Bart …
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What a great poem!
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So glad you enjoyed it!
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Far Out! 🏄♂️🎶
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Glad you liked it!
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