Kings of the delta sorrows, turned to dulcet sound, rooted into are hearts and into are souls. Robert Johnson sang of crossroad torment, forsaken by strangers passing in the hours of the night, as he started sinkin’ down. J. L. Hooker’ s sweet taste of ” Whiskey and Wimmen’ “, sent a great euphonic sound to my ears, as I lifted my glass to take another drink of bourbon. A strong, still, feel, fell on me, as Muddy Waters came echoing through. Sitting here drinkin’ “Whiskey Blues.” Pinetop Perkins told me to ” Just keep on drinking ” , so I did, and I filled my glass up just about halfway. A steady stream of melodic cries jolted into me in full strength. A song by Skip James, to rattle the pallid mind. Words of the downtrodden, voiced in misfortunate wisdom, noted that ”Hard time’ s here, an ev’rywhere you go”.
-Denis Doiron
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A portrait on a porceline pisser
target practice for the drunken eyes.
Foot prints place on solid ground
by feeble legs, hung by swaying limbs.
The savage soul turns weary and fragile
as I crawl out of the bottle,
a swollen mouth stained
from perpetual benders
and lips dry out from spiteful thirst.
Shook from a cavernous mind
a fatal step towards an insipid life.
Tinted eyes in yonder sights,
sees through crooked smiles
and melicious minds.
Exiled from cultural standards
and casted into self conciousness
a short dawdling trip
into a shallow grave.
- Denis Doiron
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Hollowed out by
hald, hearted, harlots
left stung and sunken
into a beer, bottle, bliss.
Speak shameful words
of knowleged carnal
and dry hump the hours
as they fall into my glass.
Blood curdles
as silvery tongues pierce
the still beating hearts.
Pistoled smiles
hang on every word
as battered brows
and sunken lips
turn the feverish heads.
Tearing looks
from straining eyes
stain the shallow hours.
Warm anticipation
spun to cold desires
as beauty fades
into the nights end.
- Denis Doiron
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Blinded from hound driven cycles of solitude.
Blinded by drink, drunk in slow consistency.
Blinded as mouths speak in malicious tongue.
Blinded in harsh time, led by sound mind.
Blinded by tokes of green blissful dream trips.
Blinded from lines tought of in past years.
Blinded by hopes of faithful ecstasy.
Blinded and tattered from cut cold comitments.
Blinded from dreams of youthful serenity.
Blinded as the sight of day fades into the end of night.
Blinded by grudges formed during simple times.
Blinded as whispers fall from seductive lips.
Blinded from vagrant life set in full frame.
Blinded by life spent trudging towards personal glory.
Blinded as hours stand still from tormented nights.
Blinded by long talk of better life.
Blinded from strong turn and relentless anger.
Blinded by majestic laugh flowing in a melodious tone.
Blinded from benevolent smiles lost in tansition.
Blinded as trust is gone but not forgotten.
Blinded by waves carrying out countless memories.
Blinded until day breaks and the sun is left cradling the sky.
- Denis Doiron
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They cut my hours again
flesh for pay
pay for drink
and lots of lost time left behind.
A staggered, haggard
liquor drowned fool
left among empty bottles
strained and drained
by the passing hours.
The shadowed days
grow longer still
from staled, fallacious voices
tuned out by the absent ear.
Brooding over bastardly thirst
as laughter falls far from mind
coined cut lullabies
and hopes of tranquil slumber.
- Denis Doiron
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I’ d rather dine with swine’ s, then feast with aristocratic pigs.”
- Denis Doiron
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My Sexual Hunger grows
from a ravenous nature
lust, longing and solitude
an extensive fall off a steep cliff.
Bound for cutthroat commitments
and torn from suitable civility
leaning towards fabled mind set
found clocked in endless time.
Teetering between submission
and relentlessness, a forward
feel of self repression.
Hidden from ecstasy
and constricted by ideal life
fractured, fallen, speachless
in a prolonged delirium.
- Denis Doiron
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Wandering eyes fall
on phantasmal beauty,
as seductive lips whisper
words of sweet euphoria.
Her eyes to fill the barren soul,
and benevolent smile to
radiate the darken days,
as her glances expel
the tired hours.
Spoken in lustful tongue,
as fingertips glide
across her body,
trembling ecstasy,
lay down to bed the night.
Warm in touch,
her cheeks glisten
like the brightest moon,
tender from Inexplicable yearning.
-Denis Doiron
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The mirror shows the man that is.
An aging man left not forgotten
through pitied eyes with sights unseen
left bloodied fists from battered walls.
A blistered tongue
rendered words unspoken.
The still narrow roads
leaves fading memories in the wind.
Twisted in the twisted mind
countless passing hours
falling from the stone washed days.
-Denis Doiron
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