Poetry Bars (aka My Sweet Sixteen)

Birds  of  a  feather,  writes  wherever 

Flock  together  even  in  ill tempered  weather

Hob-Knob(ing)  by  plights  assumed,  resounding

Official  sounding  documentary,  displaying  literary

Drunken  verse,  spewed  out  of  infected  hearts,  exacting

Musing  minds,  for  laughter,  love,  death  and/or   social  regrets

Just  for  fun,  or  for  fee  in  sum,  spitting  words  on  point  begets

Dark  and  musky,  delight  and  lovely,  next  on  call  by page  to stage  a  slam  to slay

We  pray  for  memory  in  hears  that  listen  near  and  afar to  our  ad-verses

From  pubs  to  clubs,  community  action  centerstage’d  outreach,  beseeching

Sound-cloud  outbursts’ snaps  and  claps  of  fame,  fortune  telling  chatter  reigns

Spoken  softly,  soothing  voiceovers,   looseleaf  to  tablets,  pen  inks  staining  and  bruising

Catching  cold,  from  shoulder  shrugs  of  indifference  to  writing  inference

Flipping  foul  tipped,  poison  pen  messages,  to  lovers  lost  last  and  powers  abusing

Dredging  up  past  childhood  scarring,  producing  straight  jarring  read  flashback  effects

Only  to  realize,  way  too  late,  that  we  are  talkiin’  bout  ourselves,  cuz  most  bars  close  at  four!