poemranker ::Dale by INTRANSIT

DetailsThe poem, its numbers, and the conversation.

Free verse № 130541

Dale

Member since 2002 · Posted 3 Sep 2005 · 5 comments

What times we had ! You taught me darts and the first time I played my dad I beat him. I worry about my dads age sometimes it seems like a joke now. We bowled ! game after game after game then billiards with Dave. I'm sure who we worked for was a contributor. Doing our laundry together, god how we grew when you said "fuck you" I knew what you meant. And we could move cars! The whole Marijuana and Valerie thing was just too funny! Now I'm a newborn pup that just lost its mother. I just want to punch a grandfather clock! Grab its arms, yank its guts out through its face. I could have come to Arkansas and helped you with that thing you had going on, whatever it was. I would have, gladly. But I didn't know you never called me again. What's left but Sade and Courvosier white russians.

Rate it

0 is the worst, 10 the best. Pick a number, add a comment if you like, then send it. Keys: 0–9 pick, Enter sends.

mean 6.67 weighted 5.45 rank 2945 views 242 View voting details →

6 votes so far. Yours would make 7.6 votes so far

A favorite of Caducus.

5 comments

[7] Dovina 3-Sep-05/9:55 AM Reply
What's left? Black russians, that's what. Far super over White, in every way. I've never taught a man to play darts and then have him beat his father. Maybe you need another lesson.
[n/a] INTRANSIT › Dovina 3-Sep-05/10:01 AM Reply
I raise my paw and say: BAH!
[9] Bethy 5-Sep-05/5:14 AM Reply
good memories...we all have them, this is what I write about, fic and non-fic...still there all good feelings...someone always laughs, it either reminds people of themselves or someone...this one reminds me of my buddy Ed...and he was a nutbar... still is...thanks for the belly giggles...lol :) Bethy
[4] Heather Dee 6-Sep-05/2:50 AM Reply
I'm sorry
[10] Caducus 15-Sep-05/9:00 AM Reply
its a freakin classic and normally what i liked a couple of years ago isnt the same now (which can be said of some readers to my work). This is still so haunting and ripping out the guts of a grandfather clock shows your emotive qualities spilling over - this poem made me like you as a human and writer.