top of page
  • Writer's pictureMerle Emrich

Drunk Poets Society

Careful steps echo through darkness –

a solemn clack-clack clack-clack-clack

of a dust-washed typewriter

eyes turned skyward – flickering candle


under every streetlamp

melting the starry drowsiness of

the drowning sea of night

drunk on freedom and cheap cider

youthful silhouettes against the scenery

of ancient stones

swaying down St Mary's Gate

to the backwash of thought

soul dripping from tongue and stumbling eyes

every slurred word a poem in itself

half-truths that weigh down the earth

painting crooked shadows of white horses

on the clouds

that – like steam – lift off the canvas of the

ocean sky

lipstick wearing thinner with each beer

conversations as hollow as the wind

that blows gentle kisses into the streets

where juvenile gods are dancing in the

cold dust

still swaying staggering swaggering on

and on and on

sticky spray of barley waves breaking

free from sober shores

nicotine fog rising up in shapes of ghosts

drenched in the paleness of the moon

and sparks and new-found boldness

and courageous recklessness

smelling of dreams

waves of defiance over streets and rooftops

and city lights

vanishing into sleepless solitude

but gravity drags mortal juveniles to earth

the weight of dollar notes nailed on feet

and hands and arms

leaden clothes and jewelry and chains

of copper coins

pulling ship-wrecked vessels back to shores

of sobriety that lie

bare and fallow under translucent stars

where jazzmen play a lost sailor's tune

and painters burn their canvases

and poets sway down St Mary's Gate

with nothing to write about –

a solemn clack-clack clack-clack-clack

of their broken typewriter.

Written by Merle Emrich.

Cover photo by Merle Emrich.


Commenting has been turned off.
bottom of page