Bourbon Poems - Poems about Bourbon

Return to Bourbon

"Return to Bourbon" (The Gritty Underbelly of New Orleans)


 I left my soul in a crawfish boil
 And my transgressions in a taxicab, Where the driver was blind in one eye
 And the meter was stabbed.
 The gutter gurgles like a gospel hymn
 Also, the rain comes down hard, like a drum, But Lord, I’d

Bourbon Street Blues

Neon haze on cobblestone nights,
whispers ride on the southern moonlight.
Shadows dance in the lamplight’s gleam,
bourbon burns, but so do my dreams.

There's a preacher on the corner,
selling sinners one last prayer.
But the devil’s got a table,
and he’s pulling up a chair.

Oh, Bourbon Street, take my soul,
drown my sins in rock and roll.
Golden whiskey, lace and lies,
where

Bourbon Street

My beloved late husband and I
once strolled down Bourbon Street,
on a mild winter's afternoon.
The musicians enchanted the
atmosphere,
as sparrows lent their own songs.
We dined on gumbo al fresco
with friends,
Spanish Moss clothed ancient trees.
It wasn't yet Mardi Gras,
but we felt so festive,
with her old-time buildings
and eccentric people,
all those years ago.

This New Year's Day,
New Orleans mourns again,
her heart

Cajun Queen, New Orleans

Riverboat on the Mississippi
Folks dining on scrimp, grits, and cornbread
Drinking booze and gambling like crazy
Going to Bourbon Street just ahead

Down in that Cajun Queen, New Orleans

The big paddle wheel keeps on rolling
Down to the Cajun Queen of the Gulf
Where the real money is unfolding
And a thousand green bucks is small stuff

Down in that Cajun Queen,

Balance

Too much bourbon will make you think
everything you write is a masterpiece,
too little and it is all just a pile of crap.
The art of writing is to find the balance
where the two can co-exist.

Bourbon Street Yeet

I was at a wild party,
up above bourbon street.
When someone cried out,
so, what's a Yeet?
An imbibed guy replied,
as he rose from his seat.
"Au contraire Mes aims,
e'st fait accompli."
Well, a yeet's a teen yet,
that's still very messy.
Cause he styles his fine hair,
With ranch salad dressing.
Yeah, I wanna be fair,
but he had too many.
And it's always a

The Price

These words I write may not be worth much to you
perhaps a glass of prosecco or cheap chardonnay
bottom shelf bourbon and soda, tonic and Tanqueray
You have no concept of what they cost me
the price that I must pay

Victrola

There is an empty chair where you would sit
on the other side of my dining room table 
with the worn finish after fifteen years of use
It was beautiful when I bought it 
We would listen to old records I’ve collected 
from flea markets and antique shops
the black shellac sort with only one song on each

Bourbon

I smelt the bourbon from your mouth 
You are the most beautiful girl I have ever met 
I cried, but it wasn't a happy cry 

I cried for all my restless nights
I cried for all my overthinking 
I cried because all you ever did was lie to me

The lies dripped from your mouth like the

Derby Pie

A buttery, flaky crust
Fresh cup, chopped pecans 
Brown sugar and egg with cocoa
Dash of vanilla
Bit of bourbon, hug
Bake and serve
Sweet!

Southern Comfort

Magnolias wafting through the breeze,
mixin’ with sweet iced tea.
Porch swingin’ and guitars strummin’,
playin’ cards strewn on the table.
A Remington rifle hangs above the door,
next to a nice ten-point buck;
Air so thick you're breathin’ water.
There is nothin’ quite like a little Southern Comfort.

Kneelin' hydrangeas beg the hinting rain,
bright flashes reach over the waiting hill.
Drunk and dirty,

Expensive Bourbon

The expensive bourbon doesn’t work any better
Than the cheap stuff 
To get the thoughts of her 
Out of my head
If only for a little while 
I drink to escape how I feel for her
Knowing that I shouldn’t
Knowing that she doesn’t 
But it’s nice for a while 
Not to feel so bad
Not to feel so lost
Not

Yet I Smile With Sparkling Eyes

My anger boils deep down inside.
Yet I smile with sparkling eyes.
Hot blood flowing vie chamber to chamber…
Thumping heart beats vexed closer to danger…
Drinking in downpouring tears and cries.
Yet I smile with sparkling eyes.

Pissing out vengeance, bourbon and wine.
Bowels rumble loudly from the hate I dine.
Hands wipe away sweat of brood and brine.
Cap rim shadows inhuman

Bourbon and Ice

by Wayne Wysocki

A fellow who fractured his hip
Learned a valuable tip
     If liquor you drink
     At the ice skating rink
You're probably going to slip.

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