Long Irish whiskey Poems
Long Irish whiskey Poems. Below are the most popular long Irish whiskey by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Irish whiskey poems by poem length and keyword.
Accept, the chastity and understanding of the spirit
A life in strict celibacy, ignore their sexual feelings
Frivolity, a path that leads straight to hell
Has God given them everything for nothing?
Disobedient nuns at the bar ... Irish Whiskey, thanks
26/08/2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
~ Five Lines- Poetry Contest ~
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
7th place in the contest
I used to ride waves on the deep blue sea,
A Sailor's life was the life for me.
It was the wildest thing I ever did,
I've been called Salty Dog and even Squid.
On a crusty deck, the hull painted gray,
We'd stow all the lines and be on our way.
A motley crew aboard the Dick E. Byrd,
Waiting for the Captain to give the word.
Heading South to the Indian Ocean,
Where the seas are calm and lacks the motion.
The only drawback was the blazing sun,
It was blistering skin for everyone.
The closer we got to the Equator,
The more we felt like a french fried tater.
You'd stand your watch by the light of day,
Or dead of night under the Milky Way.
When we could stop at a liberty port,
We'd all disembark for a little snort.
Some Jamaican Rum or Irish Whiskey,
A Tequila shot would make me frisky.
Then back to the ship with your heart content,
Thinking about the fun and money spent.
Cruising due North on a highway of foam,
Nursing hangovers on the voyage home.
I want to go across the sea to Dublin.
Immediately is when my journey must begin.
There is a pretty Irish lass waiting for me there.
She has cool blue eyes and lovely red hair.
Here in the states, I miss her all the while.
The lady waits for my return to the Emerald Isle.
My woman is really a great beauty to see.
She gets me higher than a shot of Irish whiskey.
I want to book my Aer Lingus flight.
Over the ocean is where I will fly overnight.
I will arrive at Dublin’s airport before sunrise.
I cannot wait to gaze into those blue eyes.
I want to hug and kiss her, and take her by the hand.
Big 747, I am in a hurry to get to Ireland.
one fine sunny morning dazzling golden sunrise
dancing with rays of magical sunshine
dewdrops on silver webs glistening drops
he began whistling and dancing
picking wild mushrooms on the forest floor
to make magic wonder and happenings occur
he begins building and stoking the fire
throwing turf on until red hot
sticks the pot over the flicking flames
stirring emotions inside bubble and steam
throws in a mountain of carrots, peas, herbs
with lots of other sorts of raw veggies
adding a rare drop of mountain spirits . . .
next freeing a soul adding an alchemic fuel so rare
making himself a most magical and delicious stew
as he cooked he began devouring the stew more and more
then slowly he felt himself floating high so high
in a bubble so wonderful and dear and so clear
picked up by a pocket of air and floating even more
when . . .
a lovely fairy princess appears gossamer wings your light
and then appearing again under a radiant rainbow bridge
and with one cherished and most special romantic kiss
he began waltzing with her to a melody so haunting yet pretty
and while lost in this mystical trancelike moment of splendor
the fairy princess stole his heart that was pure gold
and when he came around alone—so alone
an icy cold shiver then ran down his very spine
it was just a silly old leprechaun dream and all he thought
as I see her magic sparkling potions cast on someone else too
the big ethereal and mystical bubble of fairy elves just burst
wide open for him and all others to see while the elves
laughed raucously so hard with little warm tears running down
their little rosy cheeks . . .
the leprechaun pondered—next time Me thinks Me be more
careful with them mushrooms Me happily picks on the forest floor—
and stick to drinkin’ the old mountain forest dew with some
lovely luscious shots of the oldest Irish whiskey with a stout nip o’ gin . . . .
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright ©
All Rights Reserved (December 3, 2014) (Free Verse poetic format)
He Didn’t Leave Much
He didn’t leave much, never had much.
His “stuff” mostly fit in one drawer of the
old dresser. His world a daily grind of
rising at five AM, walking to his first job.
Then at five PM, walking from his first job
to his second job.
I don’t ever remember him being happy.
I know that he must have had some happiness
in his life, but it was never apparent to me.
He was intelligent, if not educated. He was
pretty much a non-participant in my life.
An Irish immigrant, he knew little of the
games his children loved, although I think
he feigned an interest at times. I imagine
these moments were his attempts to form
something of a bond with children who
knew little or nothing about their ancestors,
their history, their heredity.
The mystery of the man still shadows me
today. Who was he – really. There were
stories of Ireland and the IRA, of farms
and family, a family we never met.
As he grew older, he would become
melancholy at times and meander through
memories fueled by a bottle of Irish Whiskey.
He would play the accordion. His eyes would
sparkle as he played, as if he had gone back to
a different time, a kinder place.
Perhaps the mystery of the man is a better
legacy than knowing all the gritty details of
his loves and loses, his heartaches, his
youthful experiences. What were his secrets,
and why were they kept?
I wonder – when he left Ireland –
if he wept.
John G. Lawless
5/1/2014
With alcohol coursing through my veins,
I sense and feel the best of my pains.
With double resolve to amend my aims,
I can’t believe I really want to.
Oh Alcohol! Oh Alcohol! Oh Alcohol!
you are the balm and bane
to my existence;
and yet, if I must choose,
I choose the balm to my existence.
As I tear through the shadows of my life,
I know that thou art with me,
every time I pour a glass of fine red wine,
or a stout shot glass Irish whiskey,
I marvel at the sound and tenor of this fine alcohol
as it moves in waves and slaps the inside of the glass of choice.
The sound it makes is indeed notable and quite pleasant.
As they say in the German:
“das macht ein gutes Geräusch.”
-or-
“das macht eine klangvolle Wonne.”
With alcohol coursing through my veins,
melancholy is never one of my pains.
This emotion is not allowed
nor will I ever be cowed,
and depressed—as some suggest:
to slump, to sulk, and to sit in the corner
crying over what might have been.
When drinking and thinking and being, and—
with alcohol coursing through my veins,
I do indeed savor the sound of fine alcohol being poured
to quite rightly ensure that I will never be bored.
As they say in the German:
“das macht ein gutes Geräusch.”
-or-
“das macht eine klangvolle Wonne.”
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(August 24, 2014)
Whiskey Lips So Sublime
Whiskey Lips step now over the line of true fire-water,
As a warm-burning brings forward one glowing sign.
The golden mead of sweet mountain dew appears now,
As each golden drop sighs it moment of escape and as
The alcohol signals and sparks the wildest of spirits in
One’s own true self!
This moment of sublime ecstasy excites and sparks your
Deepest inner-spirit and you begin to slur and sing loudly,
As your mind begins to reel from the drunken delight of
Your very own intoxicating breaths—noble, yet stupid,
As you become drunken forever under each psychic sip
You taketh from the deepest pool in the very depths of
Your eternal soul!
Your very eyes now glaze over a breathless message
You have found in the cheapest of whiskey bottles.
Saying a divine prayer to Almighty God Himself,
You open the bottle cork now and take notice that a
Little genie pops out of nowhere and begins to take all
Three of your mythic wishes granted together into one!
With that, this little genie shall begin dancing and singing
An ancient Irish whiskey song in your presence into the
Wee hours of the morning until you both pass out and fall
Into a drunken stupor with your whiskey lips so sublime!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – July 23, 2018
(Free Verse)
one fine sunny morning dazzling golden sunrise
dancing with rays of magical sunshine
dewdrops on silver webs glistening drops
he began whistling and dancing
picking wild mushrooms on the forest floor
to make magic wonder and happenings occur
he begins building and stoking the fire
throwing turf on until red hot
sticks the pot over the flicking flames
stirring emotions inside bubble and steam
throws in a mountain of carrots, peas, herbs
with lots of other sorts of raw veggies
adding a rare drop of mountain spirits . . .
next freeing a soul adding an alchemic fuel so rare
making himself a most magical and delicious stew
as he cooked he began devouring the stew more and more
then slowly he felt himself floating high so high
in a bubble so wonderful and dear and so clear
picked up by a pocket of air and floating even more
when . . .
a lovely fairy princess appears gossamer wings your light
and then appearing again under a radiant rainbow bridge
and with one cherished and most special romantic kiss
he began waltzing with her to a melody so haunting yet pretty
and while lost in this mystical trancelike moment of splendor
the fairy princess stole his heart that was pure gold
and when he came around alone—so alone
an icy cold shiver then ran down his very spine
it was just a silly old leprechaun dream and all he thought
as I see her magic sparkling potions cast on someone else too
the big ethereal and mystical bubble of fairy elves just burst
wide open for him and all others to see while the elves
laughed raucously so hard with little warm tears running down
their little rosy cheeks . . .
the leprechaun pondered—next time Me thinks Me be more
careful with them mushrooms Me happily picks on the forest floor—
and stick to drinkin’ the old mountain forest dew with some
lovely luscious shots of the oldest Irish whiskey with a stout nip o’ gin . . . .
Liam McDaid and Gary Bateman – A Collaborated Poem, Copyright ©
All Rights Reserved (December 3, 2014)
Whiskey Lips So Sublime
Whiskey Lips step now over the line of true fire-water,
As a warm-burning brings forward one glowing sign.
The golden mead of sweet mountain dew appears now,
As each golden drop sighs it moment of escape and as
The alcohol signals and sparks the wildest of spirits in
One’s own true self!
This moment of sublime ecstasy excites and sparks your
Deepest inner-spirit and you begin to slur and sing loudly,
As your mind begins to reel from the drunken delight of
Your very own intoxicating breaths—noble, yet stupid,
As you become drunken forever under each psychic sip
You taketh from the deepest pool in the very depths of
Your eternal soul!
Your very eyes now glaze over a breathless message
You have found in the cheapest of whiskey bottles.
Saying a divine prayer to Almighty God Himself,
You open the bottle cork now and take notice that a
Little genie pops out of nowhere and begins to take all
Three of your mythic wishes granted together into one!
With that, this little genie shall begin dancing and singing
An ancient Irish whiskey song in your presence into the
Wee hours of the morning until you both pass out and fall
Into a drunken stupor with your whiskey lips so sublime!
Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – July 23, 2018
(Free Verse)
As I look out my Irish cottage window,
I see the Cliffs of Moher reaching up into the gray clouds.
Powerful cliffs are tickling the water below as it goes on forever,
water meeting the misty rain coming in from afar.
This land is covered in green with pretty wild-flowers,
coming from the misty rain that Atlantic storms bring.
My Irish cottage with it's thatched roof will keep me dry,
while the fireplace will keep me warm.
Our roads are narrow as we pass by castles,
many stand in ruin yet some welcome tourists.
Old castles for weary travelers to lay down to sleep,
then awaken to an Irish breakfast fit for a king and queen.
The Dublin Castle now a government complex and museum to visit,
long gone are the days for it to be filled with families.
Cabra Castle with it's 88 acres of green land,
will welcome you inside for a visit and an Irish meal.
Feast on dairy products, black pudding, grains, fish, stew and potatoes,
then wash it down with Irish whiskey or a tall glass of beer.
Make sure you watch for the fairies and Leprechauns,
they can be found when you least expect to see them.
Some say they are folklore living throughout the county side.
but do not say that to the ones who have seen them.