Long Whiskeys Poems
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I woke up to what's left of late last night
And poured it down the drain
All my demons sit laughing to themselves
As I swear it off again
My heart's still steady beating, as if I ran a race
My lips miss the feeling, of the whiskeys warm embrace
Why'm I closest to Heaven whenever I'm going through hell
Why do I find myself singing
All the songs of praise
When I'm drunk with such emotion
I know I should be ashamed
I ask the Lord please let me
Make it through this night
Before I get to ask the question
We both know I'll lose the fight
So why'm I closest to Heaven whenever I'm going through hell
I know the answer lies within me
But how do I take the first step
When I'm sober I tend to find that I
Have no self respect
So I try to drink the pain away
A little at a time
But it's a double edge slide
Right back into the fire
Why'm I closest to Heaven whenever I'm going through hell
Why'm I entertaining demons
The same ones that I did, all last week
When will the day ever come
That I'll get back up on my feet
Maybe I've not hit rock bottom
But it just so hard to tell
I'd rather be a man than this hollowed out old shell
Why'm I closest to Heaven whenever I'm going through hell
Why'm I closest to Heaven whenever I'm going through hell
Here I am at the kitchen sink again
Pouring out last night's regrets....
Let me recount of the mirrored alcoves galleries of brands
Whiskeys deep gold many types of bottles into optic feeds
Highly polished bar timbertops rich shining deep.' Varied
Paper coasters to keep it pristene, bowls of cheese squares crackers at the side, the sent of a recent cleaning
Greetings warm when you stepped inside.' The old
Hearth with a brass rod demarking its boundry the crackle
Of the logs flaming, chasing smoke up the Old chimney'
The walled rear convinnial gardens, evolved over centuries
You could find in the country of England countless examples such as these.' Icons of much effort, yet so long
Now under attack by the heartless neuvo influencers with ideas not worth a jot! Much over regulation.' The desire for
More tat.? The absorbtion of online pastimes' yet it seems
There are few winners.? The almost holy 'human touch' i
See it was part of what was better.' The shared pot of morning tea, the opening of letters, taking time with the
Milkman leather satchel slung, white overcoat sentinel of
Three decades yore.' Its gone the same with churches the
Pews all ripped away organs sold for brass, and gold reliefs
Maybe painted gray? Some mafe into coffe shops.' Some
Just knocked to the floor.' Now stand there stark drear
Terraces more like gaols.' Than should be seen; on any countrys shores." Its all send a link.' And no one blinks as
The old and youth are sidelined.' Its d e i its falseness first
Yet i hear rationalitys cries.' I'm looking at the holes in socks i've only bought last week.' While on the t v politicans
Promise to fix it up by a labour influx, because they are bent.' On getting things cheap..
The applause
I had a drink before to a poetry reading and since I was nervous
drank a few whiskeys and spoke dramatically about the plight of the Palestinians
I needed help to get down from the stage since my glasses were at the hotel.
Next day we went to a meeting where the top of
The educated class go, I thought they were idiots they had erudition but no
learning, So I got up and spoke for fifteen minutes.
The silence was colossal, think of a needle falling from the galaxy
and landing on Himalaya I had committed the sin of saying
the global warming was a natural disaster and had nothing to do
with global warming.
The meeting was not reported in the local paper but what do
I know, I do not speak this Roman soldier’ language.
All has come to an end, except for who to proclaim
The winner of The National College Football Championship Game
Excitement is brewing for the play-off game
Some will be at the game watching getting rained on, cold, and excited
The armchair quarterbacks stay at home and watch on their big screen TV being- telecasted
Scheduling and planning their parties to cheer on their favorite team and fellowships
Shopping for chips and dips
Hot wings and BBQ smokies
Soda pop, tea, beer, and whiskeys
They dress themselves and their children in lucky sports team attire
Kick off time has come, everyone is bouncing off the walls inspired
Armchair quarterback is playing in his own little field
He kicks and runs
Catches, tackles, and stuns
“That’s not the way they teach you to tackle!”
With all his excitement he almost slides off the armchair
“Oh, come on! Hey ref that’s not fair!”
“That’s pass interference he was all over him while the ball was in the air!”
He hollers and cheers
“Touchdown!” That’s the way!
Rants and raves
“Quit doing that, you idiot, you're going to get a fifteen yard penalty!”
His blood pressure is going up we all agree
“What the Hell was that you nitwit!”
“He dropped it.! You could have had it!”
Disappointment sets in, his team has lost
He blames the refs for all the bad calls, and its cost
Cleaning the carpet because of all the excitement, it’s going to cost
The season is over and I don't have to hear his rants until next year and
Our children will be the next generation of armchair quarterbacks
1/13/2015 by: Eve Roper
Accounts on watching and listening to my husband and brother
I sauntered out of an Irish Pub
Basted in booze and Irish smooze
The whiskeys sure didn’t cover the blues
Me, I knew this wasn’t good news
As a crossed the street
I met a bus, Full of nuns, all in a fuss
There was no contest, the bus sure won
I was run over and ready for a place with no sun
I arrived in hell, this surly no surprise
At least I was drunk, or so Satan surmised
He looked confused and asked who am I?
A Lawyer? a Dictator? or maybe I was both?
I apologized profusely for I surely was not
Any of those professions, I'm no in their lot
He asked if I was expecting 72 virgins?
As drunk as I was, I said I was not
He was angry and mad, there was doubt
What could the Devil do? He seemed in a stew
So he gave me a degree, in Law and Justice
So I could live in hell among all the others untrusted!
Notes: No Lawyers were hurt or maimed in the writing of this poem, and I apologize for that!
The applause
I had a drink before going to a poetry reading
since I was nervous
drank a few whiskeys and spoke dramatically about the plight of the Palestinians
I needed help to get down from the stage since my glasses were at the hotel.
The next day, we went to a meeting where the top of
The educated class go, I thought they were idiots
they had erudition but no
learning, So I got up and spoke for fifteen minutes.
The silence was colossal
think of a needle falling from the galaxy
and landing at the Himalayas, I had sinned
said the global warming was a natural disaster and had nothing to do
with global warming.
The meeting was unreported in the local paper
but what do
I do not speak this Roman soldier’s language.
The mind is a mysterious vessel
It carries decisions and memories of yesterday but
No matter how many whiskeys, they will not disappear
It replays life altering choices
Alongside choices not made, in a whine
A stamp of regret imprinted on the brain
The only way to erase it, through death
As Sisyphus, my punishment is grueling but deserved
The ache of self-loathing is like shouldering 100 slaughtered men
The colt 45 calls louder today than normal
Its call seducing
Claiming the pestering will dissipate if only
I paint the ceiling crimson red
Oh, I think today its victorious
As the liberating barrel tastes of sweet escape
Its forces are immense and face withered resistance
Swimming thoughts fly away
Refreshing darkness comes with one, quick, pull.
I picked up the phone today
And I dialed your number
I didn't know what to say
So I hung up on the second ring
You see I thought that I could explain
But I just couldn't play through the pain
And you probably wouldn't have answered anyway
.
One drink wont make me forget
It's gonna take me
About 10 more yet
But I know by morning light
your memory is gonna haunt me
out of my mind
But I'm gonna try to drink you away
One more time
Anyway
.
I'm haunted by the ghost of yesterday
Whiskeys' the only exorcist, to drive it away
But those Ol Demons just won't leave
They know too much about me they just won't go
And even though it only tortures my soul
Sometimes this pain's the only friend I really know
.
One drink wont make me forget
It's gonna take me
About 10 more yet
But I know by morning light
your memory is gonna haunt me
out of my mind
But I'm gonna try to drink you away
One more time
Anyway
And even though
They're killing this man
Sometimes they're the only friends I have that understand
There's no comfort in the pain of what might have been
.
One drink wont make me forget
It's gonna take me
About 10 more yet
But I know by morning light
your memory is gonna haunt me
out of my mind
But I'm gonna try to drink you away
One more time
Anyway
And even though it only tortures my soul
Sometimes this pain's the only friend I really know
Life is but a mere mass of perennial days,
You live a day and it reduces one bit;
You go on with your wayward wanton ways,
A week is over and the mass looks so small.
Whether you sleep or walk or imbibe fine whiskeys,
The mass looks ever smaller and smaller;
It does not matter what you do day after day,
But you can’t bribe the clock with a dollar.
And when finally the ball dwindles until it’s no more,
You may feel some headache or some pain on the back;
As Azrael descends to bear you to your eternal rest,
Or wherever goes the folks who kick the sack.
So you have your untouched ball of rug at birth;
Pray if you have the grace and steal if you have the guts,
Build huge castles or dine and wine if a gourmet,
And trust the ball’s end to cut short your race…
You Were My Whiskey;
And never mild those wild dead women.
And doing all of that on sinking ships.
Each one was you,
I drank one more.
Who knelt unseen and wild each kiss,
I miss the most between,
closed doors.
I cannot move,
from deep inside your couch,
I am some head,
you hang your hat and both, we search for.
While on your knees,
I think and then I think some more.
Each time I cough,
your lips grow tighter, I grow sorer still.
Brown bags lay emptied,
Wanting more of that cough syrup, over there.
I look at you,
you look at me and we are both the same.
Eyes that glow
and each red slit a fire that melts us both inside.
Those deep black circles, fraught by flame,
I touch your eye it does not move
inside it's socket, now glazed shut.
Mercy me, and sweet that nun.
Honey how She knew,
and he rose up and simply walked away.
The habits bad and neither stay.
and whiskeys better, as you empty every bottle.
And here we sit again alone,
sharing wild forgotten kisses on the floor.
a.s.