Puss cat had the zoomies
By the moon she sang.
The stars blazed like footlights
for a meow band set.
Mic held aloft in paws
she pranced atop a tree
and supped a bowl of whiskey
Her voice was tiddly woo.
Snowy owls played gentle games
with backing choirs of mice
who twanged the golden whiskers
of that punk, feline lead.
Behold Max the Drunk!
He likes to steal my whiskey
when my back is turned.
Winner 1st Place: Cat Senryu, JCB Brul (Sponsor), 5/14/26
He is using winter white words
That tap dance on my nerves
Violet verbs slippery perturbed
“If you licorice love me you would”
Begging come on I’ve been good
Wanting to chop his hard wood
Then as if a light switch flips
Sour verses drips from lips
Grabbing green envying hips
Sometimes I am like red wine
Loosening up mahogany mind
Encouraging emerald good time
Tonight I am brown whiskey
I’ve the lock denying key
No amethyst access to me
It’s not a game at all
I am not hard but soft
His memory of that lost
If I was his favorite red car
He’d not stab it so hard
Or tear it apart from heart
Try a little teal tenderness
Use your charm to caress
Don’t curse with verse, bless
I need to emotionally connect
Not be made a sex object
You use to get through when upset
If you really care for ME
Be as easy as blue breeze
We both have neon needs
Her tears of wildflowers ‘n whiskey,
Wistfully drifting thro’ the soothless air,
E’ermoor the pineful sobbing, ruefully;
Oft daring darling birds to wane the fair,
Chid not the girl for tears for boys for joy
Much lost upon the mirror, ‘eep tonight
Without the woes nor cares of youthful boys,
‘Eep sweetly from the tast’ of whiskey’s bite,
Ere long the dreams of wheat smoked barrels stir
Your deep slumbers keep, dream of many things,
The rye, the warming oak, caramel and myrrh,
And soon, much too soon, the nightingale sings.
Rest now, dear heart, let sorrow’s tempest cease;
For even broken wings may sleep in peace.
When I turned eighteen
I believed
turning water into Whiskey
were my keys to the doors of maturity
a retreat from parental sensibilities
and a gateway to fitting in with my peers
Little did I knew
turning water into Whiskey
would bear a sensation
as harsh as the vinegar
fed to Jesus on the cross
Nothing but a deadly miracle
executed on my brain, liver and heart
to becoming endangered species
while forging a genocide of my cells
and forcing my body into extinction
six feet below the brown earth
Her eyes are like whiskey,
an ocean that I’ve set sail on.
And one in which I am stranded.
Her voice is like whiskey.
A holistic medicine,
Lulling me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Her soul is like whiskey,
And when I drink whiskey,
I slouch into the bar,
unmoving.
Her love is like whiskey.
Thirsting for it, I bring the bottle to my lips,
Finding it to be empty.
Our bond is like whiskey.
without whiskey,
I shake.
He weighed his mind,
it had dissolved into a tar pit
and was getting heavier.
He was thirsty, hungry to get away -
from himself.
Three shots later his eyes released him
from their deep-dug jailhouse.
Sooner than expected
the crowded bar emptied,
the saloon rocketing blindly
into a darkening planet.
Outside,
the evening was smeared with red,
low dusky lights hung like a punctured lung.
He walked one step ahead of his shoes.
Back home
he dabbed damp jowls, waiting,
for his mind to wander off
inside a humming keyboard.
Meanwhile he dripped drops
of static silence onto a word
to give it a half-life,
yet only for a moment –
it was going to be a long summer.
but oblivion was only
three shots away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After all, he said,
moonlight on his whiskey glass,
we are just shadows
Whiskey road,
all alone,
here we go again/
Hitting switchbacks,
going too fast,
chasing down my sin/
Headlights crawl,
through the pouring rain,
to where the road gives out/
Glass eye’d stare,
same whispered prayers,
plunged deep into the black/
beside dotage, corn whiskey make her writes go careen left right up down
Paddy was a hit man
for the Irish Mob
hired to be slick
and do a whack job
but he didn't have the knack
or know the trick
without being caught
and put in the nick
behind bars
but not the sort one might think
where a few jars
may be bought and he did so love a drink
more than one too many
was his undoing
the cause of all
the troubles brewing
and with only one hit
it's really no wonder
he was fired from the gang
for a drunken blunder
as he couldn't quit the whiskey
be it bottle or a flagon
and ended up inside
not on the wagon
Sat alone again, sipping a few
The old whiskey jar
It's as empty as you
Now you're gone I can see
All that you did
Just one more day
To be your friend
They say to live
Each day as your last
The reality is
We're all tied to a mast
Don't dream away
These ideas that you have
Because the moment is now
Just remember to laugh
I think it's the greatest of gifts
If you've got some then share it with friends
We don't know when this ride will end
Just where it begins
We don't have much time
To have a good time
You offered me wings
I clung to pristine majesty
Sometimes it has to end
Gambling and whiskey never
Left a night any less lonesome
I'm still torn up inside
The avenue and alleys
Were once all that really mattered
You offered me wings and I
clung to the sky
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 saints fall and the spirits rise.
The river hums a lonesome tune,
trumpets wail under a voodoo moon.
Cards fall fast in the gambler’s hand,
love’s for sale with a one-night stand.
There's a girl in red velvet,
spilling secrets in her wine,
Says, "Boy, you best be leavin',
while the night is still alive."
Oh, Bourbon Street, take my soul,
drown my sins in rock and roll.
Golden whiskey, lace and lies,
where saints fall and the spirits rise.
Footsteps fade in the mist and rain,
the ghosts still whisper my name…
Oh, Bourbon Street, take my soul,
drown my sins in rock and roll.
Golden whiskey, lace and lies,
where saints fall and the spirits rise…
The trumpet cries beneath the neon glow,
a golden wail that haunts the hollow night.
The bass line walks where lonely spirits go,
its heartbeat steady, low and laced with bite.
Her voice is velvet, dipped in smoke and sin,
a lullaby for hearts too torn to mend.
She sings of love, of loss, of what has been,
each note a ghost that lingers to the end.
The whiskey sways inside a heavy glass,
the shadows dance like lovers, slow and worn.
Outside, the city hums—a world so vast,
yet every soul inside that room feels torn.
The music fades, but echoes never die—
a broken heart still sings beneath the sky.
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