Whiskeys Poems | Examples

soldiers women

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.

Frozen in Fear

Twas exhausted night before Thanksgiving, 
after few eggnog Whiskeys, relieving. 
Awful chilling and spooky, 
Boo-hoo, the turkey soupy, 
Homegrown, fear fill eyes were unforgiving.

Late-Night Charging

Boomer rang my doorbell
    his blue jeans had expired

  Required late-night charging   
    he knocked back whiskeys for a while

Selfish Death

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.

You Were My Whiskey Never Mild Those Wild Dead Women

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.

Indecision

INDECISION

He fell in love when he met her
In nineteen eighty seven
But didn’t get round to telling her 
Till June of twenty-eleven
He’d drunk some double whiskeys,
Followed up with gin,
Then turned up on her doorstep,
Begging to be let in.
He told her how he loved her,
He got down on one knee.
She told him he’d left it too long
For she’d wed in ninety-three.

8th June 2021
Lipogram contest - No A
Sponsor - Emile Pinet

Wintry Air

It is December!
Chilly-cold air all around
Windy air pluck trees' leaves
With branches bare without coverings
And cramped buds waiting to bloom.

Dark afternoons, soon we see
Early bells, ring aloud!
Playing lads, all agog
"It is bed time....", mumbled, busy lasses.

Cladded gentlemen, from heads to knees
Walking briskly down the streets
For warm whiskeys at pubs.

Wintry air in steads and in woods
Autumn is here, an ally of Winter.

Winter Revels

Old Lang Syne meaningfully with gusto
Hogmanay celebrations in full swing
Revellers savour whiskeys afterglow
Watching square dancers doing highland fling

Laden snow clouds have accumulated 
Inky heavens to sheer mountain ski top
As frozen misty hailstones enshrouded
onwards from midnight chimes, it did not stop

Mechanisation had ground to standstill
So stranded most where, no alarm to raise
Prompted mountaineers try to ski downhill
Technology cut off they did appraise

Happily acknowledging extra days
Revellers exclaimed jubilant hoorays

Oct 29 2019
New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet

18 Whiskeys

18 Whiskeys

Tribute to Dylan Thomas

I raged at 11th and Hudson Streets
Conjuring a White Horse resurrection
Mirage hunter especially in the October Winds
Listening for the raven's cough.
Is the light breaking where no sun shines
Or is the dying light swallowed by darkness.
The prisoner of happiness knowing love's first fever
Craving women with lips like Morphine
Drinking death under the table.
Last bastion of life's fragile gift
So here I toast my tribute of proof
Quite early this Winter Morning
To the rough and tumble poet from Wales
Now in Country Sleep.

A Drink To the Cold

The Winter weather is here and it's cold
Colds not much fun if you are homeless or old
But some like cold cheer
And drink ice cold beer
But when you're cold whiskeys' best so I'm told.


Written on 6th January 2019

For same word winter limerick poetry contest.
Sponsored by Charles Messina.

( chosen word is cold )

The Applause

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.

Woozy and Floozy

All aboard the conductor roared
Gripping the puce spruced rolling caboose
At starboard some people snored
While shaking loose foul gastric juice
But to port was a snort
From a piebald plump pig doing a jig
Only to thwart a one legged dwarf
From kissing a prig with a long twisty wig
In the middle was a fiddle
At the bar a guitar
And little by little
A freight car cigar
Was smoked by a Pope
Who drank sixty short whiskeys
And licked soap on a rope
Got tipsy and frisky
Swooned in the saloon
With a woozy auld floozy
Playing a tune to the moon
That was groovy and bluesy

In My Caravan

In my caravan,
oh in my caravan,
there is only you and me

Our mirrors do doubles,
so there you are
with two whiskeys

Our mirror images frown
at our drinking
and saying "cheers"

In my caravan
we both are tipsy
at each other's image





2/16/2015

A Ball of Rugs

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…

Kingsmill

From factory to home it’s not too far
They’ll soon see loved ones, sons and daughters
Or they’ll soon be out for a drink in the bar	
a few quick whiskeys or a few quiet porters.

Stopped on the roadside, don’t make a sound
Who is a catholic here?
Just walk down the road and don’t turn around.
Gunfire rings in his ears.

No time to pray or even to kneel
Lined up and shot and souls carried away
By the angels, across the blood stained fields
On that cold dark winters day.

Kingsmill, your fields echo with screams
And the walls whisper with sighs
Kingsmill, blood runs in your streams
You must live with the fear and the lies.

Now ten men lie stretched out on stones
Many families never the same
Murderers out there still to roam
Religion and country shamed.

Well do you think heavens gates will open
with a place for you by the lords side
Or will you find yourself outside hell
with the devil to drag you inside?

Kingsmill, your fields echo with screams
And the walls whisper with sighs
Kingsmill, shots ring out in your dreams
And there are tears in everyone’s eyes.

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