Whisky Poems - Poems about Whisky

“An Old PhotoOf You“. I just found…. A photo of you, The photo is old, but my memories of you… are new. These are the days.. that just fade away, Never know what to say, or do. I stay in bed all night and day, Shots of whisky to make me… but I’m just counting sheep And lying...

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Dripping slow like honey, tracing fire down my skin, You pour into my veins, let the craving pull me in. You're the ocean, I'm the river, and I’m drowning in your tide, One more sip of your devotion, and I’m lost inside. You're the whiskey on my lips, The fevered taste I can't resist. Every drop, every touch, Fills my cup—I'm drunk...

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The amber liquid, smooth and warm, A sweet vanilla scent, a sigh, Whispers of sorrow, a brewing storm. It coats the tongue, a gentle balm, A fleeting comfort, then goodbye, The amber liquid, smooth and warm. Blue hues dance in the fading form, Of memories lost, a tear-stained eye, Whispers of sorrow, a brewing storm. Each sip a journey, a silent norm, A fleeting solace,...

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Hey Tom, you look well cared for and well fed, Sure you longed to sleep in your own bed, You must've had pain, hope they spoiled you, More medication, preferred a whiskey or two, Which nurse did you like best, which one a dread. ...

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Earth, with her fertile ground used all year round Strong and consistent and new growth persistent A yield from a field, and a brood of oakwood Fire, he strikes a match, we start a new batch Set smoke in a kiln and give life to a still Begin the real process and start to excite our noses Air sends a gust...

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Elements of a Dram Earth, with a fertile ground used all year round Strong and consistent and new growth persistent A yield from a field, and a brood of oakwood Fire, with the strike of a match, we start a new batch Set smoke in a kiln and give life to a still Begin the real process and start to excite...

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Her boobies hung outside the white lace cup. Blending pineapple and whisky closeup. Blender was not fully closed, Everything inside exposed. Woohoo, smoothie boobs to sit down to sup....

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What I wish to speak, every endeavor would dilute the essence like Plato’s forms. Can a shadow imitate heat? Lost in translation, best to keep simple, lucid as a hand stroking cheek. But hands slightly tremble in the slightest of moments, shadows you can’t help but witness in your vision’s corner, however brief. I crave to show what I can’t...

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A huge room not denied luxury, The rejected in it: Misery Of fine glass up to the bookshelf: If one was close to it saw oneself: The weight of a thousand Christian Books And at what the smart owner looks; Glasses for whisky but no whisky: To have whisky displayed risky: "One can't defend in a voice husky What surely makes the keeper frisky". His...

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above the pagodas eagles fly high sharing with angels...

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You cannot begin to write a book on a Wednesday especially this week that has its own tales to tell, there being no room for more. Between those snowy pages, let silence wait for its voice, for now keep a date with a timeless mind. A story may rise up before you; become awake before your eyes open. Let it decant, download,...

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From him you can snatch a fable: Just place whisky on his table; He could stories quicken their pace, In the hearer’s hearts create space Wherever he stops Audience wait, As only he reopens Gate … They say that it flows in the blood His room story lovers would flood … But I hold His Gift from whisky; For some whisky, he went frisky....

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Their victorious voice peal: “We’ve grandly struck a deal! In many ways now real And worth a struck whisky seal!” But their joy others don’t feel, Dead sure that they often steal And wounds inflict that don’t heal; Victims prayer: his skin doesn’t peel The worst of them, their O’Neil Violence long the ticket for a meal, And...

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His quit notice hung with a tack Bears his landlord’s wish that he pack: Disappear with his threadbare sack And not leave behind his rack; Both now strapped on his confused back, His famous peace pierced with this hack! No comforting whisky from a just left shack, His belongings bespeaking his lack, His dragging feet his customary slack, As he keeps weighing a night...

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All that water and nothing to drink Oceans surround us but too salty methinks This dilemma makes us afraid So whiskey and even koolaid Fills in quite nicely, but your hooha shrinks...

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