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Xella Mar 20
You must pray for the fickle and weak.
As we all need to make it through the heat.
Your whiskey neat burns down the branches of your chest as you speak.
Expand into a balloon, the crowd won’t bow but shake their heads.
They can not believe this tale you live, the life in a comfy castle cove.
The girls back home cry, denying all this fallacy.
Really it can not be like this, this isn’t reality.
This can not be like you or me.
We aren’t merely copies, are we?
They cry tears in the shape of rapids that carve rivers down your cheeks.
To take her to the moon will settle, remedy this pain.
So give me a few years and I’ll get you there.
For now pray for the fickle and weak as they aren’t lost, but free.
THIS IS A DRAFT NOT DONE YET!
Tommy Randell Jan 25
Now here's a toast to the Hours
Chasing the Sundial round the Day
Let the Sun shine on the Sober
Let the Present never cease to stay

If Tomorrow there are Moments
The Past comes back to haunt us
We will raise a glass together
To the Truth our Life has taught us

As Brothers none more Equal
Each giving the other Pride of Place
Sometimes not choosing Wisely
But having impeccable Taste

On the Walk of Life, the Water of Life!
Let there be no parting between us
Let us never not drink Whiskey
Let us never not be Brothers

Blood is thicker than Water
Love ages better than Beer
Brothers count Time more Truly
With Laughter and with Tears!


Tommy Randell - 26th January 2021
We had a Day's Lockdown Walk to celebrate my Brother's Retirement Birthday. Here in England that is his 66th. Socially Distanced we walked to old haunts and talked Memories & Moments. We had a drop or two. We greeted a few friends passing by doing similar strolls through what is a very empty Yorkshire Town - un-naturally so in these difficult times. We never once Hugged each other - Hard for Us! We took 2 Photos, one of Him, one of me, and  I joined them together in PhotoShop... like you do.
The Photo of us is on one of my INSTAGRAM Pages. Just copy & Paste i
the link following into your Browser header...

https://www.instagram.com/p/CKfJh-fgBCy/?igshid=29ipgk8jir0u

Uisce beatha, is the name for whiskey in Irish. From Old Irish uisce "water", and bethu "life". The equivalent in Scottish Gaelic is rendered uisge beatha.
Kunbi Dec 2020
I sat on top of the world; everyone knew my name
Now I try to find my way back, all I know is shame

My cars; crashed into parties, everyone wanted to be in my fancy wear
Why didn’t I look up investing and insuring; now I don’t mind if its rag, please just give me something to wear

My name was held in high esteem, white line called to me from Whitney’s rear
She never came back for me, but watched as I derail

Day and Night, I looked up to Whiskey, it became my religion
Now at the altar in search of salvation from the true religion

                           ♚
                   Kunbi Dia
“I spent a lot of money on *****, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered. ” George best
CupcakesArePink Dec 2020
My sunset begins as yours comes up
I sip my wine slowly, knowing you’re downing your whiskey at 6 in the morning
The tub of ice cream from last night has melted away
So why can’t you?

This city of lights blinds me, a nice distraction
But I have to run, I have to keep running
Because my demons have your beautiful smile
And I can’t help but stare with melancholy in my heart

My sleepless nights are invaded by your chocolate eyes and velvet lips
If I’m honest, that button on my phone taunts me
It begs me to call, send a text
But I don’t

I don’t and I won’t
You had let go first and danced our dance with your little noelle
O how jolly you must’ve been, staring into her starry eyes
So even if I miss you, I won’t

So I sip my wine slowly as you down your whiskey at 6 in the morning
These devils smile your smile and I look away
I move forward, melancholy and anger and hopefulness without you fuelling me
I hope you miss me as much as I do. But sometimes I don’t
Andrew Hartnett Dec 2020
I didn't have bitters
I didn't have an orange peel
I didn't have a mixer
I didn't have ice cubes

sugar in a glass
splashed with whiskey
teaspoon swirl

terrible
LaToya Martin Nov 2020
I love you
But yet I hate you
You are the hope of my future
You were my guidance in my past
My father despised you
But my mother adored you
You were her will to live
You were a constant guest in our home
You were the scent my mother wore daily
She neglected me for the happiness of you
She confided in you
But your greed took her away
After all the hurt and pain you caused
I welcomed you back into my life
But now you are my foundation
I finally see what my mother saw in you
You helped her cope with her wounds
Even though you helped cause them
My family doesn’t understand you
And honestly nor do I
You’ve ruined my past
And I have acknowledged
That you have ruined my future
You are the end of my tunnel
My Whiskey Bottle

-LaToya Martin
Owen Nov 2020
I have never been considered
a city, or country boy.
More a godless jesus of suburbia
with better intentions
than the next guy.

But recently
my eyes have been opened
to a different way of living
where the country songs
all hit home.

A life of community,
honesty, and substance.
Where a stranger wont feel alone,
but like family, in a beer and a half.
and the warmth in my chest
is not only the whiskey,
or the bonfire.
It's a girl's smile,
the smell of barbeque,
diesel, or the rain in the woods.
Its the sound of a truck,
a guitar, boots on dirt,
the rock and roll.
Its feeling alive.

Where hard work pays,
and southern hospitality
reigns.
Where the rolling hills,
fields, forests,
and grand skies leave you
with no words

It's freedom.

I get it now.
I was raised in Wi, in a college town, so there was always a good blend of country and city. But I've been living in the south for 2 years now and the country is growing on me.
ramya Nov 2020
For what’s there in a name,
A line that has been immortal
Since long before the age of cheap *** and roadside motels,
Still stands true
In the age of golden whiskey
And sunset kisses, a little too risky.

For a name can make scars bleed
Open up wounds which had long been sealed.
A hit to the heart can prove fatal
Just like the story about Romeo that’s now a fable.
So what name is it, in the story of your life
That made you drink enough to forget your own for a while?
Krystal M Toney Oct 2020
I remember your words
flowing from your lips
like liquid fire
warming my tired bones.

Oh, what is sober
to swaying hips
that swirl like jack
in a clear glass?

Drink my soul dry
like numbing whiskey
teasing the tongue
the way you tease my thoughts.

I take in every drop
of you
like the addict
I am.
I would drink the bottle dry a thousand times over if the world promised me you waited for me at the bottom.
jcl Sep 2020
I have been craving for whiskey
for the comfort it gives me,
when all that lingers was your warmth
that went too fast like February.

Hand me a glass of whiskey
as quick as you can.
Catch me on the last train,
let’s escape the town while we can.

Oh, I guess I had too much whiskey
that I forget I am running away alone.
Just a little taste of whiskey,
sober enough to remember
to leave the things I don’t own.

But life,
it’s too short, too fast
to get drowned in whiskey.
And life,
it’s too playful, too painful
to have let me love,
but never experience you.
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