"glenfiddich" poems - Hello Poetry

a tumblr full of rocks a pour of ichiro malt and a stir gan bei and ichi to the yamazaki and nikkas i am in the land of the sun i go down to the land of the dead mei hi ko anejo casa amigo, to my brothers in arms jose, i must have my agave cheers to the alamo to the land of the prohibition kentucky yippee kay yay bourbon, spicy rye kick spur to the horse giddy up, giddy up riding off into the sun set to kentucky derby bourbon ballentines tom ford west make your mark with maker’s mark bottoms up and now i am staggering vichi patia better than grey goose aunt jiin and all the cult gin navy strength and **** juice getting rowdy like irish bloke jameson and that **** scot macallan and his gang oiban, glenfiddich, and glenlivet I am livid at that son of a ***** son of peat another round i am monkeying around monkey 47 sun set sun rise *** on the beach i see kings and queens louis thirteen i am going to sleep pappy van winkle 100 years like rip van winkle don’t wake me stir and not shaken good night, mama sweet havana neat a shot of don papa i go to sleep

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Aug 18, 2018

Aug 18, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC

timothy-chen

kindred spirits

a tumblr full of rocks a pour of ichiro malt and a stir gan bei and ichi to the yamazaki and nikkas i am in the land of the sun i go down to the land of the dead mei hi ko anejo casa amigo, to my brothers in arms jose, i must have my agave cheers to the alamo to the land of the prohibition kentucky yippee kay yay bourbon, spicy rye kick spur to the horse giddy up, giddy up riding off into the sun set to kentucky derby bourbon ballentines tom ford west make your mark with maker’s mark bottoms up and now i am staggering vichi patia better than grey goose aunt jiin and all the cult gin navy strength and **** juice getting rowdy like irish bloke jameson and that **** scot macallan and his gang oiban, glenfiddich, and glenlivet I am livid at that son of a ***** son of peat another round i am monkeying around monkey 47 sun set sun rise *** on the beach i see kings and queens louis thirteen i am going to sleep pappy van winkle 100 years like rip van winkle don’t wake me stir and not shaken good night, mama sweet havana neat a shot of don papa i go to sleep

66

There he waits, the Nice Guy, looking academic and out of reach in his tweed. There's something feminine in the way he crosses his legs, draping right over left in the fainting chair. There you are, across from him, at this party your roommate dragged you to. And you ask how he is. He ushers you to his chair. Sit down, sit down. I insist. You know, he says. Most people would tell you they're good or just fine. The Nice Guy reassures you he is not most people. He's a Nice Guy; he's down with feminism, waves One through Three. He has a dog named Atticus. They frequent open-air bars in the summer. He's a Nice Guy, an old soul, someone who should have been a young man in the 60s. God, he has so many female friends he tells you, leaning on the banister, sipping on Glenfiddich. You wonder how he is. This was your question. He has so many female friends. Notice how I'm stressing the word friends, he says. I do, you say. He's a Nice Guy and all these female friends they're all the same. They love the bad boys, the rich snobs, the ******* jocks. I don't, you say. Oh, sure you do, he Nice Guy-splains to you. And there's a golden light coming from the chandelier behind him, and he looks so holy and pure as he tells you how one day Tara, Sam, Whitney, and Amber will wake the **** up and realize just what they're missing. But by then, this Nice Guy will have rambled on. He'll become someone's second husband. A Good Woman will see how precious, how rare this Nice Guy truly is. Okay, you say. Prove me wrong, the Nice Guy says. He leans in closer. You can smell the scotch. Prove me wrong.

0

Oct 22, 2018

Oct 22, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC

jj-hutton

Smoov

There he waits, the Nice Guy, looking academic and out of reach in his tweed. There's something feminine in the way he crosses his legs, draping right over left in the fainting chair. There you are, across from him, at this party your roommate dragged you to. And you ask how he is. He ushers you to his chair. Sit down, sit down. I insist. You know, he says. Most people would tell you they're good or just fine. The Nice Guy reassures you he is not most people. He's a Nice Guy; he's down with feminism, waves One through Three. He has a dog named Atticus. They frequent open-air bars in the summer. He's a Nice Guy, an old soul, someone who should have been a young man in the 60s. God, he has so many female friends he tells you, leaning on the banister, sipping on Glenfiddich. You wonder how he is. This was your question. He has so many female friends. Notice how I'm stressing the word friends, he says. I do, you say. He's a Nice Guy and all these female friends they're all the same. They love the bad boys, the rich snobs, the ******* jocks. I don't, you say. Oh, sure you do, he Nice Guy-splains to you. And there's a golden light coming from the chandelier behind him, and he looks so holy and pure as he tells you how one day Tara, Sam, Whitney, and Amber will wake the **** up and realize just what they're missing. But by then, this Nice Guy will have rambled on. He'll become someone's second husband. A Good Woman will see how precious, how rare this Nice Guy truly is. Okay, you say. Prove me wrong, the Nice Guy says. He leans in closer. You can smell the scotch. Prove me wrong.

48

Elizabeth, the ****** Queen, left vacant the English throne. Her Scottish Stuart cousin came and claimed it for his own. Two nations with one monarchy joined in the Union Jack. The Scottish lost their nationhood and now they want it back. Saint Andrews’ Flag of Bonnie Blue will have to be unfurled if Scotland votes to take its place among nations in the world. Quebecois and Basques today are eagerly looking on to see if Scots will vote to tell the English to be gone. Hadrian’s Wall will, once more, mark where their dominion ends. Remove your subs from Scapa Flow; your lease is at an end. There still remains a problem which, just now, occurs to me. If the English take their Pound with them, what is our currency? It’s true we’re rich with North Sea oil and better off than Spain. Yet how do we do business if the Sterling won’t remain. We need a new “Gold” standard based upon the single malt! Who needs pounds when we have ounces stored in barrels and in vaults? So pour me a “MacCallan” on the day the rent comes due. Hand me a glenfiddich and I’ll purvey food to you.. Our creditors will be well pleased with hints of bog and peat. We won’t dilute our currency as Scots men drink it neat.

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Sep 18, 2014

Sep 18, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC

john-f-mccullagh

Whiskey Business

Elizabeth, the ****** Queen, left vacant the English throne. Her Scottish Stuart cousin came and claimed it for his own. Two nations with one monarchy joined in the Union Jack. The Scottish lost their nationhood and now they want it back. Saint Andrews’ Flag of Bonnie Blue will have to be unfurled if Scotland votes to take its place among nations in the world. Quebecois and Basques today are eagerly looking on to see if Scots will vote to tell the English to be gone. Hadrian’s Wall will, once more, mark where their dominion ends. Remove your subs from Scapa Flow; your lease is at an end. There still remains a problem which, just now, occurs to me. If the English take their Pound with them, what is our currency? It’s true we’re rich with North Sea oil and better off than Spain. Yet how do we do business if the Sterling won’t remain. We need a new “Gold” standard based upon the single malt! Who needs pounds when we have ounces stored in barrels and in vaults? So pour me a “MacCallan” on the day the rent comes due. Hand me a glenfiddich and I’ll purvey food to you.. Our creditors will be well pleased with hints of bog and peat. We won’t dilute our currency as Scots men drink it neat.

20

I have stashed my Glenfiddich And Marlboros In the basement cupboard, While settling in, At Ground Zero.

0

Dec 1, 2024

Dec 1, 2024 at 8:38 AM UTC

francie-lynch

Ground Zero

I have stashed my Glenfiddich And Marlboros In the basement cupboard, While settling in, At Ground Zero.

5