"whiskies" poems
Flipped in the oven sun, arched like a bow
They jumped one by one
As they found their own way through the thick foam
Of the falls of Shinn
Where the rushed and glided
Flying through the air
Like dolphins in the cool
Seas of Firth Of Forth;
Trying to find home
As the ice broke free.
Sitting on the cold rock
I feel the slime,
I feel my face burn with stinging
Coldness from the water spray
As I watch them leap
Into freedom.
I also escape...
Drinking my souvenir whiskies
From my 1970's
Led Zeppelin satchel.
Above me people snap shots with their flash
Cameras
As they rise like the sun.
Children laughing and feeling happy
Except one who wants to go home;
My brother who wants to watch TV!
Right next to him was the most beautifulest girl
I've ever seen.
Rainbows were in her auburn hair
Burning with autumn sun,
Blossoming with winter snow drops.
Her hair was like the river itself.
Her eyes were as green as the four leaf
Clover I held in my hand.
Maybe I was lucky to be in love.
Her eyes for that very second floated into mine
As she smiled
And I smiled back.
God how much I wanted to kiss her.
She was utterly beautiful.
But in that very instant she was gone
And I was never to see her again....
In the autumn light
Showering shadows
Were starting to collect crystals
In the melted waters below
And the gold is beginning to spread
Upon the leaping salmon.
©Jack Aylward
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
My last poem went to cyberspace
thrown back in my own face
of it I can find no trace
I suppose it's a sad disgrace
I had a good one going
the seasons of life showing
dying tragically, not knowing
only the sun and moon still glowing
A speck of dust...is man
nothing goes according to his plan
but he fights as long as he can stand
not content with the earthly life he ran
He's forgotten his own Maker
the earth and heavens shaker
he was never a giver, always a taker
he was never authentic, always a faker
So, God forgot him and his sins
his foolish fancies and whims
his beer, his whiskies and gin
where his soul and his mind had been.
Nov 23, 2021
Nov 23, 2021 at 9:49 PM UTC
We sat pow-wow-style
exchanging our war stories,
admiring the smut-filled room
full of swirling nicotine-smoke.
We joked with each other,
wondered about
loose lips sinking ships
& figured it wasn't these types
that sunk such vessels,
these ones ruined lives.
Waifs & wisps floated
miraculously about
while cheap perfume &
broken English
wafted our senses.
Desperate dripping
honeycomb-eyes
searched for
potential customers,
rot gut whiskies flowed
& disappeared to ease
the sexual-tensions.
Everyone was there
to either ****
or to get drunk
'cause the
decor & atmosphere
literally ******
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
As you took
old Mr Wheale
to the lavatory
and sat
and watched
he didn’t fall
or slide
you recalled
the night before
lying in Mrs Tuba’s bed
the curtains drawn
against the night
the street lamps
shining through
the bed soft and wide
and she turning up
the Mahler 5th
and you thinking
of the parish priest
and what he’d say
if he could have seen you
there smoking
naked and bare
the book you’d bought
on the side
the Solzhenitsyn
gulag book
she wanted to read
the dresser
and chest of drawers
and photos
on the side
nearly done
Mr Wheale said
breaking through
your thoughts
his cataract eyes
staring into space
and you remembered
Mrs Tuba coming in
the room
dressed in her pink
dressing gown
open down the middle
her big ******* inviting
her big blues eyes
smiling
turned up
the Mahler
she said
bought these two whiskies
and she laid them
on the side
and climbed
into her bed
I’m done
Mr Wheale said
and so you did
what was needed
and helped him dress
and on his way
his metal frame walker
shuffled along
the passageway
the music of Mahler‘s 5th
a memory
Mrs Tuba
gone to sleep now
you guessed
the whiskies drunk
the *** forgot
a new day entered
the window on your right
swift it had gone
that ****** night.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 3:25 AM UTC
Justice is one thing you should always find
And it’s something not so common today.
If you step out of line
There should be hell to pay
We need a little more retribution
And throw a rope of that tree
If we put a few more in the ground
All those bad boys would think more carefully
Before assaulting that person
Before doing somebody wrong
And once the gun smoke settles
We’ll all meet in the saloon for a victory song
Back in those days my papie said
A man had to face up to what he’d done
We’d either find a great oak tree
Hanging them high or put them to the gun
There just ain’t any deterrent any more
We have to raise our glasses up against evil forces
We got too many gangsters, too much corruption
Order whiskies all round for the men and water for the horses
Today we need to show them who’s boss
The law needs to put a few more bodies in the ground
We need to fins the tallest oak tree and a length of a rope
Let them meet their Maker, that’ll settle them down.
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
The moon rose up, the sky is naked,
His world is empty, the stars are faded,
He never gives up, completing his deed,
He’s looking for lost city, indeed.
He passed through deserts and storms,
Best friends were whiskies and rums,
Heart was destined to cold rooms,
That left him with aches and bruise.
Great walls on horizon, surrounded with high waterfalls,
Place reminds of paradise with its colorful butterflies,
He found his Atlantis, the mission is done,
The aches are healed, the pain is gone.
He woke up to see the blue sky,
Endlessly watch birds fly,
Eyes are open, where are the walls?
Where are birds and waterfalls?
Infinite desert is the only option,
This adventure was a blissful fiction,
Forget lost city, build your Atlantis,
Build your city of delighted fantasies.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
I brought scotch
to her flat
(Miss Pinkie)
late evening
no TV
but music
on her old
boxed hi-fi
Mahler's 1st
or his 5th
then she'd sit
next to me
on the couch
lights dimmed low
she made up
hair done nice
with a short
nightie on
and she'd say
now Benny
how about
you and me
getting down
this whiskey
a few chocs
then have some
real hot ***
We added
a few more
good whiskies
some dark chocs
more Mahler
then we'd walk
to her bed
(big double)
and strip off
and climb in
or fall in
a bright moon
shining in
from the sky
a train passed
on the track
quite nearby
Mahler played
the final
loud movement
as we made
our prelude
or foreplay
little games
before ***
then the ***
then lying
on our backs
as Mahler
was silent
and trains gone
faraway
and moon shone.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
Miss Pinkie
pours me scotch
in a glass
any ice?
no thank you
I slip slow
allowing
to swirl round
my twenty six
year old mouth
she sits down
beside me
she wears that
polka dot
red short dress
and the blue
cardigan
her dyed brown
cropped hair style
want music?
got Mahler?
yes of course
she gets up
and puts on
a Mahler
symphony
on her old
gramophone
as she bends
I spy red
underwear
unattached
to the light
brown stockings
she comes back
and sits down
Mahler starts
lights are low
can I smoke?
sure you can
she replies
I light up
so does she
how is she?
she asks me
who is that?
the slim girl
at the home
pretty thing
all brains but
no knockers
Miss Pinkie
says softly
we just talk
I reply
about what?
poetry
modern art
politics
is that all?
yes that's all
she inhales
and stares cool
exhaling
any ***
of course not
not with her
why not her?
I don't know
we're silent
Mahler plays
we smoke on
sip whiskies
I study
her two chins
her blue eyes
her thick thighs
the last time
we had ***
she mutters
it was good
on the couch
till you fell
to the floor
half way through
she was right
'bout that night
MAN LIFEBOATS
MAN OVERBOARD
she shouts out
too loudly
she stubs out
the wasted
cigarette
so do I
how about
my big bed?
she asks me
if you like
I reply
thinking of
the slim girl
with the brains
and hot ***
in the back
of her car
that image
in my head
as we walk
to her bed
her plump ****
swaying slow
to Mahler
the moonlight
in the sky
this is how
the world ends
no big bang
just a long
drawn out sigh.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
Neon’s radioactive glow in a window,
offers the cheap promise of pleasure.
Like a hypnotic, fluorescent serpent,
it flashes, blinks and winks - “Welcome”
It fairly slithers on rain-slicked boulevards,
warms like moonlight on cold unfriendly nights,
and signals cool, ready fun in the summertime.
We dress our vices in silky, pastel colors, like the
gamblers choices of Disney flavored whiskies.
It’s the soft, velvet glove that hides brass knuckles,
oh, you’ll feel those bruises in the morning.
The world’s a dark alleyway with an electric blush,
whose color flatters the lonely, desperate,
and makes sin look like something you could fall for.
Neon is perfume for the optical senses.
In that light, everything seems possible.
Isn’t that girl smiling at you? You see,
beauty is easier to trust than the truth.
Neon imperviously reflects off regrets,
and glitters brightest on broken dreams.
Of course daylight is harsh, but honest.
Didn’t we come in here to escape it?
.
.
Songs for this:
The Ballad of Mac the Knife by Sting & Dominic Muldowney
Any Old Thing by Swing Republic
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 10:11 PM UTC
That ***** was tough,
I mean,
she was picturesque,
a sweet
beautiful
f'n sight to behold.
Not too old,
but old enough
for frisky business.
She stood straight up,
with her back
to the crowd
facing the bar
grasping double-fisted whiskies.
She was a freaking shooter,
rapid fire witchery,
hoisting them up
like there would
be no tomorrow.
And they didn't seem to phase
her neon azure mop
or the devil tats flipping birds
on her shoilders,
she was practiced,
certainly well-versed.
Her pendulous *******
were heaving,
both of them mightily,
covered with her sweat,
and red,
some yellow roses.
I loved her platforms,
plasticene white,
with jeans like leopards
exposing her lace
and fineness.
Jesus,
where do they make 'em
like her...where?
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
We met at a bar called Crossroads, just myself and I.
We didn't like each other much, yet we decided to buy.
Two glasses of whisky please, don't forget the paradox.
Which like our drinks, leaves us on the rocks.
The saloon doors swing slightly, only to reveal.
Memories of before, when we could both feel.
Two more whiskies please, and don't forget the paradox.
Which like our drinks, leaves us on the rocks.
The hour is now late and I like you even less.
Well you're an incoherent, introspective mess.
Two more whiskies please, and this'll be our last.
Let's share a toast, a toast to our past.
Two fire exits alight, we've a decision to make.
I can't see beyond the doors, this twisted sweepstake.
Crossroads is now closing, only open for tonight.
We left together bloodied, choosing the future in our own right.
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 6:45 PM UTC
Beyond the violet and violence, through the hole in the heap
Dwells men of fierce histories and stone conditionings, there
They sit in circle and misery, holding guilt close
To their ears and parting with their own ditch-dipped words.
Collections of tragedies and schools of morose mentalities
Dance in the middle of the room, speaking down on eachother;
Most likely an attempt to impress Mother and to scold Father.
They don’t get very far, these talks, rather
They end further down the ladder than when they commenced -
Two rungs down and the heavy tattooed butcher man
Sinks two quarter-full whiskies to help him find his bed.
Five rungs down and the spanner wielding skinny man
Calls up a number to haunt unpaid listeners with what he said.
Nine rungs down and the privileged uni boy
Smokes batons of magic leaf until his eyes are painted red.
This is where the stories end,
Those Who fell past rung nine
Are no longer falling and alive.
One rung up and the naive boat keeping man
Tells his wife he’s feeling better but out of luck.
One rung down and the naive boat keeping man
Tells his wife he’s feeling worse but rather proud.
The ladder stands tall and overarching
At the ‘dried out men’ meetings,
It’s the only one that keeps its posture
And never falls under -
Perhaps one day it will falter
And the men will see
That they are more than just
A rusting rung on a ladder.
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 6:27 PM UTC