Love this because it speaks to me. I love how you can write so much sober. I'm like that too become too tired to write if I drink too much. Yet, I love the taste of whiskey. What makes this poem so perfect and superlative is the mixture of two concepts people wouldn't usually write about together, many would speak about them together, there is an honesty and bravery in being able to pen this sublime poem.
oh I love the sweet tang of the draught you serve here!!~ better by far than any sting of concoction on the tongue~ like you I like my drink served stirred through the mind~ shaken through the soul~ much enjoyed!!!!~
. wow! ... you stun ... you amaze ... you tick ... you talk ... i can't help but wonder what happen if you did mix the two ... i guess we'd all be high with one shot ... :) ...
ive known words to make my head spin like a love-lorn teenage boy...been knocked clean out by syntax that could make bob dylan reflex gag....but when it comes to words and alcohol...i tend to quaff all down and spit it out on end on endless end...and spend the retrospective headache in a stark and stoney silence....enjoyed...inspired...thank you...
Is that right? I thought I was the only one who got tipsy off of thoughts in my champagne glass. Emily Burns, you're much more than an impressive writer. This one really makes me wish I had a decent camera, so I can capture myself smiling for real.
This poem makes a strong statement. I don't trust my words after I have been drinking whiskey for I tend to tell things that I should or word things the wrong way. Whiskey is my favorite drink I just have to make sure there isn't anything I want to get off my mind. lol
I had to come back to this one Ema. This bottle of Southern Comfort makes this poem...and my urgency...all the more stoic! AHHHH! SoCo and poetry...what could be finer...well, a nice lady would be nice, but I'll make due. Yer gettin to me Ema.
;-)
Hey, what happened to the staring at the walls and all? ... you can slip an edit by me, but only occasionally ;-)
Never?!?!?!?! Screw that! I'll take a double with my poetics...now as for the poem making any kind of sense after it's finished, well that's another matter.
NICE...makes me want to pop a cold one. What with all that staring at blank walls and all. BORING. Ma, you gotta down a few if U jus' gona stare at a wall. ;-)
to the Lost Boys
I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.
Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much g.. more..