Poetry & Prose by Carol J Forrester
You complimented the whisky on its burn
while I scowled a tight lipped pucker against my teeth
as if I could suck the taste away.
Smoke stung I groped for something sweeter,
hands landing on skin instead,
you pressed fire kisses to my mouth.
I think I’ll have another crack at the Quadrille Prompt ‘burn’ later on tonight because I’m not happy with how this one turned out. The last line doesn’t sit quite right but I ran out of words.
Carol J Forrester is a writer and a history geek. Her debut collection 'It's All In The Blood' came out November 2019. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University, enjoys judo at least twice a week, and tries to attend poetry events around the Midlands when she can. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry. Her poems ‘Sunsets’ and ‘Clear Out‘ were featured on Eyes Plus Words, and two of her poems were included in the DVerse Poets Pub Publication ‘Chiaroscuro’ which is available for purchase on amazon.Her poem ‘Until The Light Gets In‘ was accepted and published at The Drabble and her poem ‘Newborn’ was published by Ink Sweat & Tears. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and has hosted a number of guest bloggers on her site Writing and Works. View all posts by Carol J Forrester
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I do love that taste of whisky… but it’s an acquired taste 🙂
I remember how I loved Southern Comfort once. Now I find it nauseating
See I can drink southern comfort, lime and lemonade but straight whisky and I just don’t get on. My other half loves it thought and really enjoys trying new types.
I like the last line.
Thank you Jane.
🙂
Carol–I did like the last line and your descriptions of that burning feel of whiskey. (Just noticed how, for a change, we on this side of the pond add a letter!)
Not quite. Whisky is Scottish, Whiskey is Irish. It’s a variation in how the two types of Gaelic translate across to English.
Smiling I am! First, I am definitely not a whisky or scotch drinker…when I sip it, it burns all the way down!…so I love your description here. And then “fire kisses”….ooooh yes!
Thank you Lillian.
Brings a new meaning to hot kisses 😊.
Indeed.
I’m with your partner…drink the stuff till it comes out of my ears…my partner is all too familiar with the whisky kiss 😉
Haha. He keeps the empty bottles every time he has a new sort so we’ve got quite the collection in the kitchen. They sit on a shelf in pride of place.
Nice positioning of fire kisses after the whisky burn.
Thank you. Completely unintentional but thank you.
Whiskey tastes better on somebody else’s lips, I think.
It does depend of the lips sometimes.
Your words burn just right 😉
Thank you Candy, glad you enjoyed it.
I also like the last line
Thank you.
my pleasure, stay awesome
Good point, the whisky tastes sweeter secondhand than from the bottle.
For what it’s worth, I think you’ve written a sizzling gem of a poem, Carol. Fire kisses and all!
Thank you Frank that means a lot. Sizzling gem, I love that.
Yee haw! (As long as it’s good whiskey.) 🙂
My other half is quite particular and getting to be a little bit of a whisky snob if I’m honest so it will mostly likely be good. No Devil’s Cut.
That’s a good thing! And he doesn’t dip, either, does he? 🙂
Dip?
Tobacco… Snuff. JK! 🙂
Big fan of your writing- I love your attention to detail and getting le mot juste as in “scowled a tight lipped pucker against my teeth”. Nice!
Thank you very much. I’m actually looking for a few people to give me some feedback on a poem I just posted that’s a little more political and perhaps even personal than my usual fare. Would you mind? It’s called Legs Eleven.
Thank you for visiting my poetry. Forrester with two r’s was my mother’s maiden name. I am not phishing, just thought our families could be related. The Forresters moved around the Appalachians alot during the Depression, looking for work. West Virginia, Virginia, Pennsylvania. Maybe you did the Ancestry thing and know if your family is Scotch-Irish too.
Scottish. My grandfather move to England from Stranraer.
Maybe… You pressed whiskey kisses to my lips!! ?
As they say, it burns all the way down!
Dwight
A Sober Dance Drunk
Prances away from
Stumbles down
no longer
stupor
Twinkle
Toes Star Feet
Burns aLiGHT..:)
That’s a great take on the prompt, Carol. I drank when I was a teenager but many years ago decided that I really don’t like the taste of alcohol. I remember the burn of whisky and recognise the ‘tight lipped pucker’! I love the final lines – a sweet twist with fire kisses.
Thank you Kim, I’m not much a drinker for a similar reason. Fruity cider and very, very sweet rose are about the only two things I can drink without wanting to spit it straight back up .
“Smoke stung I groped for something sweeter, hands landing on skin instead”… This is incredibly sizzling, Carol!💞
Thank you very much Sannaa. If you’ve got the time, I’d love to get some fellow female bloggers to take a glance at a poem I just posted called Legs Eleven. I don’t normally get very political with my poems but this one sort of just came out .
Excellent!
Thank you very much.
I like how this came out! Never could abide whisky but enjoy whiskey.
It’s all fire water to me I’m afraid.
🙂
I’ve had that happen, run out of words for a Quadrille and it’s not quite right at the end. I find myself going back and trying to figure out which little words I can delete earlier to give me more options. I think you did just fine with this one, though.
Thank you Linda, I did try and go back but there wasn’t many places that could afford to lose a word
Oh, that last line is a corker!
Thank you. Nice pun as well.
😉
I think the last line is good but it did make me shudder and remember some not so sweet days of youth and working in public bars and the sickly stale smell of the booze and the unwanted attention.