Poetry
Comments 51

Whisky Burn

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.

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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.

 

 

This entry was posted in: Poetry

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Carol J Forrester is a writer trying to be a better one. She’s currently working on her first novel ‘Darkened Daughter’ and attempting to put together a collection of poetry in the hopes of submitting to publication in 2020. 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. 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 poem ‘Sunsets’ was 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. More recently 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 here on Writing and Works.

51 Comments

    • 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.

  1. 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!)

  2. 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!

    • 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.

  3. 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.

  4. 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.

  5. 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 .

    • 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 .

  6. 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.

  7. 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.

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