my whisky says aged 10 years
single malt scotch whisky
Isle of Skye
that reminds me of a little girl
we went to school with named Skye or Sky
I don’t know, to be honest, I didn’t pay attention
enough to her to learn her name
I don’t mean that in a horrible way
everybody knew her
she rode around on a little electric scooter
that they sell now for old people
I said hello to her once or twice
but she acted like there were
better people to know
so I decided to not worry about it
maybe she was shy
I was a lad that everybody knew
in one fashion or another
I am not an alcoholic but I’ve played one on TV
I could recount stories to you
about the bars I’ve closed, the times I’ve been tossed out
the bartenders I’ve been friendly with
and the stories I’ve heard
I’ve played the part; let’s just say of the barroom prophet
with little following
there is no glory without deep regret, just so you know…
and I don’t mean, I wish I didn’t tell her that…or some
childish stunt
no I mean, things like talking to Motown about AA or
telling Austin about my affair because he
was in love with her or… getting mad at him that night or
being angry at any of them for my short comings of high bounding
wisdom … my en-lighten-ment
we don’t convert our friends
we don’t teach them to write or play guitar
we don’t let them crash for a few days
we don’t ask them for money or cab fare
we don’t illuminate them with our good luck
we buy them a drink and we let them cry
we say ‘those fuckers’ and ‘I wish I had been there’
no one ever has to apologize for what they did
everyone has one of those days
no one says I told you so
or we knew
because they are there to forget
because they do not want to understand
and only when the story becomes a legend do we remember when
ten years ago they were all …alive
Austin, Doug and Scott
we never saw Motown again soon thereafter
and that priest, I don’t remember what happened to him
or any of those girls, single mothers,
they just disappeared, vanished without the horizon
I remember talking to Vonda one night about winning the Lotto
and she said, she’d have the biggest party that anybody had ever seen.
and then she asked, what would you do? I didn’t want to answer but
she made me and I said, no one would ever see me again … and she
couldn’t believe it … ‘I don’t believe you’ she said … I didn’t try to reassure her
and she asked the bartended if she believed me. She knew me… Vonda
got up and I never spoke to her again
I would have said then that ten years is a long time
but I have since learned that there is another quantifier
one that we learn after awhile
I don’t know what sets it off
if it is the release of the bitterness, the ultimatum of heartbreak
or just that relentless chamber singing a familiar song
Do you want to know what started it tonight?
I was driving home early and I had been on the road for a good part of the day,
single malt scotch whisky
Isle of Skye
that reminds me of a little girl
we went to school with named Skye or Sky
I don’t know, to be honest, I didn’t pay attention
enough to her to learn her name
I don’t mean that in a horrible way
everybody knew her
she rode around on a little electric scooter
that they sell now for old people
I said hello to her once or twice
but she acted like there were
better people to know
so I decided to not worry about it
maybe she was shy
I was a lad that everybody knew
in one fashion or another
I am not an alcoholic but I’ve played one on TV
I could recount stories to you
about the bars I’ve closed, the times I’ve been tossed out
the bartenders I’ve been friendly with
and the stories I’ve heard
I’ve played the part; let’s just say of the barroom prophet
with little following
there is no glory without deep regret, just so you know…
and I don’t mean, I wish I didn’t tell her that…or some
childish stunt
no I mean, things like talking to Motown about AA or
telling Austin about my affair because he
was in love with her or… getting mad at him that night or
being angry at any of them for my short comings of high bounding
wisdom … my en-lighten-ment
we don’t convert our friends
we don’t teach them to write or play guitar
we don’t let them crash for a few days
we don’t ask them for money or cab fare
we don’t illuminate them with our good luck
we buy them a drink and we let them cry
we say ‘those fuckers’ and ‘I wish I had been there’
no one ever has to apologize for what they did
everyone has one of those days
no one says I told you so
or we knew
because they are there to forget
because they do not want to understand
and only when the story becomes a legend do we remember when
ten years ago they were all …alive
Austin, Doug and Scott
we never saw Motown again soon thereafter
and that priest, I don’t remember what happened to him
or any of those girls, single mothers,
they just disappeared, vanished without the horizon
I remember talking to Vonda one night about winning the Lotto
and she said, she’d have the biggest party that anybody had ever seen.
and then she asked, what would you do? I didn’t want to answer but
she made me and I said, no one would ever see me again … and she
couldn’t believe it … ‘I don’t believe you’ she said … I didn’t try to reassure her
and she asked the bartended if she believed me. She knew me… Vonda
got up and I never spoke to her again
I would have said then that ten years is a long time
but I have since learned that there is another quantifier
one that we learn after awhile
I don’t know what sets it off
if it is the release of the bitterness, the ultimatum of heartbreak
or just that relentless chamber singing a familiar song
Do you want to know what started it tonight?
I was driving home early and I had been on the road for a good part of the day,
going down town (back and forth) for meetings. I thought to myself how about that last cigar I have,
its warm tonight and the rain will really bring out the flavor. I flipped the channels on the radio to the local rock and roll stations. They played some songs for/in honor of the singer who just killed himself … which made me think of friends that are gone. Then a song that I had really fell in love with about ten years ago (again)… man, that song … I tried turning some friends who had a band on to it to play it … believe it or not they hadn’t heard it before. (my first instance of ‘youth is wasted on the young’) and it was playing …
‘I woke up in a Soho doorway where a policeman knew my name, he said, you can go sleep at home tonight if you can get up and walk away’… ‘I remember throwing punches around and preaching from my chair’… ‘I know there is a place you walked, where love falls from the trees, my heart is like a broken cup, I only feel right on my knees’
…
I have reasons to celebrate, if you are intimate in my life you know why but this week is Scott’s birthday … he didn’t like whisky, he liked wine … one time he made me pork chops and Beaujolais … just like my song … I try to remember everyone, and I’d hate to know how many I don’t know about... It’s funny to think that now, even at my age, we ask, are they still around?
my friend gave me this bottle and I’m gonna finish it in a moment and yes I’m gonna smoke my last expensive cigar that I have at the house … my exuberance … and it sucks that some ain’t here no more to share it … I sometimes feel like Furry in Dylan’s Delia, when he says ‘all the friends I ever had are gone’ maybe its more like Hank said about all his rowdy friends settling down … but I know its different. It’s the life we chose. Honestly and sometimes regrettably. That’s why Shiloh won’t talk to me and why some others are struggling. It’s why I put this down for so long...
why are we wounded my friends? Because we wanted something other than what we really needed…
So ~ here it is Stansfield … the last of that salty peat … ah yes…
And So Then ~ Fare Thee Well and if Forever Still (old friends), Fare Thee Well
Here it is Scott - The sword, the scepter, and that sway - Dougie! Motown! Austin! …and sadly – Shiloh – and all those that … couldn’t … or wouldn’t …
I miss ya, I love ya …still… until we meet again …
© 2007 woundedlordliterature
‘I woke up in a Soho doorway where a policeman knew my name, he said, you can go sleep at home tonight if you can get up and walk away’… ‘I remember throwing punches around and preaching from my chair’… ‘I know there is a place you walked, where love falls from the trees, my heart is like a broken cup, I only feel right on my knees’
…
I have reasons to celebrate, if you are intimate in my life you know why but this week is Scott’s birthday … he didn’t like whisky, he liked wine … one time he made me pork chops and Beaujolais … just like my song … I try to remember everyone, and I’d hate to know how many I don’t know about... It’s funny to think that now, even at my age, we ask, are they still around?
my friend gave me this bottle and I’m gonna finish it in a moment and yes I’m gonna smoke my last expensive cigar that I have at the house … my exuberance … and it sucks that some ain’t here no more to share it … I sometimes feel like Furry in Dylan’s Delia, when he says ‘all the friends I ever had are gone’ maybe its more like Hank said about all his rowdy friends settling down … but I know its different. It’s the life we chose. Honestly and sometimes regrettably. That’s why Shiloh won’t talk to me and why some others are struggling. It’s why I put this down for so long...
why are we wounded my friends? Because we wanted something other than what we really needed…
So ~ here it is Stansfield … the last of that salty peat … ah yes…
And So Then ~ Fare Thee Well and if Forever Still (old friends), Fare Thee Well
Here it is Scott - The sword, the scepter, and that sway - Dougie! Motown! Austin! …and sadly – Shiloh – and all those that … couldn’t … or wouldn’t …
I miss ya, I love ya …still… until we meet again …
© 2007 woundedlordliterature
ШАМРО
March 22, 2007
for all me friends
song quotes from The Who ‘Who Are You’
and Bob Dylan ‘Delia’
poem quoted Lord Byron Fair Thee Well and Ode to Napoleon Bonaparte
© 2007 woundedlordhackliterature abomination
