Whiskey nights

Poetry nights


Sitting alone at the Boneyard Tavern. Just another tavern in another lonesome city. I was listening to Hank William Jr. songs and dreaming of a beautiful auburn beauty, I left back in Ann Arbor. I ordered the Irish whiskey strong and wrote into my old journal. Words, I knew would haunt me. Old Poet told me once. “Poet’s lover are never forgotten. Their faces, kisses and embrace are written deep into some journal and shared with the willing listeners. Give them permanent life with blood ink and broken memories.




The whiskey was strong enough than
an auburn beauty sat with me. She reminded me of you.
I attempted conservation. The young beauty. Hopeful and alive told me of great dreams and hope.
She asked me to read to her. I told her. Old man poetry. Not a worthwhile read. She took my hand and she told me.


“Love is sweet when the fire is hot.
Life isn’t easy and the road is long.
Whiskey don’t fix the heart.
We must forgive and forget.
Love taught make new love learn.
More sweet and kind Johnnie.”


Old Poet smiled and drank the whiskey and told the kind woman.


“I bled for love. I have die for love. I have fought for love.
The song of love had turn bitter. I learn we want too much or too little.
I held a rifle to my head once. Two dead brothers make me feel dead for not being kind.
Maybe some of us must die often to know.
The whiskey is solid. Take you to safe place.
Love is like hide and see. We open up completely.
Standing naked and showing our weaknesses.
Give everything to the person we need. They are holding us on a thread of a word.”


Young woman laughed and she told me.


‘Life is like chasing the rainbows. When you find the ending. The ending wasn’t as sweet as the journey. Real lovers are thankful for the bliss of the sweet kiss. Appreciate the allure of love when alive and needy. Love never died. Stayed with us till we replace the old wound with new dances and the rebirth of the ambrosia
of new delight and sacred nights and holy mornings.”


I ordered two pints of cold beer and two Irish whiskeys. I looked at dark beautiful brown eyes and I asked. Would you dance with an old man. Pretty woman smiled and she said.” You ain’t old in years. Just a burn-out star needing someone to show you how to laugh again.”


Pretty woman led me to the open dance floor. Hank William Jr. is singing a slow song and two people find peace in the song and the dance of living.


John Castellenas/Coyote