Whiskey In The Jar ~ The Pogues & The Dubliners

I've been in a Pogues sort of mood today.

There are no sad men in the bar

They come all with a purpose

Hunkered over pints of their days hard work

Listening and humming along to music their wives at home would never approve

No escaping reality...

We all know this is real and a woodstove warms the heart as well as a whiskey warms the belly

When our night ends we march home and know that we are men there and there is no need to prove it

Your poor drama

How many acts will I have to endure?

Will the repeated sword falls be your undoing?

Hell, Romeo and Juliet only died once

My interest is rushing out with it's crumpled playbill

Let the curtain fall

That first long kiss tasted good

Better than the head of a creamy stout

She looked like an angel or atleast her image was frosted by the cigarette smoke

She slid on to my lap, pressing my back into the ancient iron radiator in the bar

Despite the twinge I paused long enough to allow her red locks to dangle and curtain our moment

Delaying the touch of lips was achingly pleasurable

Her warm breath pulled me to the edge and right over

Her index finger curled and seeking, found my sweetspot near my neck

No distinguishable music

No eye contact

But I drank her kiss

Until her glass emptied and I sipped each drop as it was my last.

A satisfied sigh

I know you spent your night searching for me.

Trying to exploit my lines in flanking movements.

Each time you arrive, I've crossed the rivers and burned my bridges.

My defenses are stronger than the Shenandoah.

I'll move back up the Valley.

Retire to the safety of my heart's home.

Winding my way through Brown's Gap.

Back to the place of my solid comfort.

Stop searching for me

I am not ready to be discovered

Keep me away from the dawning of the day

The less light that penetrates my heart the better

I'm not finished being the bad man

I'm not ready to be the good soldier boy

I wish to be my own

Not a figment of your grand imagination

Not noble

Not wise

Just a man


WBA 2010

Carvings

She carved on me like a piece of cherry wood.

Her switchblade words laid my soul in shavings on the diesel soaked floor.

Oh how she carved me!

Each pass of her knife laid my dark wood bare.

Slicing my strength away until I covered the floor.

No pattern in her chaos, no love in her heart.

Just a long blade cut as my dark sap ran.

WBA 2008