Poem #1: Whiskey on the rocks

Trying something new this time: poetry!

I used to write a good bit of poetry when I was younger, and recently found myself getting back into it. I’ll share some more recent work eventually, but for now I’ll start by sharing some old poems I’ve written that I find myself still enjoying reading today.

Whiskey on the rocks.
Smoke from a cigar.
Suffocating silence. A clock
echoes from afar.
Rumors circulating,
stifling, conversations,
attempted humor,
and that dreadful anxiety;
the stress of communication.
Of people’s judgment.
Or the calm sensation
of silence, a book?
What choice is that?
The scent of peat
and smoke. And pages,
against what?
Suffocating perfume.
Obnoxious volume.
A ridiculous costume.
No, while you may
assume that at my age
I’d prefer the latter,
in fact, I’d much rather
take a seat, feel
the touch of suede,
first-grade leather,
the post-meal coma,
and the fire’s soft light.
To escape all talk,
immersed by the chroma
of blues by the bar,
the sweet delight
of whiskey on the rocks,
and smoke from a cigar.