Ode to Scotch Whisky

The thing about growing up and being out of school is that there is no longer any good excuses for not doing stuff. I can't use the default, 'I would, but I really have to study.' Noone would fault someone (not as much) for flaking out in order to study. That's understandable; school is expensive and is even more expensive if you have to do it over involuntarily.

But people wouldn't be so understanding if you say you have to do your taxes. Given that there is no longer a good excuse (i.e. studying), I will refrain from making crappy excuses to avoid trying or doing new things. However, if I grow out my hair, I could use the excuse that I will be washing it.

So today I am trying out poetry again. Most of my poetry in the past (pre-college days) were mostly forced and very manufactured. I would literally add A through Z to a predetermined suffix to find a rhyme. 'age, bage, cage, dage, fage [phage], gage [gauge], hage...' etc. I hope my verse this time will be slightly better than Vogon poetry.

Here's my first poem in 5 years:

Ode to Scotch Whisky

Icicles dangling off tip of nose
Wintry blustering wind outside blows
Broken heater flows cold air
Curled with liquid fire, not a dram to spare.

Amber distillate, the angels' wine
or at least the devil's drink.
A taste of which gives man the spine
with which to do and think

Of the madness of this age
of all the wars we wage
of this failing economy the sages
warned us about.

But alas, not to worry.
The second and third [drams] bring comfort and solace,
respectively.
Swirl the glass, breathe the Scot's gold and sip
And all life's problems become but distant memory.