[lit-ideas] Re: Saturday Poem for Walter, who loves verse so

  • From: wokshevs@xxxxxx
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx, David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • Date: Wed, 19 Nov 2008 16:39:57 -0330

I thank David for his gift of poetry but I feel compelled to publicly state
I am happily married, and have been for 29 years. I do not engage in romantic
interludes with males, even if they do share my tastes in single malt.

Also for the record: Laphroaig is a vile malt indeed. A very salient tasting
note is diesel oil. (Although it works wonders if poured liberally over a
recalcitrant rusty screw in your floorboards.)

John McC's malt of choice, the 15 yr. Talisker I believe it is, is a more
civilized and refined libation, though still overly-peaty to my mind. Oban,
Glenmorangie and Cragganmore remain the most universalizable of all the malts I
have savoured. Phil's "Glenn's liver" refers, of course to a lovely, deeply
golden coloured, sherry-oak and peach tasting 18 yr. old Glenlivet. 

Useful websites:

1. www.malts.com

2. An Quaich: The Scotch Malt Whiskey Society of Canada: www.anquaich.ca 

Esteriness forever,

Walter O

P.S. Walter tries his hand at poetry, not yet wishing to face Eric Dean's long
and complex post on Kant's moral theory. OK, here goes (with apologies to the
poets in residence):

Ode to Daphne Aberfeldy

How can I forget her?
A medium bodied nose,
gentle and creamy.
Perhaps a slight cherry fruitiness
and a hint of a floral edge.

I recall well the salience of her palate:
round, full-bodied, assertive and unintentionally sultry.
With a tangy cocoa peat character to her style and ambience.

Alas, it's over now.
The finish was poignant.
Long, smooth and creamy,
and to this day
I cherish her touch,
yes though only a fleeting touch
of milk chocolate on the tail.

Quoting David Ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>:

> it's a spry puppy of a whisky with a sly hint of old socks
> my best bottle of laphroaig is nigh gone
> my one bottle of laphroaig is done
> at the last drop
> a squeeze and a hop
> prove that all proof
> like our tonic the sun
> slips into an ocean of one
> and then what you do
> as that nip drips through
> is surrender yourself to P
> and a casual touch of brythonic
> David Ritchie,
> Portland, Oregon
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