Burns Night Poetry Competition 2022 – win Glengoyne 21 Year Old!

Master of Malt

January 3, 2022

Are you a secret poet? Do you know it? Well, hide your light under a bushel no longer because it’s time for our Burns Night Poetry Competition 2022. You could win a bottle of Glengoyne 21 Year Old. Runners up will receive Darkness Islay 12 Year Old and a Regions of Scotland whisky tasting set, or an Aerolite Lyndsay 10 Year Old Islay single malt.

You know those moments in meetings when the sensible people run out of things to say? That’s normally the opportunity for the others to propose outlandish ideas which will be tactfully shot down or crack jokes that nobody quite gets. Well, that’s how our Burns Night Poetry Competition started back in 2019. There was a lull in a meeting to discuss how we should cover Burns Night, a big event in the whisky calendar, somebody said ‘poetry competition’, and much to everyone’s surprise, we went ahead and did it.

Even more surprising is how successful it’s been. Every year we get dozens of entries, and, though some of them are awful – rhyming ‘whisky’ with ‘frisky’ is a giveaway – there’s always some that show real talent. Just take a look at the winning entries from 2019, 2020, and 2021.

Prizes for poetry, but only if you wow us…

Enter our Burns Night Poetry Competition 2022

This year we’ve upgraded the prizes so we’re expecting an even higher standard than previous years. The winner will receive a bottle of Glengoyne 21 year old single malt worth over £140. The second place prize is a bottle of Islay 12 Year Old Oloroso Cask Finish (Darkness) and a Regions of Scotland Whisky Tasting Set. And there’s a very nice bottle for the third-place entry, a bottle of Aerolite Lyndsay 10 Year Old – The Character of Islay Whisky Company.

Some tasty whiskies there. All you have to do is write a poem in either English or Scots of 25 lines or less. No epics, please. Apart from those rules, you can do what you like: write in blank verse, use iambic pentameters, or come up with something totally experimental. Again, just don’t rhyme ‘whisky’ with ‘frisky.’

To get you in the mood, here’s a little something from the Bard himself, Robbie Burns:

‘My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.’

Stirring stuff!

The 2021 MoM Burns Night poetry competition is open to entrants 18 years and over with postage to UK addresses only. Entries accepted from 12:00 GMT on 3 January to 12:00 GMT 17 January 2022. Full T&Cs are below, but to enter simply email us at marketing@masterofmalt.com, or comment on Facebook, Instagram, or below with your poem by 17 January. The winner will be announced on Burns Night, Tuesday 25 January.

View Full Terms and Conditions.

MoM Burn’s Night Poetry Competition 2022 T&Cs

THE PROMOTER: The promoter is Atom Supplies Limited (company register number 03193057), trading as Master of Malt (MoM) and having its registered office at Unit 1 Ton Business Park, 2-8 Morley Road, Tonbridge, Kent, TN9 1RA, United Kingdom.
THESE TERMS AND PRIVACY POLICY: By entering this competition, entrants confirm they have read, understand and agree that these terms and the MoM Privacy Policy (and the way we process personal data) are binding to them. The promoter reserves the right to amend these terms; to hold void, suspend, cancel or amend this competition at any time.
ELIGIBILITY: This competition is only open to individuals who are 18 years or older and resident of the United Kingdom. Ineligible entries (howsoever received) will be discarded. The competition is not open to any employees (and their immediate family) of the promoter or any of its associated companies. The promoter reserves the right to verify the validity of entries and entrants (including an entrant’s identity, age and place of residence) at any time and reserves the right, in its sole discretion, to disqualify any individual who, or any entry which, it believes has breached any of these terms, tampered with the entry process or engaged in any unlawful or improper conduct which may undermine the fair and proper conduct of this competition.
ENTRY/COMPETITION PERIOD: This competition opens at 12:00:00 UK time on 3rd January 2022 and closes at 12:00:00 UK time on 17th January 2022.
HOW TO ENTER: (1) submit an original poem (maximum of 25 lines) inspired by whisky in the comment section on the relevant social media post on MoM’s Instagram page, MoM’s Facebook page, blog post, or by emailing the poem directly at marketing@masterofmalt.com. Multiple entries (with a different poem each time obviously) are permitted, encouraged, even! No purchase is necessary, and no payment is required to participate in the competition or to claim the prize.
WINNERS: The promoter will choose 1 winner with the best poem and 2 runner-ups with the next best poems submitted from all qualifying entries. The selection of the winners will be at MoM’s absolute discretion and will be final. No correspondence or discussion will be entered into.
THE PRIZES: All prizes are inclusive of packaging and carriage. All prizes are provided by the promoter and are strictly non-negotiable, non-transferable, and cannot be exchanged for any equivalent cash value, cash alternative, or for other items. The winner (with the best poem) will win a bottle of Glengoyne 21 year old . The first runner-up (second place with the second best poem) will win a prize consisting of: (1) a bottle of Islay 12 Year Old Oloroso Cask Finish (Darkness); and (2) a Regions of Scotland Whisky Tasting Set. The second runner-up (third place with the third best poem) will win a bottle of Aerolite Lyndsay 10 Year Old – The Character of Islay Whisky Company.
UK SHIPPING ONLY: The prize can only be delivered to a valid United Kingdom address provided by the winner and the runner-ups.
CLAIMING THE PRIZE: The promoter will make reasonable efforts to contact the winners and runner-ups via Direct Message or email as soon as practicable after the competition period. If the winner or runner-up cannot be contacted or is not available or has not claimed the prize within 5 days of the promoter contacting them, the promoter reserves the right to offer the prize to another eligible entrant. The promoter cannot accept any responsibility if the winner or any runner-up is unable to take up the prize or fails to claim the prize within the time limit as set out above.
ORIGINAL ENTRY CONTENT ONLY: Let’s be sensible, people. Any content submitted to MoM, howsoever submitted, for the purposes of entering the competition must only be original material. By entering this competition, entrants warrant and undertake that their entry does not infringe any third party rights. Entrants agree to indemnify the promoter from and against any and all third party claims or liabilities relating to or arising out of the content submitted by them or their breach of any of these terms.
ACCEPTABLE ENTRY CONTENT: All entry content must strictly comply with the MoM’s Acceptable Use Policy. In particular, any material which depicts, describes, encourages, endorses or normalises the excessive consumption of alcohol; the consumption of alcohol by those under the age of 25; anti-social behaviour (including any criminal activity) or irresponsible drinking (including rapid drinking); links the consumption of alcohol with popularity or other social success, bravado, technical skill, good fortune, the operation of vehicles or other machinery or therapeutic benefits; or which depicts the consumption of alcohol whilst potentially dangerous activities are being undertaken will be disqualified.
ENTRY OWNERSHIP: By entering this competition, entrants agree that all right, title and interest in their entries will belong absolutely to the promoter. Entrants agree to irrevocably assign with full title guarantee and free from all third party rights, all intellectual property rights in and to any content submitted with their entry. MoM shall have the right to use, exploit, adapt and edit any content submitted (or part thereof) throughout the universe in perpetuity. By entering this competition, entrants waive all moral rights which they are or become entitled to under Chapter IV of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (or any similar right or entitlement anywhere in the world). Entrants agree to sign any additional documentation which may be required to give effect to this paragraph.
LIMITATION OF LIABILITY: Insofar as is permitted by law, the promoter, its agents, employees, and/or representatives shall in no circumstances be responsible or liable to compensate any entrant who participates in the competition and/or the winner who claim(s) the prize for any loss, damage, personal injury or death whatsoever and howsoever caused, whether in contract, tort (including negligence), breach of statutory duty, or otherwise, for any direct, indirect or consequential losses arising out of or in connection with their participation in this competition, any failure or delays or postponements or cancellations in making the appropriate travel and accommodation arrangements as a result of the winner (including in relation to their guests) taking up the prize (where applicable), except where it is caused by the negligence of the promoter, its agents, employees, and/or authorised representatives. competition entrants’ statutory rights are not affected.
GENERAL: The promoter confirms that this competition is not sponsored or endorsed by the social media platform identified herein and said social media platform is in no way affiliated to or associated with the promoter. By entering this competition, users agree to release that social media channel from any and all liability related to this competition. These terms shall be governed by English law, and the parties submit to the non-exclusive jurisdiction of the courts of England and Wales.

Tags:

Burns Night

82 Comments

chris reidJanuary 17, 2022

Let me tell you a story my old dad said it begins with some friends they were the best. We sailed through the Loch looking for Nessie but what did we see A Whiskey man playing the old bagpipes he stood on the waterside waving us in Go celebrate Burns night you silly young fools and leave Nessie sleeping or her Haggis you will be We needed a dram of Glengoyne then some more Was that the ghost of the Loch we did see or was it a shadow of some moving tree.

Michael RodgersJanuary 17, 2022

My da’s drink Whenever my da had a drouth, Summit strange happened tae his mooth… Ye see, his parlance was golden Like the Ardbeg he’d be holdin’: ‘I’ll, ah, hae anuther!’, he’d effuse.

Emma WellsJanuary 17, 2022

A Winter’s Tale A wild day And a stormy night A fire side Logs burning bright. Hearty food Good company A dram for you And a dram for me. Cheerful talk And smiling faces Reminicence And warm embraces. The spreading warmth Of deep content And the wonderful feel Of time well spent. Let’s raise a glass And make a toast To all of those We love the most.

Carol SheaJanuary 16, 2022

My first Burns Night The table’s set with crystal glass, a wee clear one at mine and there’s warm broth on the stove top, that’s smelling affa fine. A tartan ribbon’d bottle glows by the fire’s light. There’s a book set by dad’s place for reading late tonight. I’ll get a nip of liquid gold, diluted ten to one to warm my toes at bedtime ‘cos I’m daddy’s favourite son. But now I’ve got to get a Haggis. My mother’s sent me out, though I don’t know where to find one and if I ask again, she’ll shout. I’ve hunted almost everywhere, in river, field and sky. No-one seems to want to help and I feel like I could cry. I don’t know what one looks like or where it usually lies nor what I need to catch it, if it swims, or crawls or flies. I wonder what she wants if for, it sounds a trifle reekit Oh no, it’s for the Burns Night Feast. She says… we’re going to EAT IT! Sláinte

Mary ClementsJanuary 16, 2022

This Christmas we spent in Moray Overlooking the bay at Lossie. Husband and I were the elders And two grown children’n’partners the young’uns. Now they had the craving for whisky, so touring the country they went, Buying ‘investments’ of various bottles To enjoy and caress and admire. But they left us at home puppy sitting Alone without even a sip, So now I have to inform you, They’ve been written out’our will forthwith. The End.

Megan PowellJanuary 16, 2022

Whisky whisky There’s no ‘e’ in whisky The good stuff The great stuff The Burns your throat like Islay stuff Whisky whisky There’s no ‘e’ in whisky The high stuff The low stuff The neither high nor low land stuff Honey flavoured Peaty flavoured Something like a tree-sy flavoured What ever you can taste-y flavoured please do note, all the Scottish know: There’s no ‘e’ in whisky!

Matthew SumnerJanuary 15, 2022

My Favourite Whisky ‘Why do I love this whisky?’ I ask It’s the mellow brown colour from oaken casks Which glows with an amber and golden hue Oozing with caramel and toffee too With a grainy aroma, so rich and mature There’s the subtlest hint of honey I’m sure Peaty and woody without a fault And a floral fragrance from such a fine malt The images it conjures of springs and lochs A regal looking stag on craggy rocks The mighty eagle, and an osprey’s cry Framed by mountains and a deep blue sky The memories it stirs of times and places Of special events and familiar faces Friends I hold dear and people from the past All wrapped up in this whisky glass And now as I put the nectar to my lips It’s just liquid poetry with every slow sip Truly lyrical flavours I can discern My love to this whisky, and to Robbie Burns

LoobieJanuary 15, 2022

AND HE SINGS He is a canny lad he is I canne put him down He strides upon the moorland in His boots of leathered brown Beside him lays old whiskey flask the one his granda bought Engraved with “for tomorrow” and “a heart still full of thought” And he sings “Oh land betwixt the briney & the ageing morn of peat Whose auburn leaves shall spin & fell like fires at my feet” “Heathered lands come honeys Their sweetness for to spill To lend to waters falling neath that you alone distill” “A measure of your barley twist A single cask of sun To lay upon the fields where, your gentle toil was spun” “And I the glad recipient Of all that you impart Oh joy then “For tomorrow” Let tomorrow have its start” (I hope you have enjoyed this little tasting set of my poetry ??) 1-Sunset Sipped 2-Forever Islay in his arms 3-And he sings

Mike DownJanuary 14, 2022

Seed sower Barley reeper Peat cutter Fire stoker Malt steeper Grist masher Yeast waker Wash charger Vapour trickler Heart catcher Feint cutter Cask filler Spirit watcher Patient waiter Watcher. Waiter. Watcher. Waiter Master distiller Timely bottler And then we gather… Cork puller Glass filler Nose twitcher Tongue tingler Palate pleaser Joy giver

LisaJanuary 14, 2022

Starting in the city, I begin to pen this ditty Thoughts of snowy hills, and exciting chills, entice me to the Isles. In the misty scene, it could be just a dream, I catch glimpses of green meringues, stiff chunks of marble, chargrilled hays and grasses. The train chugs on, a beating heart in the storm, a lifeline to the west, carrying ancient wooden chests back and forth tinkling and trickling. As the day draws to a close, a smoky smell hits my nose.. The Scotsman’s rose! The ferry rocks back and forth, full of folk travelling North, white, foamy froth hits the whitewashed walls, quells and falls, stretches out & thins over the sandy golden shores. There’s a bit of two and fro as we shuffle off the boat. Joy shoots through me as I hear the whistle of ice cubes tinkling the crystal. A drop of lemon and some maple a pour of Bowmore. A sip under a dark Islay sky.

Gary BlackwellJanuary 13, 2022

Fur was a life ful’a creation, death full’d wae celebration. Known across this bonney land a bard, A man. His start fae a journey, ferming the land. He of the people, ae working class kin. king of the countryside by literatures great stand. With written verse elegantly poised, a composition blooms in full posey. A ferm ful’a strife, wae nary a wife. Toiled and slogged until marital Fife. The Brood it grows, though no withoot woes. Time does slow as it quickly flows through. Forget the knot, a name no topped, tied to all a scot’s man. Fae Alloway travelled aw the way, to rest in the arms of St Michael’s mausoleum. Regaled the last hes time no yit passed, etched across our breast. We sup and sip your words on oor lips, an toasted far and wide. Slàinte Mhath.

Jon TerryJanuary 13, 2022

I so remember Time with friends, some long gone. Always with a dram.

StephenJanuary 13, 2022

My Mum was always good at poems so I’ll give it a try. It could win me some whisky that I wish I could buy. The 21 year Glengoyne is a dream bottle to own. Or any of those prizes, you won’t hear me moan. So I’m raising my glass to the Master of Malt crew. Hoping your reading this and raising one too. Heres to drinking with friends and family on Burns night. May your whisky stock be plenty and your flash sales be bright. I’ll keep everything crossed while I leave this poem here. And as I’m almost out of whisky, I’ll go get a beer ? Best wishes

Andrew CandyJanuary 13, 2022

The UK address, it burns and it simmers I view MoM on Facebook and I grimace. There’s only so far I can go I apologize If you search me you’ll fine I’ve deleted my ID-wise.

Matthew SumnerJanuary 12, 2022

Whisky Chaser I was enjoying a wee dram at the other side of town When I remembered I hadn’t turned the cooker down I needed to get home and get there fast So my dinner wasn’t burned in the oven blast I said my goodbyes and put the nectar aside To get to the house was a short bus ride But to my dismay the bus was hit by vandals So instead I had to sprint home in my sandals I tell you it’s no exaggeration to say I ran much faster than a racehorse that day When I got back the food was still looking nice As I wiped off the sweat and put my feet in ice My dinner was cooked to perfection of course Smothered in my favourite whisky sauce

Laurence SmithJanuary 12, 2022

What, then, is there left to do with another year passed, other than say “thank you” by raising a glass to all those we have loved and lost since the coming of last year’s frost; then hold ever-closer all we hold dear in this year to come, with prayers for health, and hearth, and home; to show our spirits will be ever strong ’til we return where we belong. We toast what was and is as we gather round the bonfire’s light and look to the future this Burns Night. The warmth of flame felt on our skin, while dram and memory warm from within.

Wilson SmeatonJanuary 12, 2022

Well may they muse of loch and glen Raise anthems to brave-hearted men Extol the salmon, salute the stag Or eagle golden above the crag Of fearful chasm or soft green valley Where mighty rivers plunge or sally Fierce land, wide sky and regal creature All these were gifted us by nature. But we have taken nature’s store And raised it, sorcerer-like to more; With simple grain and water pure With alchemy, patience and bold venture. In temples of magic, some say, it is born From crucible tun of malt barley-corn. The brew, by science, faith and skill, Is ennobled by burnished copper still. Then, sleeping in cask, the gentle recluse, Angels attending, claiming their dues Until the years and stout oaken shell Have woven a full, final, perfect spell. In homes and hostels, near and far They know the love of Uisge Beath From Sweden to Siam, I am The Spirit of Alba, the glorious Dram!

Scott CosgroveJanuary 12, 2022

Limerick Cheers There once was a drinker called Walt, A true patron at Master of Malt. With several bottles to toast; He was more merry than most. His taste, of course, we cannot fault.

Scott CosgroveJanuary 12, 2022

The Drink Haiku Scented memories, Unfolding flavours flow- Gone! Ghosts linger

Karen EvansJanuary 12, 2022

Whiskey tasting They sit together Shoulders touching. Glasses held aloft, Ambered glinting. Speaking coastal breezes. Waves of honey, Sweet pear and smoky bonfire. A brief dispute, Peaty or floral? Then, Eyes closed, Bodies relax, Perfectly blended.

David BreenJanuary 12, 2022

Stood on the shore of a Islay bay, i let my mind wander and thought this is where part of me will always stay. where whisky meets land, sky and sea, fine spirits blend and friendship bonds are laid like foundation stones for eternity. The silence, weather, peat and heather has branded something In my soul like no other. I will walk on your shores again, complete. Not to retrace or recapture, for something fresh, to mark a start, a whole new chapter. Nothing stands still not time nor tide , but a bottle we can bring back to remind, with each smell and sip it does more than alcohol imbibe, but recalls memories that take us to a place, in space and time. those ones we shared, yours, ours, mine. In this world we truly own nothing, from our cradle to our coffin. But our name can mean something, and when spoken it evokes emotion, Laphroaig, Ardbeg and Lagavulin these are names that are worth a mention. I hope my name to you has meaning, as yours does to me. We will stand again in a bay where whisky meets land, sky and sea.

BeanieJanuary 12, 2022

Rabbie Burns was a poet, I am not. A man good with words, my Decky is not. My hubby for years, who likes the water of life. This ode is about a Geis created by his wife! He’s fond of a dram but we live far from the Tavern. Country folk we are, in the mountains of Fermanagh. Covid has struck, everything is changed, The crowd at the Inn we must evade. At home we stay, without any whiskey and beer. My poor husband filled with the PTTA fear. He dreams of different Whiskey every night! The Geis’ so far away, it’s an awful plight. In the mountains you see the dew falls on the grass. But my husband prefers plenty of whiskey in his glass! I decided we needed to build a small shed. Another project, my husband saw RED. It was hard work, he dug deep, he had a shed to complete. I, meanwhile secretly created a wooden shack, with a huge, huge whiskey rack. To the Master of Malt I did go. Boy did they have bottles all set to go. I bought a few but wanted more. Ack, you know the score. Now he loves the whiskeys in his new Inn, a total surprise that enhanced his life. Now no fear or sign of covid in sight, just the never ending fright of the wife! Ah a good whiskey, a quite corner, thanks Master’s of Malt, thanks wifey, enjoy Burns night, Auld Lang Syne…..

HattieJanuary 11, 2022

Fancy a dram my brothers? Let us reminisce when we were young, sharing drams under both moon and sun. Stoke the campfire down by the Loch, near moor, or mist shrouded mountain (it matters not). Fancy a dram my brothers? I long for pipes, a fiddle and drum; concertina and guitar – let the music flow far, and step and dance to the ceilidh band so carefree that we are Fancy a Dram my brothers? Let us naer forget those gone, some too soon, and how we said goodbye – tiny ablaze raft sailing out a moonlit sea with beautiful song music and poetry. Fancy a Dram my brothers? Blood and water you are my kin, and nothing that the past few years could bring would ever make that brightness dim. I treasure what I have, let go what I have not Fancy a Dram my brothers? Let us carry on this way as we get old. Fancy a dram my brothers, good company a fiery warmth against any cold. Fancy a dram my brothers, fancy a dram.

Matthew SumnerJanuary 11, 2022

Burns Night Toast The burbling flow of fine whisky filling up my tumbler. Twinkling merrily as it falls into crystal glass with a soft golden glow. The nectar tugs me back in time. Memories cascade from this flawless fusion, wrapped in oak, with the heat of halcyon days. The warmth of good friends and kin, the roar of the fire and laughter, steaming food and balmy summers, pour into my mind. The toast begins and gently pulls me from past to present. As I stand and sip the malt, new memories are made that will last for ever.

esme dodsworthJanuary 11, 2022

Those words spoken But words never written, The tales passed down By rivers and lakes By mothers tongue, We are one From bedrock to sky Our path is by each others side, Together strong The sun our strength The land our life Our hearts embedded upon The land we imbibe, Warmed from tales of old Of fights yet untold Encased with love from the trees We know the true meaning of natures gold

Hannah SmithJanuary 10, 2022

Nine Dry Months The bottles I love best are in the shed, Exchanged for baby grows To tenderly fold: when it’s spirit burn, Peat and oil and malt, Dare I admit it, that I’ve craved these nine. And why be righteous? It has been a chore, Smelling sage and honey As your father, not tasting the half, shares A dram with mere air: Leather, thyme and sap, old pub and shore. But then again, I get to hold you first, A measure far sweeter; And we will toast to you, our little one, Due this twenty-fifth, If you are here in time for Rabbie’s day.

David LewryJanuary 10, 2022

A Parting Glass Your favourite chair before the fire Green leather soft and worn Your pipe now cold, your plain black specs Which fingerprints adorn A dust now settles on the books Your tired eyes strained to see How long shall we leave them here As memories recede? I pour a dram, the peaty smell Reminds me of your toil The calloused hands that worked so hard In Caledonia’s soil The times we laughed, the times we cried Friendship thus declared A drink to cheer, a drink to mourn The memories we shared An auld acquaintance, ne’er forgot And never far from mind, A parting glass of Laphroaig A drink to auld lang syne Now rest old friend and ever’y time We take a dram or sing a song We’ll think of you and raise a glass Your memory thus lives on

Andy WynnJanuary 10, 2022

The piper’s breath, us all to wake, From cold and wind, the trees did shake. Haggis, tatties, neeps abound, A dram or two, the warmth goes down. The laughs, the tears, ne’er too late, His life and work to celebrate. Gone too soon, his words return, Fare thee well, young Rabbie Burns.

Andy HallJanuary 10, 2022

A Munro Tail A Munro a malt or a speyside sip how much longer until it wets my lips A single dram is pure gold, a worthy reward for getting home Upon my Journey across munros its the only essential that I hold At the top just a sniff, must be careful, mustn’t slip! Now I’m home I raise my glass to toast the Ben, another one of my list Where to next, which munro? Another dram and off I go! Isle of Mull its Ben More, then Tobermory to get my score!

Seb Morgan-GilesJanuary 9, 2022

Whisky With Spring in the air An aroma most fair With soft Summer breezes A flavour that pleases With Autumn leaves falling A drink that’s so warming With Winters white wonderment An excellent accompaniment

Matthew SumnerJanuary 9, 2022

Sonnet to Whisky I’d truly love to write some verse But can’t think of anything profound This writer’s block is getting worse My mind’s just going round and round Right on the verge of giving up I take a whisky and feel the glow And with that very first tasty sup The poetry begins to flow The page is full that once was bare No longer do I hesitate It’s nothing compared to Rabbie’s flair But the dram has left me feeling great Let’s toast the Bard of this fair land With a glass of finest malt in hand

Iain MackayJanuary 9, 2022

FAULTLINES Fantastic future faultlines! Flourishing freethinking forums. Fascination for fine feathery finessed ferment, fluxing from fastigated Forsyths’ forged facsimiles. £55.45 for 45 fun-filled flavourful fragrant fanfares? Fair fare! Formerly frugal firewater; fortifying firkins festoon!…foosty farmyard funk facilitating fruity fatty flavonoid finish. Forget famous fleeting fickle filigree fanciers; facinorous fictionalist fabulists. Forego fatuous fashionable flimflam flannel. Forbid fine facture from fleeting, fading- favour forevermore fecund forthright factualism. Future forefather financiers: fair, flexible, familial, fraternal. Fortunes Forever!

LoobieJanuary 9, 2022

FOREVER ISLAY IN HIS ARMS The wind has picked her skirts up But drags her stubborn heels Dancing ceilidhs as she goes Whirling bonny reels Down into the cellar falls Away from worried looks & masks To pour herself a glass & read Among the old oak casks Not all glasses stand filled equally Hers a little short Savouring the companion Of her feelings & her thought A tot of consolation for those eyes of malted brown, the soothing of a worried mind, the easing of a frown. She climbs the stairs more gracefully As one remote yet free To set her bottled message out Upon the open sea Do return to sender For the storm wind it finally calms I lay in his arms forever Forever Islay in his arms. For Ollyboy

Annette RobinsonJanuary 8, 2022

Cold torrents down the mountains, cut deep an angry scar. Surge down the hills and ever on, this is the uisge beatha. Pregnant lochs and peated burns, run fierce with the storm And from their depths, both pure and taint, The whisky is born. In time its then forgotten, in its oaken reservoir Till once again it sees the light, And I wish you ‘Slainte mhath’

Matthew BakerJanuary 7, 2022

I Lay in Islay What’s in a dram? the measure of a man? A neat dream, an expression over ice or a drop of water in a Lowland Loch? Celtic spirits in Spanish oak, barrel bellied sent to the rackhouse and lined up to soak. The White dog bites through the smoke. Still Searching for notes that are not yet there, lost in the Angel’s share. Tossed to the Spey and washed down to Campbeltown. A conversation starter or the final word before the heather blows across the Highlands heathered turf. Seated on the palette, peated, depleted and repeated. What’s in a dram?…….. The measure of a man.

Steve ShawJanuary 7, 2022

There once was a poet named Burns, Who got up on the stage and did turns, If the the verse disnae rhyme, The Compere calls time, And the doorman gets more than he earns.

Karen GrevattJanuary 6, 2022

Oh my scotch is like a brown, brown log That burns upon a fire; The smoothest tones that tease me With a sense of something higher. I love the way that whisky tastes Of heather and of glen A testament to skills observed On firth, or brae or Ben. In recent years it seems to me That everything is strange And I yearn for the familiar In a world thats full of change. So I sit in my chair, and sip my scotch The taste, it sets me free To dream of castles, mountains, lochs And Islands in the sea. Around the world, the clans are spread But wherever they may roam I raise a glass to a drink whose taste Brings memories of home.

WillemJanuary 6, 2022

Whisky. Rhymes with. Whiskey.

Lee QuayleJanuary 6, 2022

Whisky Business I’m thankful for sunshine and the moonlit night, The changing of seasons and a Christmas that’s white. The making of memories with friends old and new, Bringing calm to the storm and the hullabaloo. I’m thankful for family and all of their quirks, Even though they’re all crazy, somehow it just works. I’m thankful for music and the power of song, Turn up the volume when its all going wrong. I’m thankful to those that I share the same love, Of raising a glass to those up above. The power of whisky can bring us together, The smoke and the fruit and sometimes the heather. Makes us thankful for living; we forget all our woes, That warm fuzzy feeling from our head to our toes. I’m thankful for verse but this one is risky, Will I be champion and win a fine whisky? If I lose and I fail then I am at fault, I shall continue to love the Master of Malt. I know this is brazen but I don’t give a damn, I’ll sell my soul to the devil for a mighty fine dram!

SeanJanuary 6, 2022

Raise a Quaich to the Auld bhàird and Blether, celebrate his birth and warm us in this Dreich weather, a coorie and a smourich lingering on the palate, a wee dram of solasta nectar, warm and satisfying, Flichterin ye neck, braw and gratifying, For a lad with a drop is rich indeed, a loue ye Scotland, your monadh, your lochs, your seas

Stephen HarrisJanuary 6, 2022

Burns Night come Scot from lowland, highland still deep loch, tall crag and heather hill come brace your bonny bairns from chill and biting cold then sup your whisky, have your fill till tales are told be all together with your kin let pipers play the haggis in while all the lassies, laddies grin from ear to ear and celebrate with happy din your bardic seer now sing aloud and take your turns to dance awhile as fireside burns and raise your glass to Robbie burns sing Auld Lang Syne reflect once more on Robbie burns of Scotland’s line

Dan HawksworthJanuary 6, 2022

Soft rain falls on crops Resting within sleepy oak Tempest of flavour

Allan KinleyJanuary 6, 2022

Nectar in a glass. From earth, water and fire. Gone soon! Another?

Kerry GormanJanuary 6, 2022

Its cauld ootside but cozy by the fire, Ma das signing away, a sound that will never tire. Ma maws in the kitchen making haggis neeps and tatties, A Scottish tradition, nae wunner were aw fatties! It’s the 25th Of January, Burns night is here! A fresh start for all in our brand new year. Its no bin that great, Covid has been a nuisance awrite, Not seeing friends and family and geeing everyone a fright! So we must take this year and enjoy every day, Hold your loved ones near and do not let them stray. Ma das still signin’ I can hear him the noo, Flower of Scotland being belted oot, hes a Scotsman through and through! But this is a memory, its not real life anymore Time is too short, so go on and pour… To Friends and Family a warming wee dram, Past and present, raise a glass if you can This ones to ma Da, he was some man….

Sean WarrenJanuary 6, 2022

There comes a feeling, post festive cheer. Of hopes and fears for the coming year. How will it be? Can it be so? Is this my home now, or is it time to go? For too long I’ve wandered and wondered why so. Who, why, where? I just don’t know. Things in the past are just what they are. They are things that have happened, not things in a jar. I will try not to carry the burden that weighs. I will try and step forward and savour my days. Wonder then as I stand, which road I will take, and right or wrong decision I make. Life is a journey, with peaks and troughs, with joyful songs and nasty coughs. It is all too short and over too soon. I will live each day in my own Brigadoon.

Barbara WallerJanuary 6, 2022

I really must propose a toast To the poet we love most To Rabbie is the solemn cry But, oh dear, my glass is dry Fill with amber liquid quick Smokey malt is e’er my pick Taste the malt and taste the grain For tonight forget the rain The days are short, the nights are long Gives us time to sing our song

Jon AnkersJanuary 6, 2022

storms raging outside unheard over friends sharing whisky and laughter

Dean Kinane-PowellJanuary 6, 2022

An ode to the whisky barrel In no finer vessel is Whisky born The stave, croze and ring coopered in perfect form A Hogshead, puncheon, drum or cask In mighty oak the liquid basks In no finer vessel is Whisky born Toasted or charred the woods not marred Inside with age, the colour turns Giving the dram a subtle, smoky burn In no finer vessel is Whisky born Once used for madeira, rum or sherry Infuses sweet tastes of fruits and berries Oloroso to add the dark and the nutty In no finer vessel is Whisky born Muscat, marsala a taste of the tropics And fortified wine leaves the porty tawn A golden glow so spicy, so warm In no finer vessel is Whisky born American bourbon of caramel cream Bordeaux, Barolo, Burgundy wine The dried fruit aroma, a smell so divine In no finer vessel is Whisky born You steep and you age and mature it within A complex drink that’s so fine and so fair A payment you claim of angels share In no finer vessel is Whisky born

MALCOLM HALLEYJanuary 6, 2022

Fill it Empty it LIFE IS WHAT YOU BUT IN ta it.

Ashley WilliamsJanuary 5, 2022

Poem for Burns “Whether it’s raining, or whether it’s dry. I’d rather drink whisky, rather than wine. With variety so rich, and flavours so bold. Each distillery unique, with stories untold. Legal whisky from Arran, where moonshine has evolved. From Bimber to Glenlivet, it was illicitly sold. As some come some go, we will remember the ghosts. And share whisky with Angels, who enjoy it the most. Our winters are cold, coloured white with snow. I sit by the fire, and drink the peat smoke. It’s golden by oak, as the flame flickers it glows. From Islay to Ireland, and all over the globe. In the summer with friends, enjoying a roast. I lift up my tumbler, and offer a toast. Cheers to the new year, I wish you good wealth. With friends and family, here’s to good health. Slainte”

nikolaos vafeidisJanuary 5, 2022

Is it wrong or is it risky Smoky, peaty and sweet Sherry, bourbon and oak Fruits, honey and aromas What can I, a Greek, say about whisky Can a Scot and a Greek drink together In the most sunny lands & hot weather Is it a guy from Japan wit’ his own blend Could it truly be a Canadian wit’ his maple An Irish fellow with his drum so mellow What is the trouble over there by the fire Is it thus the old; neat, ice or water drama Is it for thy pleasure or appreciation then Perhaps in only one thing we can all agree Tis sacrilege to mix a single malt with coke Or maybe we should mind our own business Let’em all vastly enjoy as they dearly please For this holy spirit is truly a divine blessing Be careful though: too much will kill you too little will not fill you: measure thy units it might your life, it might save your wife I have already spoken too much and long I bid you farewell and happy drinking all along!

Stephen BrackenridgeJanuary 5, 2022

Street Light You were an early vision, perhaps peered at from a pram Paternal, stellar orange with a planetary ring Through which lilting leaves lift and bow gently In the fresh night wind I squint my eyes half open on the way home from a dram My lids by shifting arrange a compass-mass of stings Which through the array of street props sift And jab gently While I pass each sabre soft sound And lift my collar

Peter WardJanuary 5, 2022

Today I sit and think of the days before, Knowing that those days were glorious, and ones we know no more. And whilst reminiscing of these days, I notice in the corner of my eye, a dusty bottle who seems to have lost his ways. I get up from my chair and make my way there, I blow away the dust to reveal, a name I trust. I’ve awoken a bottle of whisky I’d forgotten in this place, I call my city. Islay malt it says with notes of seaweed and salt, so it would be rude of me, to ignore this bottles coat. Where’s my glass I hear myself say, for it is over there amongst, the display. As I pour this light coloured marvel, the peat and smokiness awaken my survival, I take a sip, and whiskies everywhere are awoken again once more.

James RainsfordJanuary 5, 2022

Lockdown Lament A Sonnet for the Young When shall young lovers kiss again Free from the dread their sweet embrace Will leave a trace of Covid on their lips? When will they know their mingled breath Does not contain the pathogens of pain, Rewarding passion with a kiss-of-death? What shall become of youthful needs To trace the sensual contours of desire With fingers unprotected from the feel Of flesh made toxic by the heat of fever’s touch? How much of love’s beginnings perish here Where adolescent dreams must be denied? No memories created of a love devoid of fear, No moments to recall when death draws near. Copyright: James Rainsford 2020 Here is a sonnet written for our times. It attempts to explore the tragedy for the young denied intimacy by the cruelty of Covid 19.

Stuart McLeanJanuary 5, 2022

Ode Tae The Bard Here’s tae The Bard, oor infamous Rabbie, As a poet n’ a lyricist, ye wirnae tae shabby. Fae Auld Lang Syne tae yon Sleekit Wee Moose, Yer poems ur read oot in every dwellin’ n’ hoose. Fae Ayrshire tae Aberdeen, Dundee tae Dumfries, Every Scot kens how tae recite their ain favourite piece. An’ as we celebrate yer life wi haggis n’ banter, Tryin’ hard tae mind the lines o’ the great Tam O’Shanter, We’ll raise a wee dram tae yer ‘honest sonsie face’, An’ say thanks fir the words that ye’ve left in yer place.

David HammondsJanuary 5, 2022

To all mankind . an excuse for a feast to dance and boast . A special man we like to toast. Whether you say ” happy burns night “or ” oidche bhlas ” Everyone let’s raise a glass . It’s only respect to have a wee dram . To ” Robbie burns ” the poetry man . And say the Lord we thank him .

Peter ReesJanuary 5, 2022

It is outrageous that you require poets to give up all rights to their creations for the price of a bottle of whisky. Totally unacceptable! POETS BEWARE. Read the Ts & C’s.

Amanda FarleyJanuary 21, 2022

We should all report them to the Writers Guild. This kind of treatment of writers should not be allowed.

M GarlandJanuary 7, 2022

Agree

Karl preenJanuary 5, 2022

Burns night As the legs run down the glass As the thoughts run through Burns mind Waves of scent doth fill the air Of citrus, wood, all kinds The barrel on which I stand my glass The years of stories, could tell this cask We raise a glass on this Burns night And toast our futures, for they shall be bright

Karl preenJanuary 5, 2022

Who would have thought a drop of “Uisge Beath” could inspire the hidden poet in me. Burns night As the legs run down the glass As the thoughts run through Burns mind Waves of scent doth fill the air Of citrus, wood, all kinds The barrel on which I stand my glass The years of stories, could tell this cask We raise a glass on this Burns night And toast our futures, for they shall be bright

Mick TownleyJanuary 5, 2022

The neeps n tatties are on the hob Boiled up haggis in ma gob Pour a dram and drink to Rabbie Christmas fare has made us flabby Di’nay knock at ma front door Come straight in,theres whisky Galore Wipe ya feet if they’re all mocket wear those skirts that don’t have pockets When the bottles empty Don’t start greetin,or come to me like sheep a bleatin A single malt will be alright But don’t pour out that blended shite The skirl of pipes,the choked emotion I’ve sent a jobbie to the ocean So raise a glass and and proudly stand You’re kilts to short we can see your gland.

Matthew DempseyJanuary 5, 2022

Pick your dram, dark or light Choose your glass and use it right Take a sip and hold it tight On the great and annual Burns night

Jo JonesJanuary 5, 2022

The Water Of Life When I get an insatiable thirst, Glengoyne whisky I think of first. Islay 12 year Olorose, & Aerolile 10 year old, Come close second, and third, so I’m told. Swirling amber liquid in a wee glass, Bring with it a certain touch of class. A unique single malt, a delightful taste, Thirst quenching, without a drop to waste. Sharing with friends would bring me cheer, Upmarket whisky instead of their usual beer. This is why I really deserve to win, So inferior whisky goes in the bin.

Cyd daweJanuary 5, 2022

With Burns night drawing near, say mar sin leat to the beer, If u want a malt whiskey to treasure, a dram of Glengoyle will heighten your pleasure

Caroline EvansJanuary 5, 2022

A Better Year to Come Take time to acknowledge the moment with a toast Making memories with those you love most Laugh with your friends to forget January blues Mix up those cocktails and try something new Have a martini, shaken not stirred Dance in the moonlight and sing with the birds Look outside at the snow and the ice A hot toddy with lemon would be really nice Champagne brings the luxury and corks that go pop Happier times that won’t ever stop A gin without tonic – now that just sounds wrong A little dutch courage to belt out a song Spending time with family and people we trust I’ll drink to that as surely I must!

Xavier JoverJanuary 5, 2022

smooth amber in my glass the storm howling outside my hearth glowing like brass all my problems fall aside

Mark HendersonJanuary 5, 2022

Whiskey makes me frisky Which is a little risky with auntie Christie. Her hair is long, white and wispy Her lips are dry and a little crispy Don’t embarrass yourself and move away briskly! Too late! Too late! She looked so pretty! Never trust a risky whiskey with auntie Christie.

anthony cranstonJanuary 5, 2022

It’s gude to be merry and wise, It’s gude to be honest and true and afore you’er off with the auld love, It’s best to be on wi’ the new, Trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you never met. It only takes a minute to have a crush on someone, An hour to like someone, And a day to love someone, But it takes a lifetime to forget someone

Edward CurtinJanuary 5, 2022

A drink born of time, crafted by masters, drank by those who built these lands. For these lands were born of hard workers, be it the roads the rail or the boat, who at the end of a day raised a glass to the masters and wished good health and happiness to both. So crafted by masters and consumed by hard workers, these lands bore the wishful thinkers, the outspoken speakers and the poets of both board and film. So raise a glass to those who have come before and remember that a story shared can be a story told, and all the best stories are born from the lives we lived and the lands we lived on.

Eva ApplebyJanuary 5, 2022

A toast to Scotland’s revered progeny To his legacy of rhymes sung on hogmanay An adept romantic poet of ardent verse Bard Robbie Burns we applaud and converse Scotland’s pride and celebrated fellow Akin to whisky rich warm and mellow The river of life kinetic aromatic blend Savoured parallel our lyricist friend Both loved national treasures on par Entwined historical repertoire A myriad of fans toast a dram and recite A poem to Robert every Burns night.

Eva ApplebyJanuary 5, 2022

Hi Forgive me l should of wrote water of life on line seven and not river of life whoops!

Tabitha GreenJanuary 5, 2022

Those lovely people at Masters of Malt, Would like a poem in which we exalt, The wonderful flavour, Of the drink that we savour, To win a bottle from their whisky vault. Loving whisky comes to me easily, So a prize bottle would fill be with glee, But tho’ I do love a tot, A poet I am not, So I’ll just hope you’ll take pity on me! The one thing that would be really risky, Is to end a line with the word whisky, It’s a hard word to rhyme, And they’ve said it’s a crime, To resort to the option of ‘frisky’! So whilst my poetry’s well below par, And the ‘frisky’ word might my chances mar, I’ll still offer my verse, In the hope I’ll soon nurse, A lovely dram of a great uisge beatha!

David PatersonJanuary 4, 2022

There was a young man from Glengoyne With paucity of valid coin He did like a dram For him and his Mam Who as mothers went was a doyen So counting on those in Killearn Who share often a part what they earn To charities true (That’s me and you!) He concocted a discipline stern: Each day he would run up the hill Then back down again to the still In his kilt, with the view That 2022 Will bring hope of much cheer and goodwill

Sarah MackayJanuary 4, 2022

Oh what a glorious year To find my one true love When everyone else lives in fear My heart is soaring high above My heart will be full until its last beat With covid and lockdown bringing him to me The man I love from my head to my feet There are no other fish for me in that sea I am lucky to have my smart and handsome lad Whose warmth and smile is like no other When everything else has gone quite mad I have found the one to make me a mother

James MoriartyJanuary 4, 2022

They said don’t rhyme Whisky with Frisky, So this tactic seems a bit risky, But for Glengoyne its worth Providing some mirth, In a poem thats really quite brisk, see

Craig BrownJanuary 4, 2022

From cold mountain spring frosty and weary Through centuries tradition how do you see you From sky to barrel, to bottle to heart It’s gods amber nectar it’s Scotlands true art.

Amy GrayJanuary 4, 2022

To a Mask Upon the mercat square there stood, A woman waiting wae her brood Twas at the tavern door she askit, “Whit d’ye mean, I maun a maskit?!” The guard he glowr’d at the dame, “Nae mask, nae entry, stay at hame!” The woman’s wrath that she was nursing, Cam forth in fire and fury cursing “A drookit path we’ve hud tae haik”, Spak the wife, “This news is fake!” The guard, he asked, “Are you the Di’el?” “Tae think this sickness isnae real!” “Back ye go tae Linkumdoddie, Bide 6ft awa’ fae ony body!” “For facts are chiels that winna ding, Yer waesome heid, it needs a ring!” Aff she lowp’d wae bairns in tow, The townsfolk she did ram The guard wauk’d intae tavern wairm, An pour’d himsel a dram

Amy GrayJanuary 5, 2022

I realised I’ve got a wee typo on the 4th line: “Whit d’ye mean, I maun be maskit?!”

LoobieJanuary 4, 2022

Sunset Sipped In shades of thought I canne bare, Beside my Da, my Mam My loosened tongue In words to flow Do swallow then wee dram I will not hold them over barrels, Nay my soul shall take its asks To share without reserve, the nectar held within these casks For made we are of memories, we From greatest to the least Our hearts combined in solace, cometh waters, barleys, yeasts Come fire for me Merry I, Shall raise my bourbon glass to pour a sweetened sherry for My bonnie red haired lass Aye then to much thinking The making of amends With amber hues of sunset do Go softly out dear friends…

David BreenJanuary 4, 2022

Can a drink be more than the sum of its parts? What flavour barley, water, yeast and cask imparts. Silent slumber in dunnage dark, decades old or still young at heart. Even angels have a share in this ancient art. Aqua vitae, fire water or usquebaugh Call it what you will, there’s always a bottle on my bar. Golden hues and pleasant smell, bourbon mellow, sherry sweetness or the smoke of hell is there finer drink man’s thirst to quell? We hold whisky in high esteem, spend our money, spend our time searching for perfect drink and special tipple, Single cask, limited edition…but take time to think! Is that what makes the bottle? It’s Not the drink that makes the dram. It’s who I’m with or where I am, people we share it with, and how they hold their liquor that makes the man. The best whisky I ever had, was the last dram… as long as it was shared and enjoyed… price, age and rarity don’t mean a damn. So take a moment to savour what’s in your glass, think of those you love, husband, family, the national bard or Bonnie lass. Can a drink be more than the sum of its parts? aye it can, and that’s how a love of whisky starts.

Gordon BecketJanuary 3, 2022

Strange it’s been those last few years No end in sight amongst the tears Continuous medical science advances A thread of hope ‘mongst circumstances May knowledge spread through those in doubt Vaccination for all shall be the out This devil shall not disappear To live with it shall be the fear For 2022 , a glimmer of light to subdue the gloom Despite the elephant in the room A glass or two of your favourite ‘crater To all who work so hard to negate her Resilient a nation we have been Wars and pestilence we have seen Together we can fight this foe Good health to all, come on let’s go!

Burns Night Poetry Competition 2022 – win Glengoyne 21 Year Old!

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