in the deepest dark

in the deepest dark of the abysmal night
when there is nothing
no hope of insight
but the rejection of all gods
and the rejection by all gods
one finds a special kind of light
amber glory ready to annoint
I usually drink my whiskey at this point

Orbit

In wine and verse I bargain with the night,
though wine is once again the favoured option.
The thoughts of men in print now rarely charm,
and tend to bring less sleep than irritation.
As for love, she may as well have been
a dream that I once dreamed in former days.
The pleasures of the flesh and of the heart
by lumps and bumps and groans have been outweighed,
Tonight as stars grow dimmer one by one,
no bright new suns have blazed into my view,
and as for those I marvelled at in youth,
old passions these, I do not now pursue.
From two consuming spheres I seldom stray,
dull circles that I trace to end each day,
sad orbits that bring neither peace nor light,
in wine and verse I bargain with the night.

[Note: The opening and closing lines clearly echo Robert Frost’s “Acquainted with the Night”. This is the second time this has happened. I’ll let it stand as homage to a poem that got itself into my bones. EB]

Do drop in

My door is always open
– do drop in,
unless of course it’s closed
then don’t be bothering.

Don’t knock, don’t enter
please just stay away.
I’m the only one I’m seeing today.

It’s not that I don’t value
company,
it’s just that I’m the one
that gets on best with me,
unless we have a row,
in which case help!
I need the whisky bottle
off the shelf – and then
I’ll be the one for partying.

My door is always open
– do drop in.

ready to order

I won’t have a starter
I don’t eat dessert
I shan’t have a mains
I hurt hurt hurt
I can’t take rejection
but I can take a hint
just bring another bottle
and a wafer thin mint