After sun there is rain
then her and her brandy on
a gloomy balcony—
moon sharp like a forced smile
Dark skin folds under
a dark, windy night, in
chocolatey air—with a note of
chemical cherry, candied like her lips
imprinted in the snifter’s memory
It doesn’t keep track
of the route of sun, only
the dusty cabinet and her
trembling finger around its neck
Breathing seems unnecessary, at least
when glass no longer tastes like rejection
numb lips no longer taste tears
'Twas the night before Christmas
And I had a thought,
I fancied a drink
So I opened the port.
Time for a snifter
Just one or two,
But before long
I'd had quite a few.
I was now feeling festive
I was really quite merry,
But I'd finished the port
So I opened the sherry.
I was now in full swing
And I wanted more,
I reached for the brandy
But crashed to the floor.
I awoke Christmas morn,
I'd somehow got to bed.
But Santa had called,
He'd left drums in my head.
Entry for
The Night Before Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May.
22/11/18. Placed=1st.
'Six slices a day is the well balanced way'
the boffins back then told us all,
but now I'm not impressed, they say 'wholemeal is best,
and more healthy' their clarion call.
For a good spirit lifter, an evening snifter
was, we were told, good for the heart,
now they say fourteen units (down from twenty-one)
in a week keeps you safe, if you're smart.
'Drinka pinta milka day' the adverts said,
it's good for the teeth and the bones,
now 'half fat, low dairy' the choices are scary
I may well just leave them alone.
Our family had chips cooked in gallons of lard,
spread dripping and salt on our toast,
bacon ate with the rind, and no scraps left behind
gravy made with the juice from the roast.
We ate this sinful food with no qualms or remorse
and left the table feeling full,
those boffins may be right but I think, with hindsight
that their lives must be terribly dull.
Love is Actually - NOT
Love is actually hate’s evil sister
masquerading as the touch of passion’s tryst
harsh flame to make the lover’s psyche blister
lying lips to slyly soothe the forming cyst.
Sipping slowly from nearly empty snifter
savoring the truth on which Love’s lies subsist
fatal swordplay of dueling Cinderella’s
battling the darkness of lust’s empty cellars.
8/5/2017
submitted to – Love is Actually……- Poetry Contest
When I decided I would help you
It felt felt like I went off to war
And you are right, it's not my business
But I can't take it anymore
You gave me tiny slots of time
Choice words I said between your lines
Hear me out you sniffling wreck
I dont want you to die
I hate that poison in your pocket
It makes those shadows in your eyes
This choice was taken from you
Now I say the choice is mine
I take the deepest breaths I can
For the strength to run a sprint
Got you convinced I want a snifter
I snatch your stash and run with it
I hang my head in both my hands
When I see you scored some more
Is there anything to gain
Banging on your dealer's door
And he is right, it's not my business
But I can't take it anymore
How can I watch you digging deeper
I watched you sink right to the floor!
I have no moves left I can make
I pray, dear God in all your grace
Do not let this rock bottom
Be a final resting place
The Snifter
by Ralph Sergi©
I dropped the snifter in the sink
It shattered
and I cursed my clumsy hand
and thought about my past
the times I filled the glass
and puffed my Corona
between tiny sips
and nips of time recalled in Philly
when I sat in my house
that left a residue of friendly aromas
I would stare at the glass
the brandy's deep brown and not a sound
except for the smoke being slowly wooshed
out of my mouth as I watch it rise
now time is remote
until I drink again to the Memory