One More Dead Soldier

Unfortunately I prefer Pusser’s Rum…

I drop one more dead soldier in the bin.

The Lord of the lsles, an amber song-smith;

whose meter, like a burn over pebbles,
gave wings to my own nocturnal verse.

A smoke-rich, peaty, heady broth it was.

The lees of which I threw into the bowl
In imitation of the rite of Kottabos,
The drunken calling of a lover’s name.

It rubbed away the pain for me;
Writ large upon my shrivelled soul.
etched deep within my moribund heart.
smarting, stinging, cleansed in fire.

The life it brings is short and sweet.
Defeating as it surely will
all traces of a life fulfilled,
replacing raw feeling with well-finished memory.

The pleasure’s in the bite, behind the throat.

The measure of the malting in it’s depth.

And quietly, in reflection, sitting comfy in my chair;

I reach and pull the cork out of another.

© franciman 2017
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critique and comments welcome.

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3 Comments on "One More Dead Soldier"

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A deceptive title and an interesting take on Islay malts. I occasionally take a wee dram of Laphroaig ๐Ÿ˜‰ I had to look up “Kottabos” so my thanks for increasing my knowledge. ๐Ÿ™‚ I can’t tell if the layout is deliberate or not, but to my eye the irregular spacing of the lines doesn’t work. Elfstone

Yes, oneself, a comfy chair, a crackling fruit-wood, blue-flame fire, and a wee dram, all nigh on a century old or a bit more, while a hellish storm rages outside, wind and rain thrashing at the windows, dead bottles piling up in the waste bin, is a scene you paint with such enviable wordsmanship, Jim. Whisky and rum lines the pipes a treat, but, brandy easily turns my stomach’s stopcock to flow, too spiritual, if you know what I mean. Sklled writing. So many fine lines, all in fact. Yes, the erratic line-spacing is a problem sometimes. Only way to… Read more ยป
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