When night falls yet I cannot sleep, words crowd my brain. The following two poems, one serious and the other silly, are the products of last night’s writing:
“Hover”
I lay still in my bed
yet hover ‘tween the sheets
propelled by the heart
which wakefully beats.
A’whirl my mind spirals
through darkening, deep
space starry with fears,
that burn bright without sleep.
“Poet’s Ale”
Insomnia is poet’s ale-
no ailment once in words!
And worry is a hearty pie
that fuels the pen to verse.
.
Heartache makes a decent draught
to nourish sonnet’s rhymes.
And sorrow’s meal, though bittersweet,
scribes songs of better times.
.
No writer ever sleeps with ease;
prose lends him no blanket.
‘Tis poetry for nights like these
to make the best of it!
