Best Kegs Poems
Four kegs, they’d left on the rye field’s bare crest
gone were the skittles and the balls of wood.
Four kegs empty of magical brew, strewn
upon the hill’s breasts, where gnomes had stood.
They’d left long ago, twenty years today.
Here’d been a mountain, where now a farm stood.
They had left their tipple as each strike thundered
to lambaste lightning from stacked firewood.
On the rye field’s bare crest now shrouded in snow
beneath a Wedgwood sky, stood kegs of wood.
On the rye field’s bare crest each keg turned stone
marking the bones where rebels once stood.
Gone ‘till tonight, the gnomes and jack tars
until the moon’s magic topped the keg’s wood.
Gone till tonight were the hard balls and pegs
this night spirits would dance where we now stood.
Published 2017 by Illumen
`
O’ crooked branch and magpie’s claw,
yon rusted chains a’ sway this night
Clutch tight a sign “The Seagull's Squall”
of splintered wood and storm clouds fight
Old tavern lone this craggy shore
where angered waves accost the sand
and drenching rains from heavens pour,
whilst thunder boasts its loud command
On creaking stools with painted legs
'long the bar, a gathered crew
Expected flow from aging kegs
a frothy crown this lagered brew
Fills tankards held of one now gone
'midst pewter death in golden ale
In drunk'n stupor sorrows shown
lost at sea, his soul last sailed
Watching cloaked of shadowed mist
in darkened corner, lingered smoke
O’er long goodbyes on echoes twist
and couraged voices soundly spoke
Weaving tales a' journeys past,
voyages beyond the deep
Ports o’ call and forth day cast,
of treasures that abound to reap
When one, a glass above his head
beckons silence, moments slow
Respect, our mate now swallow'd dead,
entombed within the depths below
Then hearty cheers and farewell speak,
this touching scene if one would be
A ghostly tear now falls my cheek,
this fallen mate they cheer is me
Crackling leaves
Laughing with delight
As they swirl and twirl
In the crimson light
Around the bond fire
Snapping flames
Glowing in the night
Near the lake
The water breaking
As the birds take flight
Frosty orange pumpkins
Watching from the vine
On the porch
Kegs of apple cider
And cherry wine
Crispy whispers
Blowing through the pines
As the magic spell of autumn
Once again unwinds.
They hung around the beer joint with the finest Western wear
with thumbs tucked in their belt loops and such a studly air.
But those boots weren't made for stirrups and were polished to a sheen,
and on those fancy cowboy hats not a sweat stain could be seen.
You could be sure they hadn't spent much time around a branding pot,
for the only brands they recognized were ones on stuff they bought.
And if they ever passed the time just musing 'bout their spread,
it'd be the one around their middle or the one they put on bread.
Just a bunch of cowboy wannabes in a modern masquerade,
but they drove the biggest pickup trucks that Detroit ever made.
The beds were big and beautiful without a scratch or scuff inside,
'cause the only thing they hauled around was a horse's big backside.
As they stood around outside the joint, in a smart-ass state of mind,
in pulled an ancient pickup with an old horse trailer hitched behind.
The truck an old green Chevy, year 'bout nineteen fifty-nine,
with two high wooden sideboards stacked with hay bales bound with twine.
Out stepped a skinny hombre, with steel-blue eyes and bandy legs,
but he had a rippling six-pack while all the boozers sported kegs.
His cowboy hat was sweat-stained; high-heeled boots were dusty gray;
he kicked off a chunk of cow pie, then he grabbed a bale of hay.
He was mighty parched and dusty, but he wouldn't quench his thirst
'cause you're not an honest cowboy unless you water horses first.
The pack of fools gave out a hoot, yelled "Hey there, Texas Pete!
Get yourself a man-sized truck and take that geezer off the street!"
As he finished with the horses, up walked two ladies smokin' hot.
The cowboy promptly doffed his hat, while the posers there did not.
The cowboy got a long admiring look and the rounders just a sneer,
as the sham was so apparent when a real cowboy was near
They flashed the dusty cowboy a big ol' smile 'bout ten miles wide...
Said "Honey, would a gent like you care to escort us gals inside?"
He winked, then gave the trucks a look and spat a stream of juice.
Said, "Boys, y'all's might be bigger, but mine gets a sight more use."
So sad..Hopping in and Out of one' s life....
It's Peter Rabbit for Pete's" sake...
He comes by each and every year...
For this they say we should fear ?
Just to share a Spring holiday ?...
He's a horrid creature, so they say...
He has big ears and a cotton tail...
And sometimes he even carries a pail..
Full of candy, and colorful decorated eggs...
This day is between Valentine hearts , and Green Beer kegs....
He's rarely ever seen...
And has never ever been mean...
So why are all these American States...
Having all these holiday debates ?..
I await my basket filled with a chocolate kiss..
I only hope his picture does not end up on...
The Post Office " 10 most wanted list "...
Apples.. beetles.. caterpillars..
daisies everywhere..
fertile ground.. hollyhocks..
Ivy jumbled kegs..
leafy mint.. nematodes..
oregano..peas..
quiet rest sunsets.. tomatoes under vines..
wheelbarrows.. xanadu yearning zeal!
Holidays are coming; the first is near
Halloween is a night that many fear
But the bravest ones boast
"I'm not afraid of ghosts!"
Until eerily haunting cries they hear.
There's feasting on November's holiday
Giving thanks for our blessings, we pray
But I burned the turkey
So, we ate beef jerky
On a table set in splendid array
Christmas; the holiday season of mirth
Jen partied until the time she gave birth
There was too much good cheer
We drank three kegs of beer
On New Year's Day, not a cent were we worth
~~~
Sunlight sweeps above the dale, while shades of Heather lift their veil
Then gentle mist of morning swirls, enhancing dawn with nature's pearls
~
Songbird's flight encircles glen, to spot late crawler's search for den
Yet...
Not all that dwells in understory, hides this day... this day's their glory
~
The songbirds flee... the piper grins
"Far Darrig O'Malice yer at it again"
The silence broke
the wildwoods rustle
from near and far, the wee ones hustle
~
The songs roll out
the barrels too
the leprechauns abandon shoe
They all break out one piece of gold, to waste before their play grows cold
~
They barter sheep while lifting hogs
They saddle ... ride ... the farmer's dogs
And all the while they laugh and shout, they never spill their mugs of stout
~
The Cluricauns with stouter trumpet, descend the town... subdue the strumpet
Spend their purse to chase romance
the quean much slicker, steals their pants
~
Within the glen with dusk's approach, the smoke gets thick as suppers roast
The music swirls, the echoes sail, the dancers chant an Irish tale
~
An those with naked butts are taught... they stop, it gives the bugs a shot
Far Darrigs crawl beneath the kegs, they pop the corks and fill their legs
~
St. Patrick's blessed another year
The sound of snoring
now all you hear
~~~
Having been a journalist for the past forty years, now ready to make my final accord, I had to cover this one last story. My days have been long, and my shuteye has been short. In a small village with a population of a few hundred people, I stopped in the only tavern there to interview some of the patrons. The old rustic looking place had every window broken and no doors left standing. Seeing the faces of the patrons when I stopped in almost told the stories of what they have been witnessing the past few weeks. Most everyone seemed to be shellshocked and afraid. Little talking and silence filled the atmosphere, with the exception of some loud outbursts from the tavern's owner. "Free brew for everyone" he continually shouted! As you can imagine, there was "SRO" (standing room only). So, that being said, it was easy for me to interview most everyone. Everyone had their own versions of what they had witnessed, yet they all seemed very similar. "Death and destruction, death and destruction, death and destruction over and over. I went through a box of tissues hearing their sobbing stories. Again, the owner shouted out- "Free brew for everyone" he gave it out until every last drop of his unique home-made beer with cinnamon and cocoa had been drenched from his kegs. Never had I ever tasted such a fine beer before. it was sadly enjoyable, because I assumed it would be the last of it made for a very long time. "What do you call this wonderful tongue-taster I asked the tender/owner" He replied- My friend, I call it "Death and Destruction"
it was a fine beer
sadness and tears filled their mugs
death and destruction
Twere a blisterin day, on da Fundy Bay, aboard da ‘ Black Angel of da Blue”,
with a crew of 32, whilst resting a spell, wid a thunderin clap of grog ,
when da Jack o’ Cups , his Jib a hangin, spotted a Jolly Roger aft.
Aye! ye coulda sinked me! When dem thar scallywags gave chase.
So we pumped da bilge, droppin a load of crap in thar path, weighed anchor,
turned three sheets to da wind and tried to outrun dem thar sprougs,
but me mateys' deadlights twere blinded by da grog -
as useless as dem thar lanlubbers, and soon dem thar scallywags
overhauled da ‘ Black Angel’.
So! wid a heave to, we blasted dem thar swabs wid da balls off da Brass Monkey...six pounders dey be, but nary-a-one hit da mark and nary a one came back. Dem thar scuffeys' didn’t aim ta sink us, fur da botty be all dey be wantin.
Arrr! Fur sur now we be black spotted,
but I not be ready fur Davey Jones locker yet.
One more clap of thunder be what I be needin ta clear me groggy mind
and figger a way outta dis hornwaggle.
So I spliced da mainbrace and it come ta me in a flash,
da only cargo we be a carryin be Rummmmmmmmmmmm.
so we set dem thar kegs adrift and it wernt long afore dem thar
sprougs was a drinkin grog and a fine time be had by all.
~~~~~
Inspired by: Paula Swanson's contest
Awarded: Second Place
Author's Note:
In order to understand this narrative, you need to understand Pirate's language. You can
find it on the web - just type Pirate language in your search engine.
by: iolanda scripca
The breaks screeched to avoid melodramas
" Free Kittens" - a sign said next to the port...
Name: Thomas Bahamas In Pajamas
Thus, he became my son's pet of some sort.
Inflated fur ball with four skinny legs
Greenish eyes and a mane like a lion
The last "warrior" was he at mom's "kegs"
In his quest to become Himalayan.
We brought him to Sophie - a rescued cat
Abandoned at birth, her eyes almost closed
No mommy taught her how to chase a rat
"I'll be showing you the ropes", he proposed.
So, Thomas Bahamas In Pajamas
Demonstrated his seductive techniques
Now, the couple is gone among llamas
Honeymooning and expecting in weeks...
www.scripca.com
Align apt aim
Be beyond blame
Charm creates cheer
Dazzle dream dear
Etch each echo
Feel fortune flow
Glimpse grand groom guise
Hound hefty heist
Itch indents ink
Juice juggles jinx
Kinky kegs keep
Lasting lust leaps
Master mind moves
Nurture numbs noose
Oil obscures odd
Play proper prod
Question ***** quest
Rude rambles rest
Sense swelling seas
Trounce timely tee
Use umpteen urge
Veer vibrant verge
Wild wayward wires
eXpress expire
Yield yonder yes
Zeal zooming zest
Leon Enriquez
09 February 2015
Singapore
The Perfect Omelet
I think I'd like an omelet
so please find me a giant pot,
a half a dozen fresh kumquat
and don't forget the cheese.
Add a jar of jumping fleas,
2 cans of fancy black-eyed-peas,
do not add pepper, or I'll sneeze
and don't forget the beans.
Stir it often, add sardines,
a couple cups of jelly beans,
a bag of Florida tangerines
and don't forget the beets.
Just when it bubbles, add snake meat
and feathers of a parakeet,
a spoon of honey to make it sweet
and don't forget frog legs.
Add some peppermint, two kegs,
a weasel raised in Winnipeg
and most importantly, I beg,
don't forget the eggs.
What's that you say, no eggs today?
I guess I'll put this pot away!
I'd like an omelet the most.
Guess I'll settle for some toast!
Tiger! Tiger! clear and bright
perfection brewed exactly right,
this traveller’s dry and rusty throat
will always get this fine beer's vote.
In what distant vats or kegs
awaits the brew that my thirst begs.
On what wings could one aspire,
as taste buds bathe in Tiger’s fire.
Maturity of hops and malt
ferment with yeast within its vault,
infused to spawn this brew of fame
with all the power borne of its name.
Perfect flavour, perfect head,
now from each bottle gently bled,
to compliment all that we eat
and make each meal a tasty treat.
When jungle folk threw down their spears,
and water fell from heaven like tears,
Mankind rejoiced their work to see
as they brewed beer as good as thee.
Tiger! Tiger! clear and bright
is nectar of such godly height
that no immortal hand or eye
could better shape it symmetry.
© Ivor G Davies
My life is like a jail
boarded and barred by those soul consuming rails
I want to be set free like the eagles in the sky
but in this hell I can not tell a truth from a lie
I built up my walls only for it to be torn down
I thought in my world I ruled with a crown
Yet I am a slave among nobles and monarchs
forced to be a joker in their courts
Shackles and chains on my arms and legs
watching them drink themselves silly with beer filled kegs
A snake in the grass, don't tread on me
a cocoon hanging from a sycamore leaf
I shield my heart from this cruel world
my secrets I keep, not a soul to tell
Soon a butterfly with wings to fly free
but I still have to fight for at first my wings are wet
the eyes on my wings like a bullet proof vest
I will soar
But first I have, I have, to dry my wings and take that first step off this leaf
and travel on the winds of my destiny