Best Taverns Poems
In a moment of understandable frustration with me,
My wife demanded to know what I really believed in.
I thought for a minute, tear glands filling,
"The essential goodness of my parents."
My mother was a child of the great city of Philadelphia,
In hard times in a hard family, soon to fracture,
She withdrew from the days when her father would leave his little girls
In the car all afternoon in back alleys near the taverns,
From which he would emerge, full of volume and vomit.
She grew through school, emerging herself to be a wonderful mom,
To kindle her children's interest in the physical world,
Geology, astronomy, physics, and the patterned realms
Of painting, music, and poetry.
She showed me that she loved me.
She showed me that parents were people.
She showed me that parents were fallible,
That not everything could be controlled,
And that that was okay too.
My father was a child of the land,
Of farming in the age of innocence,
Long ago down in the southern part of the state of Indiana.
He knew of seeds, of frost, of the earth and time,
Of rock and root, of wind and drought and rain.
He never complained about rain - we kids didn't like the muddy yard
That was supposed to be a football field - he'd say,
"Tell you what - I'll take the rain. I've seen the other."
The most honest man I know, the most honest person that could ever be,
He watched the night sky with me when I said, "Moon and tar."
He took me to a hardware store on a stormy summer Saturday,
Dark clouds coming close, in a car with the thicker sheet metal of the old days.
Just as we parked, the first raindrops, that irregular rhythm, compelling,
"Hey Doug! Would you listen to that rain?! Let's just sit here for a while."
We sat with the rain on the roof as it began in earnest,
That rain of a thousand thousand hits,
A million baby birds doing their firecracker tap dance above us,
That rain that has lasted me the rest of my life.
December 31, 2016.
For Brenda Chiri-Carroll's contest - 'Who has inspired you most in your life.'
Mississippi Moments
History journeys along with its meandering flow as
a wide birth from bank to bank has eyes straining
trying to see across to the other side, far too wide.
Muddy rivulets stirred up by the river boats drift by
and my dreams become intertwined with what
I have read and the sleepy house boats floating near
the banks that the river dwellers call home.
A huge stainless steel arch with its catenary curve
looms gracefully nearby as a gateway of welcome,
built as a monument to Thomas Jefferson and the
pioneers who braved making their way to St. Louis,
why it is fondly called “the Gateway to the West.”
I felt as if the Arch was paying homage to the mighty
Mississippi with its tall shadow falling on her erratic waters.
Children were waving from the banks at contented tourists
waving back as they drifted slowly by and time stood still
with the music of the river taverns mingling with the
contrasting sounds of riverboat whistles, and I drifted along
with them sensing serene pleasure into another time and place.
The low suffer most the blow of the law
And no better do they fare with its flow:
From injustice to injustice it carries them
But none ever calls this a flaw.
For like that, perhaps, she can’t help to be,
Born of the mighty as she is.
Once, though, every eternity the cords of
patience snap:
Justice is demanded and swiftly she comes.
It's time for revolution, the clash unto ash
between the classes.
By saw and seesaw there'll be newness abroad:
The old system teeters as its sinews are severed
And from cakes of blood springs another;
That long denied by law is now seized by claw,
And from star to tar the mighty tumble
As their thrones are lowered for dwarfs to
mount.
Upwards go the erstwhile low
To be class dwarfs no more
But the mighty of the land.
Amidst this newness, though, an old song
soon intrudes:
In voices faint and mournful we hear it sung
By those from star to lowly tar fallen.
In fields and taverns, at work and at play,
It dwells on lips bright and sullen;
But up above behind stately walls where
stands the palace
None but the children dare sing it—
The song they once heard old papa sing,
Which loosened his lips like a wicked brew
But now binds them shut like a glue.
When from frolics they break
In their playfields green
And in palace parlors
At once warm chants from their breasts erupt
Which with glee and charm they long sustain
Till every soul feel their lips beguiled
To render accompaniment in a whistled melody.
Then swirls the music about every ear, and all can
hear the palace ring:
“The low suffer most the blow of the law
And no better do they fare with its flow:
From injustice to injustice it carries them
But none ever calls this a flaw.
For like that, perhaps, she can’t help to be,
Born of the mighty as she is.”
The days so few and far and in-between,
Loneliness I never knew has captured my soul,
The sweet smell of her hair I remember so well,
But even with her, I was never quite whole.
My nights too are lonely and blue,
Memories fading into the distance again,
How do I abide when all my youth I have spent,
In taverns and bars with occasional friends.
Nobody warned me I'd be sitting alone,
I guess I always figured, life just goes on,
So here I sit contemplating my fate,
Wondering all the time where did I go wrong.
Interpreting meanings that make no sense,
Floundering my time in various places,
Never seeing the light that shines so bright,
When I look into the mirror I see different faces.
There is a spark but it will not ignite,
There are steps but they have no spring,
Lost in the ocean just one of mankind,
Like a prayer that cannot sing.
/|\
Wild Bill Bailey loved his liquor
far too much for his own good-
Spent his days in smokey taverns
draining far more than he should.
Adeline had long suspected
as he rode off into town
that he'd rather wet his whistle
than get wed and settle down.
So she gave an ultimatum:
'Quit the booze or say goodbye
to my cherry lips and dumplings
chili beans and pumpkin pie'.
Bill no longer wastes his wages
swigging at the ol' saloon
Adeline cajoled her cowboy ;
rumour is they'll marry soon.
27.01.21
Cowboy Poetry Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Line Gauthier
I followed milky and mouldy scents,
down cobbled and narrow paths,
only to see it riddled with rats,
feasting on Feta and Camembert,
whilst the wine sipping Uppers prepared to
clash against the cider swigging downers!
The Fromage Frenzy and Curd Craze deli.
across from the Dizzy Duck and the Boastful Bard taverns
had been ransacked with only cracker crumbs on the floor.
All the cheesemongers were hiding in their basements.
All the landlords locked away in their cellars!
Bar stools dripping with Chardonnay and Merlot,
carpets soaked in 'Scrumpy Jack' and 'Strongbow.'
It was utter chaos as the 'cheese shed' raged on...
The goats and the cows watched,
as the town folk gathered on either side.
Anger in their eyes, yelling insults like;
'Cheap cheddar gobblers' and 'stinky Stilton munchers.'
This was not cultural tensions,
nor issues with tariffs, quotas or labelling practises-
this was a war of the social classes!
They were not fighting with fists or weapons,
oh no, no no..
The Downers started squirting stinky cheese sauce,
drenching the Uppers with its reeking stench.
However, when the Uppers started hurling
Storico and Caciocavallo Podolico,
back at the Downers, they simply,
started consuming it with their cider!
Both fractions kept pelting and sprinkling,
until little Joey from the farm,
reminded them the football had started,
so off they plodded to watch the game,
singing and laughing together,
arm in arm, munching on cheese
they had salvaged from their skirmish.
A candle burns its life away;
sacrifice to it, is sweet;
it is a candle’s lot in life.
Candles gift, a light dark cloaked;
beacon burning bright;
candles warmth and charm are unmatched by
anything else, man has made.
Candles birth soft memories;
lend rest to the eyes and romance to the heart.
Candle has sung many centuries;
a companion in dark ages; on dark nights,
its glow can hold childhood terrors, at bay.
Candle songs kept aging sailors company on raging,
storm-ridden seas. No bullying leviathan
would ever cross candle’s path willingly.
Even sea monsters fear its burning breath.
Candles glow, a dancer on the air,
dances for everyone;
candle-tango brings passion to lovers.
No one is alone when candle is near,
such a light-companion,
draws others to its domain.
Candle has gathered friends together in
taverns to celebrate;
in hovels, for warmth and at parties of celebration.
By candles gift, we find our way home;
its welcome warmth, a song of love on an empty, cold night.
When you burn, burn bright and long;
your light is the warm love that you leave to the world.
No bulb, LED or solar panel can bestow your gift.
When your flame is gone, when your torch has been passed;
your legacy will light another’s way to
faith, hope and love.
iPhone Maniacs
crankshaft tendencies secure a brace of sly meatballs
truth daggers entice the worm girls with petite pastas
creature lilacs uproot themselves for pink dippity-do gels
white nylon ghost legs roam outer space in latex leotards
metacarpal syringes find porous outcries in the gloaming
crankshaft tendencies welcome the tilted exonerations
iPhone maniacs fondle frothing bananas mindlessly now
demon spiders ooze inside the crawlspaces wanting meat
cross-eyed priestesses suck on wax candles in the vestibule
black-robed choirs sing hangover music to the dribbling
rock music annihilations played by stoned dudes in shades
temples and taverns shake as the truth daggers hit earth
now the worm girls are dancing with the iPhone maniacs
How reverently he removes the seal,
anticipating the fragrance,
the first small taste,
remembering the warmth and
laughter of the party,
parties, the bar, the taverns,
the men, the women,
long-tailed cigarette smoke curling.
His tongue unconsciously caresses
the corner of his mouth
as his left hand cups
the shoulder of the bottle
gently and firmly as a lover.
Drawing a penknife from his pocket
he pulls open the blade to cut
the black band binding the cap,
his lips slightly pursed,
engrossed in the process.
Deftly flicking the cap,
he lays it aside and pauses;
it takes only a moment
for the subtle vapors
to lift to his nostrils.
Not quite a smile,
something even more
expressive of pleasure,
a submission,
a peace that fills him
as if coming home
from an arduous journey.
He pours.
Blinded by the Light
What love's blind eyes see ever more
bereft of heart and soul?
The fervent truth the eyes disguise
like shallow water's shoals.
The righteous eye knows not the fool
whose light betrays it's beams.
There's none so blind who will not see
the lighthouse of one's dreams.
The salty air corrodes the heart.
The taverns steal the soul.
Decadent ports of tawdry sorts
forever take their toll.
Sail on, sail on, back out to sea,
lest romance run aground.
The bright light shames the shallow heart.
The fool doth double down.
The captain cursed the billowed sails
as waves began to breach,
for in the distance sees the light,
forever out of reach.
Regret and pain fill heart and soul.
The helm could feel the grip.
What light with fresh epiphany
goes down with once proud ship.
The skies did tell of coming swells
as tides seduced the shore.
Once righteous dreams of treasured love
now dumped on ocean's floor.
No seas to sail, nor sights to see,
no harbor left to dock.
Those foolish eyes horizons seek
face undefeated clock.
When inner beauty shines it's light
see past the shapely sails.
Look not ahead toward morrow's bed
as surface beauty pales.
Come my love past the beauty of the hill
Ablaze with ginger sunset and fall fire
On a fast downhill wagon hayride thrill
In festive saffron and amber attire
Celebrating with tambourine and lyre
Autumn’s gift of new harvest abundance
With an improvised Abu Barn floor dance
Circling around ginger and umber mound
Pumpkin carving for the Jack-O- lantern
Eating chestnuts fresh gathered from the ground
Racing rolling barrels to the caverns
To ferment before hitting the taverns
Cinnamon flavored pies and crimson wine
Ginger spiced to flavor the night is fine
Quest for My Beloved
Caught inside the silence
Silence creates in me a deep need to know more
Wisdom met me in my dreams
She spoke of life it seems
Wailing toward the doom invaded skies we sought the people who seek Love
Oceans of screaming noise
chatters who do not speak
Lurkers who silently weep
Kings and Queens who do not dance or know they need to advance
Under bridges under cars
Under the ground we saw the clouds
Mountains of shallow ground they seek a bard and found a crown
Taverns or courts we hold in trust
Flowers or knights we must enter the circus
crown the clowns in their wilderness
roads toward cities or states of roses escaped
our freedom is such a peaceful vengeance
Singapore dialect
Add and subtract
Our Singlish tact
Words on the verge
Curl and emerge
Singlish sonic splurge
Local utterings
In subconscious flings
Feel poignant telling
Our common lingo
Tribal vertigo
Local mumbo-jumbo
Unless you know
Our dialect wears a glow
Where English fails to show
Here is a pulse deep
Even in our sleep
Our creole creeps
Our language haven
In Singlish taverns
Light hearts know heaven
Leon Enriquez
28 October 2014
Singapore
An insatiable hunger
fuels her primal desires.
And in her skimpiest skirt,
she solicits cash for sex.
Prowling taverns late at night,
she peddles depravity.
And smelling of cheap perfume;
she signals **** with each breeze.
A succubus seductress,
she sells disappearing dreams.
And her suggestive whispers
promote promiscuity.
A sleek, stealthy predator;
she seduces with a smile.
And with her piercing blue eyes,
she stalks her prospective prey.
Provocatively perky;
she sways in erotic ways.
And like an addictive drug,
she leaves men begging for more.
Come my love past the beauty of the hill
Ablaze with ginger sunset and fall fire
On a fast downhill wagon hayride thrill
In festive saffron and amber attire
Celebrating with tambourine and lyre
Autumn’s gift of new harvest abundance
With an improvised Abu Barn floor dance
Circling around a ginger umber mound
Pumpkin carving for the Jack-O- lantern
Eating chestnuts fresh gathered from the ground
Racing rolling barrels to the caverns
To ferment before hitting the taverns
Cinnamon flavored pies and crimson wine
Ginger spiced to flavor the night is fine
Fourth Place: Brian Strand- Premier Contest 1183-2/8/23
Fifth Place: Julie Leigh Rodeheaver- Autumn Romance-9/28/17
Sixth Place: Dale Gregory Cozart-Autumn Royal Rhyme-10/5/17
Ninth Place: Brian Strand- contest 110 -11/9/17
Fifth Place: Brian Strand- contest 355-10/31/17