'Tis another sunrise, bright and yellow.
Yet the world that holds me feels so hollow.
My ev'ry breath is but an empty cask.
Yet ev'ry step I take bears a full flask.
Ev'ry thought that I hold makes the ground quake.
Ev'ry conviction makes the wide sky break.
The path I chose remained a cracked tankard.
Yet my journey is a brimming tankard.
All certainty dissolved, and naught remains.
Each thought gives birth to thought in endless chains.
My life is but a bottle with no hole.
I am the sot who wholly lacks control.
Who am I now to stay here, bound in doubt?
To drink, to think—and still to go without?
Light kissed the buds of mallow
And welcomed an autumn bloom;
The cups that'd lain so shallow
Sprung forth and blushed anew.
It meandered as flowing water
Over the peaks one by one -
Spilling into a tankard
And joining more in tandem.
Every sparkle on the mounds
That captures my curious eye
Is one of some polished diamonds
For me to gaze at and sigh.
The Grind
In Gielinor's realm, where legends reside,
A hero emerges, with nowhere to hide.
From Lumbridge to Kharazi, a journey untold,
With pickaxe and sword, a story unfolds.
The grind is relentless, the hours they blur,
Woodcutting, mining, a monotonous stir.
But whispers arise, of glory and fame,
To slay the great dragon, and conquer the game.
From barrows to bandits, a constant fight,
Forging ahead, with unwavering might.
Each skill a triumph, each level a gain,
A digital odyssey, easing the pain.
With friends by your side, a camaraderie deep,
Sharing the burden, secrets to keep.
The memories linger, the laughter, the tears,
A timeless adventure, conquering fears.
So raise a tankard, to Gielinor's might,
To heroes of old, who battled through night.
For in this realm, where legends are born,
The spirit of Runescape forever will adorn.
A qualm
Settled upon me
Instant unease
I felt it
Course through
My body
Senses
Instantly
I grab my sword
Scurry
A page of words
Trying to keep up
Make sense of it all
A picture
Emerged
That broke my heart
In a way
No lady could
Yet
Her words
Creep upon my ears
"That pale sustenance, despair."
I drink
From the tankard
Again
For a security slot, A Sluggard,
For a praised company, rather haggard:
From long unemployment a drunkard,
Full tankard draining after full tankard.
Also, a listener at nights to Bard
And could Security suspend for Card,
Still, hopefully, he seeks to be her guard:
In many circles this fulfilling dream bared,
Most likely to collapse, if he is barred…
But a company won’t have things snapping
Through a guard sure to be caught just napping!
Hidden Shapes
David J Walker
Hidden shapes assured of shadows
Haunting
lingering
From a shared past
A scant vision
of tomorrow
A bitter tankard of
borrowed sorrow
Where do I begin
to repair to my
Entitlement
A maiden fair sang through a sunflower field
on a warm autumn day with the wind in her hair
A melody wafted aloft on the breeze
as a cloud frolicked by with so little a care
She smiled as she hummed with a skip in her step
for the song she was singing she knew from the heart
An old happy tune that she sang as a child
when the flowers would bloom and the springtime would start
Her voice it did carry to valleys below
in a magical form of a heavenly grace
The villagers heard it in echoes above
for the sound of her voice brought a smile to their face
They danced by a fountain the town did provide
in their favourite clothes made of cotton and wool
Drinking a brew that was local to them
with a tankard in hand and a comfortable stool
She walked down the hill in a white flowing gown
on a path often used by the children at play
To sing once again this old song from the past
as the others joined in on this wonderful day
She then spread her wings made of silver and gold
and ascended the sky to a place she did love
As the villagers waved saying someday return
for her wonderful voice was a gift from above
I portrayed the knave of hearts again,
A role it would seem I was made for.
I ventured off script and silenced my critics
By drinking them under the table.
Classically trained in the tavern arts,
I’m a boozy, bibulous sot.
A virtuoso of chugging a tankard,
A maestro of downing a shot.
I've been typecast as a barfly.
It's the same old morality play.
I’ll adlib my lines to upstage the lead,
And be star of this grim cabaret.
Oh great Tavern!
Beautiful and wondrous inn
What countless prizes
Lie in wait inside!
Your vault keeps from us
Our treasured Mead, Wine, and Beer!
Oh great Mead!
Pour from the keg
Fill up your tankard
Drink to the Coin brothers!
Toast to your Paymaster
Salute your paying prince!
Oh great Wine!
Delicate to the sip
That is, to the gentile
For us Landsknecht!
Red wine is the blood
And the taste is our communion!
Oh great Beer!
How we hear your cry
Begging to be quaffed
You give us such a fright!
Way into the night
Slipping and falling!
Oh great Coin!
Our most beloved
What we’d kill for
All hail the Paymaster!
For his contracts bring
Our treasured Mead, Wine, and Beer!
I wandered lonely as a cloud
Captive to the wind and season
Storms around me raged with fury
I was becalmed without reason
Oh, the wind was fickle some days
And at times it would cease to blow
Then I would meander softly
Unpropelled and no place to go
'Twas the sea and it kept me there
The domain of mermaids and whales
I was akin to Davey Jones
And belonged in seafaring tales
The wind in the mast sails afloat,
Is enough for those of us so chosen
A salty yarn of days long gone
Of a trip with a drunken bosun
Oh, I would go back to the seas
If I were of able body
All I ask's a fellow rover
And a full tankard of toddy
1-29-20
Contest: Famous Poetic Lines That Inspire
"I wandered lonely as a cloud' by William Wordsworth
Sponsor: Silent One
God has a great goal,
Only honesty in each poll
That will save our soul
God golf is playing
Ball and soul started straying
Bad words was saying
When ship had anchored
Miracle from God occurred
To us served tankard
God did determine
Are covered with much vermin
Must be a German
Just so happens that Horn family
originated in Rothenberg, Germany.
Oh, and last one.
THE CAMPFIRE
Throughout all the worlds in days of olde
Around the campfire legends were told
From the sinking of galleons in various seas
That were laden with treasure and un found for years
To the Dutchman’s reef through word is told
Believed to be illusive and full of gold
Where many have searched and looked to gain
But perished through hardship in the unforgiving terrain
And through the flickering flames that danced at night
Captured was the soul in sheer delight
And the worries of the world were solved by some
Through the bottom of a tankard once filled with rum
And bathed in warmth from heat and ale
Stories became legend amidst myth and tale
wrapped in warmth against the cold
Around the camp fire these tales are told
Of bravery and deeds renown
And ghostly beings that roamed faraway towns
Like the ghost that sat at Fisherman’s Bend
Pointing to the creek where his life did end
Around the campfire bathed in warmth and light
All manner of tales are shared through the night
Jo King loved frothy tankards of beer
Which she drank every day of the year
Interred in a keg
She swallowed each dreg
So her tombstone reads, "Wish you were here!"
The blast of a cast aghast with fuss on a blunderbuss
Flew and grew a crew who rued chances and stances to discuss
Differences in conciliation conferences that coerced cooperation
Amplified by the serenity and dignity delegates drew from desperation.
The blast of a cast aghast with fuss on a boss bus
Flew and grew a crew who chimed chances and stances to fight fuss
Concealed in deals and peals of laughter undaunted daughters dismissed
When matrimony matrons measured erasures of kisses missed.
The blast of a cast aghast with bling on strings
Flew and brewed a concoction whose cadence retrieved riveted rings
When hearts in reward ramparts opted for votes and pots of conciliation
Empowered to drown doubts among strategy scouts who touted reconciliation.
The blast of a cast aghast with rum on conundrum drums
Flew and brewed a libation that lifted spirits among tankard tantrums
Tempered among embers in September to remember responsibilities
Assumed under sums and plums plucked, packed and tucked among domestic duties.
Christmas was fabulous, so full of festive cheer
Santa brought presents; his sleigh pulled by six reindeer
Hubby loved the glass tankard he got for his beer
I got a pretty jumper it’s made of cashmere,
and a book of poetry by William Shakespeare
Soon champagne corks popped to welcome in the New Year
Cousin Billy swung from the crystal chandelier -
you should have heard him howl when he fell on his rear!
January blues are filling people with fear
Huge credit card bills are beginning to appear
If the sum isn’t paid the penalties are severe
It may take till next Christmas for the debt to clear!
12 X 12 Monorhyme Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Checked with how many syllables
Blue Monday is the third Monday in January and is said to be the most depressing day of the year. The weather is often dull, the festivities are over, and the bills from Christmas start to come in and New Year's resolutions have often failed!
01~16~17
Sub Categories
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