"ewer" poems
You, yew and ewe.
New, knew and gnu.
Two, too and to.
Do, dew and doo.
Your, you’re, ewer and yore.
Sower, sewer and even sore.
Pin, pen
Win, wen.
Tin, ten.
Bin, been.
For, four, and fore.
Poor, pour and pore.
Bear, bare and bayer.
There, their and they’re.
Sure, sewer, shore and shower.
Censor, censure, sensor, censer.
Din, den.
Kin, ken.
Win, wen.
Yin, yen.
Shoulda, coulda and woulda,
Wanna, hafta and hadda.
Pitchers painted of pitchers
Ree-lutters instead of realtors.
Pertecting you with protection.
Prescribing you a perscription.
A different kind of differnse,
For instance, gimme a frinstance.
Pin, pen
Win, wen.
Tin, ten.
Bin, been.
Din, den.
Kin, ken.
Win, wen.
Yin, yen.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
The old monk
with Parkinson’s disease,
bug eyed
through thick lenses
spectacles,
his fingers
shaking the host,
is unable to find
the tongue
in sick monk’s
static mouth.
I weeded
the cloister Garth
flower bed,
back aching,
God
at my young
bent shoulder.
The youngest monk,
squat and black robed,
holds the ewer,
while the abbot
holds between
knobbly fingers,
the aspergillum,
to bless the monks
in the choir stalls,
after Compline,
before
the Angelus calls.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
halloween kids
I am a man who loves halloween yes i think it’s cool
you trick or treat through the streets, oh yeah
asking for lollies and bobbing for apples
yeah that sounds so rad to me
you see you sing songs like monster mash
and flying purple people eater and you eat people everywhere
and you hate when dr frankenstein says you are doomed sunshine
and then you played the jaws theme to scare away the dudes
party party party oh yeah, this will be pretty cool
you see hearing the sounds of the ghosts of halloween and
the big fierce dracula
and the monsters do their dash, yeah that sounds so cool
and each adult gives sweets to each kid, yeah mate ****** yeah
you see on the eve of halloween, dr micheals comes around
to say, you are a **** and a monster, yeah, you need a nice cold budweiser beer
then in the middle of the day your kids come in the bar
and show you all the candy they have found
yeah there was a lot
you see good old dracula said back to me
yeah, these kids are devious and cunning
and the great dr frankenstein said kids, we have to party with them
kids, you see we have tom and george and simon and Ben
kids we can’t have this holiday without them oh no we can’t
kids kids kids kids
kids, the party is on for young and old
you see these kids have heard every story ewer told
kids need more, but they don’t except it no
kids kids kids
kids are the reason why we celebrate this day
you see people dress up in consumes all over the USA
kids aren’t happy when the night ends oh no
they just keep the parents being tired and weary oh yeah oh no
kids the day is great for them
kids the adults are trying to break every record that is meant
kids need to explain to these blokes that they are uncool
kids kids kids
you see kids, i see the devil with his fork
kids i see blackbeard the pirate in the body of a dork
kids the wicked witch is the biggest problem child
kids kids kids
kids can the adults steel the kids candy
kids can the adults steal is while singing yankee doodle dandy
kids is it possible that the candy is theres oh yeah
kids kids kids
happy halloween dudes and dudelttes
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
The wise woman bends a broken knee
Her ewer goes deep into the clear river
A shiver
From the cold fingertips to the snow of her hair
All tangled with voices and
swallowed bits of oceans and
muffled out cracks and
internal bruising and
the light that they give off
the dreadlocks she will never part with.
She approaches the crowd that watches
Someone bathe in the cold waters.
She fills which cups are still upright
Nods at a ‘thank you’ or two
And wipes a tired eye
as she fills her own with wine.
Water’s to drink
And youth is to behold.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
Flavia swore as the heavy earthenware pitcher slipped from her hands and crashed onto the uneven flagstones. As she knelt in the puddle of tepid water and started gathering in the pieces, she heard the rapidly approaching footfall of an armed legionary.
‘Leave that now, there’s no time. We ride for York immediately.’
‘But mea domina...’
‘The Wall is breached. Hurry, puella, or she'll start without you!’
Flavia picked up her sodden skirts and ran.
§
I held my breath as the last piece of the Corbridge ewer slid smoothly into place and wondered at the exquisitely crafted motif which encircled the body of this ancient vessel. A procession? A cavalcade? Curious, if not for the men-at-arms, I would have thought it a pageant. And there in a covered wagon a noble woman looking back at a young girl standing on the steps of a villa holding her hem in her hands.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 3:41 PM UTC
From the bottom of my heart i hate thee,
I wish you're dead so in peace may rest we. -
Like a fox perfidious you are,
my hateful sight on your face,will leave a scar.
The perfection of thy duplicity
doth not relinquishes my mind in serenity.
That mockery in voice of thine,
cannot vindicate -not even a ewer of wine.
In my eyes,you wear the gown of blame
and no God will divest from thy face the shame.
It is not placebo,this hate of mine
it will-towards you-forever shine.
Sep 6, 2011
Sep 6, 2011 at 7:06 AM UTC
Fair Angels of Olympus, Muses Nine,
That on its snowy summit gay recline,
With other gods and haply the cynosure
Of poets whom inspires your sacred ewer,
O'erflowed with the ambrosial Hippocrene,
The haunt of daughters of Mnemosyne,
And Father Jove who loves these nymphets most,
And of that gelid crest th’ immortal host.
Apollo, son of Jove, gives company
To your glad song of heaven’s euphony;
There to his lyre flourish unfettered throats
That bear the truest art through truest notes.
When sing ye graceful goddesses amidst
The brood of Saturn’s mighty son in feasts,
May gladden the heart of children of the plain
As well who in summer nights hearken you fain.
I heard that music mild betwixt the glades,
‘Twixt valleys old till with the breeze it fades,
Amongst the rustling youthful Aspen leaves,
From bough to bough its tender beauty weaves.
On warbler’s throat ye happy strains do pour,
Above the groves as o’er the mountain soar
They with their pinions unweary and suave,
Dispenser of all art ye fain observe.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
A flower grows as it dies; bashed by age and time.
It is not a body that shows time’s grip; but the evidence left behind.
Time is but a faceless bird, dug deep into your back,
The claws aren’t real; the cuts aren’t deep, yet still a metaphorical attack.
And nothing is something, that something is nothing, confusing as it may be,
When nothing’s something which is still nothing, to you as it is to me.
Time is nothing, which makes it something, a thought to surely abhor,
And so it goes, in our little cosmic ewer, and so we begin to pour.
Hearts, souls, minds alike, made up by “you’s” and “me’s”,
humanity’s reasoning for all of this madness is “do with it as you please.”
We grow as we die, like the flower goes too, into eternal night,
a place without sorrow, happy or sad, a place beyond darkness or light.
You sit here reading this spun and wrought tale, absorbing each sharply placed word,
and my sincere solitary hope, to one and all, is that it makes you feel so spurred,
as it has done to me, shall it be done to you, this is one of my master plans,
to show you the nothing beyond light and dark, the place where the flower now stands.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
ewer in my hand, basin there
pouring the water
on the floor
while looking around
"BE CAREFUL *******
shouts my Grandpa
performing his ablution
and, so
looking into his eyes
I've learned
sometimes
you feel the love
in swearwords
Turgay Usanmaz
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 2:07 AM UTC
*Farewell Life, Farewell
What recriminations while I LOVED
That I smiled even in pain
That I served even in suffering
But now, with death impending
You, my beloved has forgotten me
In which case
My life - An ewer unfilled
My LOVE - A completion of death!*
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
Ewer ice blew as disguise of springs,
***** mined reams at knight.
Ache hiss Swede as ta sum worse do
Tacit mined hay a rite.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 1:59 PM UTC