"flagon" poems
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
I'm a gamer
The things I do
Mapped new worlds
Slain a god or two
Blown up stars
And lead revolutions
Gained experience
And Increased my Constitution
Drove a tank
A star-ship
A dragon
Killed a zombie horde
Drank some mead from a flagon
I've built cities
and worlds
and life
I've ended wars
and Famines
and strife
I've lived more lives than one can live
I've seen the work of hundreds in the span of moments
More personal than literature
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
He comes, a moon whose like the sky ne'er saw, awake or dreaming.
Crowned with eternal flame no flood can lay.
Lo, from the flagon of thy love, O Lord, my soul is swimming,
And ruined all my body's house of clay!
When first the Giver of the grape my lonely heart befriended,
Wine fired my ***** and my veins filled up;
But when his image all min eye possessed, a voice descended:
'Well done, O sovereign Wine and peerless Cup!'
Love's mighty arm from roof to base each dark abode is hewing,
Where chinks reluctant catch a golden ray.
My heart, when Love's sea of a sudden burst into its viewing,
Leaped headlong in, with 'Find me now who may!'
As, the sun moving, clouds behind him run,
All hearts attend thee, O Tabriz's Sun!
7.9k
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.
Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week! , which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.
Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.
Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.
But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.
The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.
Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.
But presently up spoke little dog Mustard,
I'd been twice as brave if I hadn't been flustered.
And up spoke Ink and up spoke Blink,
We'd have been three times as brave, we think,
And Custard said, I quite agree
That everybody is braver than me.
Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
Writhing, wroth and seething anger.
From this fool arose the urge to strangle.
Fiery hatred burns forth like the breath of a dragon.
An all consuming wrath that overflows the flagon.
From this worthless, living man lies the issue.
As I choke the very life from his dying brain tissue.
From this mental fantasy I finally awake.
Taking a life - Ah! what a piece of cake!
Jun 2, 2022
Jun 2, 2022 at 11:42 AM UTC
Spring at her height on a morn at prime,
Sails that laugh from a flying squall,
Pomp of harmony, rapture of rhyme--
Youth is the sign of them, one and all.
Winter sunsets and leaves that fall,
An empty flagon, a folded page,
A tumble-down wheel, a tattered ball--
These are a type of the world of Age.
Bells that clash in a gaudy chime,
Swords that clatter in onsets tall,
The words that ring and the fames that climb--
Youth is the sign of them, one and all.
Hymnals old in a dusty stall,
A bald, blind bird in a crazy cage,
The scene of a faded festival--
These are a type of the world of Age.
Hours that strut as the heirs of time,
Deeds whose rumour's a clarion-call,
Songs where the singers their souls sublime--
Youth is the sign of them, one and all.
A staff that rests in a nook of wall,
A reeling battle, a rusted gage,
The chant of a nearing funeral--
These are a type of the world of Age.
Envoy
Struggle and turmoil, revel and brawl--
Youth is the sign of them, one and all.
A smouldering hearth and a silent stage--
These are a type of the world of Age.
2.1k
You and I,
We got high
together at the seven eleven at seventeen,
and listened to Fall Out Boy as he sang ironic one liners.
And we'd argue about what it would mean; too high to believe
the other was right, and then laughed at passing cars.
We stumbled to the graveyard and told ghost stories with wine,
and whiled away the hours dreaming of knights and dragons
in crystal towers far away across fable and time. I'd lift my proverbial flagon,
and you'd ****** it away, and whisper
"What am I
to you?" So sudden, and I was too high to answer it right at the time.
I stumbled. I mumbled. My words were all jumbled, and all that came out was:
"Thou art mine friend." Kind of lame, that word at the end. But I ended the sentence
With a laugh. I didn't know you were serious...
But...
I should have cut a word from the statement. Because if I was being serious too,
I'd have whispered back "Thou art mine."
In my mind, I relive the moment over again and again,
before you left and stumbled off into the dark,
I say "You are my princess, I'm your knight."
I say "When it's all ****** up, you make it all right."
I say all the right things and it culminates in a kiss by starlight,
but I mumbled,
words jumbled,
And you took the bottle of wine with you as you stumbled
alone into the dark till it took you away from my sight.
That night I sat alone and soliloquised what I didn't say right.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
A clay *** holds your happiness.
It's halfway tall,
reaching up to your thigh,
Narrow, blown up in the middle, narrow.
Simple lid with a spherical dot for fingers to grasp,
and a black drawn line
that curls from base to lip,
and over.
Insides encumbered by sweet darkness,
shaded glory,
because outside,
gleaming.
Spiraled gold that must have dribbled off the sun's ice cream cone
leaked through the bottom where the end had broken
and flavor escaped
to land on your mirthful urn.
Blue so clear,
the sky surely lost a piece of itself
as a crack appeared
and a fragment cascaded downward
to shatter along your pleasant chalice.
And in between,
are lines of green
that could have only originated
on pinewood trees
in a forest so dark
that monsters beware.
Bordering a little town
where children played
and only truth was called,
never dare.
Because there is red on your delighted decanter.
Spattered droplets
of coagulated sparks.
Jaded needles saturated,
with pine fresh essence
emanating from your zesty flagon.
And a single spot,
Barren.
Bereft of treasure.
Parted from cerulean.
Robbed of Viridian.
And severed in the roots of a blushing Amaryllis.
Occupying there,
a white blemish,
a shape of infinite corners
immaculately defined
and so small,
you will never find it on the canister
that harbors your smile.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
Conor's got P.E. , so his kit is washed,
I've wrapped his butties in foil, so they don't get squashed,
Pork Luncheon meat, in a crispy roll,
And a carton of Ribena, to fill that hole.
Jess starts College at One, so she'll wake at Five - to ,
Cheese and Pickle, will have to do,
I've had my pint of milk, with three Weetabix,
Got a Flagon of Cider, all the boxes are ticked.
A days grafting ahead, out near Billingshurst,
Laying bricks and blocks, building up a thirst,
And home to the hungry, back to the shops,
It's either Chicken Kievs, or half-price lamb chops.
Custard and Pie, hot milky drinks,
Then everyones asleep, except for me, who thinks,
About tomorrows butties, fruit and snacks,
Calories, nutrition, vitamins and facts.
Up at dawn, in an old bobble-hat,
Making food for them all, even the cat,
A tin of Tuna, he's well impressed,
Another flagon of Cider, another sweat-stained vest.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:17 AM UTC
ambiance amplified and gravitas dead inside
drink alone, danger zone, shot the Jekyll, saved the Hyde
cut my seat belts so my doors wouldn't beep, though
I creep with a fleet of conceited banditos
to the park, skip some rocks, play the shark, shuffle birds
find the narc, go and knock, make it bark, no one heard
a million reason to stay awake wide-eyed tonight
ninety-nine ******* one problem: you're in my line of sight
black & decker woodpecker, fur-trap chop with my power-drill
trill wagon, cool dragon flagon of honey mead on the window sill
unseen fiends mean for stones out beating streets to smithereens
you only live nine times: shake the earth, **** the silver screens
pair of sweet, pear-shaped tweets for you to meet in the suite,
they can show, you can see that they know how to greet
enough throwaways to keep boost mobile open
enough light reflecting princess cuts that they think my neck is frozen
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
I crept up to the rocking chair
Perched beside my bedroom door,
Pressed my ear up to the wood
Waiting for daddy's snores,
Silence in heaps,
Between discounted sheep,
Blared into the darkness,
Until, an eye-squeezing roar
Shook the entire first floor,
Following my tiptoes across the carpet.
Down the hall and to the left
And quickly up the stairs
(Swiftly, I went
In my flighty ascent -
Should goblins follow,
Me - unawares),
I burst into the attic
Heart naively in panic -
Back evened with the sturdy door,
The attic, at last!
The window ahead,
And beyond it,
I could only imagine.
--
Daddy told me once,
From behind billows of smoke,
That the more I dreamt
The more things awoke,
I dreamt of a dragon
In bed that night,
So, with the stars, up high
Should be a dragon in flight,
I threw open the curtains,
Soul, a wish-filled flagon,
Breath held tight
To behold my...lizard?
--
An itty bitty
Teeny weeny
Green,
(and somewhat, brownish)
Thing,
Crawled across
My window sill
Lacking all his
Dragon things,
His dragon hue,
And dragon size,
Everything
Dragon-wise,
I plopped down to
The floor beneath
The window,
And I took a seat,
I watched that little
Dragonette -
Slowly trying
To just forget,
The dragon I had come to see
Hadn't cared enough to come see me,
Then that lizard did a crazy thing -
Popped up his head -
Showin' a big pink thing!
I wasn't sure what sounds lizards made
So, I moved up close
('cause I wasn't afraid!)
Eye to eye,
I leaned in close,
Then that thing jumped forward
And bit my nose!
...
I'm pretty sure he liked me.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 6:34 PM UTC
color camera filter gel
it's a black tower at tintagel
turns me every shade of dead
when i'm made to lay in bed
last night i fought so violently,
the neighbors left a note for me--
"*the walls are thin here; from above
we could hear you two make love.*"
born too early, slept too late,
crows flocked to their dinner plate,
and i studied aristophanes
amidst a shrill cacophony.
wet and wind in winter's maw
i opened wide, but tigers' claw
caught a vain and made it sing--
heaven hurting, heaven sting
a vessel filling up with sand,
myth and man with mountain hands;
sipping from a fiery flagon,
how i began Year of the Dragon.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Cease, head, from a teetotaller 's tale
And lap up wine of words to brimfull,
Soaking the skull with many a flagon
Of poetry, prose, play and review,
That the brain cells may bubble over like
Foam inside the tumbler of religion
And humanities, arts, science and tech.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 5:46 AM UTC
There be a tavern in the town.
Today, will be such a special one.
Sunshine and roses.
Several carnations.
Wedding party, out for fun,
Intermingled with everyday drinkers.
Outside in the sunny weather.
Smokers and drinkers,
Men in blue jeans and eye catching black leathers.
Today, should be a special day.
Women in fanciful fascinators, tight fitting dresses, silky tights.
Dancing on tables.
Long into the night.
A flagon of beer, a bottle of wine.
Discussing everything ironically.
With the rest of the crowd.
Which, one of them is mine or hers or even his.
Their drink that is.
Opinions change as the beverages flow.
Talking regular bull as the drink feeds the flow.
The flow of the conversation that is.
Loudly.
By the end of the night, knowing everyone's biz.
There is no volume control, evening flows on twisted tongues.
Look left, look right, straight in front of you, they're starting a fight.
Noise is enhanced by the wailing of sirens,
Those harpies with hairpins, sat on cheap plastic chairs.
Look out you lot, the blues and twos are coming.
Invading your space, just at that moment you're slapping her face.
Such a disgrace.
Bundled into the back of the van.
Two wrecked wretched women.
One stroppy man.
If nothing else fuels arguments, drink sure as hell can.
(c)LIVVI
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
I opened the leaflet
By what means did we get
To shore in a matter of months.
Oh heat from exhaustion
And meat from the lost bin
I’m captain on all equal fronts.
So sure of the story
By some things that lure me
I know by a flagon of beer.
So false are the reasons
But yet we’re still seasoned
To occasionally stumble upon here.
Real Estate at the
Top of the lake is well aware of
Equilibrium
Tell my Dad and my
Brother too and you might as well
Tell the rest of them
Capture and conquest and capital clues
All by nature as conceptually true
Canceling cannons and appraising for food
Can’t consistently measure the facts from some fools
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
A gill of gin to start the day and
then I'm in the zone
a hidden flagon on the wagon
I'm on the way back home.
Sometimes I make moonshine,
fire up the still only waiting to fill
another bottle with ***** for
one more light cruise
down fuddled memory lane.
On Sunday I rest
go to church dressed in my tux,
and get
a few funny looks from the Vicar.
I keep my eyes on the time
my head in the moonshine, a
couple of hymns, prelude to
a few more sweet Pimms
and the day comes to
an end.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
dazzled by wonderment's true voice
hear now the shape and shifting theme
of these your lost years
call out with a true heart to thouse
you wish to behold come to such beautiful day
know that each of these you cherish
hold you as well in the deep waters of loves ocean
sail free my lovely friend
sail to dawns beautiful treading maidens
laugh and sing with them freely
after all its only love shared that makes the
world a wonderful place to be
so now as the majesty of night falls to our hands
let us rejoice once more
my lovely friend
for our open hearts and open minds
let us tell laughing happy tales all the night long
with a flagon of ale if thats what you wish
i only wish to live in the love
of that smile you share once again
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
Rain
The pain
Some say
I'm insane
Living in a fast lane
It's a fast break
To take away the blame
My shame
Is not the same
Today
So say
What you want
And taunt
The dragon
**** the flagon
And jump back on
Because a bull may buck
And the scorpion's no luck
For anyone
But her
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 2:37 AM UTC
How fleet, the time has fled
How months and years, merged into eons
How rivers have changed their courses
How forests into arid lands turned
How in place of shacks, sky scrapers stand
How the serene villages into bustling habitats made
How the frilled frocks into jeans and shirts changed
How old familiar faces have disappeared
Staring wistfully at a world so strange
In a remote and distant tract of time
With no grasp of the changes therein
Here I stand a Rip Van Winkle
From my prolonged slumber, just awake
With my memory, a blank sheet of paper
But with the blurred image of a Flagon of Ale
And a Ravine with Giant Eagles wheeling aloft
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
This is all wrong...
My magick was naught, but a sad song.
All along, your intentions were wrought with
Rusty prongs
Belial beseeched you so
You put on a thong.
You poisoned my blood,
And though I preached love
I've been forsworn.
It tore me in two,
To no longer belong
Lost in the throng of
Faceless pawns
Tasteless lawns
**** the fruit, lest it pours from a flagon
Lukewarm, like the colostrum
We licked at once we were born.
Before all of this... form
We were one another's pornhub
Maybe I'm just "tootin' my own horn" but,
That's still better than being stillborn.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
(A Sonnet)
Snug in the corner I saw the lad lie,
Fire in his belly, a cork in his eye;
And wordlessly sleeping, a-snooze in his bed,
His words, when awakened, go straight to your head.
Alluring to look at, golden is he,
There when you need him as sure as can be;
And anxious to aid you, he doesn't think twice,
The cost of his concert, your soul is the price.
Then tell him to go now, bid him goodbye;
Allow him to slumber, let sleeping dogs lie!
Tell him his concord you are shooing away,
The lad with the nostrum may no longer stay.
Well! time he was leaving so, show him the door!
A flagon of whiskey a-smash on the floor.
Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 10:47 AM UTC
She found a bottle on the shore.
A missive within.
All sealed and dry, for his heart 'twas broke.
Communication from far off shores.
A flagon of glass,
bore his heart.
A ladies man wrote to a lady of note.
"Lady Annabel, I trust this letter finds you well.
My ship of war, she transcends the waves,
I was moved to write to you a note,
I trembled as I wrote these words,
A covenant to our love,
a declaration,
Sadly I doubt that you will ever see.
Being stolen from thy passion.
Let pen upon paper be writ.
My tumescent heart be broken."
Such grief felt as relieved by his pen,
Into the sea from his almighty ship.
His words forthright tossed.
Unto the stormiest swell.
By the grace of Neptune,
his vessel was caught,
rode the tide of time.
Now 'tis warm upon the summer sands.
An unexpected blessing found,
grounded upon the shore as was said.
A name and address of his lady,
She, for whom the note was meant.
Penned perfection from her beau,
the sailor whose heart so bled.
The spirit of Annabel, the lady so dear.
Found by her Grand-daughter,
The Lady Annabel De Vere.
The first lady Annabel, long since passed away.
Young Lady Annabel, went to out to play.
Regardless.
(C) Livvi
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
I want to bask in her ambience atmosphere,
For her to clasp me to her shoes
I seeketh her flagon of many unknowns,
For me to be her color of Bella rouge!!!
I want to dig mine self to her film
A voluptuous mauve of awe,
To post ourn pictures above the kiln
As ourn unrestraint bounces the walls!!!!!!
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
Huge, massive and awesome that’s the Boeing 747, all that metal flying through the air on such fragile wings.
Crazy madmen of the world target these big vulnerable planes with a vengeance.
From the Sukhoi Flagon claiming one as a **** to the tragedy of Lockerbie, where a village and plane was destroyed.
In a flash all control is lost as the tail separates and the plane tumbles, lights go out and a jumbo jet dies. You know you will suffer a terrible death.
What can we do to get revenge over these madmen? Prison, no. Hanging, no.
I’d nuke their capital city and then they’ll know what its like to suffer massive death and pain. Vengeance will be ours.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
A handful of Memories
A cupful of sorrow
A flagon of happiness
Faith in tomorrow
A measure of taking
A measure of giving
A curious jumble
This business of living
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 11:08 PM UTC