"tankard" poems - Hello Poetry

289 I know some lonely Houses off the Road A Robber’d like the look of— Wooden barred, And Windows hanging low, Inviting to— A Portico, Where two could creep— One—hand the Tools— The other peep— To make sure All’s Asleep— Old fashioned eyes— Not easy to surprise! How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night, With just a Clock— But they could gag the Tick— And Mice won’t bark— And so the Walls—don’t tell— None—will— A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir— An Almanac’s aware— Was it the Mat—winked, Or a Nervous Star? The Moon—slides down the stair, To see who’s there! There’s plunder—where— Tankard, or Spoon— Earring—or Stone— A Watch—Some Ancient Brooch To match the Grandmama— Staid sleeping—there— Day—rattles—too Stealth’s—slow— The Sun has got as far As the third Sycamore— Screams Chanticleer “Who’s there”? And Echoes—Trains away, Sneer—”Where”! While the old Couple, just astir, Fancy the Sunrise—left the door ajar!

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3k

Emily Dickinson

I know some lonely Houses off the Road

289 I know some lonely Houses off the Road A Robber’d like the look of— Wooden barred, And Windows hanging low, Inviting to— A Portico, Where two could creep— One—hand the Tools— The other peep— To make sure All’s Asleep— Old fashioned eyes— Not easy to surprise! How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night, With just a Clock— But they could gag the Tick— And Mice won’t bark— And so the Walls—don’t tell— None—will— A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir— An Almanac’s aware— Was it the Mat—winked, Or a Nervous Star? The Moon—slides down the stair, To see who’s there! There’s plunder—where— Tankard, or Spoon— Earring—or Stone— A Watch—Some Ancient Brooch To match the Grandmama— Staid sleeping—there— Day—rattles—too Stealth’s—slow— The Sun has got as far As the third Sycamore— Screams Chanticleer “Who’s there”? And Echoes—Trains away, Sneer—”Where”! While the old Couple, just astir, Fancy the Sunrise—left the door ajar!

41

He sat there, same table, most Sundays If he came alone, he did not stay that way long His corner table would fill, with nodders and smilers People with pint glass recognition of all he'd done His special tankard 'World's Strongest Man'; no year, for that would be cruel I watched him as I grew, from colouring book infant to The girl who stood a round for her father Each year he shrunk a little, those muscles softening to fat And still they came and asked him to bend their metal pipes And carry a man on each shoulder One handed him a rope for his teeth, and Asked if he would tow away his junker, they Laughed and bought him another round, mate, another pint For the World's Strongest Man He told me once, when I was 10 and curious, The stories of his ink marks, the places He had been and all the strange and wonderful things He had lifted and bent and pulled and Training with the Sumo, ice hole bathing with Inuit, wrestling hobbled Russian bears, the lion that left 'see, this mark here' A yawn when he'd placed his big, shaggy head In the beast's mouth because He too was a king I asked him once, when I had grew If he should have been More like bamboo Thin and reedy, bending in the wind No substance to speak off, yet With a strength belieing it's slender form He told me, as the acolytes trudged past In heavy boots and rough winter coats 'All I ever wanted was for someone else to take the weight, even for a moment, but now it's too late' I smiled sadly, because I understood Tested strength and how it withstood And yet I felt his heart-deep sorrow At looking back, not to tomorrow I did not buy him another pint, I walked with him instead Through the door he'd left a thousand times To his taxi, usual driver, 'home, mate?' Lean on me for now, I said. I'm stronger than I look.

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Dec 8, 2014

Dec 8, 2014 at 12:57 PM UTC

tracey-katz

The Strongest Man in the World

He sat there, same table, most Sundays If he came alone, he did not stay that way long His corner table would fill, with nodders and smilers People with pint glass recognition of all he'd done His special tankard 'World's Strongest Man'; no year, for that would be cruel I watched him as I grew, from colouring book infant to The girl who stood a round for her father Each year he shrunk a little, those muscles softening to fat And still they came and asked him to bend their metal pipes And carry a man on each shoulder One handed him a rope for his teeth, and Asked if he would tow away his junker, they Laughed and bought him another round, mate, another pint For the World's Strongest Man He told me once, when I was 10 and curious, The stories of his ink marks, the places He had been and all the strange and wonderful things He had lifted and bent and pulled and Training with the Sumo, ice hole bathing with Inuit, wrestling hobbled Russian bears, the lion that left 'see, this mark here' A yawn when he'd placed his big, shaggy head In the beast's mouth because He too was a king I asked him once, when I had grew If he should have been More like bamboo Thin and reedy, bending in the wind No substance to speak off, yet With a strength belieing it's slender form He told me, as the acolytes trudged past In heavy boots and rough winter coats 'All I ever wanted was for someone else to take the weight, even for a moment, but now it's too late' I smiled sadly, because I understood Tested strength and how it withstood And yet I felt his heart-deep sorrow At looking back, not to tomorrow I did not buy him another pint, I walked with him instead Through the door he'd left a thousand times To his taxi, usual driver, 'home, mate?' Lean on me for now, I said. I'm stronger than I look.

41

Raise your glasses high, tonight we won’t cry, the wine is pouring, and my love is at home, mourning. Next round is on me, we’ll get more drunk than sailors at the sea, just drink from your wooden tankard, until everything around is blurred. Let me hear you cheer, spaced-out from *** wine and beer. This is our last night, next day we march to fight. Now, let’s dine, cause tomorrow by this time, we’ll be dead, and our clothes will be red, like this delicious crimson wine.

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Jan 25, 2021

Jan 25, 2021 at 11:20 AM UTC

elorai

Wine

Raise your glasses high, tonight we won’t cry, the wine is pouring, and my love is at home, mourning. Next round is on me, we’ll get more drunk than sailors at the sea, just drink from your wooden tankard, until everything around is blurred. Let me hear you cheer, spaced-out from *** wine and beer. This is our last night, next day we march to fight. Now, let’s dine, cause tomorrow by this time, we’ll be dead, and our clothes will be red, like this delicious crimson wine.

17

A belly full of tasteful food, With a tankard filled with good drink, As well as the smell of sweet tobacco Is calming to the mind of any man; A fire with a kind flame, A book filled with adventure, As friends tell cheerful tales Can fill his life with enjoyment; The cool wind upon his back, The fresh air entering the lungs, As the rain falls from up high Offers a relaxed feeling for most; The sound of calm streams As well as the mighty rivers, And the sight of the forests Is enough to bring a man's soul peace; The green leaves that are on the trees That grow to tremendous heights, With roots deep within the skin of earth Brings much amazement and wonder; When the sun has fully sunk A sky full of stars is revealed With a moon that shines bright Brings tears to the eyes; Home is where the heart is And mine is within the mountains, For having experienced their beauty I pity any man who's never seen them.

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Feb 16, 2021

Feb 16, 2021 at 10:55 PM UTC

WarriorPoet

Home

A belly full of tasteful food, With a tankard filled with good drink, As well as the smell of sweet tobacco Is calming to the mind of any man; A fire with a kind flame, A book filled with adventure, As friends tell cheerful tales Can fill his life with enjoyment; The cool wind upon his back, The fresh air entering the lungs, As the rain falls from up high Offers a relaxed feeling for most; The sound of calm streams As well as the mighty rivers, And the sight of the forests Is enough to bring a man's soul peace; The green leaves that are on the trees That grow to tremendous heights, With roots deep within the skin of earth Brings much amazement and wonder; When the sun has fully sunk A sky full of stars is revealed With a moon that shines bright Brings tears to the eyes; Home is where the heart is And mine is within the mountains, For having experienced their beauty I pity any man who's never seen them.

28

He stood quite still on the sidewalk. Stood there for hours, actually. Stared into another place that wasn't here, wasn't there, just sort of muddied in the two feet in front of the glass he looked through. Static went crackling in the depths of his mind. Sometimes a spark would jump from one edge of the gap to other- and a flash of recognition would pass like a tankard barreling past a bus-stop. Violent but brief. He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. He doesn't anything. It's as if existence put on pause in the self-contained universe that was his body. Then, he walked away.

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Feb 15, 2015

Feb 15, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC

katsphilosophy

To Pause

He stood quite still on the sidewalk. Stood there for hours, actually. Stared into another place that wasn't here, wasn't there, just sort of muddied in the two feet in front of the glass he looked through. Static went crackling in the depths of his mind. Sometimes a spark would jump from one edge of the gap to other- and a flash of recognition would pass like a tankard barreling past a bus-stop. Violent but brief. He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. He doesn't anything. It's as if existence put on pause in the self-contained universe that was his body. Then, he walked away.

14

A small man with a big smell when his seldom washed clothes were drying after rain. Stubble chin, fish eye, loose lip but always ready for0 the tankard's rim, especially if you were buying. One of the dark ones, relics of the Bronze Age, whose ancestors had thrown their seed, thin grain upon the small and bitter acres that he worked. Only the rocks grow well in the fields of the grey hills! At first I thought him diminished, crushed by the land itself, it's possession a cancer devouring and defeat an old coat lashed round his middle with wire. But drunk once, on a market day, lowing and jammed like stalled beasts into the FARMERS bar, he stumbled, hugged me close to steady himself and roared out loud to the heedless herd, with arm outstretched, two fingers to the world, ****** you boys! I am still here! Nobody heard but me, whose ear was riven by that yell and sprayed with rich spittle. True though, despite the braggadocio of beer, with the grain of him deep and compacted like the rocks he fought, he did endure.

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Feb 17, 2021

Feb 17, 2021 at 6:48 AM UTC

tim-deere-jones

Farmer from the Carns

A small man with a big smell when his seldom washed clothes were drying after rain. Stubble chin, fish eye, loose lip but always ready for0 the tankard's rim, especially if you were buying. One of the dark ones, relics of the Bronze Age, whose ancestors had thrown their seed, thin grain upon the small and bitter acres that he worked. Only the rocks grow well in the fields of the grey hills! At first I thought him diminished, crushed by the land itself, it's possession a cancer devouring and defeat an old coat lashed round his middle with wire. But drunk once, on a market day, lowing and jammed like stalled beasts into the FARMERS bar, he stumbled, hugged me close to steady himself and roared out loud to the heedless herd, with arm outstretched, two fingers to the world, ****** you boys! I am still here! Nobody heard but me, whose ear was riven by that yell and sprayed with rich spittle. True though, despite the braggadocio of beer, with the grain of him deep and compacted like the rocks he fought, he did endure.

26

You know I took a tankard To the cantankerous one Well that didn't go swell When she hadn't yet **** Hadn't yet they bellowed She hadn't time to start So do we dibble or dabble As to whose most smart In the meanwhile you see They all let loose a **** Now the cantankerous one Smiles as she thus starts

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Dec 12, 2015

Dec 12, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC

john-p-green

Fill Her Up!

You know I took a tankard To the cantankerous one Well that didn't go swell When she hadn't yet **** Hadn't yet they bellowed She hadn't time to start So do we dibble or dabble As to whose most smart In the meanwhile you see They all let loose a **** Now the cantankerous one Smiles as she thus starts

12

Enfranchise worry and tears go for it, those open floodgates bottle and market it sweeten with corn syrup bittersweet amalgamation lead poisoned wall tankard of stern lost eyes so swollen cannot drip Soon faucet will rust and stagnant death you have witnessed will sanctify any maddened reason why Resistance to smile through it though you know you were blessed to have loved each and every Your dearly departed Leaky toxic brew Such as this does no honor To a life an ongoing confer of privilege You still own So let it be begin to smile Again that awkward laugh pushed through an explosion Tears beauty you recognize through the pain You are permitted this indulgent elixir

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Apr 19, 2016

Apr 19, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC

pj-poesy

Bottled-Up

Enfranchise worry and tears go for it, those open floodgates bottle and market it sweeten with corn syrup bittersweet amalgamation lead poisoned wall tankard of stern lost eyes so swollen cannot drip Soon faucet will rust and stagnant death you have witnessed will sanctify any maddened reason why Resistance to smile through it though you know you were blessed to have loved each and every Your dearly departed Leaky toxic brew Such as this does no honor To a life an ongoing confer of privilege You still own So let it be begin to smile Again that awkward laugh pushed through an explosion Tears beauty you recognize through the pain You are permitted this indulgent elixir

35

Tryouts starring musical prodigies and/or an attendant conductor attempt to approach ambient chorus divinely exhibited from Gaia's handiwork heavenly invoking kapellmeister's magnificent nonchalant outlook piquantly, quintessentially, repertoire sensately striking unmatched vast wisdom yielding, zephyr air albeit creativity engineered from groundswell harmony juxtaposed, kindled, linkedin, manifesting noteworthy opulent philharmonic recording transcribing universal veritable webbed wide world. Wunderkinds yield Ziggurat acme approximated asymptote bequeathing celestial Doppelganger Earthly emulations formulating fractal glinting highlighting ineffable joie de vivre jostling, keen kindling, la la land legerdemain lifting logic lording Ludwig (Josef Johann) Wittgenstein.   Yelping zoological apostle Al affidavit Gore handily heaping hubristically invocation jolting kickstart measures nipping nixed noblesse oblige opera quickening quotidian rapid ruination sans supreme teetering upended venerated wise with acumen arithmetical Benoit Mandelbrot chasing far-fetched ideas lightyears menacing nihilism purging ogres opportunistically resplendently ripping revered tankard tipping unstoppably vanquishing varietal whipsawing wonderfully wrapt yawning youngsters warfare written wrought yanking zestfully crushing environmental family granting Herculean instant karma malevolent, opprobrious pronouncement quiet riot silencing severely tragic ubiquitous vicious wreckage yikyaks apemen cleft Earth. ************************************************* Future foragers denounce capitalistic bamboozlers aggression zealots wrought trashing quintessential naked kingdoms issue flotsam coagulates zonal wastelands torquing quality NON killing habitats Earth bleached yellowed voodoo ruins.

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Aug 21, 2017

Aug 21, 2017 at 12:12 AM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Symphonic Quiescent Overture – Maestro Kant Imitate

Tryouts starring musical prodigies and/or an attendant conductor attempt to approach ambient chorus divinely exhibited from Gaia's handiwork heavenly invoking kapellmeister's magnificent nonchalant outlook piquantly, quintessentially, repertoire sensately striking unmatched vast wisdom yielding, zephyr air albeit creativity engineered from groundswell harmony juxtaposed, kindled, linkedin, manifesting noteworthy opulent philharmonic recording transcribing universal veritable webbed wide world. Wunderkinds yield Ziggurat acme approximated asymptote bequeathing celestial Doppelganger Earthly emulations formulating fractal glinting highlighting ineffable joie de vivre jostling, keen kindling, la la land legerdemain lifting logic lording Ludwig (Josef Johann) Wittgenstein.   Yelping zoological apostle Al affidavit Gore handily heaping hubristically invocation jolting kickstart measures nipping nixed noblesse oblige opera quickening quotidian rapid ruination sans supreme teetering upended venerated wise with acumen arithmetical Benoit Mandelbrot chasing far-fetched ideas lightyears menacing nihilism purging ogres opportunistically resplendently ripping revered tankard tipping unstoppably vanquishing varietal whipsawing wonderfully wrapt yawning youngsters warfare written wrought yanking zestfully crushing environmental family granting Herculean instant karma malevolent, opprobrious pronouncement quiet riot silencing severely tragic ubiquitous vicious wreckage yikyaks apemen cleft Earth. ************************************************* Future foragers denounce capitalistic bamboozlers aggression zealots wrought trashing quintessential naked kingdoms issue flotsam coagulates zonal wastelands torquing quality NON killing habitats Earth bleached yellowed voodoo ruins.

40

New Year’s night There is a fire burning and people are drinking; People are dancing and people are singing. Auld Lang Syne; it’s another year gone. So cherish this night, because it will soon be done. The snow is falling all around us and many friends are merry; So give everyone a hug and kiss those cheeks! Come on now, feast upon the many cherries and berries; Swig from the tankard and have yourselves some meat, Because this is a celebration, so enjoy the feast! Hold the one you love and greet your neighbour’s as family, Because soon enough you will be back at each other’s throats. So give them your blessings and wish upon a star; Offer everyone a piece of peace And see this New Year as a chance to end the feud And as a chance for new relationships to grow. (C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

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Aug 27, 2018

Aug 27, 2018 at 7:42 AM UTC

aa-harvey

New Year's night

New Year’s night There is a fire burning and people are drinking; People are dancing and people are singing. Auld Lang Syne; it’s another year gone. So cherish this night, because it will soon be done. The snow is falling all around us and many friends are merry; So give everyone a hug and kiss those cheeks! Come on now, feast upon the many cherries and berries; Swig from the tankard and have yourselves some meat, Because this is a celebration, so enjoy the feast! Hold the one you love and greet your neighbour’s as family, Because soon enough you will be back at each other’s throats. So give them your blessings and wish upon a star; Offer everyone a piece of peace And see this New Year as a chance to end the feud And as a chance for new relationships to grow. (C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

17

A raining brethren of splintering rain Lacing the woes as knights filled fists Clashing with that of trembling ground Each footfall a smog in the glimpse Wading through the haunt of hollow words Sometimes the leech and gag in the pool Swimming in the tankard clasped to my head Needless to say pouring words which built instead Trembling, capsizing, leaking through defenses Once fortified with daisies akin glowing reminiscents Numbing in nights such as this Solitudes dispairs respite multitude aware

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May 10, 2016

May 10, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC

decem

Untitled

A raining brethren of splintering rain Lacing the woes as knights filled fists Clashing with that of trembling ground Each footfall a smog in the glimpse Wading through the haunt of hollow words Sometimes the leech and gag in the pool Swimming in the tankard clasped to my head Needless to say pouring words which built instead Trembling, capsizing, leaking through defenses Once fortified with daisies akin glowing reminiscents Numbing in nights such as this Solitudes dispairs respite multitude aware

12

I keep remembering that you have been the only one That I could still daydream about being just a thought In your otherwise always busy mind I wonder if ever a tornado lands and you look for shelter Only to remember that you once saw land upon the horizon My own rusting tankard that looked like the shadow of oasis I hope that you can remember what could have been on the shores of the Titanic That all the years on the dry deck could have tasted less salty than the sea And the exposure will feel so warm on your skin that it leaves burns

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Nov 6, 2018

Nov 6, 2018 at 7:57 PM UTC

Marley_Gold

We Were Sort of Friends

I keep remembering that you have been the only one That I could still daydream about being just a thought In your otherwise always busy mind I wonder if ever a tornado lands and you look for shelter Only to remember that you once saw land upon the horizon My own rusting tankard that looked like the shadow of oasis I hope that you can remember what could have been on the shores of the Titanic That all the years on the dry deck could have tasted less salty than the sea And the exposure will feel so warm on your skin that it leaves burns

9

I am often asked, as the inn goes quiet Where is the dignity in a life anchored By the brothel, the public house’s riot. I note—politely—the base of the tankard Provides a grand, if somewhat modulated, Viewing of the so-called unexamined life, A happy one not discombobulated By the constant nattering of priest or wife. It’s not—far from it!—that my heart is not stirred By valiant men performing their valiant deeds, But the urge to take up arms remains deterred By the image of a knight face down in weeds, And my heart’s overruled by the misgiving That the stuff of legend precludes the living.

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Jul 18, 2017

Jul 18, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC

wk-kortas

In Which The Good Knight Falstaff Is Of The Opinion That It's Your Round

I am often asked, as the inn goes quiet Where is the dignity in a life anchored By the brothel, the public house’s riot. I note—politely—the base of the tankard Provides a grand, if somewhat modulated, Viewing of the so-called unexamined life, A happy one not discombobulated By the constant nattering of priest or wife. It’s not—far from it!—that my heart is not stirred By valiant men performing their valiant deeds, But the urge to take up arms remains deterred By the image of a knight face down in weeds, And my heart’s overruled by the misgiving That the stuff of legend precludes the living.

14