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At the Tavern

A lilt and a swing,
And a ditty to sing,
Or ever the night grow old;
The wine is within,
And I'm sure t'were a sin
For a soldier to choose to be cold, my dear,
For a soldier to choose to be cold.
We're right for a spell,
But the fever is -- well,
No thing to be braved, at least;
So bring me the wine;
No low fever in mine,
For a drink more kind than a priest, my dear,
For a drink is more kind than a
priest.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Alive

The perfume you wear,
the smell of your hair
as I hold you so close
right then and there
my heart skips a beat.
And all that we share
is alive.

The bounce in your walk,
the lilt of your talk
as I observe all of this
I listen and gawk,
knowing full well what I see
completes all of me.
I'm alive.

The way that you sleep,
your poses I keep
in my mind as I go through my days.
My heart seems to leap.

[...] Read more

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Dysgraphia

The ballpoint slewed
The serpentine alley
In a frisky ballet
And the rapping of the estoque
Quavered the roof beams,
Shattering the heaven
Where I fell through
In a requiem
Of tainted inks.

Fingers latticing
With an electric entanglement
And the gods hummed a lilt
Of elegiac carousing.

Words toppled
Out of the gutter
And the silken moiré
Unruffled, ejaculating
Incorrigible life.

[...] Read more

poem by Norman Santos
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Time For A Break

I'm taking a break from Penelope Hayes
I've been living in her pocket for days
I love her to bits but the truth of it is
I owe some time to my husband and kids

Its not that I'm bored of her company
The opposite really, she makes me feel free
I treasure the joy of our two way exchange
But to be so wrapped up in one person looks strange

I'll knock for you soon my sweet of lady of lilt
But neglecting my kin leaves me riddled with guilt
My family crave my full focus on them
So dear Penny,  kiss kiss and TTFN.

poem by Stevie Taite
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Old Fighting-Men

All the world over, nursing their scars,
Sit the old fighting-men broke in the wars--
Sit the old fighting-men, surly and grim
Mocking the lilt of the conquerors' hymn.

Dust of the battle o'erwhelmed them and hid.
Fame never found them for aught that they did.
Wounded and spent to the lazar they drew,
Lining the road where the Legions roll through.

Sons of the Laurel who press to your meed,
(Worthy God's pity most--you who succeed!)
Ere you go triumphing, crowned, to the stars,
Pity poor fighting-men, broke in the wars!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Evaporation of Liquid Memories

A warm brain freeze
That smells
The color of
Orange juice
Spreads all over
My mind
In the morning—
Toxic
And sluicing
Inside
My eye sockets,
Purple
Bags pillowing
Where the
Red rings circle,
Pupils
In gradient
Tones, cast
In the piquant
Daylight.

[...] Read more

poem by Tim Stensloff
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Unspoken language

Words drip
soft and sensual,
tones of velvet
brown like coffee,
scent of spices
on the breath
that drifts across
my cheek
and it could be
a shopping list
for all I know,
the soothing lilt
could speak to me
of laundry, taxes.
or of love
a mystery I ponder
with half-closed eyes
while I imagine romance
for a moment, passion
breathing at my ear

[...] Read more

poem by Midnight Clarity
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The Serenade

The midnight is not more bewildering
To her drowsed eyes, than to her ears, the sound
Of dim, sweet singing voices, interwound
With purl of flute and subtle twang of string,
Strained through the lattice, where the roses cling
And, with their fragrance, waft the notes around
Her haunted senses. Thirsting beyond bound
Of her slow-yielding dreams, the lilt and swing
Of the mysterious delirious tune,
She drains like some strange opiate, with awed eyes
Upraised against her casement, where aswoon,
The stars fail from her sight, and up the skies
Of alien azure rolls the full round moon
Like some vast bubble blown of summer noon.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Rosa

'Tis sad to think her I never more will meet
At the shopping complex, in the park or the street
The lilt in her warm hello so lovely to hear
We miss her from the town the lovely old dear
She outlived her husband by a decade or more
They came here together from a distant shore
Their only offspring Joe a noble young man
Did not make it home from the war in Vietnam
Last week Rosa died she was eighty three
Far from her Hometown of Rome in Italy
A beautiful person untainted by guile
And free of conceit she had warmth in her smile
Never more to be seen in the town shopping mall
But fond memories of her are with us to recall.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Seaside

Swiftly out from the friendly lilt of the band,
The crowd's good laughter, the loved eyes of men,
I am drawn nightward; I must turn again
Where, down beyond the low untrodden strand,
There curves and glimmers outward to the unknown
The old unquiet ocean. All the shade
Is rife with magic and movement. I stray alone
Here on the edge of silence, half afraid,

Waiting a sign. In the deep heart of me
The sullen waters swell towards the moon,
And all my tides set seaward.
From inland
Leaps a gay fragment of some mocking tune,
That tinkles and laughs and fades along the sand,
And dies between the seawall and the sea.

poem by Rupert Brooke
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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