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Bull Horn Grip
Eagle like, descends the road,
deep red wine potion, brusque,
as hidden eyes reckon in dusk
of this man to stare and bode.
Hours so, consent to darkness;
starry skies salute his walking,
tis maids of long mane talking,
about a raw prowess to egress.
In the tavern, at the dockside,
pipers play a monotonous mode,
destinies weave, deathly abode,
in deep spaces of brines abide.
A drink is life, glass of grog,
players render the pipes loud,
dim stars blink and a low cloud,
covers the shore in shroud fog.
Pipers monotonous tones wield,
dew drops dropp from foreheads,
Charon awaits for a spilled red,
a bull horn blade of Sheffield.
Outside steps, inside the mist,
maids weave, his life's thread,
Persephone will be his one wed,
his bull horn Sheffield, in fist.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Tavern Lit By Lamps
The tavern tables stay lit by the lamps,
These are the lamps of excellence.
My tables collect more money
And the energy is also collected.
May this tavern express the whole joy,
May we enter a real improvement,
And may the gates of this city be for sustenance.
These shopkeepers are so careful, more than you,
Let monsters and werewolves be dignified
And then the worst enemy is around.
The tavern is an absolute sanctuary,
A wonderful way of gambling and dancing.
poem by Naveed Akram
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There is no private house in which people can enjoy themselves so well as at a capital tavern... No, Sir; there is nothing which has yet been contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn.
quote by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Piper (#2)
When I'm confused and wandering
On a journey with no end
My feelings they turn in on me
Uncertain who's my friend
It's then the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tuned is full played out
He carries us away.
We can all hear if we but try
The pipers song so sweet
The musings and meanderings
Of souls lost whole comlete
No piper plays before we are born
Before we touch this earth
The pipers tunes they all begin
From the moment of our birth.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
Like happiness diseased
And all the notes that he plays out
Are our moments ill at ease
No-one it seems pays him to pay
Nor gives him any score
For every note that he blows out
Is paid for by that war
The one that's fought in solitude
And in that loneliness we find
That the pipers very soul turns out
To be both yours and mine.
For shrill the piper plays his tune
That beckons every day
And when his tune is full played out
He carries us away.
poem by David Keig
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Watering the weed
Pipers and drummers were playing,
Engrossed in their act, displaying
Their skill in various hard learned ragas,
In a marriage procession down the street.
But it fell on deaf ears as water to weeds.
People wanted the sound, not the music.
Pipers and drummers were playing
For their money, their souls elsewhere.
People want sound, not music in a function.
30.09.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Portrait Of An Old Woman On The College Tavern Wall
Oh down at the tavern
the children are singing
around their round table
and around me still.
Did you hear what it said?
I only said
how there is a pewter urn
pinned to the tavern wall,
as old as old is able
to be and be there still.
I said, the poets are tere
I hear them singing and lying
around their round table
and around me still.
Across the room is a wreath
made of a corpse's hair,
framed in glass on the wall,
as old as old is able
to be and be remembered still.
Did you hear what it said?
I only said
how I want to be there and I
would sing my songs with the liars
and my lies with all the singers.
And I would, and I would but
it's my hair in the hair wreath,
my cup pinned to the tavern wall,
my dusty face they sing beneath.
Poets are sitting in my kitchen.
Why do these poets lie?
Why do children get children and
Did you hear what it said?
I only said
how I want to be there,
Oh, down at the tavern
where the prophets are singing
around their round table
until they are still.
poem by Anne Sexton
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The Gay Gordons
(Dargai, October 20, 1897)
Whos for the Gathering, who's for the Fair?
(Gay goes the Gordon to a fight)
The bravest of the brave are at deadlock there,
(Highlanders! march! by the right!)
There are bullets by the hundred buzzing in the air,
There are bonny lads lying on the hillside bare;
But the Gordons know what the Gordons dare
When they hear the pipers playing!
The happiest English heart today
(Gay goes the Gordon to a fight)
Is the heart of the Colonel, hide it as he may;
(Steady there! steady on the right!)
He sees his work and he sees his way,
He knows his time and the word to say,
And he's thinking of the tune that the Gordons play
When he sets the pipers playing.
Rising, roaring, rushing like the tide,
(Gay goes the Gordon to a fight)
They're up through the fire-zone, not be be denied;
(Bayonets! and charge! by the right!)
Thirty bullets straight where the rest went wide,
And thirty lads are lying on the bare hillside;
But they passed in the hour of the Gordons' pride,
To the skirl of the pipers' playing.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Soldier Of Fortune
A soldier of fortune came home from war
And wondered what he was fighting for
This sad-eyed soldier, he broke down and cried
Oh he was so broke up inside
When will it end
When will it end
The bells toll
For those about to die
The battles over the war is won
But this soldier of fortune he will carry on
He will carry on when all hope is gone
He will carry on
Hes trained to kill and kill he will
As we march along
Singing just another soldier song
Just another soldier song
I am a soldier of fortune
Destined to keep on marching
I can hear the pipers calling
I am a soldier of fortune
Destined to keep on marching
I can hear the pipers calling
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Eleventh Day of Christmas
(January 5)
Pipers piped
Unto ladies,
Who danced.
poem by Monty Gilmer
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Speak good of pipers your father was a fiddler.
Ripe Fruit
Through eyelet holes I watched the crowd
Rain of confetti fling;
Their joy is lush, their laughter loud,
For Carnival is King.
Behind his chariot I pace
To ean my petty pay;
They laugh to see my monster face:
"Ripe Fruit," I hear them say.
I do not laugh: my shoulders sag;
No heart have I for glee,
Because I hold aloft a hag
Who grins enough for me;
A hideous harridan who bears
In crapulous display,
Like two grub-eaten mouldy pears
Her bubbies on a tray.
Ripe Fruit! Oh, God! It's hell to think
How I have drifted down
Through vice and dice and dope and drink
To play the sordid clown;
That I who held the golden key
To operatic fame,
Should gnaw the crust of misery
And drain the dregs of shame.
What matter! I'll get soused to-night,
And happy I will be,
To sit within a tavern bright,
A trollop on my knee. . . .
So let the crazy pipers pipe,
And let the rapture ring:
Ripe fruit am I - yea, rotten ripe,
And Carnival is King.
poem by Robert William Service
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Daisy Summer Piper
Come and take me by the hand
Theres so much to be seen
The fields are dancing daisy bright
Hills are dappled green
Winter wind has ceased her labor
Giving birth to blossom rain as sweet as rain
And maybe you will fall in love
And maybe youll be mine
Daisy summer pipers come to town
Piping people out of doors
To see the magic all around
Listen now youll hear his sound
Stare into a mirror pool
And laugh so princely vain
The skies become kaleidoscopes
With no two turns the same
And pebbles send them dancing off
In ripple rings of sun burnt cloud and windy blues
And maybe we will fall in love
Before the day is through
Daisy summer pipers come to town
Piping people out of doors
To see the magic all around
Listen now youll hear his sound
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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L'Escargot D'Or
O Tavern of the Golden Snail!
Ten sous have I, so I'll regale;
Ten sous your amber brew to sip
(Eight for the bock and two the tip),
And so I'll sit the evening long,
And smoke my pipe and watch the throng,
The giddy crowd that drains and drinks,
I'll watch it quiet as a sphinx;
And who among them all shall buy
For ten poor sous such joy as I?
As I who, snugly tucked away,
Look on it all as on a play,
A frolic scene of love and fun,
To please an audience of One.
O Tavern of the Golden Snail!
You've stuff indeed for many a tale.
All eyes, all ears, I nothing miss:
Two lovers lean to clasp and kiss;
The merry students sing and shout,
The nimble garcons dart about;
Lo! here come Mimi and Musette
With: "S'il vous plait, une cigarette?"
Marcel and Rudolf, Shaunard too,
Behold the old rapscallion crew,
With flowing tie and shaggy head . . .
Who says Bohemia is dead?
Oh shades of Murger! prank and clown,
And I will watch and write it down.
O Tavern of the Golden Snail!
What crackling throats have gulped your ale!
What sons of Fame from far and near
Have glowed and mellowed in your cheer!
Within this corner where I sit
Banville and Coppée clashed their wit;
And hither too, to dream and drain,
And drown despair, came poor Verlaine.
Here Wilde would talk and Synge would muse,
Maybe like me with just ten sous.
Ah! one is lucky, is one not?
With ghosts so rare to drain a pot!
So may your custom never fail,
O Tavern of the Golden Snail!
poem by Robert William Service
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A clock struck out the hour of twelve, and the bird in the hedgerow was still singing as we marched out to the roadway, and followed our merry pipers home to town.
quote by Patrick MacGill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Explanation
Love and Death once ceased their strife
At the Tavern of Man's Life.
Called for wine, and threw -- alas! --
Each his quiver on the grass.
When the bout was o'er they found
Mingled arrows strewed the ground.
Hastily they gathered then
Each the loves and lives of men.
Ah, the fateful dawn deceived!
Mingled arrows each one sheaved;
Death's dread armoury was stored
With the shafts he most abhorred;
Love's light quiver groaned beneath
Venom-headed darts of Death.
Thus it was they wrought our woe
At the Tavern long ago.
Tell me, do our masters know,
Loosing blindly as they fly,
Old men love while young men die?
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Aint Got You
I got a maseratti two by two
With snakeskin upholstery
Charge account at goldblatz
But I aint got you
I got a closet full of clothes
And no matter where I goes
You keeps a ring in my nose
But I aint got you
I got a tavern, a liquor store
I play the numbers, 444
I got mojo dont you know
Im all dressed up with no place to go
I got women to the right of me
I got women to the left of me
I got women all around me
But I aint got you, no I aint got you
I got a tavern, and a liquor store
I play the numbers, 444
I got mojo dont you know
But I aint got you
No, I aint got you
No, I aint got you
No, I aint got you
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For whoever is lonely there is a tavern.
quote by Georg Trakl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You don't go into a tavern to say your prayers.
The world is a tavern and the way hereafter is our home.
The tavern is far, but I will walk carefully.