The starving artist throws a party
With my paint I make a tavern,
fish, a dinner.
And fine company:
wine together with wine,
my head troubled with my head,
aching all night.
Cheerful poems
Cheerful poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.
The starving artist casts a wide net
At home looking at an eel
that my wife bought,
I cried for our dinner
that was all I.
Starving artist
All day long looking upon my paint,
I am in the red
of my own making.
Home is the sailor
I had at sea
an abundance of sea,
spice and gold
in lieu of god,
the absence of time.
At home, I sleep,
the wench mending my breeches
by my bed.
Broom
A girl took a broom to bed—
he looked like a fine gentleman.
His gold, old flower was a garden
where there had been many rains.
Time thief
In church, a crook
preached to the new
pew and took
much time.
Old salt
The seal is chaplain to the sea;
I am her fool.
I took my crew to the devil,
and there we drank.
Lush life
The first gin
and here I am in the ice.
Here is night in a sack.
Promoter
The hog, fattening, is
our common weather.
I found a home after
giving my wife
a child, a child.
And after supper, my ink
is a mother to greed.
At the Hoop Tavern
I went to dinner with
the king’s fishmonger,
who eats no sort of fish
and sent for a tongue.
The ugly bride was busy
at cards. The lute came
to live with me as a servant.
In the country of the rat
I give a groat for a pot
and shit in it,
waiting for the moon.
Queen-sized
Ribs under other people’s hands,
we could not dress ourselves,
queen that we were.
The king? With him
we could hardly get any
sleep, he being a bad bed.
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