Keats Gnomes

Six tailgaters.

 

Tippling Season

 

My wine overbrims a whole summer,

But liquorless winter’s a bummer.

 

 

After the Panty Raid

 

Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form

That she showed off for me there in her dorm.

 

 

The Comic Garden

 

Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight,

And here are popeyes itching for a fight.

 

 

The Empty Garret

 

Souls of Poets dead and gone

Have nothing left that they can pawn.

 

 

Western Manners

 

Shall I gulp wine? No, that is vulgarism

Practiced on that trail they call the Chisholm.

 

 

Waken and Blossom

 

Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose;

Try not to get a nettle up your nose.

 

Copyright © 2012 Wesli Court, all rights reserved.