Poetry Archives

Painter, would you make my picture?
Just forget the moral stricture.
                                        Let me sit
With my belly to the table,
Swilling all the wine I’m able,
                                        Pip a-lit;
Not a stiff and stuffy croaker
In a frock coat and a choker
                                        Let me be;
But a rollicking old fellow
With a visage ripe and mellow
                                        As you see.

Just a twinkle-eyed old codger,
And of death as artful dodger,
                                        Such I am;
I defy the Doc’s advising
And I don’t for sermonising
                                        Care a damn.
Though Bill Shakespeare had in his dome
Both—I’d rather wit than wisdom
                                        For my choice;
In the glug glug of the bottle,
As I tip it down my throttle,
                                        I rejoice.

Paint me neither sour not soulful,
For I would not have folks doleful
                                        When I go;
So if to my shade you’re quaffing
I would rather see you laughing,
                                        As you know.
In Life’s Great Experiment
I’ll have heaps of merriment
                                        E’re I pass;
And though devil beckons me,
And I’ve many a speck on me,
Maybe some will recon me—
                                        Worth a glass.