Leeway Tinkering Hook Line And Sinker Tilll Kingdom Come With Annabel Lee's Tankard Drunk To Poe Ethic Lees Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

Tankard pun on Japanese Tanka Form. Tanka syllabic count 5 7 5 7 7 Waka or Yamato uta is a genre of classical Japanese verse and one of the major genres of Japanese literature.[1] The term was coined during the Heian period, and was used to distinguish Japanese-language poetry from kanshi, poetry written in Chinese by Japanese poets, and later from renga.
The term waka originally encompassed a number of differing forms, principally tanka but also including bussokusekika, and kataut. These last three forms, however, fell into disuse at the beginning of the Heian period.

Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love,
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes! that was the reason [as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea]
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we,
Of many far wiser than we,
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Edgar Allan Poe 1809_1849

Samuel Brown
It was many and many a year ago,
In a dwelling down in town,
That a fellow there lived whom you may know,
By the name of Samuel Brown;
And this fellow he lived with no other thought
Than to our house to come down.

I was a child, and he was a child,
In that dwelling down in town,
But we loved with a love that was more than love,
I and my Samuel Brown,
With a love that the ladies coveted,
Me and Samuel Brown.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
To that dwelling down in town,
A girl came out of her carriage, courting
My beautiful Samuel Brown;
So that her high-bred kinsman came
And bore away Samuel Brown,
And shut him up in a dwelling-house,
In a street quite up in town.

The ladies not half so happy up there,
Went envying me and Brown;
Yes! that was the reason [as all men know,
In this dwelling down in town],
That the girl came out of the carriage by night,
Coquetting and getting my Samuel Brown.

But our love is more artful by far than the love
Of those who are older than we,
Of many far wiser than we,
And neither the girls that are living above,
Nor the girls that are down in town,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Samuel Brown.

For the morn never shines without bringing me lines
From my beautiful Samuel Brown;
And the night's never dark, but I sit in the park
With my beautiful Samuel Brown.
And often by day, I walk down in Broadway,
With my darling, my darling, my life and my stay,
To our dwelling down in town,
To our house in the street down town
Phoebe Cary 1824_1871

A Poe-em of Passion
It was many and many a year ago,
On an island near the sea,
That a maiden lived whom you mightn't know
By the name of Cannibalee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than a passionate fondness for me.

I was a child, and she was a child,
Though her tastes were adult Feejee,
But she loved with a love that was more than love,
My yearning Cannibalee;
With a love that could take me roast or fried
Or raw, as the case might be.

And that is the reason that long ago,
In that island near the sea,
I had to turn the tables and eat
My ardent Cannibalee
Not really because I was fond of her,
But to check her fondness for me.

But the stars never rise but I think of the size
Of my hot-potted Cannibalee,
And the moon never stares but it brings me nightmares
Of my spare-rib Cannibalee;
And all the night-tide she is restless inside,
Is my still indigestible dinner-bell bride,
In her pallid tomb, which is Me,
In her solemn sepulchre, Me.
Charles Fletcher Lummis 1859_1928 Styx River Anthology

Annabel Lee
They may say all they like
About germs and micro-crocuses,
Or whatever they are!
But my set opinion is,
If you want to get a good, old-fashioned chills and fever,
Just poke around
In a damp, messy place by the sea,
Without rubbers on.
A good cold wind,
Blowing out of a cloud, by night,
Will give you a harder shaking ague
Than all the bacilli in the Basilica.
It did me.
Carolyn Wells 1869_1942

Hoppity Lee
It was ever so many years ago,
On a prairie by the sea,
A little Kibosh I used to know,
By the name of Hoppity Lee.
His hair was as green as the driven snow,
And his cheeks were as blue as tea.

Twas ust about night, or nearly soon,
When Hoppity Lee and I
Decided to go for a sail to the moon,
Or at least, as far as the sky;
But instead of taking the Big Balloon,
We sailed in a Pumpkin Pie.

Dear little Hoppity Lee and I
Were happy and glad and gay.
But the dogstar came out as we passed by,
And began to bark and bay.
And the little Kibosh fell out of the pie
And into the milky way.

I fished and fished, for a year and a week,
For dear little Hoppity Lee;
And at last I heard a small, faint squeak
From the place where he seemed to be.
And he said, "Go home and nevermore seek,
Oh, nevermore seek for me."
Carolyn Wells 1869_1942

Annabel Lee
‘Twas more than a million years ago
Or so it seems to me,
That I used to prance around and beau
The beautiful Annabel Lee.
There were other girls in the neighborhood
But none was a patch to she.

And this was the reason that long ago
My love fell out of a tree,
And busted herself on a cruel rock;
A solemn sight to see.
For it spoiled the had and gown and looks
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

We loved with a love that was lovely love,
I and my Annabel Lee,
And we went one day to gather the nuts
That men call hickoree.
And I stayed below in the rosy glow
While she shinned up the tree.
But no sooner up than down derslup
Came the beautiful Annabel Lee.

And the pallid moon and the hectic noon
Bring gleams of dreams for me,
Of the desolate and desperate fate
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
And I often think as I sink on the brink
Of slumber's sea, of the warm pink link
That bound my soul to Annabel Lee;
And it wasn't the best for her interest
To climb that hickory tree,
For had she stayed below with me,
We'd had had no hickory nuts maybe,
But I should have had my Annabel Lee.
Stanley Huntley 1847_1885

What the Copy Desk Might Have Done to Annabel Lee
Soul Bride oddly dead in queer dath pact

High-Born Kinsman Abducts Girl from Poet-Lover-Flu Said to Be Cause of Death- Grand Jury to Probe

Annabel L. Poe of 1834½ 3rd Ave., the beautiful young fiancee of Edmund Allyn Poe, a magazine writer from the South, was found dead early this morning on the beach off E.8th Street.

Poe seemed prostrated and, questioned by the police, said that one of her aristocratic relatives had taken her to the 'seashore, ' but that the cold winds had given her 'flu, ' from which she never 'rallied.'

Detectives at work on the case believe, they say, that there was a suicide compact between the Poes and that Poe also intended to do away with himself.

He refused to leave the spot where the woman's body had been found.
Something Else Again Part V Franklin Pierce Adams

Ulabel Lume
It was many milenniums long ago
In a houseboat on the mall
That there lived a maiden whom you might know,
Then again, you might not at all.
Ulabel Lume, her high-born name
And she just six feet tall.

I was a child and she was a child
And childishly childlike we'd romp.
But we loved with a lovlier love than love
In this old barge on the swamp.
With a love that made the winged seraphs in heaven
Foam at the mouth and stomp.

And this was the reason that long ago
The wind came tossing and pitching
My Ulabel Lume was blown off to her doom
From the poop-deck over the kitchen.

So that her high-born kinsmen came
And fished her up out of the blue
And rowed in a dream seven miles upstream.
[Could have made better time by canoe.]

The angels not so nearly so happy in heaven
When envying me and my bride.
Yes! that was the reason [as all men know
In this kingdom here by the tide]
That the heavenly wretches sent down the storm
That whistled her over the side.

But our love [like I said] was more than the love
Of those who were bigger than we,
Even some who were bigger than she,
And neither the angels in heaven above
Nor the swamp eels down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of my soul where that poor soul may be.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of my beautiful Ulabel Lume.
And the dew never damps without bringing me cramps
In the back, in the fog, in the gloom.
An although it's erroneous
All night pneumonious
I lie down by the side of my sweet and euphonious,
In the gloom of the doom of the tomb
Of whom? My long lost, my Ulabel Lume.
attributed to Barbara M. Angell

Andrew M'Crie
It was many and many a year ago,
In a city by the sea,
That a man there lived whom I happened to know
By the name of Andrew M'Crie;
And this man he slept in another room
But ground and had meals with me.

I was an ass and he was an ass,
In this city by the sea;
But we ground in a way that was more than a grind,
I and Andrew M'Crie;
In a way that the idle semis next door
Declared was shameful to see.

And this was the reason that, one dark night,
In this city by the sea,
A stone flew in at the window, hitting
The milk-jug and Andrew M'Crie.
And once some low-bred tertians came,
And bore him away from me,
And shoved him into a private house
Where the people were having tea.

Professors, not half so well up in their work,
Went envying him and me,
Yes! that was the reason, I always thought
[And Andrew agreed with me],
Why they ploughed us both at the end of the year,
Chilling and killing poor Andrew M'Crie.
But his ghost is more terrible far than the ghosts
Of many more famous than he
Of many more gory than he
And neither the visits to foreign coasts,
Nor tonics, can ever set free
Two well-known Profs. from the haunting wraith
Of the injured Andrew M'Crie.

For at night, as they dream, they frequently scream,
'Have mercy, Mr. M'Crie! '
And at morn they will rise with bloodshot eyes,
And the very first thing they will see,
When they dare to descend to their coffee and rolls,
Sitting down on the scuttle, the scuttle of coals,
With a volume of notes on its knee,
Is the spectre of Andrew M'Crie.
Robert Fuller Murray 1863_1894

Gal and Parolee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a prison by the sea,
That a maiden sent mail to a convict there
Who swore he would someday go free:
His behavior was good, he was fully reformed,
And he'd soon be a new parolee.

She was a girl and he was a man
In a prison by the sea,
And he'd once killed a man by removing his lungs
And hanging them both from a tree,
But they loved with a love that inspired a tattoo
On his chest for his cellmates to see.

And it came to pass that, long ago,
In that prison by the sea,
A board of trustees approved the release
Of a handsome and young parolee.
He came at once to her door and asked,
"My love, will you marry me?
Help me forget the grim despair
Of the prison by the sea."

The lovers were wed by the end of the week,
And her family had to agree,
Although he had spent so many years
In that prison by the sea,
They couldn't believe any horrible crimes
Were committed by this parolee.

But his love was so deep that he had to confess
To his wife on bended knee
Of the money beneath the tree
Where he'd gone and dissected the poor man's chest,
And she said, "It's no matter to me."
So he showed her the place and they dug up the cash,
And, laughing, she killed the parolee.

Now the stars never rise but she sees the dead eyes
Of her trusting, naive parolee,
And she's worried it shows, and that somebody knows
How she murdered the poor parolee.
So she moved far away, where she lives to this day,
For if she were caught she would then have to stay
In a prison by the sea,
In a cell by the sounding sea.
Francis Heaney

Cannibal Flea
It was many and many a year ago
In a District called E.C.
That a Monster dwelt whom I came to know
By the name of Cannibal Flea,
And the brute was possessed with no other thought
Than to live, and to live on me!

I was in bed, and he was in bed
In the District named E. C.,
When first in his thirst so accurse he burst
Upon me, the Cannibal Flea,
With a bite that felt as if some one had driven
A bayonet into me.

And this was the reason why long ago
In that District named E.C.
I tumbled out of my bed, willing
To capture the Cannibal Flea,
Who all the night until morning came
Kept boring into me!
It wore me down to a skeleton
In the District height E. C.

From that hour I sought my bed, eleven,
Till daylight he tortured me.
Yes! That was the reason [as all men know
In that District named E.C.]
I so often jumped out of my bed by night
Willing the killing of Cannibal Flea.

But his hops they were longer by far than the hops
Of creatures much larger than he
Of parties more long legged than he;
And neither the powder nor the turpentine drops,
Nor the person's engaged by me,
Were so clever as ever to stop me the hop
Of the terrible Cannibal Flea.

For at night with a scream, I am waked from my dream
By the terrible Cannibal Flea;
And at morn I ne'er rise without bites, of such size!
From the terrible Cannibal Flea.
So I'm forced to decide I'll no longer reside
In the District, The District, Where he doth abide,
The locality known as E.C.
That is postally known as E.C.
Tom Hood the Younger

Annabel Lee Up to Date
‘Twas Christmas Eve in a brown stone front
In the gloaming, as it should be,
That a maiden stood, whom you all may know
By the name of Annabel Lee.
That wasn't her name, but it's all the same
To anyone else but me.

And over her head, as the maiden stood,
In a manner quite negligentlee,
Was a mistletoe branch, not placed there by chance,
But rather by Annabel Lee.
If you knew her as well as I, you could tell
That she did it while waiting for me.

Her parents at that hour were out of the way;
This she said in her innocent glee,
And the place it was free, not only for me,
But also for Annabel Lee.
Which was not a mishap, but really a snap,
As you doubtless will agree.

Of course, in a case like this, which was
A case of necessitee,
There really was only one thing to do,
And I did it incessantlee;
Thus constantly kissing, and never once missing
The lips of sweet Annabel Lee.

‘Twas but the beginning, and all things end
as this did eventuallee.
Her father was wealthy, while I was broke,
Which did not come home to me
Until I was shaken, before being taken,
By the beautiful Annabel Lee.

This happened some time ago, and now,
In her kingdom by the sea,
Sweet Annabel sits, while her lord has fits,
Due to many and many a spree.
And I, all alone on my bachelor throne,
Quite pity sweet Annabel Lee.

Tom Masson 1866_1943 Life December 1896