Best Pubs Poems
Weekly this sorry procession
rolls out a parade of wannabe
kings and queens,
heirs unapparent to the realms of nothingness.
Girls with elaborate hairdos,
boys drenched in cheap cologne;
drawn to the main drag pubs,
solitary ventilators of the monochrome kingdom.
Factory gates closed, chained, padlocked;
the great Friday escape, a weekend parole
‘till Monday morning cracks a brutal dawn
of hangovers and regret.
Girlish expectation of that certain special
someone to sweep them
up in the arms of romance, die
as dead as stone at the first drunken leer.
Boyish dreams of page three sex kittens
doubling as wives to come home to;
dreams which exponentially dissolve with the
gradual expansion of nurtured beer guts.
Doomed to this since the rude
prime spark of conception;
but when there is next to nothing
embracing what there is becomes the only thing to do.
Girls grow shrill and dowdy,
hairdos architectural disasters,
age and sucking filter tips trace
sallow lines about lipstick smeared mouths.
Boys grow fat and ape like,
bitter shirt-busting bellies barely
defying gravity, secreting peptic ulcers
swiftly germinating to perforation point.
Dreams drain of value, are clear no more,
lost in nicotine clouds and beer spills;
nothing remains save senselessness and habit,
still drawn to the main drag pubs.
All they wanted was a life,
not too much to ask;
but the main drag pubs are all there is
and happiness was never their promise to keep.
Never bare your soul,
otherwise, you will most probably
have created your own black hole
SCOTLAND'S MONSTER DINNER
walking upon the moors of Scotland i saw a sprite who
became a unicorn -- she mated with Kelpie: kissing
therianthropy --> she rode the unicorn: shedding her skin--
saltire!
I when to Restaurant Andrew Fairlie --
manager said someone got mutilated late last night -- upon the
moors of Scotland! Oh no!
Glad I ate Haggis! Sean Connery in drag -- like a werewolf
kissing Gerard Butler. Princes Street spending howls
shopping in the street in the capital! Edinburg makes
nice suits and covers all things of humans and beasts. but i
prefer Lothian Road in the west; near Leith Street! In the east!
oh ah Aaoooooo!
Like Lon Chaney drinking a pina colada!
:: 09.09.2020
Many-hued pubs bid me welcome
As would friends on the street
And so does Cromwell Bridge
Where long ago we first met.
I see the fields where we played
And plucked up the kerry violets.
I gaze out over the dark bay
Reflecting our lives as glass.
Memories live but a season
And like a photograph
And erelong, I will be as one
Fading - crumbling fast.
When you are old and banjaxed
Will you still remember
And find there my countenance
Among the leas of Kenmare?
Bubbling babbling burbling banter from the bar..
Sup hush….memory lane trip...Proustian rush..pleasingly tickled.
Plushly ebbed…spidery beer swirls webbed…lace whirls..grace dimpled dappled jar..
Perch...parched pagans besmirch..sip...druid fluid drip..Iris’s secular church..
Venerate yesteryear dips…commemorate Faustian fillips....teasingly pickled..
Smug treacle toned thatch rugs hugs sturdy slabs.. shrugs..
Tugs tussling tree torn trusses and trestles....
Trumpets tradition.. crisp crumpets in flames..sedition flickering..
Like sassy strumpets calling each other names…playfully bickering..
Remember the surreal cast….gayfully ethereal echoes..
Beacons blush in the embers of the past..
Classy pubs dripping with polished pewter.. parochial paraphernalia…ballsy brass...
Crepuscular charms. splinters splicing smokey shadows..
Wafting whispers.. across tobacco tinted tainted times..
Whistles whetted..quaffing…quenching ...cavorting with crannies..
Carousing with nooks naked in timber flannelled panels..
Canoodling on fecund bulbous bales farm foraged.. freshly fashioned...
Flirtatious follicle flicks....gurgling guffaws, raffish rascals' whisky whimsy..
Courting curious covens..sporting prosecco cackle cacophonies.
As sons become dad..in turn perched with their lad..
Lady lawyer betwixt a pimpled tyro…local employer, bumpkin on the giro..
Museums of marvels.. hoodwink misplaced metaphors..
Laced with a house pour of moreish memories of before..
That without impunity the nub of a pub..
The bar.. a community hubbub hub..
Gracious Landladies…loquacious Landlords..
Sagacious stars...near and far..
We raise our jar.
For our home from home..
A public house..
Ta..
Rain pouring on pubs
Grey cotton weaving up high
Sprinkling on churches