Your Poetry Dot Com

Welcome to Your Poetry Dot Com - Read, Rate, Comment on, or Submit Poetry. Browse Poetry Forums, or just enjoy other parts of our poetic community.
One of the largest databases of poetry on the net, now over 198,500+ poems!

Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+

Custom Search


Welcome !	Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link	29-May 19:47:58 AEST

Menu

· Our eBay Store

· Error Submit

Poetry

· Submit Poetry

· Least Read Poems

· Members Listing

· Old Site Post 2001

· Old Site Pre 2001

· Poetry Archive

· Public Domain Poetry

Stories

· Stories (NEW ! )

· Submit Story

· Story Topics

· Stories Archive

· Story Search

Community

· Our Poetry Forums

· Our Arcade
100's of Games !

Site Help

· FAQ

· Feedback

Members Areas

· Your Account

· Members Journals

· Premium Sign-Up

Premium Section

· Special Section

· Premium Poems

· Premium Submit

· Premium Search

· Premium Archive

· Premium Topics

Fun & Games

· Jokes

· Bubble Puzzle

· Cross Word Easy

· Word Hunt

Reference

· Dictionary (Rhyming)

· Site Updates

· Special Content

Search

Top

Help This Site

· Donations

Others

· Moderators

Our Other Sites

· Embroidery Design Store
· Your Jokes
· Special Urls
· JM Embroideries
· Public Domain Poetry and Stories
· Diamond Dotz
· Cooking Info and Recipes
· Quoof - Australian Story

Social

Array ( [sid] => 176868 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Boarded up Pub [time] => 2013-09-15 16:09:40 [hometext] => [bodytext] => My locals run it's taps
old men walk by with dogs, sigh,
and it all comes flooding back
Their stories, small glories
and indeed their way of life.
What better way for us to
understand it, than to have it
poured into the pint
that stands cool in your palm
or to hear it in the aged
creak of polished floor-boards
or woven into the faded fabric
of the stools and curtains.
Just how many beers
how many years have
drained into those beer mats,
my locals run it's taps.

Now people pull up by the traffic lights
and witness the distressing sight
of a boarded-up pub being soaked
in the sad rays of battered sunlight.
It stands there ashamed
forlorn and unamed.
Just there to tease
crackling memories
visualising the smoky scenes of
old men spreading mustard
over their cobs, long retired
from industrial jobs,
tentative young lovers
and strange irish music,
Ironed striped shirts and funky cologne.
And the pints and chinese menus sent
flying in the mad football atmosphere.
I remember the
birthday girls half asleep on stools
and the birthday boys collapsed in cubicles.

Also the low,
low,
low,
points,
the unappeasable dullness of those overcast
weekdays. The outcasts, the henpecked,
the retired, the vagabonds
leaning up the bar with shop-
ing bags, engaged in querulous
conversations centred on
stingy relatives,
hospital appointments,
job-centres and stale marriages.
Frittering away ephemeral time
and cadging cigarettes
on them mind grinding giro days.
Those haunting and desolate sights
of grizzled men playing dominoes
soft eyes set glazed in haggard faces
and slumped figures worn by age and Jamesons.
The foggy racecourse on the television screen
with the ambulance taling the straining pack
pleading eyes fixated and fists held to lips.
I remember sympathetically,
deep inside those dying final furlongs
the familiar hoarse and anguished
pleas of desperate indebted men.
Gambling away their wifes shopping money. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 148 [topic] => 21 [informant] => flavellm [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )

Boarded up Pub

Contributed by flavellm on Sunday, 15th September 2013 @ 04:09:40 PM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems

My locals run it's taps
old men walk by with dogs, sigh,
and it all comes flooding back
Their stories, small glories
and indeed their way of life.
What better way for us to
understand it, than to have it
poured into the pint
that stands cool in your palm
or to hear it in the aged
creak of polished floor-boards
or woven into the faded fabric
of the stools and curtains.
Just how many beers
how many years have
drained into those beer mats,
my locals run it's taps.

Now people pull up by the traffic lights
and witness the distressing sight
of a boarded-up pub being soaked
in the sad rays of battered sunlight.
It stands there ashamed
forlorn and unamed.
Just there to tease
crackling memories
visualising the smoky scenes of
old men spreading mustard
over their cobs, long retired
from industrial jobs,
tentative young lovers
and strange irish music,
Ironed striped shirts and funky cologne.
And the pints and chinese menus sent
flying in the mad football atmosphere.
I remember the
birthday girls half asleep on stools
and the birthday boys collapsed in cubicles.

Also the low,
low,
low,
points,
the unappeasable dullness of those overcast
weekdays. The outcasts, the henpecked,
the retired, the vagabonds
leaning up the bar with shop-
ing bags, engaged in querulous
conversations centred on
stingy relatives,
hospital appointments,
job-centres and stale marriages.
Frittering away ephemeral time
and cadging cigarettes
on them mind grinding giro days.
Those haunting and desolate sights
of grizzled men playing dominoes
soft eyes set glazed in haggard faces
and slumped figures worn by age and Jamesons.
The foggy racecourse on the television screen
with the ambulance taling the straining pack
pleading eyes fixated and fists held to lips.
I remember sympathetically,
deep inside those dying final furlongs
the familiar hoarse and anguished
pleas of desperate indebted men.
Gambling away their wifes shopping money.

Copyright © flavellm ... [ 2013-09-15 16:09:40]
(Date/Time posted on site)

Advertisments:

Previous Posted Poem | | Next Posted Poem

Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more

All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title etc.

Re: Boarded up Pub (User Rating: 1 )
by unknown_utopia on Tuesday, 17th September 2013 @ 10:24:40 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

This is deep and thoughtful of things gone
but not forgotten.
well done.

Re: Boarded up Pub (User Rating: 1 )
by ladyfawn on Sunday, 27th April 2014 @ 10:43:30 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

beautifully written, love the images,

hugs n' love nessa

While every care is taken to ensure the general sites content is family safe, our moderators cannot be in all places; all the time. Please report poetry and or comments that are in breach of our site rules HERE (Please include poem title or url). Parents also please ensure that you supervise your children well when they are on the internet; regardless of what a site says about being, or being considered, child-safe.

Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©

Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster

All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com

All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.

Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com