Almanac Poetry: The Pub

The Pub

 

In the shade of a wide veranda.

That hangs like a furrowed brow.

Kids who want to be older.

Peer through windows that only look in.

 

Bar stools gather in conversation.

Surrounded by men on legs.

Smoke wafts in the air.

Lifted by tilting heads.

 

Beer glasses stand like soldiers.

Some young and fresh and frothy.

Looking over the top.

Their youth to be swallowed.

 

The carpet could tell a few yarns.

Held together by old pours.

Its red and black and orange.

And blue and white and grey.

 

The Panasonic finds its voice.

They’re in Warracknabeal or Dunkeld.

He calls the nags home.

Next week is won or lost.

 

Laughs are full of lungs.

Emphysema has found a home.

A cough expels experience.

His shirt is as old as the hills.

 

The barman lifts his head.

Old mate counters with eyebrows.

Pots foam on the timber.

Wisdom grows in the surrounds.

 

Mavis calls the raffle.

Blue 74!! Is he here?

The ticket sits in a pocket.

Next to an antique hanky .

 

The club legend hangs on the wall.

Lost in a skirmish on the Somme.

His face wizened at a young age.

From breaking bones and fence posts.

 

 

Boots kick off the dust.

Sweat adds texture to the air.

The pub is the best place.

It is the town laid bare.

 

More from Dips O’Donnell HERE

 

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About Damian O'Donnell

I'm passionate about breathing. And you should always chase your passions. If I read one more thing about what defines leadership I think I'll go crazy. Go Cats.

Comments

  1. Kevin Densley says

    Nice one, Dips! You’ve captured pub culture in an enjoyable, well-observed and often left-field way.

  2. Luke Reynolds says

    Beautiful Dips.

    The colours of the carpet well described. Mavis calling the raffle a standard in many country pubs.

  3. Thanks boys. Not a great poem really but I do love a good pub!

  4. Pubs as they were – more than they are now with big screens & tasting platters & “gaming” rooms. Remembrance of Things Pissed.

  5. My natural habitat.

    Thanks for reminding me Dips.

  6. V well played,Dips yep I’m a Mavis

  7. This is a keeper Dips. It needs Slim Dusty or maybe Troy Cassar-Daly to turn it to song.

    Some terrific images, this one really caught me:

    Beer glasses stand like soldiers.
    Some young and fresh and frothy.
    Looking over the top.
    Their youth to be swallowed

    Cheers

  8. Well played, Dips.
    This is another reminder of what we are missing: not just to go and get outrageously pissed, but more to catch up with mates, have some banter and enjoy a yarn or two. I miss the pub terribly.

  9. Thanks chaps. The pub, hey? Who would have thought we’d miss it?

  10. Dips- JTH recently said on here that there’s a story in every pub visit and I reckon you’ve distilled those into a single poem. I know this pub well! Confession: I reckon it was only this century that I retired all my hankies.

  11. Cheers Mickey. Hope you’re travelling well.

    I feel like here in Victoria we’re in a parallel universe. A visit to a pub looks as far off as a Melbourne premiership.

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