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The Boot

Walking past The Boot tonight
a warm but sunless dusk
The door was open wide
drinkers shuffling and spilling out

I think of that favourite friend
who brought me here five years ago
We played some pool, supped our beer
as he talked of his dilemma

His partner wanted children
but regrettably, he did not
she gave him ultimatums
and he wasn’t sure what to do

When the world stopped for...

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Quixote's Windmills

I got out of bed every Sunday morning,

Old as I was; ate a full English breakfast,

Followed by porridge, I was ready for storming

those bastards on the Parish church doorsteps,

The Quakers, Wee Frees, the Muslims n' Jews,

Non-Conformists, Joves Witnesses united as one.

All preaching and pleading;

"don't sit in those pews",

You really don't want to be sitting in here,


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QuakersWee FreesMuslimsJewsNon-ConformistsJoves Witnessespubs

Hidden Talent

We know it will kill us,

But we do it anyway.

Huddled together,

Like this.

In this place of ill repute.

The townsfolk think poorly of us.

But I am sure

Someone in here,

Has read Rimbaud.

Written poetry,

Dreamt of Dante.

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alcohol abusepubsRimbaudDanteaddictiondrunksicknesssad


Yes, our pubs are all great places,
Where people love to get together.
They are always full of laughter,
And no one cares about the weather.

One may choose to get quite tipsy,
It makes reactions all slowed down.
You say things you wouldn't sober,
Then visit every pub in town.

And if you have no more money,
From someone else you'll have to borrow.
And know that when you go to bed

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Stuart VannerPubsDrink


Back in those days

you could smoke in the pubs,

we’d suck on those sticks to our finger tips

then casually, carelessly drop the stubs

and twist them into the floor with our feet,

openly, brazenly, never discreet.

The stench of burning carpet, the smell of spilt ale

would meet in a plume of noxious gas,

fetid, fusty and stale;

like a fart in a working man’s café.

A flo...

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Old Fred

They know what he drinks

and that he likes it in a glass with a handle.


They know he never comes in on Tuesdays.


They know where he sits,

and how all of his stories

have changed over the years.


They know his kids and grandkids,

although they’ve never met,

and on the day that he doesn’t show up

they know who to call.



(Originally published in t...

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drinkinghalf moonpubs

Pringles' Bladder

Pringles' Bladder
You know what it's like 
Enjoying a beer
The company of mates
Cracking atmosphere
It's a great first pint
You knock it back
And get another in
Whilst enjoying the craic
The drinks just flow
As the night goes on
Round after round
Has been and gone
But your bladder is filling
With the fifth drink
But a trip to the toi...

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A Pub I Used To Know

The polished wooden bar

is just how I remember.

The optics, the glasses

everything is the same

The beer and pint pots

Drinks for the masses

And the barmaids smile is just as nice

as a barmaid that worked here thirty years ago

For thirty years ago I knew them all;

bar men, barmaids

pot men, and land lords.

Bar loungers, beer drinkers

and Pool playe...

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Then the muse of good mood arrived ...

I wasn't in the mood for poetry last night - a bad day at work had made me all grumpy.
But a after large red wine with a pal in my local pub, Hell's Waiting Room, the muse of good spirits came and perched on my shoulder.
So, as it happened, I DID very much enjoy a most life-affirming BARDS poetry session in New Brighton last night.


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