Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

THE INN AT THE END OF A LIFE

The sign at the inn swung like a gallows,

the light lay low on the heath.

Old Ben was in his settle

sucking baccy through his teeth.

 

Puddles formed on the flagstones

where a one - eyed dog stood watch;

underneath a ragged sky

the inn was dark as a crotch,

 

except for a fire - lit window

that glowed like a winter star,

through which a cluster of faces took in

a man who stood at the bar.

 

They surrounded the place with pistols drawn

in the blackest of capes under the eaves

that dripped and dripped like widow's tears

from their hats and from their sleeves.

 

The man at the bar wore a coat and sword,

his hair held tight in a lavish bow,

all about him was still with fear,

like the shadows behind his back.

 

And in that silence that marks despair

he sensed his luck was running short,

and crossed himself with a muttered prayer

as the thought of a maiden's loving sport.

 

The swordsman turned and left the inn,

not single word he'd uttered,

and in the draught a candle went out,

"good riddance," the barman muttered.

 

And so into the reckless night

they took him far across the moor,

this royalist they so despised

to face the bastard common law.

◄ THE INN AT THE END OF A LIFE

CHIC LIT ►

Comments

Profile image

raypool

Fri 4th Jan 2019 13:56

Thanks for reading and liking , Brian, Hugh, David, Ghazal, Anya and Don.

Glad you enjoyed the wild and dark of the poem Jon thanks.

Thanks Mark, I will check out The Listeners. It's a bit of fun conjuring up the past.

Jennifer, just what I wanted to hear! From brain to keyboard to brain, job done!

I'm glad this was enjoyable Po. The mind and the eye can be like a camera, at least for me. Thanks.

Ray

Profile image

jennifer Malden

Wed 2nd Jan 2019 18:31

Fantastic! The scene setting in the first three verses is wonderful - you can see the inn and the various characters perfectly.

Jennifer

Profile image

M.C. Newberry

Tue 1st Jan 2019 15:56

Very suitable for the time of year when the weather takes on a life of
its own and emphasises the solitary predicament of the soul. And what better than a historical element for atmosphere?
There is something here that brings back to mind "The Listeners".

Profile image

Jon Stainsby

Tue 1st Jan 2019 14:00

A wonderfully dark tale.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message