Submitted to Poets United
Poetry Pantry #361
July 9, 2017
On most any night in some local pub
Regulars show up to their private club
Seeking libation for broken dreams
Enough to quiet their silent screams
A shot of inspiration, a bottle of hope
A cure-all, they think, to help them cope.
Familiar faces tell the same old war stories
And the same listeners hear of long ago glories
Smoky haze hangs like tattered gauze
Over shallow smiles and drooping jaws
Speaking of what almost was and might have been
And how they wish they could start again
The friendly bartender orchestrates it all
And bides his time til he issues last call
The cast of characters leaves, having silenced their din
… but they return the next night to do it again
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It's ridiculous and sad, isn't it?
ReplyDeleteWell captured moments. This so exceptionally paints those hazy pubs.
ReplyDeleteYes I see it too. The regulars who have no place called home (anymore).. it's sad but still soothing in a way,
ReplyDeleteThe saddest stories are those that might have been...
ReplyDeleteI couldn't help but think of 'Cheers' - though drinking is a rocky path at least there is a place to go and belong
ReplyDeleteAh, the bartenders hear it all, I am sure. Thankfully some people have somewhere to go where they can be heard....if only they do not drink TOO much.
ReplyDeleteA wonderful poem.....I can't help but think these souls on the barstools are connected in a grand community.....of course the freely drinking isn't always a good thing when done too often.
ReplyDeleteDonna@LivingFromHappiness
I almost want to go there. Cheap therapy? Or woundology?
ReplyDeleteYou paint such a good picture with your words. It's sad, but I suppose this type of gathering promotes some comfort (as long as the drinking is not excessive).
ReplyDeleteOne must wonder if the libations do silence the screams, or if they just muffle them a bit... just to make them come back louder.
ReplyDelete"Seeking libation for broken dreams"........that is the truth of it!
ReplyDeleteGlory days...
ReplyDeleteA good capture.
ReplyDeleteA brilliant capture. I know the place well ~ smiles ~
ReplyDeleteLove the atmosphere you created especially Smoky haze hangs like tattered gauze ...
ReplyDeleteA sad reality. Loneliness is probably the world's most crippling disease.
ReplyDeleteSo very sad. All the characters here seem to be made of sighs.
ReplyDeleteThe futility of war is cruel in that servicemen and women have to live with their memories for ever more so their lives are forever scarred.
ReplyDeleteis it really so sad though? This is communal - they could instead be all separate and alone at home instead dreaming their old dreams. Too many pubs in the UK have closed and we are losing these valuable public places - I love this description though
ReplyDelete"Smoky haze hangs like tattered gauze
Over shallow smiles and drooping jaws"
The saddest stories are those that might have been.. sigh..
ReplyDeleteYour work with form and rhyme is very strong, and used here, convey a lasting impression.
ReplyDeleteWe all have tender spots in our lives, in a darkened room, we take a sip, still the pain burns our heart in two. You tell a sad story, in Last Call.
ReplyDelete