The Pub

Posted on Apr 10, 2012

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**I wrote the following poem about the pub because here in the UK and Ireland it is a huge part of community life and many are now being torn down or closed and renovated into other uses at a rate of 50 per week to make way for flats, shops and anything that doesn’t offer community which the pub has always done for 2000yrs in the UK. I find this very sad. It affects jobs, community and a way of life that is fast disappearing. There’s around 20 in my town alone now when there were 3 times that number when I was a kid and far more before I was born. Three that stand out in my mind was a coaching inn used by Henry VIII on more than one occasion and was Grade II listed so around 500yrs old. It was torn down to make way for a shopping complex which didn’t happen for another 10yrs after they had pulled it down. Another was a Grade II listed canal-side pub that was pulled down by ‘accident’ so it was said by developers who then built 4 luxury homes in its place. Another Grade II building is sill standing but has sadly been ripped out inside and turned into a MacDonald’s whom I hate with a passion. Anyway, rant over and I hope you enjoy the ode to the pub of which I could write much more of as I worked in a soulless one for years that has helped with the downfall of small businesses everywhere in the pub world.

People chatting away
Putting the world to rights
The same laughs and grumbles everyday
Going late into the night
The old boys in their usual seats
Bemoaning all and everything
They’re in everyday with shuffling feet
One of them may even sing
People politely nod to the old soul
Listening to stale stories told
By a regular enjoying his role
Who’s booming voice is so bold
Then there’s the young
Who drink away fast
Sour hots hit their tongue
An all day session already cast
They go from bar to bar
Always on a pub crawl
They never get very far
One of them becomes a fool
Whilst the staff look on
Hearing all from where they serve
Smiling, laughing, frowning all day long
From new and same old faces stories heard
Many have met in bars and pubs
Friends, lovers from all walks of life
Over a drink or even some grub
This unity takes no sides
The drink it pours, it sings
As many escape their woes
For this the story the pub does bring
A happiness from life’s lows
So it’s sad when one is torn down
Ripped from the heart of community
Replaced by flats in a grey town
Where no-one has no unity

Posted in: Poetry