The Old Man
An aged man came into the bar from out of the cold,
he was wearing a monk’s habit as in the days of old.
‘Like death warmed up’ my mother used to say,
as he sat by the open fire on this winters day.
He never spoke, ordered a drink, or even showed his face,
he hardly moved at all and everyone gave him space.
The barman said, “You can’t sit there without buying a drink, ”
a stare of stone was the response, “okay, I’ll give you time to think.”
The place went deathly quiet as whispers could only be heard,
“Where did this monk person come from, doesn’t he look absurd? ”
The whispering stopped as the man turned and looked directly at me,
he pointed with his long skeletal finger and croaked, “You will be he.”
I gulped, and nervously asked, “What are you talking about? ”
“You’ll be leaving here with me, so let’s make our way out.”
“I’m not going anywhere, ” I said, “until I’ve finished my beer.”
“That’s fine by me, ” he said, “I’ll be waiting here.”
To humour the old man I asked where he thought we were going.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, and by the way I’ll be doing the rowing? ”
“I’m sorry old man I’m not going anywhere, it’s much too cold outside.”
“You haven’t got it yet have you; we’re taking your last boat-ride? ”
“There are no boat-rides until spring the river’s been frozen for a week, ”
said the barman with a grin on his face that went from cheek to cheek.
“It’s not a literal boat-ride you fool it’s a journey everyone must take
and my job is to escort the travellers across the lake.”
“What is this old man on about, there are no lake’s around here,
come on everybody sup up, it’s time for another beer.”
“You are getting on my nerves barman give your mouth a rest,
or I’ll take someone with a mouth the size of his chest.”
The barman looked quite unsettled and threatened to throw him out
unless he ordered a drink, but he refused and called him a lout.
“That’s it, ” the barman said, “I’ve heard enough let’s have you outside.”
“That’s good enough for me, ” said the old man, “you’ll be taking the ride.”
At that precise moment the barman collapsed clutching his heart,
an ambulance was called and within minutes they had made a start.
The paramedics tried in vain to revive him: alas they could do no more,
but see the barman’s spirit and the old man walk through the door.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Related quotes
The Rain that Came to Stay
‘How much longer this drought, ' he said,
‘The creeks are running dry,
There's not a lot in the reservoir
And not a cloud in the sky,
The farmers, shooting the cattle that
Have nothing out there to drink,
How much longer this drought, ' he cried
In the pub at Innaminck!
The soil had turned to a fine bulldust,
The drought had cracked the clay,
There wasn't a green shoot anywhere
To be seen by the light of day,
The crops had failed, were ploughed back in
In hopes that the rain would come,
But the skies were clear for the rest of the year
From there to Jerusalem!
A tinker called in a beat-up car
And staggered in with his bag,
‘I'm Mickey Malone from County Down
With a thirst that could choke a shag! '
The barman served him a schooner, with
One gulp, he put it away,
But emptied his empty pockets when
The barman asked him to pay.
The tinker started his blarney then,
‘I'll sharpen your knives for free!
Just give me another schooner, chum
And we'll see what we will see!
I'll cut your keys, and I'll wash a dish,
Or I'll give you a hundred pegs.'
The barman reached and he grabbed his throat,
And lifted him off his legs!
‘You'll have to do better than that, my man,
Don't drink my beer for free!
I'm taking the wheels of your beat-up car
‘Til you play it straight with me! '
‘Hang on, hang on, just what do you want,
Whatever will pay my due! '
‘We could do with a shower of rain, my man,
But that's all I'd want from you! '
The tinker nodded, ‘No sooner said!
I'll make it tomorrow noon,
You'll have to give me a room to rent
And I'll whip it up in the gloom.'
The barman sneered, ‘You're having me on,
No way can you make it rain! '
‘You'll see, tomorrow, ' the tinker said,
‘Though you might think I'm insane! '
The barman locked him and his bag in a room,
And took a wheel off his car,
He knew if the tinker tried to escape
He wouldn't be going far,
But come the dawn, was a distant cloud
Spread out, and up from the south,
It tumbled and turned in the atmosphere
And looked like a dragon's mouth.
At noon the cloud was over their heads,
All black, and threatening rain,
A whirly blew up a dust storm there
And swirled at each window pane,
They locked the door of the pub up tight
And waited, tense as a rag,
The rain came down, ‘Aha, ' he said,
And the tinker patted his bag!
The patter of rain was heard on the roof,
The gutters began to fill,
The windows washed of their dust and silt
Right down to the window-sill,
The dust was settled, the ground was wet,
The cattle lowed in the field,
And everyone danced in the yard out there
The tide of their fortunes sealed.
The rain grew heavier by the hour,
The creeks had started to flow,
And even the reservoir burst its banks,
With nowhere else to go,
The water flooded across the plain
They waded up to their knees,
‘Enough, enough! ' But Malone replied:
‘Begorra, you're hard to please! '
It rained all night, and the following day,
It rained and rained for a week,
The pub was flooded from wall to wall
The water burst from the creek,
‘You've got to stop it, ' the barman cried,
But the tinker stood and frowned,
‘If the water rises much higher than this,
I think that we'll all be drowned! '
‘You said you wanted the rain, all right,
I gave it, now for my pay,
I can't go on in these tattered clothes
And my car's a give-away.
I'll need the van that you've parked out front
And a hundred cans of beer,
Not much to ask for your water, chum,
At the drought time of the year! '
The barman collared and kicked him out
With his bag and all beside,
The tinker lay in the water there,
His bag had sunk in the tide,
‘Will you stop it now, ' the barman said,
‘Or you'll wish you'd never been born! '
I can't! ' The tinker sat and he cried,
‘You've drowned my Leprechaun! '
It rains and rains at Innaminck,
It rains both day and night,
The pub sank under the water there
In a lake that's ten miles wide,
The farmers had to desert the land
To leave their sunken homes,
But put out a ‘Wanted', Nation wide
For a tinker, called Malone!
David Lewis Paget
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Punch Drunk
We got to the pub, and were served our food;
Everyone, it seemed, was in a good mood.
Then, in walked a man who was really drunk;
He was refused service, so he threw a punch.
Thankfully, the barman ducked out of the way,
But he pushed the panic button straightaway.
The man was angry, and he started swearing;
At him, the customers were, very soon, staring.
From swearing, he was politely asked to refrain;
To which he answered ‘I've got a villa in Spain! ' (?)
Both customer and barman were beginning to seethe.
The Duty Manager asked the antagonist to leave.
The door of the pub, the man was shown;
Now, in every local pub, he is well-known.
From all pubs in the city, he is now banned;
I guess his day didn't turn out quite as planned!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Rock Stop
Im dancing like a mad man
I hope she likes-a me
The chance to be just on my own
I wanna silly be
The club is full of people
Perhaps they think Im mad
I close my eyes and I go home
I feel a little sad
Chorus:
I just cant dance
My only chance
Im shy... shy... oh so shy
The girls dont like the way I move
I think at times Ive lost it
Do I look like I cant move
Or do I move exhausted
If I just knew she loves me
I know I wouldnt care
But she talks to the barman
And I think thats unfair
(chorus)
Im sad.. sad... oh so sad
And now that girl moves close to me
I join into her move
Pretending I enjoy it
And now I lost the groove
One guy stands tho, between us
Shows up with all his power
I now feel like an idiot
Who stands in a cold shower
(chorus)
The barman stares at me
So? so drink
Then turns around
And pours a wink
I move away
But play it cool
I think shes right
Im just a fool
(chorus)
Im shy... shy... oh so shy
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rock Stop
Im dancing like a mad man
I hope she likes-a me
The chance to be just on my own
I wanna silly be
The club is full of people
Perhaps they think Im mad
I close my eyes and I go home
I feel a little sad
Chorus:
I just cant dance
My only chance
Im shy... shy... oh so shy
The girls dont like the way I move
I think at times Ive lost it
Do I look like I cant move
Or do I move exhausted
If I just knew she loves me
I know I wouldnt care
But she talks to the barman
And I think thats unfair
(chorus)
Im sad.. sad... oh so sad
And now that girl moves close to me
I join into her move
Pretending I enjoy it
And now I lost the groove
One guy stands tho, between us
Shows up with all his power
I now feel like an idiot
Who stands in a cold shower
(chorus)
The barman stares at me
So? so drink
Then turns around
And pours a wink
I move away
But play it cool
I think shes right
Im just a fool
(chorus)
Im shy... shy... oh so shy
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On A Sunny Sunday
On a Sunny Day, You can See Forever.
The u-boat that cast anchor on the silky beach of Albufeira
the crew was dressed in German world war two uniforms,
bathers thought they were actors in a movie.
The captain came ashore he wanted to call Lisbon, to his
embassy, only the number didn’t exist anymore. He wanted
to surrender, his crew hungry and tired.
A kind barman gave the captain a cold beer, he drank it
greedily and asked what year this was.2011.
“My god” he exclaimed we have landed in a wrong century.
He walked back to his u-boat, a neat man every bit a hero.
The submarine, rusty, looking as it had been at the bottom of
the sea for ages, hoisted anchor, sailed into the blue yonder.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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What'll It Be?
The human soul
Is but the drink
Of the broken man
At the bar, sinking
in his golden therapy.
The half empty
Flask goes flat
As he grumbles
About his lack
of love and luck.
But he drinks it off
Through his spirits,
And though he
May not appear it
he's like all of us.
For when the barman asked,
'What'll it be? '
He could've asked
For anything
but here he is...
...Again
Enjoying his routine
Drowning his sorrow
With apathy
and, despite all his strife,
Makes one of yet another hundred
thousand toasts to life.
Each To His Or To Her Own
I only came into the pub for to have a quiet beer
But talk of football all I hear I ask what brought me here
And I thought there was more to life than talking of football
But with that at the Local Pub few would agree at all.
One fellow said my team doing well with stress on the word my
Methought he thinks he owns the team or so he seems to imply
And then he sang a line from the anthem of his club 'When the Saints go marching in'
His voice was booming loud and clear above the bar room din.
Suppose it beats talking of war or politics maybe
Though football a boring subject or so 'twould seem to me
But each to his or her own as they say and those words seem so true
And to them I seemed a boring man one of the unenlightened few.
One asked me what team do you barrack for mate, I said who win or lose
Won't matter much to you or I it won't pay for our booze
At which he only laughed aloud saying you must have a team
Or in your present company you are out of place 'twould seem.
Indeed I said how right you are on this we can agree
For you are you and I are I we see things differently
He shouted to the barman give the man a beer he's not a bad old boy
Though on a few important things we do not see eye to eye.
I bought him a beer before I left, thank you old boy he said
And he started to sing 'Good Old Collingwood' the booze had gone to his head
And as I walked out in the night the moon shone in the sky
And a boobook owl called on a gum in the Parkland nearby.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Ayers Rock / Uluru
old Mr Uluru
a proud man
the day the Rock
was handed back
sits waiting
old Mr Walkabout
a proud man
at the twenty-fifth
anniversary of the
hand back
sits waiting
in the Red Rock tavern
the old men sit
waiting
yous wanna beer
the barman yells
he comes over
whatcha waiting for
the old men stare out
over their Country
waiting
waiting
for recognition
as Traditional Owners
more than just
a few days
in their life time.
poem by Ali Eckermann
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Another Silence
Silence
Jarring things silence, voices in my head go on arguing about
the most humdrum subjects.22.55, or 23 hours? Look at
your watch, dust head. Always keep it ten minutes fast as not
miss the bus. Where are you going so late? Home, you idiot,
I can´t sit in the bar all night. The barman is polishing glasses,
spits on them to makes them shiny; none of my business.
I drink beer from the bottle, Walk home, Chomsky is going on
and on world´s coming to an end, and USA is an evil empire.
Furiously shake an almond tree its flowers fall silent as snow.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The drunkard thinks of only one thing and the barman of something else.
Anonymous Alcoholic
You walk in the room
The folks are all there
With glasses in hand
But you can't take the band
So you head for the bar
The barman's well stocked
He knows where you're at
He offers a drink
But you can't take none of that
(No you can't take none of that)
Everybody's having fun
So why be the one
Who's out in the cold
It's not good enough
You made a deal with yourself
You said you'd never take another drop
Your craving's big, your livers shot
You'd give a million for a solitary drop
You take your first belt
It tastes like pure hell
The second one drops
Intentions are shot
Well you think you might as well
You take another sip
You get to likin' it
The music sounds hip
So you head for the floor
(So you head for the floor)
Yea yea yea yea yea
Well you step out on the dance floor
And you grab at your boss's wife
You've been longing to hold her close
For the whole of your working life
And the band played on
Move your ass
Well your hostess is lookin' mad
As your hands start to wander
And your boss is gonna get you now
He's gonna put you six feet under
You get walked out the door
And your feet don't touch the floor
You're never gonna see 'em no more
The dawn starts to break
Your heads a big ache
You're lyin' in bed
You're back from the dead
And your mouth feels like old leather
(Old leather)
Never do it again
(You'll never do it again)
Everyone was havin' fun
But you were the one
Kicked out in the cold
You slept in your clothes
You let 'em down
Down at the club
You know your confidence got to take the rub
Your boss is sore
You've had your chance
He says he never wants to see you again
Don't wanna see you again
(Don't wanna see you again)
You've got to dry out
The boys have found out
It's the end of the line
But it's martini time
So you head for the bar..r...r..r..r..r
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No more school
No more school
No more school no sitting
It is the time to play
Let’s go to the river bank
And make doll with clay.
Keep all the books away
Let’s go to the field
With grass and shrubs
A beautiful hut we build.
From the top of the tree
Let’s count cloud
Getting rid of exam worry
Let’s sing aloud.
poem by Binoy Barman
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The Evenings Young
The evenings young
The night began
Between the bottles in a mirror
Im smiling at myself
Look in my eyes and start to count
The bottles on the shelf
Bottles on the shelf
Evenings young
The night began
Barman brings another beer
Could ask myself
Why am I here
Between the bottles in a mirror
Smiling at myself
Look in my eyes and start to count
The bottles on the shelf
I know I could at any time
Get up the chair and leave this place
I know I could at any time
Get up the chair and leave this place
I wait for me and my decision
Between the bottles thats my face
Tv shows a football game
I leave the place but all the same
If someone asked me hey guy you
Where do you go, what do you do?
I wouldnt know what I could say
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Evenings Young
The evenings young
The night began
Between the bottles in a mirror
Im smiling at myself
Look in my eyes and start to count
The bottles on the shelf
Bottles on the shelf
Evenings young
The night began
Barman brings another beer
Could ask myself
Why am I here
Between the bottles in a mirror
Smiling at myself
Look in my eyes and start to count
The bottles on the shelf
I know I could at any time
Get up the chair and leave this place
I know I could at any time
Get up the chair and leave this place
I wait for me and my decision
Between the bottles thats my face
Tv shows a football game
I leave the place but all the same
If someone asked me hey guy you
Where do you go, what do you do?
I wouldnt know what I could say
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Second of January 2006
Drove into Moruya the pre-beach
near coastal town, place
of my parents' retirement for fifteen years.
Their rented cottage re-occupied,
the garden no doubt not as it was
no one to fight the drought
and poor soil or indulge its subjects,
The shared grave went unvisited.
"Life is with the living" she would say,
so many are consumed by the monument,
but treat the living so appallingly.
Booked into the local pub,
had a beer at the near empty bar
spoke to the barman of my parents,
he'd not heard of them, but
knew the landlord.
An unimportant life, ordinary,
dispersed without trace,
the fate of all
quiet peaceful souls.
The highway bridged the river
straight out of town,
they'd fish and drift
it's tidal runs.
poem by Danny Draper
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10. The Fish Bar
When I walked into a fish bar
I fancied fish and fries
But when I got inside the bar
I couldn’t believe my eyes
The bar was full of many fish
I didn’t know what to think
Some were going to the bar
To get another drink
In the corner at a table
Sat a pair of Minky whales
Before them silver buckets
Both drinking large pail ales
Another fish came to the bar
A very large brown trout
He slammed his tankard on the top
And said another stout
The prawns sat sipping cocktails
Whilst the haddock had a smoke
Turbot’s had enough to drink
So finished off with coke
The mackerel had a lager
A squid just swam in beer
Eel swallowed all his olives
And made him feel quite queer
All the cod and whiting
With plaice sat drinking Pimm’s
Till a pilchard said it’s Friday
So they started singing hymns
An octopus was barman
With a hand on every pump
He gave a shrimp tequila
With a worm that made him jump
The salmon all drank shandy
From a bowl each had a straw
Beside a drunken manta ray
Now laid out on the floor
When I stepped up to the counter
I dared not order supper
So sat between two monkfish
And had a nice hot cuppa
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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The Last Dance
They had been dancing to the tunes of a juke box,
now it was dawn and they were alone except for
the barman who was asleep leaning his head on
his folded arms on the mahogany counter.
Soon the sun would break through followed by
the day and they had to face the dreaded future.
Both were married but not to each other, were their
love strong enough to survive the glare of the day?
They didn't know the answer, just one more dance.
Hell will come tomorrow with its heartache and loss,
but not yet. My god, let this moment last forever.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Quiet Evening at the Pub
'It's my opinion, ' the stranger said,
Though nobody'd asked for his point of view,
'That a pint of this Scottish Export
Is best followed up by a chaser or two! '
But the other drinkers simply ignored him,
He obviously had had a few,
Perhaps he was a travelling salesman,
At any rate, he was 'passing through'.
So they continued to talk about football
As people in pubs quite often do,
Their little hobby was so important
And why he had spoken they hadn't a clue.
'Well whats the matter with you b*stards?
Don't you realise that I'm talking to you?
You've got no manners but you'll regret it,
Do you know what I am going to do? '
He took a gun from inside his jacket,
Three shot rang out, then another two,
Three regulars lay dead on the carpet,
The barman collapsed, he was wounded too.
'Pay attention, you stupid b*stards!
When a stranger gives you his point of view,
Just remember that a pint of Export
Is best followed up by a chaser or two! '
It's not that I'm being superstitious
But I'll tell you something between me and you,
The events of that evening have given me nightmares
That only recede when I've had quite a few.
Wherever I travel since that awful night,
To Tipperary or to Timbuctoo,
I solemnly drink that Scottish Export,
And follow it up with a chaser or two! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Dram-Shop Ditty
I drink my fill of foamy ale
I sing a song, I tell a tale,
I play the fiddle;
My throat is chronically dry,
Yet savant of a sort am I,
And Life's my riddle.
For look! I raise my arm to drink-
A voluntary act, you think
(Nay, Sir, you're grinning)>
You're wrong: this stein of beer I've drained
to emptiness was pre-ordained
Since Time's beginning.
But stay! 'Tis I who err, because
Time has no birth; it always was,
It will be ever;
And trivial though my act appears,
Its repercussion down the years
Will perish never.
It will condition ages hence,
but its most urgent consequence,
You'll not deny, Sir,
Is that it should be filled again
To goad my philosophic brain,
If you will buy, Sir.
There is no great, there is no small;
Fate makes a tapestry of all,
each stitch is needed . . .
The gods be praised! that barman chap
Manipulates his frothing tap -
My plea is heeded.
Two foaming tankards over-spill,
And soon, ah! not too soon, they will
Our thirst be slaking.
Stout lad! he does not dream that he
A page of history maybe
Is blandly making.
For Sir, it was ordained that you
Buy me a drink (or maybe two)
Since ages hoary;
And doubtless it is predestined
our meeting shall affect in kind
Earth's Cosmic Story.
The fathomless, eternal Past,
The Future infinitely vast,
We two are linking;
So let us fitly celebrate
This moment of immortal Fate
In drinking, drinking.
But though I toss a hearty pot,
Kind stranger, do not think I'm not
For Truth a groper . . .
Another? Thanks, I won't refuse,
I am a tippler, if you choose,
But not a toper.
A nice distinction! . . . Well, life's good;
Just give me beer, rich greasy food,
And let me fiddle;
Enough of dull philosophy;
To-night we'll merry, merry be . . .
Hi-diddle-diddle.
poem by Robert William Service
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Happy Hour
Its happy hour again
I think I might be happy if I wasnt out with them
And theyre happy its a lovely place to be
Happy that the fire is real the barman is a she
Where the haircuts smile
And the meaning of style
Is a night out with the bass
Where you win or you lose
And its them who choose
And if you dont win then youve lost
What a good place to be
Dont believe it
cause they speak a different language
And its never really happened to me
{its happy hour again}
Dont believe it
cause they speak a different language
And its never really happened to me
{its happy hour again}
Its another night out with the boss
Following in footsteps overgrown with moss
And they tell me that women grow on trees
And if you catch them right they will land upon their knees
Where they open all their wallets
And they close all their minds
And they love to buy you all a drink
And then we ask all the questions
And you take all your clothes off
And go back to the kitchen sink
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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