an old country pub

a small poem about an old english pub.

Old country pub

 

 

 

The smell of stale beer and gin slap

you around the face as soon as

one glides into an

old country pub.

 

 

A barmaid with a huge cleavage ask for you order,

her manner is friendly and welcoming.

Real Ale is pulled, bags of pork

Scratchings are opened.

Silky beer falls

Down your

Throat.

 

 

A white dog sleeps next to a blazing fire, framed

Photos of the countryside hang

 on the wooden walls, The

taste of nostalgia

lingers on the

tastebuds

 

After a few pints, one wonders outside into the haze of the setting

Sun, The image of red sunshine falling on the hop field is

 breathtaking! You take in a gulp of cold air and your lungs

 burn. The smell of stale beer is

 forever up you

 nostrils.

 

 

Reviews

[Dr. S. D. Blankenship D..]

This -- an old country pub,
A Poem by Luke Ritta-- is what most Irish men/women fall asleep and/or wake up to. I know the smell you speak-of. We have an Irish Pub right down the street here, many folk-lures and Irish folk music. I enjoy it all too much. I have edited, (which I shall send in a message, as to I know how bad mannered it would be of me to send it here in a "review"--hogging all the points myself). And I have made some changes to your grammar, (i.e. You to your, or Testbuds to taste buds.

I sure hope this helps in your journey to being a more advanced poet.
~ S. D. Blankenship

[Samantha ~virginpoet]

nice work my fave part is the 3rd stanza

small typo 2ed stanza first line "you" should be your

[LinBin]

WONDERFULLY ATMOSPHERIC...I WANT TO DRINK IN THAT PUB....GORGEOUS X