"barmaid" poems
I wonder how some people's brains work
why their bodies twist and twerk
is it all just attention seeking
and what the hell is fleeking?
now I'm not one to sit and judge
because I never passed the bar
without stopping to get drunk
not quite down in one
more like two below par
this is when you begin people watching
a popular pub past time
I saw a guy who was pork scratching
which certainly put me off mine
a barmaid stood there ready to serve
who just wanted some peace and quiet
but the men they formed a queue to perve
she almost caused a riot
now I guess I am just another fool
that's drinking after hours
barely balancing upon a stool
trying to maintain his mental powers
from the far corner, a drunk begins to sing
before collapsing on the floor
just as the last order bell rings
maybe I'll have another
I only drank two or was it four?
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC
The barmaid,
the one with the toned forearms
and the cute accent,
looks like you.
Feelings come back momentarily.
I keep my mouth shut,
like I always have.
That's our relationship.
Congrats on your engagement.
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 5:04 PM UTC
There's a secret men's club,
Of men at the pub,
We are men, we drink beer,
Loud laughter over here,
Slap shoulders, cheers,
We are men, we drink beer,
Bring the barmaid over here,
Let's drink beer, cheers,
Loud laughs and leers,
"I'll give you one, my dear!"
Men laugh, say, "Hear, Hear!"
Chicks walk by smiling,
What are babes thinking?
"Underwhelming,
Have a look at them,
They're no excuse for men!"
Men laugh and don't care,
More beers over here,
There's a secret men's club,
All the men down at the pub.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 5:00 AM UTC
give me five minutes i said and
the glass, notempty, stared back
americans at the bar
refused to be quiet
as the poem forced itself through the belgian air
brussels they said is where
it all comes together - the barmaid, watching me silently, agrees
difficult not to see that 0-0 result as a judgment, a prediction an omen
no score?
i'd hoped for more
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
i understood loneliness
after my shift one day
sitting at a table of the
steakhouse I worked at
eating a
sad soggy salad and this
woman at the bar is
on her own
looking around
making uncomfortable
faces and frantically
searching the restaurant
with her crazy eyes
it’s awful and it makes me
feel bad for her
i cringe because
i know she is looking for the barmaid
to talk with
they've become friends and now
she needs her and her
need is all out there
displayed in the open
desperate and pathetic
i am sickened by the sight that I can’t touch
my salad
i feel so bad
i don’t want to be in
the vicinity of her but it also
makes me sick to think of myself
because here I am
sitting alone and
who is to say no one is
across the restaurant and
feeling bad
watching me eat this
sad soggy salad
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
Empty glasses sit like soldiers at attention.
8 wide, 10 thick;
ranks for drunks.
The business of boredom
beats the barmaids and patrons
into service,
or subservience.
We are watched over
by flickering eyes
which could
stop
staring
at any moment.
Loneliness is a half-pint.
I'm glad my glass is full.
I'm glad the barmaid wears checks on her stockings.
I'm glad the barmaid reads.
I'm glad the economy is ******
so economists have something to make them feel interesting.
I'm glad the lesbians found feminism;
instead of Jesus.
I'm glad for the sad eyed, gray haired drunks
that live off Marlboro Red's and dream-fumes.
I'm glad the roof is stained with memories:
postcards
sketches
photographs
an old box of pills.
And I love you because you're a **********
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 9:50 AM UTC
Though, if you ask her name, she says Elise,
Being plain Elizabeth, e'en let it pass,
And own that, if her aspirates take their ease,
She ever makes a point, in washing glass,
Handling the engine, turning taps for tots,
And countering change, and scorning what men say,
Of posing as a dove among the pots,
Nor often gives her dignity away.
Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes
Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist;
Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries
From penny novels to amend her taste;
And, having mopped the zinc for certain years,
And faced the gas, she fades and disappears.
1.8k
A smoke-filled room, a loud gaffaw, the barmaid pours a beer,
the pub is full of country blokes and Aussie atmosphere.
Some 'Chisel' thru the speakers, the racetrack on the telly,
pool table sending iv'ry ***** to its underbelly.
Walls adorned with history, and heads of native birds,
the Nation'l Anthem in a frame, 'cause no-one knows the words.
An ag'ed man sits in the corner, sipping at his ale,
his teeth are stained, his liver's shot, his ragged skin is pale.
Young buck swaggers in and, as the room lets up a shout,
he tips his head in mock salute and takes his earnings out.
Good mates standing at the bar as jugs are passed around,
the yarns are flowing freely to impress the growing crowd.
The old man in the corner holds his voice above the din,
"You boys want a story, eh? Well, buck up and listen in.
Jus' the other day this feller was sat here at the bar,
he held his glass with steel hook, his cheek, it had a scar.
That scar, it ran from ear to chin, ****** it was shockin',
angry, red and all inflamed, he'd taken quite a coppin'.
With legs the size of tree trunks an' a barrel for a chest,
he looked as though, with just one blow, he'd put a man to rest.
I ventured on the happenings, and nodded to his claws,
he turned to me, quite wearily, and spoke, after a pause."
As if to emulate the mood, the old man waits a bit,
he squints his eyes upon the crowd and makes a show of it.
"This bloke is felling up a tree, 'bout fifty foot or so,
a lightning bolt, he gets a jolt, the chainsaw he lets go.
It backs up from the branch and lops off both his paws,
then, before he thinks to catch 'em, they hit the forest floors.
He’s with them soon enough, as the rest of him descended.
I shakes me head, 'Christ!' I says, tryin' to comprehend it."
The crowd is leaning forward and the air is getting tense,
the old man lights a cigarette, just to build suspense.
He slowly sips at his beer, then lifts his head to speak,
"Me eyes then trail from steel claws to mark upon 'is cheek,
'That how you did your face in, the chainsaw misbehavin'?'
He took a pause, held up his claws, and shrugged, "Cut it shavin'.""
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 4:02 AM UTC
There are three types of lies,
You're honing each one as time flies,
I have been intimate with each one of yours.
The first is the simplest lie,
You kept repeating it time and again,
I lost count of the times you said, "I love you."
The second is the **** lie**,
This one is more complex and deceitful,
Even you lost count of saying, "I love you forever."
And the third one is called the Statistics,
As afterwards, you kept blaming its demise on me,
Many times I heard, "Countless times you forgot about me."
I never intended to blow the whistle on you,
But last night you said it on call that I kept forgetting,
I'd have forgotten my virginity or its loss before my accident,
But one thing I simply could not have ever forgotten,
I had become someone else from your own name.
But I hear a faint melody from a distant place,
Maybe a mermaid sings it softly for me,
Or who knows another barmaid!
Scared to death I am of love,
Neither can I bear another betrayal,
Nor can my heart now be a loveless barren.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
She, betrayed, in histrionic flow,
Heart akimbo, flailing at the sky,
Fired with voyeuristic need-to-know,
Rages at the outing of a lie.
He, defensive, understanding, sure,
Accommodates the outburst in his stride.
Lassoes her with a practiced sinecure;
Instinctive gesture, expertly applied.
She, bewildered, aimless and morose –
(He, distracted by the barmaid’s hips) –
Casts aside the guilt-effacing rose;
Repealed devotion scrawled upon her lips.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
Pirate girls have the red-est hair
with an attitude of they don't care
After a night of heavy drinking
it's off to some more ship sinking
Barmaid's they have eyes of blue
that you can get lost into
Pouring one drink after another
any wonder why we love her
Soccer moms are where it's at!
Eyes of green and hair of black
Mini vans and low cut jeans
Sweet lil things of truckers dreams
Derby girls with bright blue locks
Hot pink skates and plaid tube socks
A date with them is quite a time
The way they roll will blow your mind
So many different girls
of so many different colors
Have the boys falling
all over each other
Saddened by
that lonely day
When all bright
colors fade...
to gray...
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
****** flirting with that barmaid like that. He says that he was just having a laugh but I’m sick of it. Everytime we go out it’s the same
“Oh its just a laugh Lucy. Just chill out, get a life”.
“I’ll get a life without you” I told him as I threw my ***** and coke in his face. He was furious but give him his due he didn’t retaliate. He’s a womanising ******** but he has never been violent.
Its dark walking home. Still its only 20 minutes from the pub to my flat. He’d better not think of coming back there, ****** **** its raining. I’ll be drenched. I new that I should have called a cab but I was so het up, not thinking straight.
That blokes been following me for the past few minutes. Don’t panic Lucy it’s a coincidence. He just happens to be going in the same direction as you. I can’t see his face. That hat pulled down almost hiding his eyes, I don’t like it. Christ he’s walking fast, almost running. Keep calm he just wants to get home out of the rain the same as you. But he’s running straight at you. **** the alley’s empty just this ****** and me. Scream, call for help. But he hasn’t done anything, he’s only running. Shout anyway it will scare him away.
“Help, help someone please help”.
There are no houses around here. No one can hear me. I shouldn’t have gone down this short cut, It saves 5 minutes but its taken me away from the main street. Oh Christ why didn’t I call a cab. Please, please god help me. He’s running now. I can here him calling for me to stop. You must be ******* joking mate I’m not stopping for you! I can’t run in these heels. Off they come. I haven’t been to the gym for ages. God I’m so out of condition I’m wheezing like an old man. My chest’s killing me and I’ve a stitch in my right side. Must rest. Can’t rest he’ll catch you. Must stop for a moment. I can’t. Oh **** he’s still gaining on me I wish I’d kept going to the gym with the girls. Please, please no he’s almost on top of me. Run, Run Lucy, must get away. I can see the street lights up ahead. Just one more spurt and your back in civilisation.
He’s waving. What the hell does he expect me to do, I’m not stopping! Oh Christ he’s caught up with me. He’s got something in his hand and he’s pointing it at me. God is it a gun? Why me?
“You left this on the bar. God lady you where in a hurry. I thought I’d never catch up with you. This is your mobile isn’t it?”
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
The quiet servants to a neon god
walk beneath blind stars.
The sightless man sits, as two lovers pass
him by, under his feet the ground the changes colour,
Off time with the chatter that surrounds me.
He takes the hand of an elderly celestial
and they exit the scene
the way of waves.
Laughter explodes like a bombshell
the only casualty is silence.
Through the steel arch I watch
ivory wave burn the black
rippled
sea.
A child chases a seagull
through the slits of sea-fog
caught in the light.
The barmaid leaves and my eye follows her,
resting on the corpses of our modern age;
bullet ridden with boredom and the chill,
swathed in the sear cloth of modernity
and eyes glazed by ***
They wait.
The "Sons of the Silent age"
who's thoughts are as stolen
as this line,
stolen from greater men.
The Lindbergh baby has grown up.
I bear witness to the silence and pressure
of the girl to my left, it encroaches this space as
her gaze encroaches the distance.
These streets were once filled with the
flotsam
of wasted youth,
the steady stream of touristry.
Now, in the winter
they lay empty, cold and pecked
by the multitudinous hordes of bird and man alike.
Where once they writhed with life
now they sit dormant and sleep atomic
on a chill stream,
at once both mirror and glass to our
wonderous world.
If we are the dreamers and music makers,
then our instruments sleep in dust
and our dreams walk silent in this defeat
of waking.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
You caught my eye but once,
You caught me eye but twice,
Then popped them in a cocktail glass,
And topped it up with ice.
Vermouth you added first,
And then a shot of gin,
A squeeze of lime, a dash of tea,
With salt around the rim.
_‘One martini coming up!’_ you drawled,
You slid it down the bar,
And so returned my eyes to me,
Like olives from a jar.
To those who swear that love is blind,
You've surely never been,
The subject of a stolen glance,
From a barmaid named Nadine.
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 6:31 PM UTC
I know of an alehouse on Skye
Whose toilets stink worse than a sty;
Where drunken old fools
With purple-veined tools
In pools of warm piddle-froth lie.
There was once a barmaid called Sue
Who went in to clean up the loo
The stench was so great
She met a dire fate
When she fainted and drowned in stale poo.
Old Sally had six pints of cider,
When she turned to the man slumped beside her
Who'd groped with his hand;
So she belched twice and
Pumped out the puke from inside her.
I ordered some cheese and a port
To try and banish the thought
Of people's reactions
To Sally's contractions;
Most betting was that she'd abort.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
"sitting on the wrong side of heaven
sitting on the wrong side of hell,
sitting on the wrong side of everything"
Two truckers talk miles
weight stations,
and *******
as the barmaid coughs up
a sharp,
wet,
smokers laugh,
at the racist joke
an old man tells
while he rolls up a cigarette
cracks with wrinkles,
and upsets
the heavy middle aged woman
feeding dollars into the slot
of a game machine,
trying to beat her own
high scores.
My draft mug sheds frost
into a soggy napkin and
I notice how useless
everything is.
The empty pool table
with a warped stick on it,
the display of snack food
behind the bar
that look old and dusty
The man coming from the bathroom,
coughing as he passes
a twinkling electronic dartboard,
a powered down
Creature from the Black Lagoon
pinball machine,
and a hi-tech jukebox
that will never be used
because the patrons here
are low-tech with no interest
in the cyber-generation's toys.
Too early for happy hour,
too late to go in for work
We are all just waiting,
killing time,
trying to remember
or trying to forget,
and hiding from the world,
Of course,
we all could be drunks,
losers, the **** that lives
in **** town, but the latter
seems more romantic
and truthful.
Eye of the beholder
I guess.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
Her smoke moves like Spanish moss,
Blue-gray tendrils intertwining
Around the shining plastic beads slung low on her wrist,
As she takes another liberal sip from her Budweiser bottle
and does her best to ignore the man she came here with tonight,
he's telling the barmaid about how he got the scar on his right cheek,
And I know parts of their story,
But the thing that troubles me most
Is that I'll never know how it ends.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 3:47 PM UTC
It greets your nose with mixture of smoke, perfume and stale beer.
On the counter , an empty pickle jar , a few dollars in there.
Always a need for that jar , times get rough,
it's a way we help friends and pray it never is us.
Band is setting up and sound checks going right,
few folks already here, going to be a good night.
Folks come in here to take a load off for awhile,
some come to sip, others to get plum wild.
Barmaid looking good with that pushup bra,
boy got lucky and married her last fall.
Six days a week this bar rocks and rolls
and true to the good Lord on Sunday we closed.
A few new boys and gals here to night,
pitching pick up lines, one might be right.
Someone will get lucky and cross that line,
someone will be in luck, get drunk but leave the car for the night.
This old bar is a meet and greet place,
information gets passed and memories erased.
Cookouts in the back for a charity or two.
Bike wash, car wash, a flash of skin might happen too.
All in all, this place fits us all,
I'm glad to say that I am a part of this old bar.
Jan 26, 2011
Jan 26, 2011 at 11:52 AM UTC
What shall it be this time, m'lady?
Another turn upon the rack?
Tie me to four horses?
Lay stones upon my chest?
I can see your king wickedly
smiling as I gasp for air.
With each bark of laughter
he lunges for you and begins
to plant drunken kisses all
over your sweet, perfumed body.
And I am forced to watch.
Is that not torture in itself?
Ask yourself if the punishment
actually fits the crime.
I made the wrong decision, my queen.
I forsook your beauty for a
***** barmaid's.
By your tears, I know you feel
my great wound just as much.
So as the headsman places
the great singing axe upon the
base of my neck, where I often
dreamed of you kissing me
so tenderly, I want you to
know that I will always--
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
I was sat in a Tavern in Pompey Town,
Sipping a tipple of ***
When I watched a Jack make an axe attack,
Chop off his finger and thumb!
I couldn’t believe the blood that flowed
From the cut of that rusty blade,
But the barmaid Flo, said ‘You’ve done it, Joe,
Now look at the mess you’ve made!’
She cleaned it up with a swill of ale,
Walked off with the finger and thumb,
‘I’ll nail these up on the balustrade
With the rest that have been as dumb.’
But Joe sang out when he’d had a drink
‘It’s better than being a tar!
I spent three years, under the lash
On His Majesty’s Man o’ War.’
‘They ‘pressed me when I was still a kid
And treated me like a dog,
I suffered scurvy and couldn’t work,
The answer to that, was flog.’
‘They flogged me around the Southern Cape,
They flogged me a-ship and ashore,
Whenever I thought that I might escape
They dragged me onboard for more.’
‘And Cap’n Foggett’s abroad tonight
With his cut-throat parcel of rogues,
Impressing the able-bodied men,
They’re lining them up in droves.’
‘For Nelson’s lying abaft the lee
With barely a half a crew,
He needs more men for the ‘Victory’,
And that means me and you!’
‘In every tavern they’re moving in,
In every alley and quay,
At first they offer the King’s shilling,
To war with the enemy.’
‘But the Frenchies rake with the carronade
That will rip the flesh from your bones,
And the decks run red from the men who bled
Impressed from their wives and homes.’
‘They say he sails on the tide tonight
So they’re doing a quick Hot Press,
Even a gen’lman walking late
Won’t meet with their gentleness.’
‘A cudgel whack on a squire’s head
Then dragged to the bilges, free,
They’ll never know ‘til they all wake up
That they’re headed on out to sea.’
‘That Nelson’s got but a single arm,
He’s got but a single eye,
If that’s not enough to be alarmed
By God, then I wonder why!’
The Press Gang came to the Tavern door
But couldn’t come on inside,
They tried to sell me a Man o’ War
But Joe had made me decide.
I took a gulp of Jamaica ***
And I steeled myself to the task,
‘The Press are waiting outside,’ I cried,
‘Just hand me that rusty axe!’
David Lewis Paget
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 10:27 AM UTC
Standing on the sidewalk
Hearing all the back talk
Watching while they cakewalk
Wonderin’ how I got here.
Step behind the bar table
Fool yourself if you are able
Tell yourself this ain’t no stable
And them ain’t dumb animals.
Start a conversation
End it in frustration
Why the aggravation
You know ********* can’t talk.
Turn into a pill head
Drop ‘em til you see red
Wish that you could be dead
Or anywhere but here.
<<>>
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 11:17 AM UTC
Woke up this morning with a head
This is the curse when you try to change the world
Gave Mary just a slight hint Tony might be bedding Jill, Joan, not excluding Alice
Big John, definitely gay, but as I explained, Billy his partner was kissing May
Mark was salivating over the barmaid Rose
Godsakes man haven’t you heard, Rose used to be Fred
You could have heard a pin drop when the chuckle brothers walked in
Word on the street, Jill and Joan were in the family way
Which in any other circumstances would be okay
But everybody knew the brothers fired blanks, hence the chuckle reference amongst the ranks
Still, honour was at stake on that fateful night
A slight nod Tony’s way would start the fight
A knife to the heart was Tony’s plight
Then a voice cried out, you sure she’s a man
Well, Rose hit Mark with a pan
Big John head butted Billy
Who landed on Tony, and one of his cronies
Mary who had now lost the plot when Alice showed the ring Tony had bought
A bottle of bud over the head, put paid to Tony and his amorous ways
Rose stripped off shouting, does this look like a man
Mark got up seeing double as the chuckle brothers pushed him down again
Big John threw Billy into the air, landing on the chuckle brothers like Fred Astaire
The brothers took this as a blatant dare, shooting Billy without a care
Tony clocked Rose in her Sunday best, uttering the words, better than all the rest
This sent Mary totally insane, followed by Jill, Joan, Alice, and for some reason May
Guns were pulled, shots went astray, all aimed at Tony who looked on in dismay
The chuckle brothers in the way, killed outright on that fateful day
Legend has it, a crime of passion, no arrests were ever made
Tony fled the country, followed by Jill, Joan, and for some reason May
Mark and Rose fell in love, got married
Mary and Alice gave them away
Big John and Billy gave it another go
I was going to mention to him, but decided no
Not after all the advice I gave went untold
Still, this is the curse when you try to change the world
This is why I woke up with a head
Though, what a palaver
Was it something I said.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:55 AM UTC
Dans ce bar dont la porte
Sans cesse bat au vent
Une affiche écarlate
Vante un autre savon
Dansez dansez ma chère
Dansez nous avons des banjos
Oh
Qui me donnera seulement à mâcher
Les chewing-gums inutiles
Qui parfument très doucement
L'haleine des filles des villes
Épices dans l'alcool mesuré par les pailles
Et menthes sans raison barbouillant les liqueurs
Il est des amours sans douceurs
Dans les docks sans poissons où la barmaid
Défaille
Sous le fallacieux prétexte
Que je n'ai pas rasé ma barbe
Aux relents douteux d'un gin
Que son odorat devine
D'un bar du Massachussets
Au trente-troisième étage
Sous l'œil fixe des fenêtres
Arrête
Mon cœur est dans le ciel et manque de vertu
Mais les ascenseurs se suivent
Et ne se ressemblent pas
Le groom nègre sourit tout bas
Pour ne pas salir ses dents blanches
Ha si j'avais mon revolver
Pour interrompre la musique
De la chanson polyphonique
Des cent machines à écrire
Dans l'état de Michigan
Justement quatre-vingt-trois jours
Après la mort de quelqu'un
Trois joyeux garçons de velours
Dansèrent entre eux un quadrille
Dansèrent avec le défunt
Comme font avec les filles
Les gens de la vieille Europe
Dans les quartiers mal famés
Heureusement que leurs lèvres
Ignoraient les mots méchants
Car tous les trois étaient vierges
Comme on ne l'est pas longtemps.
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