"hostelry" poems
Scunthorpe is justly famous for its ugliness
And the rampant lasciviousness of its inhabitants;
With what horror I recall encountering a gent there,
A seriously senior slapper, widely acclaimed as
The least inhibited pensioner in northern Lincolnshire.
In my gilded youth I'd wandered into the bar
Of some grotty hostelry and got propositioned by this old ****
On the pretext of offering to gift me fifty quid
He dragged me upstairs and ravished me totally,
Showing his elderly anatomy 's most private parts
In prurient abandon. Afterwards, I wondered how long
Before the myriad love bites on my buttocks would fade?
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
A quaint little hostelry
with character entwined
Picture perfect the setting
with ambiance combined
It reflects some old saga
of many a past event
All those who ever visited
or regularly did frequent
Some in to drown sorrows
while few for indulgent glee
A lot amble in plain curiosity
to behold and just to see
The pace here is unhurried
and music soft & mellow
Pictures on walls with time
have turned a bit yellow
Smoke spiraling to ceiling
a sort forming thin cloud
As if oddities of tiled roof
it is attempting to shroud
Fan slowly going in circles
with hardly any of draught
Odd chap is vying attention
from table set farthest aft
Local gossip it goes to feed
is known as the grapevine
Nearly all swear by its tipple
and the homely food divine
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
The wind that day
made hairy spray of the horses tails
and drove them along.
By night we were hungry.
On reaching the Inn
was offered a bed of swan's down to
pillow my wearisome day.
And slept like a baby.
While my brothers
went wenching I stayed close by the
Hostelry's turreted home.
Used to being alone.
Next morning I woke
to breakfast off salmon served fresh
in a bowl of old pewter.
Boatmen kept me amused.
From the casement
they looked like cushioned swans all
ready and pilgrim-waiting.
Tied up to their labour.
Ladies and maids ferried
to market left men squatting on boat
bottoms until their return .
All day I went wordless.
Night had fallen when
I heard noisy returns and asked for
the latest Armada news.
But it was refused.
I was so thankful
my lively un-born was not yet ready
to greet times of war.
I fastened my door.
Elizabeth's glory was
not yet to its end for she as our Queen
still ruled the year 1558.
I prayed for long reign.
Fatherless but not
unprotected my baby would savour
her grace.
I knew I was favoured.
The mother-of-storms
had passed when we set on our way
again to the Queen's Court.
Ladies in Waiting never falter.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
Good deeds and bad deeds
Whatever they brought
To the hostelry of Fate
Another page turned
In the book of Life
Another leaf tumbled to ground
Off the tree of Time
How often
In the midst of graceful shadows
I have been tempted to trail
The vagaries of a moonlit mind
How often
Amid sobering sorrow
I have been led to shed my wings
The road is unknowable
And not knowing takes me home
May your days be springtime
And your spring eternal.
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 7:18 AM UTC