socializing poems

Memories of a Good Day | Chris Byrne - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Memories of a Good Day | Chris Byrne

‘Twas a grand day, the pints flowed
As quick as the jokes were told.
Ole Bob offered me a seat as
I ordered my first pint
In a bar I’d never frequented
Before, amazed at such kindness
I doubted he knew my name
As talking Tommy kept on chattering
Telling tales of wonder and awe
All the while ole Sean was trying
To get a word in edgeways
For we all knew once talking Tommy
Started talking we’d never get a word in,
It wasn’t until a grand ole gal
Behind the bar as moody as she could be,
Gillian was a barmaid to remember, great big
Beautiful eyes and a smile to die for
And a reason we all sat at the bar,
Yet one wrong look would turn her mood
Once her mood was turned there was no
Turning back she let out an unmerciful
Roar, Jasus Tommy will you ever shut
Up and let me finish pulling your pint.

Memoirs of a Sunny Day | Chris Byrne - Read Poetry Online by Talented Contemporary Poets

Memoirs of a Sunny Day | Chris Byrne

I went out for a stroll one sunny afternoon and
I happened to hear a sound. As my mind wondered
What it could be, I came across a little pub
As narrow as a crowded street with people shuffling
Here and there while having a pint or three.
The barman shouted, what will it be,
I noticed a friendly smile in his eyes, as if I hadn’t seen him in years, as I stood enjoying a beer with my lady by my side.
As the music rang out, that little narrow pub became a big wide world where everyone wanted to be, full of people all trying to get a pint and see some smiling eyes.
As the singer sang with all his might, the requests came in as fast as the pints where pulled; with a failing voice he persevered and kept us entertained, singing songs we knew. As the night wore out it came to the last song; as it was sung, the little crowded narrow pub slowly became quiet as people loudly shuffled out the door shaking hands, saying, you’re a great singer, and, thanks for those smiling eyes, which had become tired eyes. We’ll see ya next week, as they ramble down the road ever thankful for a night they’ll never forget until the next.

Best Poetry Online