karen sinclair

Rookie - 190 Points (brighton)

Spit, Sawdust And The Farcicle Spaghetti Western - Poem by karen sinclair

Last night within the spit and sawdust of..
The White Horse...(public house)
Swinging tail
Whilst I chose to sail
Far too... close to the wind, smiling at.
Friend foe and bartenders
As I dived need er ly
Within the whit/ering beer goggles
Of vodka and whatever...
I mean after all... after the shit day we'd had
Lost a home gained a flat, lost said flat..
Homeless in two weeks

Yet in sane day
Finding another flat
Not bad but drat...wasn't exactly the hovel of my dreams
I chose to swim in vodka
Not a care in the world until
I noticed two fellas brawling out of the mens toilets
And it was as beautiful as a contemporary ballet...
One had a dark shaved head
So I was gone
Smack bang
In the middle
As on the way through
I thought it was my man
Getting pummeled and pounded
And I could hardly just stand and watch
Between two fiery charged up men
I stood as punches past over and round
My head
I do
Believe my fists flew too
As my right hand hurts now.
But it was good honest fun
And I was dragged off by my man
A bit of spit sawdust and blood is as old as religion...
So ill hang my head in shame and smile at the floor...

Poet's Notes about The Poem

To my husband

Comments about Spit, Sawdust And The Farcicle Spaghetti Western by karen sinclair

  • (10/15/2012 6:07:00 PM)

    Ah, and what a fine dance it must've been! I'd have paid a pretty price to sit and see!
    Great fun...
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  • (5/17/2012 12:24:00 AM)

    Thank you so much Danny for reading and reviewing this piece...with humour. To be honest your response was better than the write...I've been looking how to reply to comments and am not sure if this is how to...so here goes.... (Report) Reply

  • (5/2/2012 7:46:00 AM)

    Terrence Hill and Bud Spencer were at that bar, but did not flinch or peak from 'neath their Stetson brims or from that whiskey mist. But trouble found them, not in gambling or gun, but by fisticuffs, still regarded as good honest fun. They always escaped the most fecal days, but when the last of the loo paper was indignantly used, an ambush when returning from the john ensued. It seemed to go well but okey dokey in stepped a woman, was it Annie Oaklie? After the stouch they were each on their bum but dusted themselves off, it was all clean fun. With brilliant white smiles and now safe on horseback, reluctantly or not, they just mo'sied into the night and were lost. As for Annie and ol' man Sinkers, their boots squeaking and spurs clinking from the battlefield as they tread, returned to the bar triumphant, and ordered vino, spaghetti and hot garlic bread. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, April 22, 2012

Poem Edited: Monday, April 23, 2012

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