Yes she was the place where souls of poets
dead and living sung like Libertine the darkest
deepest outcast sensual poems of ladies
fair or not while bosoms bounced with grace
amongst these wenches godly given to
lecherous men of tavern ole pall mall
Tippled drinks as wenches bring
the mugs with froth upon there rims
and wiped with naughty fingers from
neath their kegs and chin within
the gin soaked vestments on their skins
while stories told around the
quaintness of the round tables neatly
placed to keep the whores at bay
from stealing twopence dropped by
drunken poets verses fallen between
cracks of trampled parchment
dripping stew and crumbs of moldy bread
Souls of poets living and gone
forever from this place of tavern Pall Mall
on the Harvard where my heart aches to
be amongst these spirits with quill in hand
to capture all their thoughts before they
pass away forever back into time
Oh that I might drink and sing in merriment
a chorus from a poets heart of shame and sin
once more with these vagabonds and whores
and lift our mugs on high yet watch
with careful eye the ones who would have
us hung and swing for all to witness a poets
demise for being sharp of wits tongue and
blending words for Kings and Queens
and common man
Tavern pall mall where whores and
poets sit together to share their
verse and grab at petticoats
periwigs curled to entice
the poets with delight while
lust is flirting in the night and
flight to bed they find each
others lonely hearts to rest awhile
and dream the
dreams of poets rhyme
Yet let us wait
while grown men young and old sit
and hear each others rhyme of tales told
from old and plucked from memory in the
basement light of dull lit wax melting to the floor
to beg that treasures would be found as each
word hangs in the stale air at the Ole Pall Mall
So let the ale flow as we wipe our lips and
caress each word the Libertine brings forth
and respect that he alone stood up for man
and lived his life of frolic gay in whoring until
the change took place and his face was torn
by sickness rage and disfigurement whilst
death took him from us and Charles the King
wept for his poet who’s ghost now lingers in
sweet accord within the walls
of this tavern Ole Pall Mall
© Copyright 2010 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved