Poems written in pubs. Not poems written about pubs, but they could be, I’m talking poems written whilst frequenting a public house, whatever the subject. Because, to my mind, one of the more perfect pub afternoons is one sat solo, supping something from a pint glass and writing down my thoughts in a form that could be perceived as poetic. And that pint doesn’t have to be alcoholic, as it’s not about the drinking either, it’s about what’s soaked into the wallpaper, what’s tucked beneath the floorboards. It’s that atmosphere so tangible you can slice it. Whatever the weather, I want you to head to a pub, take a seat and let a poem flow from you. Let two of them flow, then three, and maybe one more for the road.

Write a poem in a pub.