Apologies are not needed.
This poem captures that classic film with flair and style.

Very visual piece, Gene. I'd like to know what memories, in a little more detail, that Savanha triggered in the poet. This poem should be in black and white, instead of color! A belated Happy New Year - Kathy

WONDERFUL!!!!!!!!!!!! I JUST LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Liana Margiva

I love all the classic film references seeing as i am an old film nut! This is writing, it's original, and it gets to where it's going with an artist's flourish- Happy New Year, Gene! - Michelle

Gene - I felt like I was right there in that smoky bar, hearing that piano and that off key singer named Harry. Awesome writing!

Yes yes yes (Sheila) I felt like an acclamation of sorts being profused & proclaimed like a man standing on stage of a Shakespeare type performance, in some duds from the late era of smoke filled piano bars...oh not so long ago actually...
Wonderful Poetic Expression Gene!
Encore....Encore.....Encore
I stand & clap & swagger my way to order another round, for me bar mates....Play it again Sam....Or Harry & that damn song :)
""Of All the Gin Mills in All the World" reads like a cherishable memory....
Embraced
Vickie

Feels as though I was pulled in to a scene in a movie. Excellent work:)
Sheila

Some of your writes are a narration of old songs, movies or both...feeling so familiar that the words are polite reminders your reading...great read Gene

I've waited too lone, and all of my good lines have been used. But I say as sincerely as I can, that this is above the standard writing. Now tell me why you didn't become a playwright? - Bill

I was feeling a bit of Casablanca here, Bogart..
Loved the feel of this poem, all smokey and rough around the edges.
Great write, I was right there with you smoking that cigar and adjusting my fishnet stockings.
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"

I could see the smoke, hear the laughter and chatter, and Harry singing off key. This could have been a bar anywhere but you brought it to life.

Cheers,
Dan

Harry, that over worked excuse for a singer and musician -- but there was always magic in his piano -- for it never failed to evoke life long memories -- especially those of that has been, Savannah -- the boa striped thrill, of nostalgia -- may peace and love be always with you -- JMW

Play it again and again Sam, and keep the lights dim. Another great write you share with us Gene. Thank you.

Newfie hugs, Rose

Empathy and talent are needed to write this and reinterpret feelings, memories, thoughts. It's a great exercise of creative writing because so many aspects of writing and characterization are at work here, in a few lines.

Axilea

Play it again Gene, er ah, Sam!



Darn good stuff. Somewhere in Morocco, a bar like this really exists.



Blue dots are everywhere. Leaving open the possibilities of an improbable future. An window in time that lets in the timeless morning air coming from Rick's. Thanks, Gene for not Bogarting that(joint)circa 1941 cigar! Rockie Coppolella

I'd like to hear Humphrey Bogart reading this, Gene. Cinematic, my friend!

Superb writing! I could hear Harry singing in my ear...

Myrna

A blast from the (smokey) past, with a vision of hope for future: of all the gin mills in all the world, I'm glad I stopped by yours. :) Well done, Gene, and Happy New Year!

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.

And here I thought you going to Nathans for some delicious hot dogs...now I got the munchies...Ed

OOOOOOO Play It Again Sam! This was a yummy, delight! HUGS! SC

My eyes were stinging from the cigg smoke-- This is the time of year for "Yesterday" stories, all wrapped, as Lloyd says, in that golden glow that requires a lot of forgetting. Great Goddess! How will any of us get through New Year?? :)

A step into the past with a reflection of the future in the mirror. Just came back from seeing the Curious Case of Benjamin Button (the title might be off but I'm close enough) and this poem fits. I guess nostalgia is sort of like the grass is greener. Where ever we are doesn’t seem as good as those edited memoires of yore. This poem goes down smooth like hundred year old scotch.