Some writing music: Part 171

Hello there inmates!

Brrr! It’s mighty chilly here on the island this week you know! No snow as of yet thankfully, but plenty of frost and ice. It’s made using the bike something of an occupational hazard so I’ve been trying to go out as little as possible. How is it where you guys are? Maybe some of you are in more tropical climes? I hope you’re all managing to keep warm wheresoever you are. Unless you’re one of those mental cases that enjoy being out in the cold, in which case I hope you enjoy that instead.

So, there was a slight error for the clue for todays musical theme. It appears that the clue was only posted on Facebook, and missed Instagram and Twitter. So it may be a bit redundant of me to to ask if anybody saw the clue as the “reach” was even lower than usual. Bit of a hiccup that I’m going to going to hopefully sort out for my next poem clue.

I might as well just get to it eh? We want music! Well, today you have it! Todays writing music theme is the pub. Yep, today we are listening to music that encapsulates the feeling and atmosphere of the quintessential alehouse. The revelry, the cheers, the jeers. The chatter of aged men and the log fire surging in the corner. Despite not being a house, it always feels rather homely to me. You obviously do get those almost clinical chain bar/restaurants which have some convenience, but they simply don’t compare to a good old fashioned British pub. Sometimes they can be a tad rough, but that’s just part of the charm. Me and my brother practically grew up in a pub (not drinking obviously) and I’ve always enjoyed the feeling of standing on those beer-stained wood floors. It’s hard to actually describe the music that captures the feel of a pub, and yet I reckon that you can almost ‘picture’ it in your head already. Let’s see if I can match that image in your minds eh? Let’s have some drunken music!

Please join me as we delve into the musical minds of sloshed artists the world over!

Chas and Dave – The Sideboard Song
http://www.chasndave.net/

Dropkick Murphys – Rose Tattoo
https://dropkickmurphys.com/

Chumbawamba – Tubthumper
http://www.chumba.com/

Starship – We Built This City
https://www.starshipcontrol.com/

Midland – Drinkin’ Problem
https://www.midlandofficial.com/#/

And there we have it for another week! I don’t know about you but I fancy a pint now. Anybody able to send me a 4-pack of lager? That’d be wonderful. I’m joking of course! One shouldn’t really encourage overindulgence! Haha! I hope that you all enjoy the musical choices for this week and check these artists out if you haven’t already. They always deserve the attention, the music industry is vicious.

You know what else is vicious? Trying to get people to check out your social media pages. I know I say this every week on these posts but it would mean a great deal to me if you all considered following or liking me on my social media as well as here on WordPress. The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and for now at least, a page on Twitter as well. Also, you really enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well! Thanks for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

Venue

An empty field,
Browned in the sun,
Ignored by the majority,
Until that weekend,
That jubilee of melodies and decibels,

Brought to life anew,
Once that stage is built,
The speakers began their rhythmic rants,
And the music flows through the soil,
Like water after a drought,

This patchwork of grass and tents,
It’s no longer a vacant space,
But a venue,
A place of memories and revelry,
Not to mention the firewater.

Pizza Boxes

Rising from the haze of sleep,
As my ears still ache from yesterdays radiation,
I see the ground zero of my room,
Greasy pizza boxes and empty steins,
Stained carpets and a misplaced mattress,
A bomb site of booze and shame,
What happened?
What was the occasion?
To whom does this purple hair belong?
My mind fails to recall,
All that’s left are these blasted pizza boxes,
And a slideshow of maybes,
In a bloodshot minds eye.

Bar Tab Nomad

With his six string Excalibur,
The bar tab nomad is here,
A Picasso with a nomadic spirit,
A jukebox in a duster,
He’s your cowboy clown,
Bandaged fingers and dizzy eyes,
With a voice like smooth Jack,
Playing for spare change and cheap beers,
Every dive is his louvre,
If there’s a crowd still upright,
He’ll keep playing through the night,
But he can never settle down,
The devil is at his heels,
So before you even wake,
He’ll be already on the next highway,
Always towards the next stage.

Pot-Valiant

There was a paltry man,
A common fixture of our alehouse,
Who was a garden variety coward,
Yellow eyes and yellower in heart,
Skeletal in build and gall,
Perpetually shaking even in the summer heat,
Quaking at every clang or cheer,
An embarrassment to his house,

But as the lager piles up,
Something would shift,
He grew larger and exuded assertiveness,
Adonis blended with Hercules,
Like Popeye with his spinach,
Hulk with his rage,
Gutsily if an iota dizzily,
Standing up to those pub bully boys,

Until the next morning,
He would remain a drunken silverback,
When once again his reflection would strike fear,
To none but himself.

Pub Venom

Alcohol is a poison they say,
And I daresay they are right,
It is not cyanide it’s true,
Its modus operandi is insidious though,
It makes people change,
Brewery sponsored Hydes,
More primitive,
And somehow diminished,

As the venom is imbibed,
None prove unaffected,
Gentlemen revert to swine,
Dames start to shriek like banshees,
Pacifists become drunken brawlers,
And men of learning act like toddlers,
Common sense is suddenly rather rare,
Brains in inebriated flux,

The toxins incubation period,
A night on the town,
Painting the streets bruise-purple and red,
The poison does its work,
Leaving its victims ruined and awash with vice,
Flush with embarrassment,
Depositing an inhuman husk,
Laid beside a porcelain throne.

Pub Echoes

I’m a simple pub regular,
This establishment holds past events,
Memories hang in the air like beer flies,
And images reside in the ale sheens on the floor,
Pictures of past revels,

I peer wistfully over my stein,
I see myself in past banquets,
Cheers and absurdities round the tables,
Me and the other rats guzzling prismatic liquids,
Meeting the eyes of some fair dame,

These images,
Like ghosts in some haunted tavern,
They’re things that thankfully occurred,
A rogues gallery of my social life,
And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Closing Time

In this temple of breweries,
Our beermat oasis,
The hours have been sanded away,
The drinks have been spilled,
Beer goggles donned by all,
The bell rings the end of our joviality,
No more amber will flow here,
We’ve made memories tonight its true,
We may not wish for the fervour to cease,
But if we do not leave,
Memories cannot flourish in our grey matter,
The present can’t be remembered.

The Blur

I find at times,
Whether by chemical or trauma,
This force comes over me,
A kind of visual confusion,
Colours dancing in every course,
Surroundings growing indistinct,
My eyes glossing over,
Cellophane in the air,
Everything boils down to a blur,
A prismatic soup,
My brain jumping into its depths,
Sights and sounds and frights,
Lost on the tongue of my eyes.

A Hearts Tightrope

When you have given yourself to another,
When you are in love,
You walk a perilous path,
A tightrope,
Ruby and velvet,
Laid across a chasm that seems familiar,
Yet terrifying all the same,
Romance is a game of balance,
Give and take,
Watch your footing,

Do not look down,
Nor left or right,
One side lies heartbreak,
The other a spousal thumbprint,
Sharks of grim dependencies wait below,
As black as despair,
Made of bottles and needles,
Stalking amidst shipwrecks of past trysts,
Splintered hearts of wood and all,
So keep true upon that rope my friend.