Saturday, December 4, 2010

The Poetry Bus Stops at Horse Brass Pub

KAT is driving TFE's Poetry Bus this week, with a prompt that will surely inspire all riders. She asked that we think of our favorite pub and to create characters from the name of the pub, then use those names to spin a good tale in childhood verse form.

Funny that, after having not been aboard The Poetry Bus for quite awhile, I would join the crowd for this one. Many of you know that I have been sober for decades and pubs are no longer my thing. But......there was a drinking me long ago who lived for a year in Portland, Oregon, and the Horse Brass Pub was my place. I am obviously not the only patron who found it special. The pub's website announces:
In 2011, the Horse Brass Pub will celebrate 35 years of good beer, good food and good company.  We invite you to stop by the Pub next time you’re in town.  Enjoy a pint – we’ve grown to 53 beers on tap and remember “You’re a stranger no more when you walk through the door of the ol’ Horse Brass Pub”.

Horsey and Brassy Visit Horse Brass Pub

Horsey and Brassy all their lives were best friends
And today they were both twenty-one.
They dreamed of rare brews and wicked good blends
Made from hops and rye grown in the sun.

Horsey and Brassy were out on the town
With intentions to paint that town red.
She had orange hair, his coat was light brown.
Both were wooden - they chipped, never bled.

Brassy was horsey the way that she laughed--
She snorted and shook her wild hair.
She was new to the world outside of woodcraft
Where she sat on a shelf with hardware.

Horsey was not brassy in his thoughts or his ways.
Did not snort in public, rarely tossed his black mane.
Saved his prancing and dancing, whinnies and neighs
For the fine folks at home who 'til now held the rein.

Together they figured the route to the city,
Traversed rocky hills and crossed a huge bridge.
So pleased with themselves they thought it a pity
That their travels weren't known in their sleepy village.

Brassy held Horsey's mane so tight as he clopped.
She sang songs they had practiced at home--
Dreaming of wood kegs when he suddenly stopped.
They were there, ready for a tankard of foam!

Horsey and Brassy smiled at the fine sign
They were thirsty horse and girl puppets
Their boring lives gone - now was their time
To toss some dark brews down their gullets.

Folks at home had their churches, but here is the rub--
Seemed like heaven when they walked through that door.
They stood in the place known as the Horse Brass Pub,
Thanking their lucky stars for evening the score.

There was laughter and music, and instant flirtation
As all eyes looked at the orange-haired lassy.
Brassy sang a hello and spun out a gyration.
All could see that this girl puppet was sassy.

It worried the thoughtful 21-year-old steed
Whose night had just changed completely.
He spoke with the barmaid and the barmaid agreed
To make Horsey's drinks free of whoopee.

So while Brassy drank one beer after another,
Horsey ate Scotch eggs and drank only soda.
After all he loved Brassy and felt like her brother
As he watched her he looked like a horse Yoda.

The barkeep poured Brassy a tangy nightcap
Knowing Horsey was the designated driver.
Barkeep thought the horse was a genuine chap--
Reminded her of her favorite horse, McIver.

"I would call you McIver if you were my horse!"
"I would call you Grand Dame if 'twas true!"
But neither belonged with the other of course.
Horsey knew it was time for adieu.

Horsey pulled tired Brassy from the grip of some suitors
Who protested and wailed when he moved her.
They were fond of that girl and would sure miss her hooters,
Would remember her slurring: "Come hither."

Young Brassy dreamed a horse would bring her the knight
Who would swoop her away to some dreamland.
How could she have known back when she was a sprite
A horse would save her one night from drunk quicksand.

When at home one morning that sparkled with dew--
'Cross the grasslands they heard roosters and goats.
Brassy said: "Horsey, I am safe, thanks to you."
"McIver's my name!" said he, feeling his oats.

MLydiaM ~ December 2010

Puppetgirl ID by Puppetgirl 101 on DeviantArt



Words A Day said...

This is brilliant, sassy and fun...and impressively long!
Think I know Brassy from a past life!

Kat Mortensen said...

Wow! You really took the bull by the, er the horse by the reins!
A bit of an allegory then. Well done!
I'm not going to forget that "hooters" line for a while, but the "both were wooden - they chipped, never bled says much more.


Peter Goulding said...

Some lovely rhyming in there. Almost Toy-Storyish in plot. Brilliant!!!

Helen said...

This is epic!!! And so worthy of a ticket to ride the Poetry Bus!

Rob-bear said...

Glad I came along for the bus ride. Even if I'm a Bear, not a horse, I can still "horse around" with the best.

Indigo said...

Absolutely delightful. Not to mention I got a peek into a favorite pub. (Hugs)Indigo

Lydia said...

Words A Day~ Thank you. :) (I think it is probably the longest poem I have written.)

Kat~ Your prompt inspired me to get one out of me this week, and I thank you for that. It was fun, and in some ways cathartic for me. :)

Peter~ Thanks much. :) Makes me want to revisit Toy Story...

Helen~ Thank you, and thank you also for reminding me of the Poetry Bus this week.

Rob-bear~ O, I am sure you can horse around just fine! Nice riding the bus with you.

Indigo~ Thank you. I hadn't peeked into that place for decades. From the photos I can tell it has not changed much. :)

SouthLakesMom said...

Wonderful story!

My favorite stanza:
Horsey was not brassy in his thoughts or his ways.
Did not snort in public, rarely tossed his black mane.
Saved his prancing and dancing, whinnies and neighs
For the fine folks at home who 'til now held the rein.

It just comes ALIVE!

120 Socks said...

Great Poem, plus I read your profile, that too is one of the best!

Owen said...

Oh my, now who would've ever thought to rhyme "puppet" with "gullet"... could be a poetic first...

Well done, most enjoyable...

Lydia said...

SouthLakeMoms~ Glad you liked it. I appreciate you letting me know which was your favorite stanza. :)

120 Socks~ Thank you on both counts. Must admit I'm curious about the name "120 Socks"!

Owen~ Thank you.
You don't remember the Robert Service poem with the same words rhymed? .......Just Kidding! :)

Niamh B said...

great story in there, and I really cared what happened! Like the phrase "Drunk quicksand"

Lydia said...

Niamh B~ It made me feel good when I read that you really cared what happened. Thanks much!

Totalfeckineejit said...

Great poem -epic even! Love that bar, not so sure about the Scotch egg though!

Lydia said...

Totalfeckineejit~ If you say epic, I say yeah! Thank you.
Personally, I preferred their fish and chips to the Scotch egg. :)

bfk said...

Loved the poem, and haven't had scotch eggs in years. I must rectify this.

Lydia said...

bfk~ My thanks. Now, you who can boast cooking a great duck once or twice a year, go have a scotch egg.



Related Posts with Thumbnails