darkmaas
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2002
- Posts
- 1,000
I know. We’ve had a lot of blues threads around here lately, but this particular thread isn’t really about the blues.
Nope, this thread is about bars. Twelve bars.
When dmaas was younger, we played a game called “Twelve Bar Blues”, which was all about bars and and only marginally about the blues. The object was to start in the late afternoon and “saunter” from bar to bar, (at least one drink per establishment, but who counts?) until the saunter became a crawl and the magic dozen bars was reached. Tradition held that the last bar was the The Royal Tap Room, but traditions are ephemeral and those, in say, Manhattan or Paris might be hard pressed to find The Royal.
The goal of this thread, then, is to recreate the “12 Bar Blues” in poetry. I’ll start off with a perennial favourite (sadly now demolished). Subsequent poetic posters will select their favourite bar (present, past or imaginary) and add it to the crawl. Your bar need not feature the blues, but drinking to music sorta sets the tone of a place. If you feel comfortable in a previous bar, then feel free to riff on someone else’s bar, which is to say, take the last line of the previous bar and “order another round”. It is an honour to have one’s bar reprised in a different key.
The thread closes after twelve bars. As we get closer to the magic dozen, it is acceptable to slurr your rhymes use alternate spellings.
Most of you know a bar. (I’m lookin’ at you Fool!) The only one who might claim an exemption is Xtaabay who once remarked that she had only ever entered a bar to drag someone out. (Besides, she’s out of harm’s way in Mexico). Rybka, for instance, by his own admission, used to watch olives float, eyeball to eyeball, in jugs of draft beer. No Excuses.
So raise your glasses and follow me....
Nope, this thread is about bars. Twelve bars.
When dmaas was younger, we played a game called “Twelve Bar Blues”, which was all about bars and and only marginally about the blues. The object was to start in the late afternoon and “saunter” from bar to bar, (at least one drink per establishment, but who counts?) until the saunter became a crawl and the magic dozen bars was reached. Tradition held that the last bar was the The Royal Tap Room, but traditions are ephemeral and those, in say, Manhattan or Paris might be hard pressed to find The Royal.
The goal of this thread, then, is to recreate the “12 Bar Blues” in poetry. I’ll start off with a perennial favourite (sadly now demolished). Subsequent poetic posters will select their favourite bar (present, past or imaginary) and add it to the crawl. Your bar need not feature the blues, but drinking to music sorta sets the tone of a place. If you feel comfortable in a previous bar, then feel free to riff on someone else’s bar, which is to say, take the last line of the previous bar and “order another round”. It is an honour to have one’s bar reprised in a different key.
The thread closes after twelve bars. As we get closer to the magic dozen, it is acceptable to slurr your rhymes use alternate spellings.
Most of you know a bar. (I’m lookin’ at you Fool!) The only one who might claim an exemption is Xtaabay who once remarked that she had only ever entered a bar to drag someone out. (Besides, she’s out of harm’s way in Mexico). Rybka, for instance, by his own admission, used to watch olives float, eyeball to eyeball, in jugs of draft beer. No Excuses.
So raise your glasses and follow me....