---------------------------------------------
Gwendolyn Rose Ojeda

A top ‘o the morning
To the Irish mead
To the bartender more tips
For this pleasant mead was
Sweeter than a fair maiden's lips
Over to the brisk taste of an amber
The refreshment of a smooth  pale
I was hanging on the edge
Waiting for my  cask-conditioned ale

------------------------

Brian Hutton

Golden, amber, pale or porter,
doesn't matter,
just bring me a beer
clear as the Northern night,
fresh as the company I keep.
And maybe just one more before I sleep.

-------------

Marcus Kevin Fishly

There once was a man who did not have a fear
when he sat down and drank a six pack of beer
his belly did bloat, his weight it did rise
but the beer gave the feeling of being so wise

The thought of it cooling, so frosted and near
in the mug it sits so golden that beer
the taste is so good never bitter or queer
bringing always a laugh and never a tear

Many a time in that room full of cheer
a wrong emotion did come from that beer
it was never right to hold it so dear
replacing importance with just another cold beer

------------
William Butler Yeats

A statesman is an easy man, he tells his lies by rote.
A journalist invents his lies, and rams them down your
throat.
So stay at home and drink your beer and let the
neighbors vote.

------------------------

Oliver Holmes

Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Gives genius better discerning.


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The Beer Muse
---------------------------------------------
The Charge of the Flight Brigade
(apologies to Alfred Lord Tennyson)
by Dan Hodge

Half a liter, half a liter
Half a liter onward.
All in the brewery of Death
Strode the Beer Hunter
"Forward the Flight Brigade
Charge for the tuns" he said.
Into the brewery of death strode the Beer Hunter

"Forward the Flight Brigade"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the hunter knew
Someone had blundered.
His to sip an ale of rye
His is not to reason why
His but to try and die.
Into the brewery of Death strode the Beer Hunter.

Growlers to the right of him
Firkins to the left of him
Large fermenters in front of him
Poured and bottled
Stormed at by flight and pint
Boldly he strode, and well
Into his jaws with Death
Into his mouth with hell.
Into the brewery of Death
Strode the Beer Hunter.

Growlers to the right of him
Firkins to the left of him
Fermenters behind him
Poured and bottled
Dispensed not well
While Hunter from his barstool fell
Onto the floor of brewery hell
All that was left of him
Unfinished flight on the bar above him
Never a man had tried so well.
So died the Beer Hunter

When can his glory fade?
O the heroic attempt he made
Reporting on the horrors tasted
So others' time might not be wasted.
Honor the sacrifice he made
Honor the glory of the Flight Brigade
Noble Beer Hunter

--------------------

Song of Brew
by John Dryden

Just Caesar, whom the world obeyed,
Augustus Great, proud Tiberine
Could ne’er have drunk, sure ne’er have made
Kind Bacchus! such an ardent b
rew.
Tell Princes, Kings; tell France; tell Spain
Of Hippocrene
Nectarine
Empurpled as Augustus’ train.

Recalling this alone:
All men are free to drown their sorrow –
Not Caesar only – and to sell the morrow
Cheap. But this once done –
How costly seems the morning sun!


------------------------

The Brew Man
by I.L. Chamberlain

There once was a man who liked b
rew;
It made him feel happy and t
rue
D
ark or light, he won't care.
He'll take whatever's there.
Watch your glass cos he'll take yours and mine.

--------------------------
This Stupid Stuff
by A. E. Housman

Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink        
For fellows whom it hurts to think:        
Look into the pewter pot                
To see the world as the world’s not.        
And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past:        
The mischief is that ’twill not last.   

    
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair        
     And left my necktie God knows where,              
And carried half way home, or near,        
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:

      
Then the world seemed none so bad,   

 And I myself a sterling lad;        
        And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,                
Happy till I woke again.

-------------------------

Flies and Recycled Beer
by Maurice Rigoler

Beer comes in shades of gold
and is at its best when cold.
In little time the body’s chemistry
converts it metabolically,
followed by an urgent need
to rid itself of it with speed.
And whether standing or sitting
(whichever’s more fitting)
it may still appear like beer
only now it’s warm, less clear.
Yet, to consider it drinkable
would be grossly unthinkable.
Not so flies; they consider it a rival
and just as good as the original..


---------------------
The Tippler
Lim E. Ricks

Said a tippler while tending his thirst,
"I could swallow good beer till I burst."
Said a temperance dame,-
"It is always the same,
The best beer is as bad as the worst."



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(BeerNexus does NOT validate authorship of submitted material)

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to webmaster@beernexus.com
 
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