August 2020
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The Poetry of Beer
Carlos Schwabe
The Soul of Beer
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One night, the soul of beer was
singing in the flask:
“O man, dear disinherited! to you I sing
This song full of light and of
brotherhood
From my prison of glass with
 its metal cap seals.

For I feel a boundless joy when I flow
Down the throat of a man worn out
by his labor;
His warm breast is a pleasant tomb
Where I’m much happier than in
my cold cellar.

Vegetal ambrosia, precious grain
scattered
By the eternal Sower, I shall
descend in you
So that from our love there will be
born poetry,
Which will spring up toward God
like a rare flower!”
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H.L. Kinkley
Song of Ale

Three jolly coachmen
sat in a Bristol Tavern,
and they decided,
to have another flagon.

Landlord fill the flowing bowl,
until it doth run over.
For tonight we’ll merry, merry be.
Tomorrow we’ll be sober.

Here’s to the man who drinks
small beer,
and goes to bed quite sober.
Fades as the leaves do fade,
and drop off in October.

Here’s to the man who drinks
strong ale,
and goes to bed quite mellow.
Lives as he ought to live,
and dies a jolly good fellow
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ARCHIVES
Brad Crawford
Wonderful Hops

Hops, hops, oh wonderful hops
For you, our passion is true.
You flavor our beer
And at least once a year
We grind you up in a brew.

Your oils are essential
Your qualities diverse.
But, drink too much nectar
And our stomach might burst
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Cynthia Seattel
The Three

Cascade! Chinook! Amarillo!
These are our favorite cheers.
For without these friends
We’d rather have the bends.
Our life would be moot
Things just wouldn’t compute!.
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Walter Locksley
Sing To Beer

Let us sing our own treasures,
 Old England’s good cheer,
To the profits and pleasures of
 stout British beer;
Your wine tippling, dram sipping
fellows retreat,
But your beer drinking Britons
can never be beat.
The French with their vineyards
and meager pale ale,
They drink from the squeezing
of half ripe fruit;
But we, who have hop-yards
to mellow our ale,
Are rosy and plump and have
freedom to boot.
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Robert Graves
Strong Beer

“What do you think
The bravest drink
Under the sky?”
“Strong beer,” said I.

“There’s a place for everything,
Everything, anything,
There’s a place for everything
Where it ought to be:
For a chicken, the hen’s wing;
For poison, the bee’s sting;
For almond-blossom, Spring;
A beerhouse for me.”

“Tell us, now, how and when
We may find the bravest men?”
“A sure test, an easy test:
Those that drink beer are the best,
Brown beer strongly brewed,
English drink and English food.”
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