Sept. 2020
| BEER |
| The Poetry of Beer |
Curious Stuff T. A. Houseman Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God’s ways to man. 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 -------------- |
Beer Needed Harold Jones Whiskey is nice with water or ice But how I long for a beer Just a pint won't do I'll need more than a few No matter what time of the day Truth be told as long as it's cold I'll drink it all up right away ----------------- |
| Read more Beer Muse in the ARCHIVES |
| In Praise of Beer by Hilaire Bellock o exalt, enthrone, establish and defend, To welcome home mankind's mysterious friend Beer, true begetter of all arts that be; Beer, privilege of the completely free; Beer the recorder; wine the sagely strong; Beer, bright avenger of sly-dealing wrong, Awake, Ausonian Muse, and sing the brewers' song! ------------- |
| Old Poets Joyce Kilmer There should be a club for poets Who have come to seventy year. They should sit in a great hall drinking Red wine and golden beer. ------------ Beer For Breakfast Chuck Iken Why do I feel shame, Sitting to order breakfast, Asking what’s on tap? |
| The Beer Drinker Arthur Symon Gently I wave the visible world away. Far off, I hear a roar, afar yet near, Far off and strange, a voice is in my ear, And is the voice my own? the words I say Fall strangely, like a dream, across the day; And the dim sunshine is a dream. How clear, New as the world to lovers’ eyes, appear The men and women passing on their way! The world is very fair. The hours are all Linked in a dance of mere forgetfulness. I am at peace with God and man. O glide,Sands of the hour-glass that I count not, fall Serenely: tis wonderful beer's soft caress Rocked on this dreamy and indifferent tide. -------------- |
| Bourbon County Stout by Jeff Steinway The nose on it wasn't sublime. It hadn't reached close to its prime. The new Bourbon County Stout I couldn't quite yet tout To drink it now is truly a crime. Give it time, give it time ------------------ Heather Ale Robert Louis Stevenson From the bonny bells of heather They brewed a drink long-syne, Was sweeter far then honey, Was stronger far than wine. They brewed it and they drank it, And lay in a blessed swound For days and days together In their dwellings underground. ---------------- |
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