B. R. Reens
Some Guinness was spilt on the barroom floor
When the pub was shut for the night.
When out of his hole crept a wee brown mouse
And stood in the pale moonlight.

He lapped up the frothy foam from the floor
Then back on his haunches he sat.
And all night long, you could hear the mouse roar,
“Bring on the goddamn cat!”


Kilmer Joycee

I think that I shall never hear
A poem lovely as a beer.
A brew that’s best straight from a tap
With golden hue and snowy cap;
The liquid bread I drink all day,
Until my memory melts away;
A beer that’s made with summer malt
Too little hops its only fault;
Upon whose brow the yeast has lain;
In water clear as falling rain.
Poems are made by fools I fear,
But only wort can make a beer.


Andy Howstack

Oh! I have loved thee fondly, ever
Preferred thee to the choicest wine;
From thee my lips they could not sever
By saying thou containedst strychnine.
Did I believe the slander? Never!
I held thee still to be divine.

For me thy color hath a charm,
Although 'tis true they call thee Pale;
And be thou cold when I am warm,
As late I've been - so high the scale
Of FAHRENHEIT - and febrile harm
Allay, refrigerating Ale!


K. K. Distaff

I had a bad day,
but beer you’re my best friend.
Let’s hit the clubs,
and go on a bend.

Glass after glass,
of your sweet hoppy taste.
You fill me with joy,
from my feet to my face.

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