| --------------------------------------------- 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. Special thanks all for sending in the poems! Be a Beer Muse. Send your poems/stories to webmaster@beernexus.com |
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 brew. 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 brew; It made him feel happy and true Dark 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." Special thanks all for sending in the poems! (BeerNexus does NOT validate authorship of submitted material) Be a Beer Muse. Send your poems/stories to webmaster@beernexus.com |
For More Beer Muse Go To Archives