Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Beer Poetry

Lines on Ale (1848), by Edgar Allen Poe (1809 – 1849)

Fill with mingled cream and amber,
I will drain that glass again.
Such hilarious visions clamber
Through the chamber of my brain.
Quaintest thoughts, queerest fancies
Come to life and fade away.
What care I how time advances;
I am drinking ale today.


That's just one of the many Beer Poems you'll find at Jay Brook's site:


http://brookstonbeerbulletin.com/beer-poetry/


It's a website written by a guy who spent part of his honeymoon visiting breweries in the Pacific Northwest.


You'll also find stories and photos including Beer and Art and more!

Have fun!

Sir Bowie of Greenbriar

6 comments:

Lady Suzanne of Greenbriar said...

a couple we could hang out with!

our honeymoon 25 years ago:
"um yes, we'll have a few loaves of bread and a pound of butter and gallons of beer...yes, we were here last night...sunsets on the ocean...by the lighthouse..."

eat, drink, be merry

got that part down many years ago ; )

Lady S

J said...

Thanks for the shout out.

J

Brookston Beer Bulletin
http://BrookstonBeerBulletin.com

Anonymous said...

One of my fave beer poems...makes want to quench my thrist just typing it...

THE PUB WITH NO BEER

Oh it's-a lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night we'll hear the wild dingoes call
But there's-a nothing so lonesome, morbid or drear
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer

Now the publican's anxious for the quota to come
And there's a far away look on the face of the bum
The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer
Oh what a terrible place is a pub with no beer

Then the stockman rides up with his dry dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar and pulls a wad from his coat
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer
As the barman says sadly the pub's got no beer

Then the swaggie comes in smothered in dust and flies
He throws down his roll and rubs the sweat from his eyes
But when he is told, he says what's this I hear
I've trudged fifty flamin' miles to a pub with no beer

Now there's a dog on the v'randa, for his master he waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and he cringes in fear
It's no place for a dog 'round a pub with no beer

And old Billy the blacksmith, the first time in his life
Why he's gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen, she says you're early Bill dear
But then he breaks down and tells her the pub's got no beer

Oh it's hard to believe that there's customers still
But the money's still tinkling in the old ancient till
The wine buffs are happy and I know they're sincere
When they say they don't care if the pub's got no beer

So it's-a lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night we'll hear the wild dingoes call
But there's-a nothing so lonesome, morbid or drear-a.
Than to stand in the bar of that pub with no beer.


Sir Dayvd of Oxford

Anonymous said...

I can certainly appreciate Edgar Allan Poes's account of beer having hallucinogenic tendancies.....but I can't say I would attest to a beer buzz making me question my sexual orientation.....with those "queerest fancies".......maybe just as well I stick to those porters and stouts I drink.....Poe must be referencing those 'girlie' wheat beers or VERY pale ales....haha! Just kidding......

Brother Sir Hook knows my mantra: The only beer worth drinking....is one you CAN'T see through the glass!

A toast to all beer quaffers.....regardless of which way it floats your boat! Cheerio!!

Sir Richard....somewhere in the Brandywine Valley this morning in Delaware!

Sir Hook of Warrick aka "David K Wells" said...

Aye, Sir Richard indeed believes in drinking no beer that you can see your fingers through while holding the glass. I on the other hand, the one holding my glass, prefer only beer that makes it impossible to see the fingers on my non-beer holding hand!

Sir D's poem sounds like an Aussie one, with dingos and all.

I fear
My dear
The day
Without BEER!

Sir Hook Who Drinks No Wine Before It's Beer Time of Warrick

Anonymous said...

Hear, Hear, Most heartily agree Sir Richard. I'll drink to that...



yep hook digoes... stockmen swaggermen most definitly Oz