Member-only story
Beer: The Secular Sacrament
A poem
(Caution: I’m neither a poet nor even a wanna poet, but I don’t think this is awful . . . but maybe it is . . . you decide)
The day grows long, and I start to desire
The cold bitter taste and the amber hue,
Of a cold draft beer or one brewed by fire,
Wanting to relish its wet peaceful dew.
The drunkard is not what I seek to play.
I seek leave from the petty things in life
That dog the soul and bring disarray
With earthly lusts and dreams leading to strife.
The first sip sends a deep heave to my chest.
The second sip and my worry cowers.
The third, and my eyes close, for a brief rest.
After the fourth, I gaze at God’s flowers.
The bottle is half full, but I am not
Ready to stop my peace-seeking chores.
For a week, life has put me in knot,
I want only joy, to forget all its bores.
‘Bout gone, I thank God for barley and hops,
The corn and wheat, and every grain’s brother.
Now I grin wide as I swig the last drops,
Jumping up thinking, ‘I’ll have me another!”
