BEER: A BALLAD

[The ballad without its “Classical Intro”]

A beer can make a person wise
And make a person witty.
It’s not allowed at school and work,
And that’s a bloody pity.

Though not allowed at school or work,
A beer enhances play.
My doctor recommends I drink
A pint or two a day:

“A pint to welcome morning’s sun,
Another one at noon—
Then, wash your dinner down with beer
To welcome Mother Moon.”

Those were the orders doctor gave.
I swear it on my life.
You’ll listen to the doc, I’m sure,
If you’re a loving wife.

It’s best you didn’t call the doc,
For he’s a busy man.
The only question left for now
Is “Bottle, draught, or can?”

The hours dissolve like foam, my dear,
Like bubbles in a cup.
Relax and have a beer with me
To bring your spirits up.

Recline a moment on the couch.
I’ll pour you out a glass.
I’ll pick a brew that’s fit for you,
That’s sweet but got some sass.

A life is filled with bitter things
But also with delight,
So let us shun the bitter beers
And drink a Belgian White.

Advertisement

BEER

“Beer: a Ballad in Two Parts” [“Part II” will likely grow]

Part I: Dramatic Classical Intro

The Greeks believed in Hippocrene,—
An art-inspiring spring—
And Bacchus with his wine was thought
To make the poets sing.

If Homer were alive today,
He surely would agree
That beer’s a liquid that can set
Artistic powers free.

We need a song to grace a bar
Or local billiard hall.
I’m tired of hearing ‘bout
The “bottles…on the wall”–

So, darling, let us join in song
Like Greeks once did for wine.
Now lift your voice and help a bard
To prove that beer’s divine.

Part II: The Folk Ballad
A beer can make a person wise
And make a person witty.
It’s not allowed at school and work,
And that’s a bloody pity.

Though not allowed at school or work,
A beer enhances play.
My doctor recommends I drink
A pint or two a day:

“A pint to welcome morning’s sun,
Another one at noon—
Then, wash your dinner down with beer
To welcome Mother Moon.”

Those were the orders doctor gave.
I swear it on my life.
You’ll listen to the doc, I’m sure,
If you’re a loving wife.

It’s best you didn’t call the doc,
For he’s a busy man.
The only question left for now
Is “Bottle, draught, or can?”

The hours dissolve like foam, my dear,
Like bubbles in a cup.
Relax and have a beer with me
To bring your spirits up.

Recline a moment on the couch.
I’ll pour you out a glass.
I’ll pick a brew that’s fit for you,
That’s sweet but got some sass.

A life is filled with bitter things
But also with delight,
So let us shun the bitter beers
And drink a Belgian White.

“Johnny and His Love”–a Traditional Ballad by Paul Burgess

I want to see what clicking “Press This” does…[feel free to read my goofy ballad…]

“Johnny and His Love”–a Traditional Ballad by Paul Burgess.

“Stalker”

A traditional ballad by Paul Burgess [Traditional ballad form=stanzas of 4 lines; lines 1 and 3-unrhymed iambic tetrameter; lines 2 and 4, rhymed iambic trimeter; ballad writers are encouraged to use strategically placed anapests.]

“Stalker”
While resting in her lover’s arms,
She whispered quietly,
“Wherever you decide to go,
You’ll never escape from me.”

Then gently he replied, “My love,
I’d rather not be free.”
Again she said, more quietly than before,
“You’ll never escape from me.”

In time he’d had enough and thought,
“She surely will agree
To end our love,” but she only said,
“You’ll never escape from me.”

One day he rose before the sun,
To leave at five ‘til three
And found this message scratched on his car:
“You’ll never escape from me.”

Some months he passed in soothing peace,
Enjoying liberty,
‘til seeing carved on his door these words:
“You’ll never escape from me.”

Another time he came upon
His kitten nailed to a tree,
And its collar held a note that read,
“You’ll never escape from me.”

The kitten’s killer called to say,
“You have no empathy,”
Then these familiar words of hers,
“You’ll never escape from me.”

He sensed a person in his house,
Though no one had a key.
With ev’ry bullet fired, she screamed,
“You’ll never escape from me.”

She put the gun inside her mouth
And counted, “One, two, three,”
Then whispered quietly sev’ral times,
“You’ll never escape from me.”

The trigger only clicked in vain,
For no ammo left had she.
While loading one more slug she hummed,
“You’ll never escape from me.”

Before she could destroy herself,
A threat’ning man she’d see
Who aimed his weapon while he said,
“You’ll never escape from me.”

Then Sergeant Jones prepared her to live
In police custody
Where prison walls to her would say,
“You’ll never escape from me.”

“Johnny and His Love”–a Traditional Ballad by Paul Burgess

“Johnny and His Love”—a Traditional Ballad by Paul Burgess [I think the ballad would work nicely with the music of Fairport Convention’s rendition of “Mattie Groves” https://search.yahoo.com/search?p=fairport+convention+mattie+groves&ei=UTF-8&fr=moz2-ytff-msgr

“It’s time to carry out our plan.
It’s time to run away.
We’ll meet behind the rotting barn,”
Is what Johnny had to say.

As he helped his Ma to milk the cow,
His face would never show
That he planned no more to work the farm
‘cuz away with his love he’d go.

Before his Ma retired to sleep,
He gently kissed her head.
The roar of snores was Johnny’s cue—
He grabbed his bag and fled.

No tears escaped from Johnny’s eyes
When he left behind his nest.
He only thought of how it’d feel
To stroke his lover’s breast.

In the moon, her eyes like pyrite shined
And overwhelmed him with bliss.
Behind the barn he touched her cheeks
Then began her lips to kiss.

He lost his fight with the burning urge
To touch her nether lips
And was stunned by what his fingers found
Between his lover’s hips.

Meanwhile, Ma discovered Johnny gone
And loaded up her gun
Then whispered to herself, “Lover girl
Has seen her final sun.”

As Ma approached the rotting barn,
Prepared to blow away
The girl who’d stolen Johnny’s heart,
She heard her Johnny say,

“If this had been revealed to me,
I’d not have made this plan.
For never once did I intend
To love another man.”

His love replied, “You promised me
That whatever came to pass…”
But Johnny cut her off and said,
“I thought you were a lass.”

Ma dropped her gun and confronted them,
Her eyes aglow with glee,
And addressed these words to her only son,
“That’s your prize for leaving me.”