For the past three months I’ve had so many ideas in my head about what to post next, my brain was converted to scrambled eggs. Luckily I jot down my blog ideas in my trusty notebook that I got for free at a lame conference. I’m just now starting to gather my thoughts, and organize them like a crazed worker bee so that I may share with you, my dear readers.
Recently I decided to take an online course at Syracuse University (free for me!), and I’m currently in the middle of “Advanced Poetry Workshop.” Besides story telling, I love poetry. For the most part my poetry is free verse and tackles many a subject. Taking this class has been an eye opener for me — I am forced to know and write sonnets, ballads, odes and the like. One of my assignments was to write a sestina. Say what? I had never heard of such a thing! When the professor posted the description, my body tensed up in fear. Sestinas are no joke! Without getting into the technicality of the structure (just Google or Wikipedia it if it interests you), I was deathly afraid of writing what was to be the hardest thing for me to write — not because I couldn’t come up with words or a subject, but because it had to be formulaic. This poem is mathematical and my head could not wrap around it. I avoided writing it until the last moment.
I was stuck. I didn’t want to be a bad student and give up, but I really didn’t know where to start. Luckily, a friend of mine said to me, “Why don’t you write about beer? Write something light.” And then it hit me! With his mad Excel skills that saved me, I followed the formula, and the words just flowed (no pun intended)! Now that my sestina is finished and has my professor’s stamp of approval, I share with you my very first poem about beer:
After the winter’s freeze, it’s time for spring.
The harvest begins her bounty of hops.
Once fully grown, they will soon become a treasure.
I’m getting impatient; I have a great thirst.
After waiting and waiting, the brew finally flows.
My mouth waters as I pour it to drink.
This liquid gold is not just any drink.
It is so special when it touches my lips, I spring.
Just like a creek that flows,
just like a rabbit that hops,
just like a nomad in the desert with an unquenchable thirst,
wandering aimlessly in search of the treasure.
This aqueous concoction, ‘tis my greatest treasure.
In appreciation to Gambrinus, I drink.
One, two, three, four — my mouth is dry, but it still has a thirst.
Just like the plants and flowers need water to spring,
I am an addict to these narcotic hops.
In my blood and veins, the brew flows.
I am the mortal nymph, whose 28 day cycle flows,
beloved earthly life and the sense of taste is such a treasure.
In the wild outback, I’m a kangaroo that hops.
An innocent animal looking for food and drink.
In the presence of the nectar, I am Tigger and I spring.
Wander, swim, and on the hunt, insatiable is my thirst.
Solitary and convivial, no satisfaction, there’s always thirst
that resides from within, and naturally flows.
In my body, my shell, my summer, my spring.
What fills up my holy Grail is a treasure.
I lift it up as if it were a newborn baby, and I drink.
I am a child in Wonderland who skips and hops.
It is this magnificent humulus we know as hops.
Its magical properties bring many a thirst.
I travel endlessly, tirelessly just for this drink.
My imagined heaven is one with a golden river that flows.
Endlessly, bottomless infinity to always treasure.
From childhood to adulthood, there is that special something that makes us spring.
Ireland’s greatest treasure wells from the spring.
I thirst for a Guinness from the Emerald Isle and begin to drink.
I am the Celtic creature who hops to heaven’s liquid that flows.