"brewer" poems
There are three versions of this poem. only one of them is available on the internet. This first version is from the New Yorker in a 1941 issue. It is the earliest version and the one that is quoted all over the internet.
To My Valentine
by Ogden Nash (1902-1971)
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oaths,
That's how you're loved by me.
The next version is the lyric of a song from the Broadway musical "One Touch of Venus" (1943) by Ogden Nash, J S Perelman and Kurt Weill. Nash wrote this lyric. It is not on the internet that I could find. I got it from the sheet music.
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
As a sailor's sweetheart hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a wife detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than a hangnail hurts.
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a grapefruit squirts.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a bride would resent a blessed event,
That's how you are loved by me.
More than a waitress hates to wait ,
Or a lioness hates the zoo,
Or a batter dislikes those called third strikes,
That's how much I love you.
As much as a lifeguard hates to swim,
Or a writer hates to read,
As Hays office frowns on low cut gowns,
That's how much you I need.
I love you more than a hive can itch,
And more than a chilblain chills.
I yearn for you in an ivy clad igloo,
As a liver yearns for pills.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a dachshund abhors revolving doors,
That's how you are loved by me.
The third is from the book "Marriage Lines: notes of a student husband" It was published in 1964 and contains a revised version of the poem with a much different ending. This too is not on the internet. I got it from the book.
TO MY VALENTINE
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or an odalisque hates the Sultan's mates,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you truer than a toper loves a brewer,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I love you more than a bronco bucks,
Or a Yale man cheers the Blue.
Ask not what is this thing called love;
It's what I'm in with you.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
Modern athletes, strong and buff,
These days are tested soon and late
just to prove their skill and strength
are free of anabolic taint.
Ryan Braun, the M.V.P.
was tested thus occasionally.
He didn't seem the type to me
to boost his skills unnaturally.
Thus imagine my surprise
to learn the ***** he supplied
contained synthetic Testosterone
Brewer fans emitted groans.
Now it seems he's off scot free
based on a technicality.
He will not have to serve the ban
imposed on many a lesser man.
Opening day, reserve the date;
Braun will be there at the plate
His many fans will come to see
Ryan Braun, the M.V. ***
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 5:28 PM UTC
May the devils have their due, and the angels get their share. Long live the home brewer of meads and brews and other godly delights that came from the yeast.
Here, here, to the dreamers that made the flavors of barley, hops, and malts.
Here, here, to the honey the fruits and maples that make the mead so sweet.
So raise your glass and tip your steines to the brewers that made life a lot more easier to shine.
Ziggy, zoggy, ziggy, zoggy, oy, oy, oy.
Oct 8, 2023
Oct 8, 2023 at 10:32 PM UTC
DANCING MAN:
My right foot up
and my left hand on my head
Oh this sake
brings me Heavenly fever;
sake purifies my heart
and the gods are pleased
and I dance
like the Shinto spirits of old
MAN with the CUP:
Oh, drink and be merry
be lifted high in the air
by sake and its spirit;
the Toji has done well
a master brewer he;
and dance you well
in this ecstasy
and while your eyes
are towards the gods
I'll steal a sip or two
that shall build into
more than a cup for me:
*O dance in the spirit of sake -
another cup I hold ready
for you, always*
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
we're all standing on the edge of reality,
millimeters from the precarious cliff of horrible,
beautiful truth.
the glow of our iPhones, tablets, flat screen TVs, etc
illuminating our placid faces.
ignorance is bliss, they say.
wake up!
wake up,
and turn off your alarm,
and flip on the news;
start your coffee brewer.
we depend on the technology.
we live in the the technology.
we live in a computer.
you are not real
and neither am i
but we aren't dead either.
if we can think,
we can exist,
right?
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
Youth drifts towards the fire
Searing red hot heat hiccup farts
Filled to the brim of one another's stenches
The girl who said she hated neon green
Now wears
Neon green shoes
We are all hypocrites in the end
Nothing touches truer
Then a man who dies thankfully
As a brewer
Truth is a made up word
There is no truth
There is only
The act of the man behind the desk behind the shades behind the cubicle wall behind the pencil behind the pen behind the novel and the short story and the muscle tee and the audition that went well and the audition that went poorly and the sight of a man when their mother calls or doesn't call to tell them that their father is dead with no hint of sadness in her voice, she is more annoyed by her rose bushes which wilt in the un-sinking southern heat
Tonight
As the jackolope jack-offs roam the street for another skirt to chase
And the skirts float with the will of this summer wind
As the genie vendors hock their wares to freshmen too dumb to even care
And the liquor loser ******** on fast food restaurants and their walls
Tonight
These are the beings we dare to call human
Tonight
Daddy and mommy are sleeping and dreaming of a better future
As up-scale glitter demons girate parts they didn't even know they had
And bench pressing brothers continue on with their sadistic born again others
Tonight
I dare not dream
For fear of discovering
Myself
Without time
May 27, 2011
May 27, 2011 at 11:51 PM UTC
Five nights a week at midnight, he dyes blue.
Angel, you’re bad news.
Salvation Army button-downs unbuttoned in a second our hands have introduced kinetic bear hugs, although visually frail and weathered.
Shoulder length hair and a cuticle away from pure. obsession.
Of all the heartbeats and hop, skips and jumps; I surrender.
Adding the lye
m.
cm.
mm.
Get closer.
Knock me over in slow motion.
Tumbling rotary dial “1” click. “2” click, click.
Rendering the grease
I’m closing the locker when
He appears at 11:55 P.M.
Beat up, an 8 track cassette surviving a barrage of garage sales.
My dear affection is still a child labor law. Juvenile.
Staring Aderol Syndrome (S.A.S.).
Birds nest palms, the delicate benchmark.
I would give up half of $4.75/hr.
Warm me up and share $9.50/hr.
Collecting Grease
Gunmetal blue, locker “27.”
I read an article of clothing yesterday, not from these parts.
At
Your
Steel-toe
Boots.
Please listen. You know the dialect.
Coffee brewer, lighter sharer, you are the Aurora Borealis eventful.
Five nights a week at midnight, I dye blue.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 5:51 PM UTC
I am finally learning
What it means to balance life;
For I can't give my heart and soul
When you don't give yours too.
We've only just begun now;
I know I've gone too fast.
But keep in mind, this is new to me,
While not exactly new to you.
So I'll pretend my heart's a jigsaw;
You can have it, but piece by piece.
And you must earn the pieces--
I can't promise them to you.
You can't buy them on credit;
No Visa or Mastercard.
We don't take checks here, sorry--
Only cash will do.
Cash comes in form of roses,
And midnight picnics in the park.
Cash comes in form of Brewer games,
And a candle-lit dinner for two;
A night spent under fire-works,
Or a ride in a hot-air balloon.
Don't forget, with each of these gestures,
You must give me a piece of your heart.
But with these must come sweetness,
Respect and sincerity.
I need trust, and most of all,
Respect my right to be free.
And if these you cannot give me,
Then sorry, our bargain is off.
But I think--I hope--you can give
These things I ask of you;
If I didn't, I wouldn't be here--
I only speak the truth.
So if you can prove me right,
Then I'll have nothing to fear.
We'll live happily ever after--
It will be a done deal.
Feb 28, 2010
Feb 28, 2010 at 2:44 PM UTC
Club doors smell of lady's potions easy kind of hazey.
Daily news of power, and fruit and punch.
Dj Spun, music so courageously.
With laser touching all there eyes.
Yet no irritation, you see they where protected by a small musical meldoy.
It was epic heads all head baging.
Fast pace music, slowed too jam to it with no penut butter.
See how I twist the version, call your favorite pill brewer and we will trip.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
He stands in his house that is young than he does
His room is miserable like protégé of a teenager,
In contrast to his septuagenarian age ring,
He hates his house with juvenile energy
Not knowing what to do with such hate of loss,
In blurred memory of his estranged wife,
Not able to discern the current age of his daughter,
That had accompanied the distaff on the day of separation,
He lulls his nerves to slumber, away from such menace of a thought,
By walking slowly to the den of wine, like Mermeldov in hands of Fydor,
He sinks down in a chair, plants himself deep into a tumbler of Whisky,
The only fortress into which the poor prodigals take refuge,
Running away from duty of ethics that spans across life of man,
As he wants not memory of his erstwhile risky *** with a punch of ******
From which he condones his exposure to deadly malady,
He wants not his memory of overdrawing his account,
In faithful service to master wine, against the sub-current
Of wisdom that the carouser labours but labours for the brewer,
He wants not memory that his moral duty got punctured,
And hence self-exile in to slavish duty to wine
The only hostage to the whole rounded prodigal.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:44 AM UTC
Annona's friend Aquila
was here,
an endless talker,
gossip brewer,
eyeing me darkly;
she knew I was
Annona's slave girl Amy,
looked at me
as if I were hers
to order and chide.
I stood and looked
at Annona,
took in her beauty,
the hair I brushed
and prepared,
the clothes I chose
and dressed her in.
She looked at me
and smiled,
(Aquila didn't see)
asked me for this
and that
in friendly manner.
Now Aquila has gone,
Annona has gone
to lie down to rest.
I clear away the things,
make tidy things untidy,
wash up items
needing washing.
I think of Annona
and me last night
in her bed,
how we made love,
kissed and held,
touched and whispered
words and promises,
held and kissed,
made love again,
pushed all thoughts
of her husband Marcus's
return from war
on Caesar's behalf,
talked of where to touch,
how and when,
and outside
the moon shone bright,
and far off
voices of others
preparing for bed,
unaware of us
and love,
with no thought
of Marcus
in either head.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 3:02 AM UTC
I looked in the mirror today
and said to my reflection…
"We need to talk!
Have a word,
this is getting absurd…
You’re a mess…
you’re overweight,
those lines on your face
they used to be straight
now they’re wrinkly.
The stoop,
the brewer’s droop
It’s not good.
Your best intentions
are misunderstood.
It’s about time to diet…
go for a run,
not a fun run!
Stay quiet
lay off the *****
Instead of post lunch
having a snooze.
You’re bloated,
stooped,
Out of breath,
permanently pooped
It’s got to stop!
You’ve got to start
giving a ****
You must start
conquering it!
Stomach in,
chest out
shoulders back
pack it in,
stub it out,
looking like a
geriatric lout!
’Snot funny…
cut the grin,
this lethargy’s
doin’ you in.
Get closer… focus
just behave…
You can start off by
having a shave!!
He's a harsh critic - that bathroom mirror! Little *****
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 9:09 AM UTC
Let me tell you now, I’ve never picked up a bass guitar in my life
the guy stood stage side, cool as hell, his looks as sharp as a knife
surveying the crowd, picking the best, which girl is coming back to his room
town to town, gig to gig, thanks for the ride, I won’t be back anytime soon
An aura of disdain, a secret never to be told under that cowboy hat of his
reeling through the catalogue, hit after hit, hiding has no place in showbiz
A breed to contend, so lets never offend that man who has a different point of view
we could all have been a plumber or a copper, but the line-up for this role is a very short queue
Comparisons are strange and never the same, from deep sea diver to football goalkeeper
hey, a job’s a job no matter what you do, even home brewer to a honey making beekeeper
So what if you’re an oddball, the world needs its variety
from 6 strings to 4, its hardly a chore, he gave up on the piano and its keys
because that’s the way it is and the life I now live
simple, sometimes exuberant but always content,
That’s it,
Bass player me
JJB
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
Hunter S Thompson worried about lizard people in a drug haze
My mind is blown wide open in the New Age
I'm just thinking about aliens and the illiterate light
The Kundalini illustrates our condition
So deep in thought I consider my position
A beam of light in a shell being constricted by snakes
I felt them once in the depths of a fever dream
From where do these thoughts bubble up like steam?
The beings phase-shifted as light and healed my perceived delusions
The snake is the reptilian brain
Reptile aliens made of light will pull out all your pain
Then we'll dance from here across the universe
Jesus Christ had a lizard brain too
All humans do it's true
The devil of his senses that tormented him for 40 nights
I'm amazed by the places my mind goes
Shines bright like a diamond then withers like a rose
Sitting here in my place in this space in time
If there are reptile aliens I hope there are Nordics as well
I'm a Nordic Reptilian but still scared of Hell
It might be all in the mind anyway
The Nordics have the reptilian reactive mind
I'm just looking to find my kind
So I'll know where you're at if the ether continues
The Sumerian tablets say the same thing as Genesis
Or so I've read and what Denny Brewer professed
I listen to The People's Key too much
I have this suspicion that existence is Star Wars
Exalt The Force or the Holy Spirit - It's yours
You mean more than you can ever know
But what if Nietzsche was correct
And nothing can ever be eternal or perfect
Or what if this thing is eternal occurrence forever and ever amen?
There's a Deus Ex Machina inherent in all of us
The genius of our creative minds free us
So we never can repeat the same things again
I've seen stranger things happen, man
Getting closer to the bottom of the rabbit hole scam
A mind is a terrible thing to waste
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
Im still stuck on the same old gear
guess the weather,
It’s my second summer.
Just so you know, Im still here
Heart still linger
wearing your sweater
I know I can’t be like this forever
but just so you know
Im right here down the corner
Waiting for you to sit,
next to the *****
If ever that happened,
bring me some coffee brewer
So i can keep you accompany,
and make you some coffee
so ill make sure you’ll stay longer
May 26, 2025
May 26, 2025 at 1:29 AM UTC