All of us here are drawn by a common thirst.

The one that makes hard edges softer

and buries old mistakes.

The bartender pours another and smiles.

I look to her fingers for promises and see none,

think maybe this face will pass for gold and it doesn't.

Just another settler searching abandoned mines.

Then an old Sourdough shouts

and I'm supposed to raise my glass.

I say, "Not so fast man

--a shovel-full at a time."

Thunderbock bubbles

once capped, are now free

to dance on our tongues

To know the gravity of ones birth

To Dance with sorrow and bow to mirth

To live with a smile upon ones lips

unhindered by time as it slips

Indulging pleasure avoiding strife

these are the joys of living life.

In the

center of a very

large bubble there is no

extra pressure -- it is calm;

and while I'm somewhat worried and

concerned with what's outside the

bubble, its a strange sensation. I

didn't believe after twenty-five years

I would have a new feeling being bored

with life as it seems, and now this

alive; and for a moment in all that

ever was, or will be, there is me

talking to you, four A.M. Sunday

full moon, without thinking

whether god or anyone else

listening could bene-

-fit or harm.

On how best to draw a beer

Debate has raged: the eons pass.

Common wisdom holds today

To ease it in the glass

Slip it softly down the side

So as mug caresses lip,

No single bubble comes between

The sipper and the sip.

What nonsense, this passion!

Slam that beverage home.

I want a creamy mustache,

I want to see that foam.

From thinnest ale to the thickest stout,

Golden, brown or red,

Don't soothe that brew, arouse it!

With my beer, give me head.

Come closer old son

said Barnacle Bill to his buddy Bob.

I'll wager you a dozen fine bottles

Of Borealis brew, I can

blow up a north wind better than you.

Huffing and puffing to no avail

Barnacle, blue faced, did fail.

Solace soon found imbibing the prize

both men teetered and tilted and grew less wise.

The stories raised taller, almost near lies.

Said Barnacle Bill to Bob, you spin quite a tale,

I suppose that flounder you caught last week

will soon be a whale.

__________________Honorable Mentions___________________________

ESB!

IPA!

Make it bitter

then send it my way.

the day is done,

the work was hard;

I take a deep breath(!)

(and) let down my guard(!)

my very own thoughts

can now fill up my head

aah... I drink my beer

and go to bed

I

Gotta write

And ain't

Got a pen

So I go

Over to

The bar

Hang the

Torso

across

gotta pen

yeh,

bam

in the

biz

so its

the bouncer

looking at

me

I've been here

2 hours

I've walked

Talked

Bummed

And

Slummed

But still alone

Writing on

Napkins

Who is the

Crazed Malcontent

That shows

Up and

Runs

A personal

IPA tab

Then sits in a

Corner and

Smiles

Fly on the wall

Parasite to

All

Maybe someday

This will

Be worth

Something,

But right now,

My tab is
Closed,

Fat females

That bum

Cigarettes

Are gone

And so

Am

I

Slowly she dances in this skirt;

She dances when she stands with

her elbows on the bar-stooled table

She is molded in her situation,

thinking she could change location

any time, leave all this for a book, a beer, a bubble bath

and nowhere a man in sight.

She stands outside the alley door

her feet apart and her arms folded

with music, and the star-cooled

cloudy night sky

Her beauty is a focused, expanded,

detailed comprehensive beauty

of being beyond ananysis.

Pouring over clandestine passion,

hands are warm somewhere.

She felt it from the dock,

wind-directed chills of half-glances.

For all embracement, discomfort,

and loss, there are still things

in the woods: tree stumps, moss,

toad stools, leaves, rocks, feathers...

The bands of light circle out,

the downs come and show her,

the reality drops.

Give me a beer or give me death.
I don't want your coolders

Ciders, or drinks without depth.

I need the satisfying taste

Of hops, barley and wheat.

For this is the stuff that makes

Little girly-men weep.

_______________Not a winner, but fun!_______________

Borealis my precious

Ye marvellous treasure

Ye ultimate measure

Of my belly's pleasure

One for the road

Two for the load

Oh yea, Borealis!

Three for fun

Four to run

A fifth for bliss

A sixth not miss

Oh yea, Borealis!

Seven for heaven

Eight for height

Nine for spine

Ten to divine

Eleven more

Oh yea, Borealis!

All twelve for all!

In Valhalla Odin sat, his eye gone grimly dark

Ye wasted scoundrels, bring me the fiend!

Who did this utter waste, in thunder he'd bark,

Who stole my beer shall have no friend!

Valhalla's slaves widely trembling in ghastly fear

Neither watch they dared, nor potent voice to hear

Menacingly cold a silent mist hushed down the hall,

No sound, no whisper dared float from wall to wall

In strolled Thor, look he shouted, see this fellow

I found up north, idly lingering beneath a willow,

Calling himself Eric Red, but see that barrel huge

He holds. No beer, you say? This could you all deluge!

Dark clouds gone from face, Odin voice rose in roar

Borealis! By all howling Æsir and Vikings dreadful

You useless, of that beer, bring me a brimful headful

Up on feet, feed the fire, we'll us roast a juicy boar

Borealis, Odin mellowed, the best beer I ever saw

This fellow Eric, our guest he'll be, fresh and raw

So, each morning he'll us bring ten full Borealis vats

For us each day to fill our immense heads and hats

Borealis! The beer for decent Viking gods!

Valhalla's gods hailing down their cheers

Had Eric's barrel soon gone and empty

So Thor and Eric gladly, with feet askew

went down north to fetch ten barrels few

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