Stille Nacht with Fruit

 Stille Nacht........met de beste wensen
Belgian Pale Ale

















just the thing to finish a day of watching beer being brewed.....



the Professor at Mucky's recommended this one .....again he was right on...he has been studying



following orange red brown body color and hair of white
large as one wants to pour
a warm feeling fills the heart and chest   no cavity here

smooth in weight
not too skinny not too fat
a real go getter and i like 'em like that  (mitch in detroit said  that)
warm and kithceny
crossword puzzley  the women bake pies
and men scratch beards knees armpits crotch

spices here not peppers or clove (no cloven hoofed beasts) no mints
warm spice

the blind child built the snowman
deaf children built the snowwoman  together the snowpeople are built
never alone the cold would be unbearable

in ice white clothes they dance
spin twirl and twist
round bodied hips lock lips lock
twisting snow    people kiss
lips lock  (wet tongues on winter cold metal)

spring slow warm sunlight melt ice lovers
bodies together locked melt into uponto each other
separate not one love puddle

Ipswich I.P.A "American Ale"

On first sip I think of Masconomet, the Agawam tribe, and Algonquin as a language. Does this brew have colonial intentions, perhaps, even imperialistic underpinnings? What of  pioneers, farmers, billows of sea stained clipper sails? What of the brew itself? Rhetorical questions that the beer itself has no interest in.

Cap removed with the rusty figurine of a sea siren, mermaid, Li Ban impersonator.

This ale falls with interest toward Plum Island
   seeks refuge within the belly of one formerly disinterested clam
thumb length head of flesh yellowing to a wallpaper cream wall
     {superb side glass beer art}

                       In glass, in clam belly, the color is Taunton River sweltering - kicked up silt
                       stallion flank brown, approaching finish line

            Clams don't smell so well (scent receptor wise, this clam smells fine)

Clam bivalves sputter, rejuvenated: certain unfiltered  unpasteurized fragment through gills, settles faintly with chlorine on mucus membrane
     hops contribute their droop    a cloak spreads side to side
malts toasted settle in  - soft belches of hollow French courtyards in early spring
      "spittle recognizant refreshes"

notes of seldom kissed father, even or less than zero for mother follow suite, wet caravan, bitter leaves.

this I.P.A is content with itself. It redeems and dispels. The water forgoes itself and includes the hops for seeing some past within a malty future.

fruit in a pasture
fruit and chipped teeth
sugar in a cup of green fur

For an I.P.A THIS CLAM GIVES 5 SATISFIED SINNERS OUT OF TEN WHIPPED BY FORAS

LONGTRAIL - LIMBO IPA

LONGTRAIL - LIMBO IPA

Glenn Frey sliding belly across checkered linoleum floor
a mustache quivers and pulls in an avalanche of Limbo IPA
He begins to shake and quake; a whimper leaves his bottom lip as the bottle
now empty, hits the floor.
     The radio begins playing a song not yet written, sun beams of yellow rain caps filter through the used bottle.The color is spittle white with yellow afterthoughts. A taste of sweet flesh hits the tongue followed by crushed bone in magnesium. He forgot glass so head retention is something of a different nature at this point. He whispers, notes of lawnmower shrapnel, hops so juicy ones teeth temporarily become one with tongue, depression,  hints of sliced grapefruits under a black moon. Order of palette becomes dysfunctional. New England summer chopped wood beams display structure on the back but also front of tongue. Dancing dervishes of Belfagor in fiendish copulation with his taste buds, an offering of Styx and citrus. AFTERTASTE of ash in wooden cradle.

As he raises his head of stupor he notices the date reads finish by christmas eve 2013
He falls into a deep sleep upon the thighs of Don Henley oblivious to his state of LIMBO

-Deacon Non compos mentis

Narragansett Bock 

pours like most beers, after you flip the tab, if you tilt the can it splashes out.

airs of goatherder leather sandals mingle with surf  just south of narragnasett beach as the glass fills.

foaming head clean, large  and white. if the beer wasnt brewed near the ocean i would say seagull shit white. you know that pure white that surrounds the off colours, brown and gray , that sit  on your windshield when you come out of the market, just after you were at the car wash.

tastes of malt and rubber seal of a cheap dishwashing machine.  sublte hop aroma, and a strong sting of alcohol soaked womans hose, worn for three days in early February, while commuting to and from work on diesel city busses. 

the finish -- pure and sweet, malt ummm.... and an equal hop balance, silenced by a neck knife slice of musty navel lint.

cheers

Rev. Rearview