tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5341387552436652040.post1677084459682917384..comments2023-08-23T08:38:39.866-04:00Comments on NECO DRACONES: What did Jesus Drink?Dubbahdeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00075702513873912334noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5341387552436652040.post-31511492379362582342008-07-23T16:09:00.000-04:002008-07-23T16:09:00.000-04:00Good post, and nice poem anonymous! Anti-alcohol a...Good post, and nice poem anonymous! Anti-alcohol arguments can often be traced to a deficient understanding of creation, fall and redemption. But that aside... I have not developed a taste for German / Belgium beers yet - mine is firmly entrenched in the flavours of Britain and Ireland (ie, Ales, Stouts and Porters), although I've been known to drink a pilsner from time to time... And the only real mass-produced product that I drink regularly is Guinness.Magotty Manhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06039164409659890130noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5341387552436652040.post-27650104039502099082008-07-23T15:35:00.000-04:002008-07-23T15:35:00.000-04:00THE END OF THE WINE You think if we sigh as we dri...THE END OF THE WINE <BR/>You think if we sigh as we drink the last decanter <BR/> We're sensual topers, and thence you are ready to prose <BR/>And read your lecture. But need you? Why should you banter <BR/> Or badger us? Better imagine it thus: We'll suppose <BR/><BR/>A man to have come from Atlantis eastward sailing-- <BR/> Lemuria has fallen in the fury of a tidal wave; <BR/>The cities are fallen; the pitiless, all prevaling, <BR/> Inhuman ocean is Numinor's salt grave. <BR/><BR/>To Europe he comes from Lemuria, saved from the wreck <BR/> Of the gilded, loftily builded, countless fleet <BR/>With the violet sails. A phial hangs from his neck, <BR/> Holding the last of a golden cordial, subtle and sweet. <BR/><BR/>Untamed is Europe, untamed--a wet desolation, <BR/> Unwelcoming woods of the elk, of the mamoth and bear, <BR/>The fen and the forest. The men of a barbarous nation, <BR/> On the sand in a circle are standing, await him there. <BR/><BR/>Horribly ridged are their foreheads. Weapons of stone, <BR/> Unhandy and blunt, they brandish in their clumsy grips. <BR/>Their females set up a screaming, their pipes drone, <BR/> They gaze and mutter. He raises his flask to his lips. <BR/><BR/>And it brings to his mind the strings, the flutes, the tabors, <BR/> How he drank with the poets at the banquet, robed and crowned; <BR/>He recalls the pillared halls carved with the labours <BR/> Of curious masters (Lemuria's cities lie drowned), <BR/><BR/>The festal nights, when each jest that flashed for a second, <BR/> Light as a bubble, was bright with a thousand years <BR/>Of nurture--the honour and the grace unreckoned <BR/> That sat like a robe on the Atlantean peers. <BR/><BR/>It has made him remember ladies and the proud glances, <BR/> Their luminous glances in Numinor and the braided hair, <BR/>The ruses and mockings, the music and the grave dances <BR/> (Where musicians played, the huge fishes goggle and stare). <BR/><BR/>So he sighs, like us; then rises and turns to meet <BR/> Those naked men. Will they make him their spoil and prey? <BR/>Or salute him as god and brutally fawn at his feet? <BR/> And which would be worse? He pitches the phial away.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com