April is National Poetry Month

[PoetGuy]

at least here in the USA. It is also, perhaps more importantly and almost certainly of wider popular appeal, National Grilled Cheese Month.

Entertain Poet Guy by posting or linking a poem (yours or not). Bonus points if the poem is about cheese, or even if it is just cheesy.

Poet Guy is off to assemble a grilled white cheddar, prosciutto, and chèvre on sourdough.

 

[PoetGuy]

Everything Dulls with Age

except cheese. Even wine
softens its tannic bite, rounds
the harsh acidity of youth

into a crisp snap of apple
layered with hints of cinnamon
and honey. Jesus, even Art

slips easily under bulletproof glass
after twenty years, where
steel-stiff docents explain

the politics of its former terror
to neatly queued patrons.
If my brain was a wheel

of some undistinguished cheddar,
it could sit on a shelf
in a damp English cavern

and yellow and yellow
and still get sharper, somehow.
This is the miracle

of curdled milk
dyed three ways from Sunday
with annatto, God,

and spread on those thin,
dear, tasteless crackers.
Please do not snap them.

 

[butters]

say cheeeeeese

you make me toasty
melt
no goat but maybe bovine-eyed i'd
happily be diced or sliced and laid
upon your warm soft bed
a little welshy rare bit on fresh bread
butter me up and
dress me down
mature and mild
we'll head to head
i'm here to please.
say cheese!









a cheesy non-pom.

 

[bogusagain]

No cheese but I do mention baklava!

the Lebanese daughter

with substantial thighs and ample breasts
and dense fronds of crow black hair
she slow hip waltzes while she serves
and smiles a perfect smile
by the time I’m served baklava
I’m hopelessly in love

where better to be than here
in this aquarium, this pearl
this submarine dream, drowning
in undulating chords of Arab music
this mermaid, pushing through the currents
with the elegance of dance
her weighty chest, threatening
to break loose from her shirt
underwater sky clouds

my liquid brain
a golden yolk of barmy thought
floats me on a slow boat across an inland sea
clasped in olive skinned limbs
breasts that cushion me
a tongue that feeds me
above, the moon a midnight sun

outside, the city lights dance on the water
a shoal of silver fish break the surface
passers by wear rainbow masks
one can dream ones life away this way
isolating the poetry from the prose
hearing music in common sound
longing for the impossible
if only for one night but a night
that promises to last forever

 

[butters]

it's better than my cheese-please by far. it's a roit proppa poem, guv'nor!

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Oxford Cheese Ode
by James McIntyr

The ancient poets ne'er did dream
That Canada was land of cream,
They ne'er imagined it could flow
In this cold land of ice and snow,
Where everything did solid freeze,
They ne'er hoped or looked for cheese.

A few years since our Oxford farms
Were nearly robbed of all their charms,
O'er cropped the weary land grew poor
And nearly barren as a moor,
But now the owners live at ease
Rejoicing in their crop of cheese.

And since they justly treat the soil,
Are well rewarded for their toil,
The land enriched by goodly cows,
Yie'ds plenty now to fill their mows,
Both wheat and barley, oats and peas
But still their greatest boast is cheese.

And you must careful fill your mows
With good provender for your cows,
And in the winter keep them warm,
Protect them safe all time from harm,
For cows do dearly love their ease,
Which doth insure best grade of cheese.

To us it is a glorious theme
To sing of milk and curds and cream,
Were it collected it could float
On its bosom, small steam boat,
Cows numerous as swarm of bees
Are milked in Oxford to make cheese.

 

[PoetGuy]

Sonnet to a Stilton Cheese
G. K. Chesterton

Stilton, thou shouldst be living at this hour
And so thou art. Nor losest grace thereby;
England has need of thee, and so have I–
She is a Fen. Far as the eye can scour,
League after grassy league from Lincoln tower
To Stilton in the fields, she is a Fen.
Yet this high cheese, by choice of fenland men,
Like a tall green volcano rose in power.
Plain living and long drinking are no more,
And pure religion reading “Household Words”,
And sturdy manhood sitting still all day
Shrink, like this cheese that crumbles to its core;
While my digestion, like the House of Lords,
The heaviest burdens on herself doth lay.

 

[softsmile]

Mouse

If not for the cat
And the scarcity of cheese,
I could be content.

~Jack Prelutsky

 

[bogusagain]

Mouse

If not for the cat
And the scarcity of cheese,
I could be content.

~Jack Prelutsky

Tell us something about this guy. I have read about him on wiki because of you but I am sure you can tell us more.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Thank you, PoetGuy!

 

[softsmile]

Jack Prelutsky

Tell us something about this guy. I have read about him on wiki because of you but I am sure you can tell us more.

He writes poetry primarily for children. In 2006 The Poetry Foundation honored him as its first Children's Poet Laureate "in the hopes that the appointment will raise awareness of the genre and encourage more poets to write for children." Here is the article I came across:
http://www.nytimes.com/2006/09/28/books/28laureate.html?_r=1

If you know any children you'd love to introduce poetry to, Mr. Prelutsky also has a wonderfully fun and interactive website:
http://www.jackprelutsky.com/flash/index.html

 

[Senna Jawa]

[trela...]

=

trela trela morela
i would never guess that you're a Cinderella
'cos i knew that you're a queen

trela morela Cinderella
it's time for wine and mozzarella
and let me listen to your story
i will adore it​

wh
1985

 

[evesdream]

http://www.weblogimages.com/v.p?uid=clairdelune&pid=621485&sid=dgQ33lGRU4