The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.
quote by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To Cheese
☺ .
Ode To Cheese,
Which Makes Us Smile,
When Camera's go Clack.
Ode To Cheese,
Which make us taste,
The greatest of flavors, the wackiest of whack.
Ode To Cheese,
Blue, Gorgonzola,
American and Cheddar.
Ode To Cheese,
Beja and Feta,
In all types of weather.
Ode To Cheese,
For those on a diet,
or trying to get fatter.
Ode To Cheese,
with crackers and wine,
with grapes can flatter.
Ode To Cheese,
when you're sad and happy,
Cheese just fits.
Ode To Cheese,
Mountains and Mountains,
or bits and bits.
Ode to the Cheese,
To appreciate,
eat,
and take pictures.
Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cheese Cake
I met a babe in a backseat drive-in
Back in the saddle shed sit
Pulled on the reins just to keep me risin
She loved to chomp at the bit
Daddy do it, oh, just do it
Daddy do it, please let me see
Do it, please just do it daddy
Do it, do it, drivin me crazy
She walks away with her eyes
Down on her bootlace
She lives to give it away
She dont believe in the right or the wrong case
Shes always liable to say
Daddy do it, oh, just do it
Daddy do it, please let me see
Do it, please just do it daddy
Do it, do it, drivin me crazy
(cheese cake), looser than her sister
(cheese cake), her sugar gets me high
She knows I cant resist her (cheese cake)
Got my fingers in her pie (cheese cake)
(cheese cake), sneakin out the back door
(cheese cake), rollin down the lawn
Everybody kissed her (cheese cake)
At the crack of dawn (cheese cake)
Daddy do it, oh, just do it
Daddy do it, please let me see
Daddy do it, please just do it daddy
Do it, do it, do it, drivin me crazy
(cheese cake), looser than her sister
(cheese cake), her sugar gets me high
She knows I cant resist her (cheese cake)
Got my fingers in her pie (cheese cake)
Repeat (cheese cake)
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poem As Subject Of Itself
THE POEM AS SUBJECT OF ITSELF
The poem as subject of itself
Makes a mockery of everything else –
How small the world
We confine and create
When only other poets
Read the poems we make.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For All The Poets
FOR ALL THE POETS
This is a poem for all the poets who have no name,
For all those who have written and failed,
And for those who have not written,
And failed.
This is a poem for all the poets who dreamed themselves poets,
And were never, and will be known as poets
To the world.
This a poem for all those
Who after years of effort
Still live in an oblivion
They will die in.
This is a poem for all those
Who whether they have poetry in them or not,
Will never be heard or read,
For what their hearts must tell
Someone else.
This is a poem for all the silent poets
Those who live in silence
And whose silence is eternal
For all those whose only poetry
is the poem they have lived within themselves.
This is a poem for all those who would- be poets
And a poem for those
Who despite their efforts
Did not make their poem known.
This is a poem which may be for you,
And I know is for me
A confession
To make us less alone.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is
Greek
and other ancient languages
are happy with verbs
existing without a subject.
Renders.
Philosophers, silent;
poets, dumb;
contemplatives, still..
Is.
Becomes?
Continues?
Ends?
Cogitates:
Is?
Is:
cogitates.
Meditates.
Rests.
Cla rifies.
Wonders.
Praises.
Expands.
Em braces.
Loves.
Is.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Moon Rabbit
In the night sky,
Sits the moon,
And on that moon lives,
The moon rabbit.
What he does up there,
All alone,
Is completely unknown.
But I think I’ve figured it out.
He spends his time,
Making cheese.
He makes cheese,
For the moon people.
And every year,
They have a cheese party,
To say thank-you,
To their cheese making friend.
poem by Mandy Jane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oxford Cheese Ode
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.
poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Facts About Cheese
When the price of cheese was so low a few years ago that the
dairymen seriously thought of giving up the manufacture
of cheese and of selling their cows, we published the fol-
lowing lines and distributed them by the thousand :
Price soon will rise, though now 'tis low,
And brooks of milk will onward flow ;
Were it collected in one stream
There would be floods of milk and cream.
Mr. T. D. Millar has just secured, Sept., 1884, the first prize for cheese at the great
cheese fair at Amsterdam, Holland. They weighed over 600 pounds each, and were
manufactured by the Burnside Factory of Dorchester. The Galloway Factory is manufacturing
several cheese weighing one ton each. The mammoth cheese, alluded to in cheese ode,
was manufactured by Mr. James Harris, Ingersoll Factory. The Dnnn Cheese Factory, North
Oxford, secured first prize at the great Centennial Exhibition, but where all factories
produce such excellent cheese perhaps it would be making invidious distinctions to specify
the honours won by any particular factory. The West Oxford Company have recently built a
fine factory on the Culloden Road.
poem by James McIntyre
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Young Reviews
Some young poets may mistake
Reviews as a door for more discussion
A vast arena where one can make
An endless lane for Argumentation.
Reviewing further on a review
The comment box becomes gibe talk
Topic diverted to irrelevant issues
Until its there that Gossip walks
Perhaps a line has to be drawn
Where Poetry as art should have a place
Center the review on what it spawns
The impact, the theme, what the poems says
-------------
This poem was written as a satire for young poets
who have mistaken the comment box as a place for pointless
discussion/arguments and some have gone so far as talk
about an erring mother (the subject of a poem) . Such
practice diverts the purpose for reviews - which is to
comment on the poem - not on the character or subject,
for then it ends up as a 'gossip box'.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cheese Balls
Cheese balls!
Sniff them as you lick them,
Cheese balls.
Delicious when you eat them,
Cheese balls.
Salty and their tart.
A snack that's hard to stop!
Cheddar up.
Cheese balls.
Sniff them as you lick them.
Cheese balls.
Delicious when you eat them.
Cheese balls.
Salty and they're tart,
And a snack that's hard to top.
Cheddar up.
Get a big bag and begin to stuff your gutt.
Those, those, those...
Cheese balls.
The cheddar makes them better.
Cheese balls.
They're better when they're cheddar.
Forget about the fedder...
And that gouda gotta go!
You've got to get them cheddar.
It's that cheddar taste that grows.
Cheddar up, cheddar up, cheddar up!
Those cheese balls...
Delicious when you eat them.
Cheese balls.
Sniff them as you lick them.
Cheese balls.
And a snack that's hard to stop!
Salty and they're tart...
Forget about the fedder.
And that gouda gotta go!
Cheese balls!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Staring At The Dead Mouse
i poisoned that mouse
which ate my cheese
that i left
under my bed,
till now i do not know
the reason,
why that cheese
was there, why
i left the mouse dead
on the floor,
why i stared at it
as though
i am sharing my guilt
with the cheese
and the poison.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.
quote by T.S. Eliot (1920)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent
Silent when I have nothing to say.
Silent just to avoid the fray.
Silent when I am not sure.
Silent—I can't stand anymore.
Silent when you make me mad.
Silent I am when times are sad.
Silent when I am too shy.
Silent when I want to cry.
Silent as I carry life's load.
Silent... I may soon explode.
poem by Shaqueena Celestin
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Stinky, Moldy Cheese
In my house there is a slice...
Of stinky cheese
In my house there is some chedder
Though staying far from it might be better
In my house there's a piece
Of stinky, moldy mozzarela cheese
In my house there are many things
But nothing can top stinky, moldy cheese
There is a whisperer who tells me many things
'Hey miss...'
'Don't go near the swiss! '
You're so lucky this cheese...
Isn't yours
poem by Kristy Wisser
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0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We As Poets
We as poets must command a sacred accent over a language of our choice,
We as poets must gift the minds of a failing generation,
We as poets must demand a clear explanation and a fair occupation,
We as poets must dissolve into particles and dust if we have not known enough,
We as poets must destroy the living standards of low quality,
We are to be the poetry of utmost perception and suffering.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The itching truths are ignored
Poets wrote volumes
About flowers and blossoms
But were mute in their praise
For fruits and seeds,
Which give more charm.
Poets wrote reams
About the spring and its warmth
But did rare in their concern
For the summer and its dampness,
Which touches deeper senses.
Poets wrote tonnes
About the beauties of spinsters
But were silent to picture
Beauties of wives and mothers,
Who display more lustre.
They dare not write the real
That are itching to readers
00.04.97, Agartala
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Subject On This Love
The subject on this love is an object,
And the object is very sound and beautiful;
The subject on this love is a valley,
And the valley is very quiet and lovely;
The subject on this love is a fruit,
And the fruit is very sound and attractive;
The subject on this love is a mountain,
And the mountain is very high and lonely;
The subject on this love is a river,
And the river is very smooth and slippery;
The subject on this love is a seed,
And the seed is very fruitful and sweet;
The subject on this love is your milk,
And your milk is very thick and sweet;
The subject on this love is your lake,
And your lake is very fresh and aromantic;
The subject on this love is a garden,
And the garden is very thick and bushy;
The subject on this love is a room,
And that room is very romantic and peaceful;
The subject on this love is your apples,
And your apples are very passinate and emotional;
The subject on this love is a tree,
And that tree is very tall and bushy;
But the peace of this subject brings is like,
Two lovers swimming across the blue sea of love and blues.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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