Well… I mean, what can I say? It’s been a week since my impassioned plea for a Cheese Wheelin’ Poetry Passion. For those of you who didn’t see that particular post, it’s easy enough to find. Just scroll back a bit. About a week oughta do. In that post, I put forth my own two cents, concerning cheese, in the form of two poems – one an original, and one a treatment of cheese that might have made the Bard himself proud – or nauseous. And then I asked for contributions to the vast repertory of Limburger Literature, if you will… The response has been staggering, and bewildering – and all kinds of other emotions that can only be made stronger by adding an ‘ing’ suffix. Like strongering. Or nauseousing.
I had replied to a commenter on my post yesterday on Cheese (with a capital ‘C’, because Cheese is very important), with an attempt to bring all the wondrous glory that is cheese (oops… I mean Cheese) into a poem, of sorts… That attempt, such as it is, is as follows: Would the Bard work as hard on a poem about Cheese, If the Cheese smacked of chard, and was hard, if you please? A bit Seussicallian, to coin a word, and to give my poor efforts entirely too much credit by association. Surely, I thought, (I really hate it when I refer to myself as Shirley… even in my own head…) I say, I thought, surely I could do better than that!
The poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese… GK Chesterton