Cheese maker

In issue Onehundredandeightyyyyyy we explore the dream of cheese

Cheesemaker,
cheesemaker, make some cheese.
White or yellow or red if you please;
blue, with mould, young or old:
I love cheese.

In a recent post,

26thAvenuePoet

shared a quote by G.K. Chesterton about poets being mysteriously silent on the topic of cheese. You can find a link to that post in the Poetry elsewhere section below. To be honest, I had to check. I love cheese. Almost all cheeses (apart from smoked ones like the Italian Scamorza). But had I written poems about cheese? Turns out, I did. Found the one above, decided it needed a bit of a rewrite and there you have it: a fresh poem for this issue, number 180. That’s the highest darts score you can get by throwing three darts.

What food do you like to write or talk about? And do you also love to eat it?

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Poésie de la vie

We’ve been to the mountains quite often. And the cheeses there, whether it’s in Switzerland or France, are indeed still made by small factories. In summer you see several small herds of cows grazing the alpine meadows. It’s idyllic and the cheeses are delicious. Fondue, anyone?

Poetry elsewhere

You thank this cheesy special of your inbox poetry magazine to

26thAvenuePoet

, who recently posted about cheese. The quote that inspired them to do so made me think and I found the cheesemaker poem in my archives that I rewrote for today’s issue. 26thAvenuePoet wrote a very nice poem that likens their love for specific cheese categories to their broader tastes. Does that work for you, too? Enjoy Poets and Poems and Cheese:

Poets and Poems and Cheese

To me, cheese is the stuff of dreams. But dreams are more than just cheese. Dreams are not only one of the magical ways our bodies deal with our realities, they are also the things we think we want to achieve. This is what Marta Gazzola’s poem wonderful Wunder is about. Enjoy this dreamy bit of poetry.

What if you have difficulty experiencing and expressing emotions? What would your dreams be like, and how would you feel about things that taste great. Or something like hunger. There’s a term for that, Alexithemia, and it happens to be the title of this beautiful poem by

Rae

that sweeps you along with it: Alexithymia.

Alexithymia