In ramekin place a butter base so thin to feel like silk. And then esteem a leafy green, like spinach, just to wilt. The oven’s heat let it meet and make a sort of bowl. And sprinkle thus some fennel dust, and salt to heal…

Immersed in the slabs of the labs of forensic diviners  My poetry brain sits in some sick existential crisis While cannibals do their work with swift expertise I rob the thesaurus I wish I had more cheese I stare at the screen that’s looming in…

Saltines! The only crackers ever anywhere in the 1960s, when women wore skirts and children didn’t matter. Well, at least I didn’t matter – or so I was told. (ouch!) Saltines with squares of American cheese! And then came Velveeta… that liquid gold when mixed…

Oh, cheese! yes, please. ricotta’s creamy, blue is crumbly as I write, see cottage goes in my tummy.   Crackers are nice with Colby jack, sliced and grilled sandwich, can’t wait for Swiss to ooze on hot plate.   Cheddar whiz is fine atop cheesesteak,…

Blessings for these things: the prayers you prayed for me, the Mad Magazines you bought us, the freedom to explore anywhere, the macaroni and cheese, please, that had a pound of cheese any kind a stick of butter 2 cups of bread crumbs 4 cups…

I think that I shall never eat A poem lovely as most cheese. A cheese whose hungry body is prest Against my taste buds, Mmmm – the best! A cheese that sits with God all day, And learns to sit, and sit, and age; A…

After dinner at Chez Désespoir, when the wine, the brie, cherry gazpacho, the sole, the fruit and cheese with honey glaze were cleared, after he gave her a ring with a rock as big as Jupiter, she buried her face in her hands. She said, “I…