The best things that Christmas guarantees
Are the festive, digestive joys of cheese
No holiday platter is nearly complete
Without the familiar fumes ... of feet
Softening chunks of wafting wonder
Offered up aged for you to plunder
Those holey and rolly blocks to devour
So properly plump, and soddenly sour
There's no better bits for a yuletide slacker
Than great gobs of funk on a crispy cracker
And stuffing a sock or a Christmas Buddha
Is perfect diversion for a gram of Gouda
Or perhaps just a nip of Neufchâtel bliss
Bouncing its stink for a mistletoe kiss
What better addition to the bells of a sleigh
Than vino with bread, and a cheese in decay?
Or, the ideal pal for a proud poinsettia?
Why, a warmingly wonderful wee wedge of feta!
No matter what floats on the holiday breeze
It's ALWAYS out-funked by a good ... Christmas cheese!
Written and submitted on November 18, 2018
For the "Write A Poem About Cheese" Poetry Contest
Barry Stebbings, Judge & Sponsor
So he gave up on me. That was so hard to swallow. And even more to understand. And just impossible to accept. One day, I will remember it for a long time, I am sure, he called me as usual. We have spent some minutes on laughing, teasing each other and planning not too sensual but nice interactions for future. And then it has just happened. He gave up on me. Without so much as a word. Of explanation, of anger, of grudge, of disappointment, of disapproval. Of goodbye after all. I have understood that the last day it was. What I haven't though, was why. Have you ever felt physical pain because of emotional hurt? If not, you are lucky and you can think me all drama queen fallen into hysterics. Which I am by the by, but I am not exaggerating this very one time. It is unbelievable he did so. Why I do not know. And I am not a beggar to ask for more. He has funked. He has just funked it all.
You Will Hear Her Laughter
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Shriek In The Skies
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Hide Your Daughters
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She Wears No Disguise
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She Flies On Her Broom
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She Never Bends Or Tends
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Mind To The Spoon
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She Drinks Neat, Her Jacks
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She Ace Her Blacks
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She Is The Witch Of Hadditats Clove
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Around And Around She Rides
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Far And Beyond But Never She Will Hide
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Drunk She May Be
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Yet You Are Too Scared To See
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Hide You Do Behind The Stove
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Lucky You Are, Someone Is Funked Drunk
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She Is The Witch Of Hadditats Clove