Blest be the loaves
Which gave thee sight to hear
My song of culinary magnificence.
Oh balsamic jus!
Drenching the prosciutto
And its latticed asparagus spears
With its bittersweet inky viscosity.
Oh porcine portion!
Pungent with odours of the gorgeous East;
Herbs aromatique de Provence
And menthe...that je ne sais quoi!
Oh lemon pie, thou torte of tarty tingles
Dancing like a thousand giraffes
Through my buds of taste -
Pirhouette on your gravelly base.
Oh chesse, oh kase, oh fromagerie!
Flavoured lard I sing my praise to thee!
Congratulate the oaten vomit
which gushes after the gorging.
I've just lost my appetite! ! But this food must be doing YOU some good for you to be able to reach the ripe old age of 85 and still write poetry! Mad it may be, but colourfully mad. Love, Fran xx PS How's Outer Mongolia these days?
'Dancing like a thousand giraffes' Beautifully mad, the best line I've read for ages. Esra Sloblock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
D, this all seems to be very tasty. Do you have an actual recipe book at the ready? I'm doing tea imminently and would like some of this kind of stuff. Or do I simply blend this little lot and hit it with gay abandon, gnashingfully? Interesting formula for happiness. Should work. Grand feat of imagination. Humour unleashed, running wild with purpose! Very funny - truly. This had me giggling well into the night! ! ! jim