Cheshire Blue

Cheshire Blue


The oldest of man-made foods is cheese,
discovered by Arabs, most legends agree.
They carried their milk in the stomachs of cows
and found by chance, with rennet around,
that solids came to float in a nearly-clear liquid,
forming protein-fat curds of delicious nutrition.

Centuries passed and the art was perfected,
unique to each region, the outcome affected
by soil, grass, and livestock within each area
and also dependent on mold and bacteria.
Dramatic attack turns a golden cheese blue,
makes nutty cheese pungent, and crumbly cheese smooth!

This exposure to culture is the finishing touch
and for most of the cheeses, it doesn't take much,
but in the case of a Cheshire, rarest of blues,
it has never controllably been infused.
In this, a surprising connection occurs
between poetry and cheese, words and curds,
for a poem is much like a Cheshire blue.
It can't be forced -- it can only find you.
It arrives like the happiest accident,
when the poet's only hope is to have intent.
The spores can't be forced or coerced to take hold
to transform words into poetic mold.

But have patience, I say, for the spores exist!
They float around freely, like a swirling mist.
These special seeds will chose, in time,
which paths to take, which poems to find,
their fates determined not by you --
you're just a spectator in the greater view!

As some things occur by random chance,
you can only make the most of your circumstance...
Keep a dark, damp cellar beneath your street
where the mold can grow rampant, away from the heat.
Create these conditions -- that's all you can do.
Keep your faith, sit and wait, and if you're lucky, you, too,
will have created a place that can make a Cheshire blue!