The Curds of Fortitude

While I would love to take credit for this poem, I cannot. This is the work of my brother, upon whom breathed the Cheese Muse. I found a battered, stained, folded copy in my room just now and want to save the profundity, wit and wisdom for all time by casting it into cyberspace. Also, I must enjoin you, my egotists, to follow the excellent advice of this poet.

Imagine now, if you will be so good. A young man, standing at a music stand before a goodly company of Cheese Poets competing for an award (more on this practice to follow subsequently.) In a fit of inspiration, imagine that young man casting his reading glasses far down his nose and lifting up his voice to wail the part of the lover. Do not forget to ponder the glory of this young man’s nerve as he reaches the part of the beloved and throws his voice into a ringing falsetto.

I love my brother…and here is one of his poems.

(Lover)

O! Hair of russet,
Breast of down,

Arm of geometric proportion
Feet of Euclidean perfection!

My Beloved!
The one I love,

Our love is broken, is it not?
It is truly empty, void?

Can we make it whole?
Can we mend this mess of daydreams?

The night is wild,
The day, frigid

No safety or hope in list’ning to the poet,
No hope or safety in forced distraction

Only painful, sadistic diversion

(Beloved)

Be not so dejected, my lover,
Be comforted the one I love.

In a world of chaos and pain,
The world spins with absurdity

Panic is the worst of crimes,
Losing practiced calm, the greatest calamity.

Come and look, my dear,
My love, come and see!

Taste the Brie, and find order
Eat the curds of fortitude

Toasted cheese builds inner strength
Stands to reason, keeps you healthy

To deal with a plenitude of chaos
To fight the eccentric lies;

All this strength in a slice of cheese!

(Together)

Cheese gives proof of cheese:
Cheese proves Eternal Kindness

Impossibly uninformed to make it Moloch’s mirth
Strangely asinine to claim it Chaos’ craft

Rejoice, be glad of cheese!
The King has made it, Rejoice!

He’s a smarty pants, ain’t he? That Dusty Thane!

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