In the spirit of Jonathan Bing and the Linkmen, I suggest (not for its quality but its subject matter) the work of James McIntyre, a man widely regarded as the worst poet in Canadian history. Read, for example, his opus magnum "Ode on the Mammoth Cheese"
http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poet=6599&poem=26684

or his "Prophecy of a Ten Ton Cheese"
http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poet=6599&poem=26686

For more on this extraordinary cheese enthusiast, see:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_McIntyre

One has to admire a man (if not his poetry) who loves cheese that much.

B.

Zounds, man! How dare ye impugn the reputation of cheesemongering's greatest man of letters with these accusations of immoderate use of single malt? The fellow's a veritable oracle of cheese. Besides, in 19th century Ingersoll Ontario, I imagine the best intoxicants he could have found would have been fermented yogourt and bathtub rye. And anyway, even so sober and respectable a personage as Poet Laureate William Wordsworth was known to produce verses such as:

There's something in a flying horse,
There's something in a huge balloon;
But through the clouds I'll never float
Until I have a little Boat,
Shaped like the crescent-moon.

All great poets thrive on hock and soda water - it's a well known fact.

To quote the Professor:

That was stuff. I was under the influence of the rays of the Moon. Such things are known to set people mad and make them spout nonsense.

I also liked Hints to Cheese Makers on that website:


"For dairymen find that it doth pay
To fatten pigs upon the whey,
For there is money raising grease
As well as in the making cheese."

Not cheese poetry, but I think it puts one in mind of Jonathan Bing:

“AHOY! and O-ho! and it ’s who ’s for the ferry?”  
   (The briar ’s in bud and the sun going down)  
“And I ’ll row ye so quick and I ’ll row ye so steady,  
   And ’t is but a penny to Twickenham Town.”  
 The ferryman’s slim and the ferryman’s young,
 With just a soft tang in the turn of his tongue;  
And he ’s fresh as a pippin and brown as a berry,  
   And ’t is but a penny to Twickenham Town.

From Twickenham Ferry
by Théophile Marzials

I know this thread is pretty much dead, seeing as how no one has posted since last August, but I just happened upon this poem by G. K. Chesterton:


SONNET TO A STILTON CHEESE

 Stilton, thou shouldst be living at this hour

 And so thou art.  Nor losest grace thereby;

 England has need of thee, and so have I--

 She is a Fen.  Far as the eye can scour,

 League after grassy league from Lincoln tower

 To Stilton in the fields, she is a Fen.

 Yet this high cheese, by choice of fenland men,

 Like a tall green volcano rose in power.



 Plain living and long drinking are no more,

 And pure religion reading 'Household Words',

 And sturdy manhood sitting still all day

 Shrink, like this cheese that crumbles to its core;

 While my digestion, like the House of Lords,

 The heaviest burdens on herself doth lay.


Read the entire essay from whence this poem came here:
http://www.chesterton-library.net/poetcheese.txt

I love Blaylock and I love this forum (just wish it was contributed to more often!)

-John Owen
http://trawlerman.blogspot.com