Wordsworth

Few things in life really matter, declares Christchurch’s John Edgar, more than cheese upon a platter. A short poem about fromage was this week’s challenge.

Tim Upperton of Palmerston North writes: I like to read Milton/with port and stilton,/but I like Dickens better/with beer and cheddar.

Queenstown’s Margi Parker: Hotly pursued, camembert/runs out of his casing/pungent yellow lava embracing/ all in his path./Chunky cheddar neatly sits/adorned with olive tasty bits/smiling at the aftermath.

From Vi Mcintosh: Never feel the slightest guilt on/Having scoffed an entire stilton.

Katherine Gordon of Riwaka: Clouds part and golden rays of light illuminate/ The slab of roquefort in the centre of the plate./ The chèvre, the edam, the gouda, the feta,/ The danish blue and the english cheddar/All sit untouched, in orphaned state/By comparison, they just don’t rate.

A true story from Frances

Caracciolo of Auckland: A little French boulangerie,/I asked the dame, ‘Avezvous brie?’/’DU brie!’ she shrieked at me. ‘DU brie!’/’Pardon. Du brie?’ She grunted ‘Oui.’/Delicious. Worth the shrieks. Merci.

But Christchurch’s Elizabeth Blows wins with: The fridge door opened: there you sat/in lazy, rotund splendour;/your silken kiss, your oozing charm,/awoke my sleeping ardour./Our love devoured the stale brown bread,/which we tore to pieces;/my ode to you is all that’s left/Oh Gorgonzola, prince of cheeses.

For the next contest, send a deliberately terrible opening sentence to an imaginary novel set in the US Wild West or a Tolkien-esque fantasy realm. Entries, for the prize below, close at noon on Thursday, January 18.