"gouda" poems
You were so hot I spun twice to see, call me a fan
Your regal youth made my blood boil, call you peter pan
*You were like a boomerang I wanted to throw away but you kept* coming back to me,
*And maybe I've always been scared of hurdles and you were my biggest one, 'cause I just can't* get over you, you see
I thought you were like a paradox:
Cool as ice and hot as molten rock
You were like a magician with words, drove me so crazy I was pulling out my hare,
You steal my heart like a pirate captain when I sea you standing there,
But you didn’t have any morals, I deserve to call you whoreible
Yet you still think you're cute. you know? leaving my house the way you came would be adooreble
I discovered your texts to her on my birthday, the cake was ruined with my tiers
You caught my Eye with your animal magnetism, but you’ve been a cheetah for years
What? you think this is a game? No, you don't have a clue!
You had a monopoly on my life and now your name is taboo
You said you needed some time and space to yourself you were the only one in the galaxy I Wanted,
I guess life never turns out how you planet and since you left I've been feeling haunted,
Why did I believe you were a great catch? Just because you **master *****
You made me think we could smash; every second felt like a brawl
Loving you was no gouda, though I swiss you now that you’re gone, it isn’t easy,
I said goodbye, It’s not you it’s brie, sorry that was cheesy.
You gave my life flavor but you were just a masked spyce that made my life sour like limes
I know I need to chili but you have really bad taste and we’re out of thyme
I need a holiday *from your lies, my patience is running short
I’m better off with you gone, and leaving you is my last* resort
I guess we didn't have that spark no need to be astunished,
all I know now is: IT IS TIME YOU WERE PUNISHED.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
**All my late night rendezvous
Have since been eclipsed
By stable days and nights with you.
You save me from the spiders in my shoes,
And when storm clouds start grumbling, I save you.
And I know that this sounds cheesy--
But I don't care. I don't care!
Because I happen to know you ******* love cheese.
And for you babe,
I'll be the best cheese.
I'll be thy holy Swiss cheese,
I'll be your buttered Brie.
And when we've aged 50 years?
Well then babe,
*I'll be your ******* Gouda.*
At least, that's what I want to be
If you'll let me.
I want to be the finest cheese your tongue has ever tasted.
So lay your wine-stained lips on me;
Let's see how we pair.**
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC
Do you like cheese?
I do; my favorite is Gouda.
Irony:
The unlucky triangle I'm in.
A girl likes him,
He likes either the girl or
Her.
She has no interest in any,
And another, he likes the first.
The girl is friends with all,
And the boys are inseparable.
Who will win?
Maybe he wants someone unattainable,
But this is only half the story.
The fools don't know anything about anyone,
Truth may never exist here.
This isn't even a triangle,
Just a slight problem.
I hate the days I am a problem to people.
But this sounds familiar.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
saying **** off* seems so much more
easier when you're petting cats....
they just say it for you...
there he is, Quarus,
the operatic singer nearing sunset,
200 variations of a mulling of meow,
i end up calling him Orbison Rufus,
the ginger Roy of Peckham -
he basically meows lazily like Roy
singing... as said / i.d. (id est): the umbras
or umbrellas - counting the shadows'
version of Apache's yawn: ah-woo ah-woo
ah-woo nagging the reflex...
gave them the yawn and gave them 1950s
America... Billy the Kid talking to the king of
Specs... hank marvin.... cheese grater
with those teeth... dozen cows buckling with
the herding in while the dog carved a feel
for religion in the translation of the Vatican
from coliseum into football requirements...
the movies were great in the 1950s, just after
the technicolour... petting cats was never such a thrill...
the operatic meow, onomatopoeia from echo
in a cave to knock-on-wood...
200 variations of the knock
and 12 whiskey shots downed
while playing poker... 12 cowboys
1 Milwaukee and 30 Turks... classic Tarantino...
i said the Apache yawn... i never said giving
out smoke signals...
Quarus my ginger is demanded as having laughed...
he's Roy Orbison with the meow,
pretty much lazy...
looks like a murmur when he tries singing,
pretty woman, trolling down the street,
Gucci, Chanel, and everything in the scrapheap of lobotomy,
as is Paris necessarily mentioned: chiselled
white collars... Roy knew before Elvis...
the trick came with sunglasses,
and the gluttonous slur of the half-opened mouthing
for subsequent mouthing it off...
no amount of cheese in French could ever
charter the success of the cheeses added to cheeseburgers
with the milkshakes, which were plainly Dutch
laughing cows named Novices....
quick-melts and some said:
dreadlocks of string-yellow Gouda pulled
for a hippies' worth of Chinese chugging down
a pint or two, for worth of gag and the slim mascot;
the Chinese never taught Cannes arithmetic
of the thumb through to pinky...
i don't know how they taught counting
with their complex ideograms, they never taught
arithmetic give their encoding...
they taught pure math.. they never taught the simplest
of assurances... meaning so few of them became bankers.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
I swear I'm not a Munster.
Don't leave me provolone.
When you asiago away I really Swiss you.
It makes me bleu to watch you leave.
People keep telling me it'll get cheddar.
I'm feta up with going to havarties.
Queso, maybe tomorrow will be Gouda.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
[tater tots, sour cream, & smoked gouda]
i'm deeply afraid
that i am
a kaleidoscope
of shards
crushed
colored
glass
there is too much
s p a c e
around me
deafening silence
i want to be
held down
i want to be
smothered
i want to be
warm
i want to be
in the sun
i feel like
an exploding star
or a character
in a movie
that gets overcome
and flys apart
into brilliant
shafts of light
i'm sick
of trying
to stifle sobs
because i don't
want my neighbors
to think i'm
a ******
and i've been
thinking maybe
i'm not as old
as i think i am
and that is
terrifying
it is worse
than being old
because time is
stretching into
a vast expanse
of nothingness
how do i trust myself
when everything
has fallen apart
when all my decisions
have led to this...
this?
...but i've
been falling from
space
hard.
burning through
the atmosphere
like a
bat out of hell
and it is
the only thing that
seems right
i trust myself
in the realization
that plunging
to the earth
on fire
is maybe
the best thing
that has ever happened to me
i'm not trying to stop
in fact, i'm picking up speed
being pulled
by gravity
if i had to be catupulted
into space
unwillingly
to realize that
this breathtaking fall
is better
then so be it.
and i will
put smoked gouda
on tater tots
unapologetically
in an effort
to class up
this joint.
and because it's delicious.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
do you know when you've had a really long day, and you stop at the grocery store to buy dinner, and you don't really want to cook so you go to the deli section and you think, I could go for some cheese tonight, so you head to the fridge carousel and you pick up some cheddar and it says it's been aged for two years and it looks pretty tender and you think, This is some nice cheese, but as you put it in your basket you see another cheese and it's gouda and it's smoked and you think, Gouda? I hadn't even thought about gouda, so then you think about gouda and you start to notice all these other kinds of cheeses and you see that the gouda is lactose free and even though you're not lactose intolerant that somehow intrigues you, and you don't know a lot about cheese so you think maybe it's because gouda comes from goats not cows and then you think How come people aren't intolerant to goat's milk? so then you look back at the cheddar and now it doesn't seem so nice even though it's been aged for two years and it's pretty tender and you thought it was nice before, so then you put the cheddar back but as soon as you let it go you think What if I don't like gouda? and so you put the gouda down and now you're standing there by that refrigerated cheese carousel without a ******* thing in your hands and you get sort of sad all of a sudden and you wonder if you're ever going to pick a cheese and even if you do will it ever be the right cheese and suddenly you start to tear up but you think, No, I'm better than crying in a grocery store, so you pick up the cheddar again because trust your first gut right? and you pay for your cheese and you walk back to your car but as you sit there in the parking lot getting ready leave you realize that maybe it's not about the ******* cheese and it's never about the ******* cheese and maybe you don't even like the ******* cheese that much anyway and so you kind of scrub your fingers into your scalp and pull your hair and hit the steering wheel once or maybe twice and your cheeks are hot and wet and it's hard to see so you rub your eyes dry and when you look up there's an elderly asian man watching you freak out a little bit in your car by yourself, and so you slowly start your car and pull out of the parking lot and as you drive away you wonder if the elderly asian man ever cries and if he ever can't decide on a cheese and if he ever thinks that he doesn't even like cheese at all either.
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
There is something about it
The inexplicable curve in the diet
Swimming in pink grapefruit,
Sharing the stunted manifestation
Of a slice of clementine Gouda cheese
The way, the solace in a lone glass of wine
Chilled iced, purged crayfish
Flushed from the brittle salt basked seas
From the callused knuckle of stony fisherman
Casting out at the crackling array of dawn
With the waters brimming at the hulk
And the mast scraping it's white and red tusks
The fisherman who left at dawn
Leaving his beloved steeped in slumber...
Allowing her eyes flutter to the beam of pink salmon
And there is just something about it,
Pulsing from the faint flicker of overhanging bulbs
A writer stoops over a sliver of miracle
Purged from the raw etched in his vast chest
The very act of describing compassion & sin
With the ink soaked mechanism of his typewriter
The legacy of a young girl
Who wasn't meant to save the world
But to find it, the humanity whisked away,
Drowned perhaps by whiskey and alcohol
Eyesights deterred from the long lone walk
Pocketed with threats and head shakes
The writer's fingers fly,
And funny how there is something about it
How it doesn't end in full circle
That we lack the great capacity
To seize the flesh of truce
So distilled we sail,
So perturbed we write,
So empty we feast
Never quite knowing
That elemental presumption
Of something more
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC
Nobody can comprehend;
It baffles one and all
Just how much I love Edam
And pine for Emmental.
Gouda smoked is very toothsome
The same is with Gruyère
And Mozarella and I have
An eternal love affair.
Cheddar when it's sharp and sweet
Is an absolute delight!
Parmesan, simply divine
When it is aged just right.
Some may call it an obsession
But I don't seek a cure,
For though all the world may melt away,
My love for cheese endures!
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 3:58 AM UTC
romanticizing life
relationships
men
individuals
collectively
stripped
you are no longer what you were meant to be
fulfilling
like a buffet
knowing when not to get overwhelmed with the choices
but be humbled
and honest
to tell yourself what you know you really want
what you really need
what's
satisfying.
now i'm not trying to make men analogous to food
but i guess i am.
my meal
doesn't serve the purpose of leaving the table
with my stomach bursting at the seams
left alone
with a food baby.
my meal
doesn't serve the purpose of not serving a purpose
there just to quench a craving
to lead you in which ever direction because you think you want all of this when
really it's just
you don't know
what you want
what's the purpose?
my meal
is supposed to humble me
serves the purpose of feeding me with a thousand suns of your soul
to warm me
in my mind
and my heart
my meal is relevant
to my context
to your context
it's goldy locks
it's not being afraid to make mistakes
to learn and grow
and change.
my meal is shared with my family
enjoyed and just another
enriching aroma that give us a reason
to be together
not to
"bring us closer than we already thought we were"
we are not
a romantic novel
my meal is not a romantic novel
i know i'm a college student
that meals don't always align correctly
that they are forgotten
but always on my mind
i'm gonna be
honest
honestly
i don't know what my meal should be
where it should come from
why i will choose it
wait
what?
yea,
i'm confused, too.
Gouda.
can i marry you?
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
and everyone I know.
what air-conditioned heart is this
here where mothers meet and ports sing crusted sugarsongs
where I remember the synthesized forget-me-nots kissed by lemons
in chemical yellow
and blasphemous portraits seem to cry
with tears light as baby's breath against the heavy frescos
in the matchstick cathedrals lined with crumbling gouda
and bitter wine?
stags wear ruined antlers and crown the hillside
above the gilded city as it slides into the sea
to the echo of violins in a sprightly sigh
and then your laugh
(plaster-of-Paris is as beautiful as blood diamonds)
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Its not blue its cheddar.
Its yellow not gouda.
Its cheese.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
I'm finally free
outlived all my enemies
now I'm the big cheese
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 3:47 PM UTC
Good Cheese
It is hard to find
But I know which to get
It is the kind that is Gouda
The best of them all
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
I am meandering to the market
In order to buy gold that is Gouda
If you don’t grasp this I won’t be upset
I will be as peaceful as the Buddha
I go as fast as a running hippo
I am speeding to the dairy section
I pass the man with the funny Zippo
I must go see this dairy selection
Cuando Llegando at the dairy aisle
The Gouda seemed to be calling my name
It appeared like I was walking a mile
All to reach the end of this silly game
The Gouda tasted very angelic
It was priceless like a fancy relic
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
And if you won't go down,
can I at least get you in my down line?
Let me appoint. Fast food crown.
The children are sleeping. Uncork the wine.
Slide a ******* under the gouda.
Glasgow smile and Instagram this opportunity.
I could recite the medication, but I shouldn't.
You want to watch something? Ever seen Community?
There's an art to being 30 and single.
There's cream for every wrinkle.
There's a sin in need of a kindle.
There's, for everything, a fee--it's simple.
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 4:38 PM UTC
It was an interesting thing
to be in a bookstore
with him.
The altered state came
almost immediately,
it was hard not
to notice the happening
of it.
It was an electricity
that changed,
charged his large
frame,
making him almost
mountainous.
For just a minute,
we were all blokes
who liked
books,
but he became
a book-buyer/bookseller
a few paces past
the threshold.
When he spotted that
one treasure, that particular
hardcover,
perhaps a first-edition,
he proclaimed
it’s value forthwith.
With his eyes wide,
a sidelong grin,
he dived into the pages,
inhaled deeply
through his nose.
Continuing,
he examines
the tome fastidiously,
expertly announces
the novel’s value
at thrice what the
shopkeeper is asking
and advances to the
counter.
Soon after,
we left that shop,
each of us weighed
down with brown paper
parcels.
Stowing those,
we then sought
smoked gouda,
beef sandwiches,
and potatoes fried
in duck fat.
It was time for lunch.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
this year for halloween
im going as a slice of cheese
so i can scare people
with puns
now how do i begin?
o-que, so
i walk down the halloumi and see
my friends colby and jack
colby's dressed as a camembear
scary enough to make you go emmental
jack's dressed as the Cheshire cat
who listens to baroquefort
we all sit down paneer the window
"so teleme," i ask, "what's gouda?"
"i'll tell you what's gouda," jack replies eagerly,
"see that girl over there, fonTina?"
how could i swiss her, i thought, with her looks and her cheddar, she could make it gruyere down there out of even the LEAST manchego of men
"go talk to her, jack, it'll be a brieze"
"no whey man!"
"yes whey"
"man i'm too anxious, i'd rather talk on the mascarphone"
"what do you mean, you're the goat!"
"we can'tal be buff-alo like you, why don't you talk to her?"
"already dating monterey"
"i didn't know you swung both wheys"
"sometimes i feel like my sexuality was madE backwards"
"alright that's enough!" jack stammered. "i'm fetup with these puns! it was fun at first but it's gotten annoying. some of this **** doesn't even make any sense! just go man, nobody wants you here."
colby and i exchanged a solemn glance
i turned to jack
"..................ricotta be kidding me!"
"LEAVE!" jack screamed, and i turned and walked away
now it's time i asiago home
feeling blue, heading back to my cottage
sad and provolone
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 3:16 AM UTC
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Sally
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 16, 2015
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 12:13 PM UTC