Poetry

Mycelium by Wilda Morris

At Grandmother's Table circa 1948 by Elizabeth Langemak

Taste by Patridge Boswell

Lullaby by Edward Mayes

Shakespeare by James B. Nicola

Summer Night by Diane Giardi

100 Words on My Father with a Big Fish by Jan Presley

Why go to heaven yet by Margo Davis

Roll Over Beethoven by Jonathan Pacic

limnophila aromatica by Susan Soriano

Bantams by Heather Bourbeau

Salt by Carolyn Wells

It Won't Taste the Same by Michelle Morouse

The Fallacy of Comparisons by Paul Lieber

Ode to End of Summer by Wally Swist

408 Dates with Maureen by Gail Bellamy

Taste Testing by Sarah Fawn Montgomery

A Meditation on Working as a Produce Clerk by Ross Stager

Le Fouquet by Elisa Albo

Two Poems by Sarah Paley

Transubstantiation by Susan O'Dell Underwood

Two Poems by Sharon Abra Hanen

Strawberries by Vincent Peloso

Chin Chin by Jessica M. Brophy

Nonpareil by Lois Rosen

Creating Foodie Monsters by Elisa Albo

Foods I Love by Meredith Drake

Three Poems by Terence Winch

Soufflé by Piscilla Atkins

Three Poems by Gail Peck

Under the Kitchen Floor by Bruce Cohen

Spring Peas Come to the Stores by Hannah Fischer

Two Poems by Grace Bauer

Kettle by Susan Kelly-DeWitt

Going to Get Swedish by Carol Berg

Potluck on Sulphur Creek by Brenda Butka

My Mother's Handwriting by Julia Wendell

Radish by Lauren Henley

The Way of the Buddha by Nadia Ibrashi

Famine Bread by Karen Holmberg

Leer Comida by Andrés Catalán

Cooking Show by Gary Mesick

Museum of Butter by Carol Jenkins

Two Poems by Crystal Simone Smith

Yardbird Suite by John Dufresne

Museum of Butter

Cork, Ireland

by Carol Jenkins

August 2012    


Notes: on what was there
and later thoughts on butter words


Butter milk and clabbered cream
butter ringers, butter tables,
butter paddles, butter papers,

butter boxes, butter stamps,
butter creams from butteries
buerre blancs and butter pats,

butter fingers, buttered paws
and witches turned to thieve
as butterflies.


Butter my heart: the museum in me

Left carotid, right vena cava
The lovely long length of the femoral
smeared and smothered with lipids ease-ful
saturations, by this sweet food,
fine fatty matrix and taste conveyor:
a slippery ship of savour.


Staging a tongue load of easy rhymers

‘Oh flutter it! I wish this banter
was something I could utter
without the cluttering
of stuttering sighs Cho-Cho-San
sans character, tempted
as she is to dip into the lexicon
of the gutter. But then in any
adaptation is Butterfly’s ex heart-twister
any better than a scuttle butt?’


Butter, Butter and More Butter
(Escoffier on being asked his secret)

Laid on cold and thick – so the teeth
dentate the paste, it smooths the lips

and our daily bread. The god of butter
the frying pan, the golden sizzle,

the batter lying, spreading
across butter’s browning lubrication.

In butter-tics even bread
takes sides with butter

Saucy, coquettish in hollandaise
béarnaise, ghee and glazing,

the stave of pastry flakes,
the stuff of cakes.


Butter in its chemistry

Cheerful anti-oxidant
A solid that melts
to grease, the cheek of your
suspense-ful emulsion

churned to break a whey
from your cream substrate.
For the careful, you’re reversible
to your creamy infant state.


Reducing the green world to what is made

Butter: gold coined from a mammal world,
let down from bovine bosoms.

By argot: milkers, maids and buckets
pails, skimmers, dippers, creamers,
keeners, dashers, table churns
a milky linguistic of butter ingots.


By the buttering of my thumbs
all things superstitious come


Use a dead man’s hand to stir
the milk and so make sure
the breaking. Another rule demands
all guests and residents to lend a hand,
to take a turn of the churn
for good butter and good luck

A dairy man hurls a butter lump
into a pond, a river or a lake,
and cattle for the sake
of their good health are driven
into these buttered waters.


Fossil Butter


Iron Aged lumps of it found wrapped in
bark, tree trunks and odd leather skins.
Lardered in a fen’s cold store
for lean times and for pilfering.
Were they laced with incantations?
Racinated, cloved with garlic,
packed in crocks, a Tollund kind of butter.

Those odd firkins lost in peat swamps
are now a fossil butter – outside a half-made
sedimentary rock inside the centre’s still soft.

 



  Carol Jenkins first book of poetry Fishing in the Devonian (Puncher & Wattmann, 2008) was short listed for the 2009 Victorian Premier’s Literary Awards. In 2007 she established River Road Press (www.riverroadpress.net), which produces audio CDs of Australian poetry. You can find her work and links to other publications at her blog Show Me The Treasure (www.showmethetreasure.blogspot.com).

 

Photo of "butter "used under Creative Commons.