I really wanted to like 17. "When first Looking Into Chapman's Homer," by John Keats. I just could find a way in. Maybe it is my sympathies for Odysseus' wife Penelope that get in my way. As a kid I found the adventures of Odysseus entralling, but when I grew up I could only feel sad for Penelope. So here instead is another poem --

Helen in Egypt, Eidolon, Book III: 4
by H. D.

Helen herself seems almost ready for this sacrifice--at least, for the
immolation of herself before this greatest love of Achilles, his
dedication to "his own ship" and the figurehead, "an idol or eidolon .
. . a mermaid, Thetis upon the prow."

Did her eyes slant in the old way?
was she Greek or Egyptian?
had some Phoenician sailor wrought her?

was she oak-wood or cedar?
had she been cut from an awkward block
of ship-wood at the ship-builders,

and afterwards riveted there,
or had the prow itself been shaped
to her mermaid body,

curved to her mermaid hair?
was there a dash of paint
in the beginning, in the garment-fold,

did the blue afterwards wear away?
did they re-touch her arms, her shoulders?
did anyone touch her ever?

Had she other zealot and lover,
or did he alone worship her?
did she wear a girdle of sea-weed

or a painted crown? how often
did her high breasts meet the spray,
how often dive down?

It is Thanksgiving Day here in the USA, so, were are all thinking about food. Food is everywhere; stuffed in the frig, on the back porch, pies on every surface of the kitchen, on TV and in the news. So let us have some food poetry for the day. To that end here is part of piece borrowed from NPR on a new collection of poetry.

The Hungry Ear, a new collection, celebrates the pleasures and the sorrows of food with poems from Pablo Neruda, Sylvia Plath and dozens more. Poet Kevin Young cooked up — or edited — this readable feast. He tells NPR's Renee Montagne that, much like the best meals, the best poems are made from scratch.

"I think poems return us to that place of mud and dirt and earth, sun and rain," he says. "And that's where food comes from, and so there's this common link."

Many of the poems included in the collection focus on a particular food. Take, for example, Elizabeth Alexander's mouthwatering "Butter":

... Growing up
we ate turkey cutlets sauteed in lemon
and butter, butter and cheese on green noodles,
butter melting in small pools in the hearts
of Yorkshire puddings, butter better
than gravy staining white rice yellow,
butter glazing corn in slipping squares,
butter the lava in white volcanoes
of hominy grits, butter softening
in a white bowl to be creamed with white
sugar, butter disappearing into
whipped sweet potatoes, with pineapple,
butter melted and curdy to pour
over pancakes, butter licked off the plate
with warm Alaga syrup ...

Then there's William Carlos Williams' famous ode to plums, "This Is Just To Say," which reads like a note posted on a refrigerator:

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

According to Young, Williams' poem "is asking us to pay a little bit of attention to the language of food, the language of relationships — the kind of coldness, but also this precious sweetness."

"Bacon & Eggs," Howard Nemerov's snack of a poem, flies by but leaves a lasting impression:

The chicken contributes,
But the pig gives his all.

Finally, Irish poet Seamus Heaney's "Oysters" mulls over the experience of eating the shellfish:

Our shells clacked on the plates.
My tongue was a filling estuary,
My palate hung with starlight:
As I tasted the salty Pleiades
Orion dipped his foot into the water.

... I ate the day
Deliberately, that its tang
Might quicken me all into verb, pure verb ...

These verses show the poets' deep, personal love of food, an affection Young explores in his introduction.

mmmmmm Saffron all delicious thoughts...

Two of my favourite foods, Butter and Oysters.

I can diet quite easily by giving up sugary stuff, or bread and potatoes, but I can't resist butter and I can never just have a scraping; if I'm having butter, I must have lashings.

Oysters - are a regular treat for both of us. I like them with the sea-water still in the shells and just a little fresh lemon.

We often treat ourselves to half a dozen but we are always threatening to splash out on two dozen.............each.

Butter is an especial weakness of mine as well, I'm not sure what a lashing is, but I can't do a scraping either. I can do better to skip it altogether, although not often, than by skimping on it.

The King’s Breakfast
By A. A. Milne

The King asked
The Queen, and
The Queen asked
The Dairymaid:
“Could we have some butter for
The Royal slice of bread?”
The Queen asked
The Dairymaid,
The Dairymaid
Said, “Certainly,
I’ll go and tell
The cow
Now
Before she goes to bed.”

The Dairymaid
She curtsied,
And went and told
The Alderney:
“Don’t forget the butter for
The Royal slice of bread.”

The Alderney
Said sleepily:
“You’d better tell
His Majesty
That many people nowadays
Like marmalade
Instead.”

The Dairymaid
Said, “Fancy!”
And went to
Her Majesty.
She curtsied to the Queen, and
She turned a little red:
“Excuse me,
Your Majesty,
For taking of
The liberty,
But marmalade is tasty, if
It’s very
Thickly
Spread.”

The Queen said
“Oh!”
And went to
His Majesty:
“Talking of the butter for
The Royal slice of bread,
Many people
Think that
Marmalade
Is nicer.
Would you like to try a little
Marmalade
Instead?”

The King said,
“Bother!”
And then he said,
“Oh, dear me!”
The King sobbed, “Oh, deary me!”
And went back to bed.
“Nobody,”
He whimpered,
“Could call me
A fussy man;
I only want
A little bit
Of butter for
My bread!”

The Queen said,
“There, there!”
And went to
The Dairymaid.
The Dairymaid
Said, “There, there!”
And went to the shed.
The cow said,
“There, there!
I didn’t really
Mean it;
Here’s milk for his porringer
And butter for his bread.”

The Queen took
The butter
And brought it to
His Majesty;
The King said,
“Butter, eh?”
And bounced out of bed.
“Nobody,” he said,
As he kissed her
Tenderly,
“Nobody,” he said,
As he slid down
The banisters,
“Nobody,
My darling,
Could call me
A fussy man—
BUT
I do like a little bit of butter to my bread !

I love that one! I had no idea it was Milne until I was looking for another poem, "Disobedience"

Penelope wrote:The King’s Breakfast

Thanks for the great AA Milne poem Penny .. I like the way the cow ultimately calls the shots and holds sway over the happiness of humans, even the King's happiness, making the cow seem dignified and the king a spoiled child! Brilliant .. and certainly has the ring of Milne.