Tag Archives: Brand Poetry

The Pestoration

19 Friday Feb 2016

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Twenty five years of Saclà and Pesto, the aspirational ketchup

Allora, ragazzi,

You have a little hunger?

But haven’t met this jar?

Well you’re no Columbi – you can’t have travelled far.

So genovate your palettes,

And pimp my primavera:

Crush garlic, salt pine nuts, blend basil,

With two noble cheeses – both alike in dignity

To wrestle and pestle in Ligurian oil.

Then will I spoon in and swoon up your pasta,

Drizzle con brio across butterflied breasts;

Get clammy with clams

Upgrade that ciabatte

Bring zip to your pizza,

Lounge in lasagna to access all areas.

And just when you think you know me,

I’ll lead your mash astray, spike your meatballs

And be the ultimate trofie wife.

Welcome to the Condominium of Saclà!

Fantastico!

On Quality Street

27 Wednesday Jan 2016

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This tin, wherein

You rustle, bustle

Shake and share,

Is where you’ll find

An invite of the formal kind

To connect and get confected!

 

Our costume ball

Will now enthrall

Your senses.

We’ll wrap and twist

And strut our stuff

And boil up toffee

Till you’ve had enough.

Perhaps, a little nudge

Of good behavioural economic fudge

Might tempt you?

 

If not, just there in damask rose

Is posed a strawberry blonde for your delight.

Another more exotic, draped in

Sapphire chiffon wrap

Promises a deeper bite of paradise.

How long, indeed, can you resist a complicated

Love triangle intensely rich and green?

 

La Belle Dame now in your hand:

The Purple Empress with the hazel heart

Oozes as she smoozes all around you;

Deluxed and crunched, gold fingered:

You’re left penniless once more.

 

Dappled papers lie abandoned now

Amongst the bent metallic foils,

And in the swirling sadness, once more you mourn

The coffee cream, the peanut cracknel,

The ghost of nougat from Montelimar.

Their fate of course is bitter sweet:

These live no more on Quality Street.

 

 

 

The Transformation (Under the influence of Arthur Guinness)

11 Tuesday Aug 2015

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At last, on life’s long pub crawl

– Exactly where I don’t recall,

I finally crossed taste’s Rubicon

And left my youth behind

In sweeter shallows of the easy kind.

And at a darker Solstice now did halt

To drink scorched earth, dark rubied malt

Embracing, we are told, the bitter hops of fate

Now surging transubstantiate,

Its tidal foam running back from caramel sands

To fathoms of adult darkness.

And in this first communion, my mission now complete,

Absorbed full realization, that life is bitter sweet.

The Lynx Effect*

10 Tuesday Mar 2015

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Let’s just not flirt

Or even skirt

Around the issues of our connection.

We’ve swopped and swiped,

Blue-toothed some bytes

And tindered the touch-paper

Of our affection.

No more quip tease

Nor banter, please,

Cease mindful meditation!

My data’s capped, we’re sharing apps

Let’s synchronize some recreation.

So kill mode coquette,

Go full salami, less roquette

It’s time to seize the day.

But should this thought

Still come to naught,

Then as last resort

Please meet my magic spray:

The Lynx Effect       (*Known as Axe In France and most of Europe)

The Feeling’s Mutual

31 Friday Jan 2014

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For Newbury Building Society

 

Mutual means it’s we

Not you or me.

It’s respecting

And connecting,

Not prospecting.

We want a two-way flow.

If courtesy is free,

Sharing resources is key:

Creating circles of virtuosity

And generosity,

Not pomposity.

We want your quid pro quo.

So can we all agree,

Together there’s more esprit?

And mutuality

Has rationality

Not banality.

We want your wealth to grow!

The (Newbury) Respect!

17 Friday Jan 2014

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Money in, money out;

In and out,

Our accounts,

Back and forth,

This and that

Big respect,

Community,

Newbury.

Bottom drawers,

Retirement dreams

Passbook smiles,

Tip top rates,

Telling you straight.

Money in, money out;

In and out,

All accounts

Back and forth,

This and that

Big respect,

Community,

Newbury

Bottom rung,

All mod cons;

Front and back,

Up and down,

Spick and span

Mortgage rate,

Talking straight.

Money in, money out;

In and out,

All accounts

Back and forth,

This and that

Big respect,

Community,

Newbury.

Respect!

North Staffordshire Fields

17 Friday Jan 2014

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There is a field in Northern parts

Where root vegetables grow strong,

Against Peak winds and cold,

And at the harvest moon, stand resolute

And welcome the immortality that

Follows swimming in the brine,

To winter in more acidic climes.

And when the summer summons comes

(Their world thus now ajar),

They charge to spike the maiden salad

Like some Brontëan ravisher

At the wedding feast who cries:

‘Unleash the bulldog,

And cry Great Branston!’