Photo Prompts: Still Life With Cheese Photo Play

For this month’s Photo Play, we dabble in the art of food styling. Perhaps you’ve seen the delicious photographs taken by food bloggers but wonder why your lunchtime photo on Instagram never quite measures up. Making food look beautiful can be tricky. The key to taking appetizing food photographs is a little bit of artful styling.


Photo Prompt: Still Life With Cheese

Still Life With Cheese

A good food photo requires good lighting. Take your photograph next to a large window or door. Natural lighting can work wonders.

The best food blog photos also feature small plates and portions. Large amounts of food can lose proportion and look less appealing. Think small.

Still Life Cheese

Imperfection adds story to the shot. Leave crumbs, broken chunks of hard cheese, a rough spread of chèvre on rustic bread, or even a drip of jam on the plate. Keep it a little messy and disheveled. This adds life.

Keeping these suggestions in mind, try your hand at bit of poetic food styling. Link up your photos in the comment box.

So, what’s on your plate?

Thanks to all our participants in last week’s poetry prompt. Here’s a poem from Monica that we enjoyed:

Limburger Warning

Her flavor is
to die for.
Her scent
will betray her—
and you.
Above all, do not
her quiche.

—by Monica Sharman

Featured photos by Anna Verdina, Katharine Lim, and seegarysphotos. Creative Commons License via Flickr. Post by Heather Eure.


NOTE TO POETS: Looking for your Monday poetry prompt? On Photo Play weeks, it’s right here. Choose a photo from the post and respond with a poem. Leave your poem in the comment box. We’ll be reading. :)



Sometimes we feature your poems in Every Day Poems, with your permission of course. Thanks for writing with us!

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  1. Donna says

    Can you guess which image caught my eye (and imagination)?

    your face open
    your eyes so sharp
    and cheesy

    if I bite
    will you

  2. says

    Figs and Pomegranates

    Figs bursting from their skins,
    tart crunchy pomegranate seeds,
    grapes succulent and fleshy,
    almonds and pistachio nuts,

    tactile lusciousness a contrast
    to the aridity of the way
    I have come, the desert of my mind.
    I slouched along,

    a camel seeking cool water
    in the mirage of might be,
    the semblance of ill-defined promise.
    My mask covering

    the doppelganger that threatens
    to eat its fill, stake its tent,
    remain at daybreak
    to pile its stones.

  3. says

    Melted For A Change

    Under a fiery glow
    Of blaze orange’s heat
    Serpentine coils wrapped
    Tight, metal
    From ebony to red

    I watch the color wheel spin, fast and furious
    Upon the ceiling of
    This dark place

    Spread out beneath a rising fahrenheit
    Degree by nth degree
    Complex and changing

    I have melted
    Just for you
    Refined by fire and the flame

    Bring me to your lips
    And taste the change

    Careful not to burn, my dear

    You walk a delicate
    Tight rope

    And I have blistered those
    Who partake
    Heat can bring with it


  4. says

    After the Party

    After the piquancy of conversation is gone,
    and the music switched off,
    you wake at three o’clock, streetlight
    going strong,

    you pad to the kitchen for water,


    a motorcycle whines somewhere far off;

    you cork a half bottle of white left on the counter, the light
    from the frig interrogates

    and you shuffle with your glass to the ruins of the living room:
    slices and crumbles of cheese,
    Lacey Swiss, oil beading around its ragged holes,
    the Roquefort, used to being abandoned, you think
    may offer consolation to this wanderer with like blue veins.

    There is a red grape poised at the top of the stairs;
    you wonder how,
    when it stopped,
    how it avoided departing guest, stepping, turning for hugs and hands.

    This is not your house,

    you realize, and the morning’s headache is beginning to form;
    you would have seen the grape, perhaps heard it
    as the carpet received its roundness;
    or, if you had stairs, you would have paused and bent
    between your shielding shoes, forgoing hands and hugs for prevention.

    Why are you there still, with rounds of bread
    and music on the floor,
    the city going through its gears in the distance?

    When you were a child you wished to be
    in another house, any house,
    away from a family that seemed so unlike you;

    is this it? So many years gone between
    then and saying yes, you will be there, tonight for the party;
    years like dreams, half remembered;

    You could tell stories of those years, you do not remember.

    Tomorrow you will go home.

    Tonight you will leave the cheese.
    you will watch the grape bounce so silently down the stairs.
    Then you will go back to sleep and maybe dream.

  5. says

    My niece just said, “LOVE cheese!!! It’s like toilet paper…one of those things I don’t like to run out of.”

    I’ve poemified it into a haiku…

    cheese is like toilet paper
    a thing not to run out of
    and that’s how we roll

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