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Best French Poems

Below are the all-time best French poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of French poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | French Poem | |

Frank Todo French-Fry

This is the story of the daredevil, Frank Todo French-Fry. He thought he was special, thought he could fly But one day he was taken and placed on my plate He did not want to be eaten; he did not want this fate So, with hope and courage he leapt to the floor I was sad a fry had fallen from my plate, but it was okay ‘cause I had more I picked up this fry, set him aside on a napkin to throw him away later But my best friend Laura wanted to keep him, give him something greater And thus he became, Laura’s pet fry Known forever as Frank Todo French-Fry And he lives in a small purse Where he continually rehearses a blank verse He ages, and decays, safely tucked away Glad to have been saved that fateful day From being eaten, tossed in the trash, or even forgotten Now his moldy potato frame, is bandaged and rotten But Frank Todo French-Fry still lives To this very day, somewhere misplaced in storage, he still lives

Details | French Poem | |

Wolf Moon (French Sonnet)

Amid the cold and icy winds of snow
their hunger howls outside where prey is short
the hunters call to the moon for support,
as packs still gather in her lunar glow.
In depths of Winter when the winds still blow
my Celtic kin revel as Gods' consort
around the fires of ancient tribal court
with wine and song their stories freely flow.
So shines the Full Wolf Moon across the sky
to light the Hunters' path as witches fly
The answer sought when howling their lament.
when first full Moon each year is gleaming high
the wheel is turning from the Winter's cry
and Spring shall bring an ease to its torment.

Details | French Poem | |

The French Revolution: A Sonnet

Revolution – popular discontent –
From which revolt of third estate arose
Of burden’d citizens which all resent;
Monarch’s frivolities must be disposed.
Committee of public safety, in charge,
Dooms all to die at Jacobin command –
The guillotine strikes fear, makes numbers large
Embrace of death that variance demands.
All are ruled under the directory,
With those that led now dead, missing their heads.
Among them, none could guess trajectory
Of the directory torn now to shreds

Through one man, emperor by self ordained:
       The great Napoleon, o’er France to reign.

Details | French Poem | |

thoughts of a lonely French girl on a winter's day

Sweet violins play-
My heart rests at bay and
The trees outside my Window change colors-
As December, like a Hopeless Lover
Runs after May.

And Mother always told me to
Keep my Doors open but the
Pests kept inviting
Themselves in
And Possibility always rang my Doorbell
And then ran away.

Always a single cup of coffee and not two
at the café.
And the ashes of these cigarettes
Left the figure of a heart who’s flames
Took its life away.

No one to share these poems and
Stories with but this Berry Parfait.

The Wind Chime jingles
The Wine Glasses click
And my neighbors’ drunken laughter
Fills the Hallways
While sweet violins play-
My heart rests at bay and
The trees outside my window change colors-
As December, like a Hopeless Lover
runs after May.

Details | French Poem | |

The French General

His guard couldn’t help snitchin’ When he washed grenades in his kitchen. This general had a hazardous heart, His name: Linoleum Blownapart.

Details | French Poem | |

Catch Me If You Can French Sonnet

<               enticing to eyes watching mama's pink roses bloom
                 fourty years later someone else now cares for them
                 fresh cut daily and seen in her arms their long stems
                 tears streaming down face I sit under swollen moon
                 waiting watching for sun to come up again soon
                 to catch one more glimsp of mama's planted old gems
                 unfurling petals before been chopped or condemned
                 think I'll ask if can take one for my dining room

                 aroma bursting amidst thy supper's table
                 bowed heads we come and thank our Heavenly father
                 somebody still cared though sick and times unable
                 and answers it's door for which one has come bothered
                 to let bask in roses empowering fable
                 and not to be called as it's one's roses robber



French Sonnet is a poem with rhyme scheme
Of ABBAABBA and CDCDCD
Or ABBAABBA and CDECDE
Syllable count is 12 syllable per line.

Details | French Poem | |

Girl in the French Quarter

Dere once was a goil in da Quawta
Who never did do what she oughtta.
She stripped down one night
--Dat was really a sight--
Till NOPD come and caughtta!

Details | French Poem | |

A Good French Poem

A Good French Poem



I’m tall, lovely, Black and Brunette.
I’m good not petite.
Happy and healthy.
Strong person.
Whole person.
Like a whole apple, I can eat…

Details | French Poem | |

I WISH I HAD LEARNED TO SPEAK FRENCH - THAT'S LIFE

She was caught short in France one day I need the toilet was all she could say She wished she could speak French The best she could manage was… C’est lavvy! ... That’s Life! 10~27~14 Contest: C’est La vie Sponsor: Judy Konos ~awarded 2nd place ~

Details | French Poem | |

after french bread, a lunch bucket, and a semicold beverage haiku

crave lazy sunday
enjoying many oldies
homeless at a park

Details | French Poem | |

A FRENCH SOJOURN d

bathed in August sun
one by one,a curled leaf falls-
Autumn has begun

 haiku me a nature poem please contest- Brian Strand

Details | French Poem | |

Limerick: Once French Demoiselle in Bikini

Limerick: Once French Demoiselle in Bikini

Once French Demoiselle in Bikini
Lived Moulin Rouge life en catimini
Cute Eye of Hurricane
Saw through naughty Jane/Jeanne:
No use for bikini in Bikini.

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013

Details | French Poem | |

Thursdays Recalled By the Family's French Fry Girl

The number of us children growing up was eight. Each Thursday night was special, for our Dad got paid, and we would eagerly and hungrily await his bringing Henry’s fries and burgers home. Hurray! We weren’t allowed to pick and choose; we had to take two burgers each with “everything” and one bag of fries. While we grabbed our own allotment, happy to partake, Jenny scraped off from her burgers -onions she despised! Dori chewed so slowly, from her we all would steal. The baby, Theadora, just sat there and played with her food. I was strange and always made this deal: Both my burgers for two brothers’ French fries I would trade. And so the number of my French fries always came to three. Even with no burgers, I loved each Thursday night. for the Henry’s fast food and time with family. Oh, to go back to those days with loved ones in my sight!
*Henry's Hamburgers was the name of a fast food place in my hometown For Paula Swanson's "Traditions" Poetry Contest

Details | French Poem | |

Love's Mystery (Saraband Sonnet (Spanish/French combination))

Why should you mean so much to me?
In all this world, it is you alone
who fills my heart with love’s decree.

In winter’s wind your love is shown
a ray of sun, a warm embrace,
the mystery of passion grown,
where silk and roses interlace.

Why you and not another heart,
can lose my senses with one glance
but then you’ve had me from the start.

A single word, desire’s romance,
as odes of love our lives enhance,
like magic from a wishing-well
your heart has wrapped me in its spell.

Details | French Poem | |

About french-kissing bottles

Wandering spring ants
by the edge of my lip-print,
solving queer riddles

Details | French Poem | |

THE YOUNG FRENCH MAID POURS TEA

The young French maid pours tea
for the heartless Queen Marie-Antoinette
whose image Dunlop objected to paint...
because he must have hated royalty!


The young French maid dreams of liberty,
although she eats bread and her family
eats brioche': her oppressed heart must be free...
while walking in the eerie shadow of hostility!


Pour tea, pretty maid with servant humility,
never let thoughts daunt you and scream into obscurity...
your mean Queen will meet her fate at their hungry hands,
and her decapitated head will roll onto the streets of France! 

Details | French Poem | |

Paris It is My Home (French)

 Paris It is My Home (French)
   
 
La lucarne de Paris brille sur votre pièce rose en matin tôt. Portraits des portraits 
de mer scènes de canotage de Monet et de Renoir... de serene Vous saunter à 
votre miroir intégral vous vous peignez les cheveux soyeux mous. La joie est à 
votre coeur... que vous avez trouvé le paradis. Votre promenade de matin vous 
commence passage que le sourire de de jardin A de fleur de Luxemborg 
Gardens Le Belle scintille outre de votre visage l'arc De Trimphe... le symbole 
des libertés De France La beauté continue les champions Elysees et la 
Concorde À Paris vous avez trouvé votre coeur votre amour votre maison Peter 
LeBuhn Copyright ©2005 Peter B. Lebuhn 

Peter LeBuhn 
 
 

Details | French Poem | |

A French Lady

A French lady named Antoinette
was always going to the toilette.
	“I can’t help it that I do
	when nature calls me to.
It’s bad enough my nickname’s Antoilette.

Details | French Poem | |

The French Domme

S'il vous plait, mon ange
The bruises will heal
Je te voir, cheri
I know how you feel
Je t'adore, mon cher
Your master won't bite
So hold still, my pet
Don't put up a fight...

À toi, pour toujours,
Bisous

Details | French Poem | |

A French Narrative Poem, Translation of Narration Francaise by Rene Etiemble

A French Narrative Poem: A wren comes to rest on a reed after the storm – Dialogue between the bird and the shrub. Translation of Rene Etiemble’s poem: Narration Française

(The very first poem composed by Etiemble while a student of Class 5A at the Lycée de Laval on Octobre 14, 1921, i.e., when he was only 12 years old. The poet provides the two pages on which they were written in his school exercise book.  The poem is rhymed abab, cc, dede, afaf, agag, hihi, ff, ajaj, kjk, flfl, each line made up of eleven to thirteen syllables. Amazing maturity! In a footnote, he states that in 1983 during a fit of rage against the university he burned a great many of the exercise books he had preserved until then. T. Wignesan)

The storm has abated. A wren 
Arrives wings a-flutter close to a felled oak tree
And shivering with cold, his feathers stuck together
He alights gently near the vanquished giant.
On the reed dried up by the shining sun,
He tarries all surprised and says to him into the ear:
“This terrible north wind has wreaked but havoc
Even the haughty oak tree has been cowed
And you, you are upright. How might this be?
That the life of him whose powerful crown
Spread proudly over the forest has been uprooted?
The reed replied: “And that of the mighty
Is it not cut by the imploring Park
As an ear of wheat by the scythe of a yokel?
The oak which you see, bleeding there, laid low,
Addressed me in this proud language: “Poor little reed
You are unable to bear the weight of a wren
And the softest zephyr bends your back.
Nature has made you the plaything of her desires
Under my protection you would suffer much less
For the north wind to me is only zephyr
My Caucasian summit rises to the highest point
My dense foliage provides shade to the child
And my powerful branches extend up to the firmament.”
“Don’t you believe it, I said, that you can resist
All kinds of hurricanes. Your proud ridgepole
Will fall perhaps sooner than you believe.
When the rain and the winds turn the soil to mud
My frail stalk bends but does not break.”
Just as he was uttering these words a furious wind came a-blowing
At first the oak tree trembled and then finally was laid low.
“Thus dies, he said, this proud giant
The king of the forest at least a couple of centuries old.
Then the sparrow dry and whistling
Went away looking for his brothers and to them related this story.

                                                                            Signed: R. Etiemble
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014


Details | French Poem | |

SEXY FRENCH GIRLS encounter an American 15yr old boy

FRENCH GIRLS  
 in the eyes of an
 innocent 
15 yr  American old boy

 

My son
Sweet naive
Raised in China
Where MTV and YOUTUBE are banned
Where no girl kisses
Until her university days end.
Raised in China
Where knees are covered--
Lips are sealed--
Where boys
Only dream
Of the wonders of Red sex.
My son
Said he loved Paris
     For the Eiffel
     For the Louvre
     For the Seine
     For the wine.

But I knew
He loved Paris
For the
Blackest  panties
Barely hiding
Knowing smiles
Of
Short tight skirts.

Details | French Poem | |

Phantoms of Pleasure (Saraband Sonnet (French/Italian combination))

I see you arching under me,
the dew of passion on your skin, 
as bodies strain for liberty.

Our quest together, love within
a calming serenity's spin,
the physical unites with dreams
and sustenance in wanton screams.

Can phantoms of pleasure relate,
the fevered moments such as this
as nerve-endings reverberate.

We are as one in love's abyss
and all I am is all you are.
Daylight reminds, you are so far
and leaves me yearning your sweet kiss.

Details | French Poem | |

A GOOD TIME (French Ballade)


I'll walk into the dance tonight
proudly holding my head up high,
Without a date I'll go in spite
don't care what my presence imply,
and if I'm teased I won't reply
I'll simply smile it's not a crime,
Although I'm here without a guy
I intend to have a good time.


So glad I was for the invite
Dressed up to kill, I'm looking fly,
I'll dance tonight with all my might
'cause on the dance floor I'm not shy,
Eying the guys, I won't deny,
Maybe I'll find one who's not slime
but if I don't I'll never cry,
I intend to have a good time.


The decor is a lovely sight
Red, gold and green in great supply,
The lighting here is not too bright
When in the corner of my eye
I see someone in silver tie,
As bright as a shiny new dime,
and he approached with smile so sly
I intend to have a good time.


I am his choice, I don't care why
He's handsome and I'm still in prime,
We dance all night, he holds me nigh,
I intend to have a good time.

Details | French Poem | |

Limericks crochetes: Once French Socialist met Brit counterpart

Limericks crochetés: Once French Socialist met Brit counterpart

Once French Socialist met Brit counterpart
They turned right and round and round each other:
Frenchman took two steps right
Brit four right steps with might:
Ended up one on top of the other !

Then they met American new Leftist
Who taught them how to do the ragtime twist:
Turn left and then to right
And the twist will come right:
Now Far West Leftist sandwiched well-betwixt !

The Three met Russian-Chinese Communist
And danced round the Maypole on May Day feast:
A little to the left
And ropes knot in the cleft:
East showed West how to beat the Marxist “Beast” !

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014


Details | French Poem | |

A FRENCH SOJOURN b

ALORS
this week-
a little of mine
to seek
each day-
a little time
to pray
a little of me
before the Lord
heart to heart
face to face,
all-unlaced