Al Dente Poems | Examples

Poetry Soupris

Poetry soupris
Soupris being French for sighs
And we all breathe them
At different times in our lives

We breathe them in relief
And maybe in our sleep
Exhaled after we've railed
Against the nightly thief

Poetry soupris
Potato soupris served cold
Alphabet soupris
Spelled out in the bowl

Sighs of relief
Sighs that matter
Sighs of release
In thoughts that scatter

(Carole Landis
"The sigh heard round the world"
Only Twenty-nine 
When we lost "your baby" girl)

Sorrowed soupris
During suffering endured
Godly suffering
Soupris when your cured

Soupris relenting
Served during your sentence
The sighs, the soupris
As we seethe through repentance

Now that the war is over
And you have traveled home
Awaiting and waiting
To breathe out this soupris poem

Let the soupris fly away 
And all things al dente (to the tooth)
If this were the Seventies
I’d hope your needle finds its groove

The Matriarchs are Molting Again

Grandma’s ghost has taken up
knitting rattlesnakes in the drapes. 
They hiss when someone lies.

Now, my mother only speaks
in noodle metaphors.
I ask her how she is, and she replies,
al dente, then goes back
to stirring the aquarium water
she'll later take a bath in.

My sister gives birth 
to a daughter who levitates 
during thunderstorms.
She answers to the name Unclaimed Bag.

In other words, we all gather once a year
to shed what’s left of politeness,
to laminate new rules:
  No bleeding at the table.
  Far less mirrors in the fruit salad.
  All grudges must be gift-wrapped,
      left at the door with the shoes, 
      with the husbands.

And when it’s over,
we nod like diplomats,
swap our favorite spells,
(that is to say recipes), pretend 
we don't notice the fresh claw marks 
on the floor.

It ends when we remember 
our names again, who we are. 
Then we leave—
each of us, in a different skin.

Pasta Love

How do I eat thee? Let me count the ways:
sauced, buttered, plain,
sprinkled with Parmigiano Reggiano,
pesto, pancetta, bacon.
Rowdy rigatoni, flamboyant farfalle,
perky penne, funny fusilli, lovely linguini,
spunky spaghetti,
personality abounds.
An atavistic love affair
with semolina goodness
in all shapes, sizes
like my three Aunt Rosas.
Dear pasta,
I count on you
for your depression-lifting goodness,
accepting no impastas!
When you end up in hot water,
you come out better than before.
You’ve stuck with me
through thick and thin,
mostly thick around my hips.
Pasta al dente, the choice
of strong Italian women!

Critterature: Place Your Bets

A yak and a yeti made a bet
To see which one was the hairiest.
The yak was an ox,
And the yeti, no "fox",
Had already won as the scariest.
Neither had the allure
Of the latest coiffure,
They were unkempt and creasy and craggy.
Then a monk passing by
Judged the bet was a tie
For their coats were both equally shaggy.
Well, the yeti and yak were quite taken aback,
Each proclaiming that she was the winner,
Until Hetty the yeti settled the bet
By having al dente lama and yak for her dinner!

Al Dente

A lady in sunny Rimini,
told the chef she wanted zucchini.
She finished her meal,
then said, with some zeal;
“I love, sir, a firm bucatini.”

Revenge

It tastes a little like patience,
a pot simmering on low heat;

It tastes like something left on ice
that now has been perfectly thawed;

It tastes a little bit sugar,
attached to what they did to you;
Now the craving is satisfied;

It tastes like the most sumptuous treat; 

It tastes just like the final straw,
the pasta that’s now al dente;

It tastes like pineapple that’s smoked,
you know karma’s finally won;

It tastes a little bit feisty,
like every word you have held back;
Now your palette is left on fire;

Revenge is hot and cold,
it tastes like they have just been burned.

500 Pounds of Pasta

Along a Jersey creek, somebody
Made a crazy find – 
500 pounds of pasta had been 
Somehow left behind.

Whoever dumped the noodles
(Mainly elbows and spaghetti)
Isn’t known, but word got out and
There was lots of wordplay ready.

“Pastabilities were endless,”
Was reported and, as well,
“The perpetrators need
The penne-tentiary,” I heard tell.

My favorite was the mastermind
Whose capture is the aim.
Though it might be just an alias,
Al Dente is his name.

Nouvelle Cuisine

NOUVELLE CUISINE

Nouvelle cuisine the waiter said, as he served the food to me
Where’s the rest I asked him, as I’d earlier skipped my tea
Tiny bits of something on a massive bloody dish
I tried to woo my girlfriend by pretending I was swish

You can pick the restaurant, was my very first mistake
I thought she’d pick our local for some scampi or a steak
Instead she chose Pierre’s, which was going to be steep
I’d heard the food was lovely though the prices made you weep

I gazed upon the menu, which was written out in French
And scanned along the prices, which made my buttocks clench
To refrain from looking stupid, I ordered some red wine
We requisitioned dinner and prepared ourselves to dine

A puny bowl of soup arrived, we felt a touch irate
We had to eat it quickly or it could evaporate
The main course had potato which was hidden by some meat
Five al-dente vegetables, all stacked up nice and neat

A de-constructed rhubarb tart, that’s what they served us next
Though why they took it all apart has left us kinda vexed
We left a tip and paid the bill…a pretty hefty fee
Then dandered into town and we got a KFC

Two True

i can't
say that
i am
growing up

looking back
normality
morality
fit me

in some
category
like poetry
i'm not

iambic
i'm more
pelvic and
musically

you can 
find me
andante 
moderato

tastefully
eating
my pasta
al dente

and in
life i
like
most

have had
lose to 
which it
is said

for everyone
there is a
soulmate
but she

died and
so did i
just like
Atlas

dropping not
the world but
my world with
a shrug

now after all these
Rumpelstiltskin
years gone by
i'm not sure

if i'm still
dreaming
in my sleep
or sleeping

in a dream
for it seems
i've been 
allowed

to have
a second
soulmate
finding her

doing the same
as me pushing
a door that reads
pull

Dish of the Day Poetry

DISHES OF THE DAY - POETRY

             Happiness à priori
             Health well done
             Peace to the right point
             Love at will (á la volonté)... !



             Even obvious lines
             make sense
             Abstract Ingredients,
             they give concrete juice ...
             The invisible becomes as dense
             as the visible ...
             Unused rejects,
             reused are ...
             Discarded
             has also its time ...
             Having some substance,
             It's okay, it's not soup.
              of stone ...
             All together, it takes
             to the cauldron in a water bath!
             After cooking
              in this soft fire,
             cool down, and become
             the table....
             The poem is ready
             al dente, primo canto...
             Are you all served ...!?

Abandon

Sleepless ... tossed like pillows, our sleep number slumber
so sweetly disturbed ... pretzel limbs, twisted soft and warm ...
we tear torrid tunnels through Egyptian cotton ...

Swimming, deep, the louvered moonbeams, properly peeled
and cologned-to-taste ... hot-striped like a naughty tiger,
(from your almond nails) ...

A fire on my skin inflames to the core, mouth-to-flesh-to-mouth ...
manic handfuls, served al dente' ... your tangy, sticky-sweet nectar,
we share like an aged and smoky bourbon ...

Mixed in our kiss with your herbal tresses, imbibed as a potion,
sublime ... we flail our forms, frantic - thoughts, flavors, feelings,
urges, curves, wants ...

Swirled in a moonlit concoction, aflame ... tumbling and surging
together, a single sultry beast, with but one selfish design ...
abandon.






~ 3rd Place ~  in the "Sleepless - Old Or New" Poetry Contest, Carolyn Devonshire, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 1st Place ~  in the "Contest 455 any form Or None" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 8th Place ~  in the "Abandon 2" Poetry Contest, Brenda Chiri, Sponsor & Judge.

Daydream Tiara

Midday sometimes in class instead of learning algebra
While she should be calculating and figuring a formula
Her mind wanders aboard a moonlit gondola
Serenaded by a musician and his viola

She follows the enticing aroma of hot lasagna
Zigs instead of zags, could be seen as a faux-pas
She glides around a peninsula soon in terra incognita
Traversing a nebula not a care in the world, she’s in Utopia

Atop her head a diamond studded tiara
Below a ball gown of the finest taffeta
As she gracefully waves and cheers at the orchestra
Who is playing al dente a capella for an al fresco opera

Such fleeting moments garnered as bouquets of ephemera
She weaves in and out of daydream during algebra



AP: 1st place 2021, Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on June 8, 2018 for JUNE 2018 STANDARD CONTEST sponsored by BRIAN STRAND  -  RANKED 2ND

Originally posted on March 4, 2018

I Like My Soup Al Dente

I like my poetry soup cooked al dente,
so lots of diced adjectives in the pot went,
   and I threw in some fresh verse,
   lyric, I did immerse.
I folded in liquid imagination,
and sprinkled poetic inspiration,
nothing wrong with a pinch of creation;
    and a toss of wordy rhyme gambling.
    and a swirl of flowers scrambling.
       I sifted in beauty,
       I steeped words gloomy, 
it was a mix of eloquence quite soupy.
Oh, I like my poetry soup hot and al dente!

_________________________________
January 25, 2017

Poetry/Verse/I like my soup al dente
Copyright Protected, ID 17-8688-02-0
All Rights Reserved.  Written Under Pseudonym.

Written for the contest, Poetry Soup Recipe
sponsor, Cindi Rockwell

Eighth Place

Changing Lanes

Booze and madness.
I'm feeling it. Again,
nobody believes me but the nonsense, it just makes sense.
It's all about the soul deep down inside
That's me.
I'm in my head and I don't think I'll ever get out.
And then suddenly he knew
it was true,
sometimes.

He did drink alone and he is mentioned in the Abnormal Psychology textbook
under psycho-derelict and possibly addicted to self-pity
pretending not to be. Poor me. 

And one more thing, I would always rather be alone with the unknown
where nothing really matters when you get right down to the bottom of it. 
And for some people I know the only way to keep sane is to agree with you and always eat spaghetti al dente.

Pasta: a Fork of Heaven

PASTA: A FORK OF HEAVEN

In a pot of bubbling boiling water,
I drop hard nine inches long bundle of farfelles..

Minutes passed,between my fingertips, 
I pressed one strand, al- dente! 

In a  platter glittering white, 
I form a fist of fresh-cooked pasta noodles,

pouring a hot scoop of white 
creamy silky sauce made from:

parmesan and pecorino
melted, blended in a saucepan,

flavored more with a savory stock, 
tossed of shallots, saffron and lean meat.

The sauce must be rich enough 
coating all the threads of farfelles...

Garnishing it with grated cheese,
teaspoonful crunchy diced bacon,

a pinch of chopped flat leaf parsley... 
Voila! Who could refuse this tasty fork of heaven?
__________________________________________________
***farfelle - a type of pasta: thick and wide noodles
      al -dente - a pasta noodle cooked all the way through except in the center being slightly undone

CONTEST name: DIDACTIC FOOD
~~3rd place~~

1:54pm, September 09, 2015

• Short Al Dente Poems
• Famous Al Dente Poems
• Best Al Dente Poems
• Read Al Dente Poems
• Long Al Dente Poems
• Al Dente Quotes