Baguette Poems | Examples

Piece of Cake

All the French
I can take -
piece of cake.

A baguette
or croissants?
Paris tempts.

Cream inside;
lick my lips.
Morrow’s trip.

Doctor Duck

Doctor Duck could not cluck
Whenever he tried, he was out of luck
So he bought bread
Brioche, Baguette, White, and Grain


He'd wake up covered in crumbs
Looking like one of the bums
His wife left him because he spent his paycheck on bread


Doctor duck sure was out of luck
He'd lost it all, every single buck
Doctor Duck was fired
He was always tired


So he worked at the grocery store
All the bread he could want, and more
Just stock the shelves with food
And He'd be good.

The Last Organ Grinder

Tripe, sweetbreads, entrails, offal,
some people spell them awful.
Scottish chefs can do them right
Haggis, a meal, out of sight. 

Making a proper meatball sandwich
is virtual what-not-who and which
needing perhaps some extra spice
supply it with a bit of Scotch hype.

The last, best organ 'grinder' that I got
was on Panera Bread’s French baguette, hot.
Barrel-shaped bread held tight as treasure
the tin cup for the drink of my pleasure.

Italian, I Tell Ya

Home-grown tomatoes on low
Basil and garlic
Angel hair pasta wall test
Fresh parmesan cheese
Thin-sliced hard baguette
Olive oil
Yum!

I'Ll Not Give Up On You

I'll not give up on you 

I'll not give up on you 
Sometimes I will show off
Sometimes I will hide it

I'll not give up on you
I will stay with you
Through thick and thin
Through hard times and happy ones

I will hold you back always
You bent You crawl
You break You mend
I will race with your heartbeats 
At times you fail
At times you gain

You are beautiful, 
With or without maquillage 
You are baguette,
Inbred precious priceless and panjandrum
You are mine,
Wholly owing to the breathes and the life

As the Universe whirls  
The fire warms and the ice burns
Let the waves carve sculptures on sand
So do lava traces an alley
And the Earth merry-go-rounds
'Whatever it takes, no matter my love';
'I'll will never give up on you'!

Let Me Breathe

Let me breathe that sea air
that once waltzed through your hair.
Let me view that sunrise
you once graced with your eyes.
Let me taste that baguette
from the morn we first met.
How I've replayed that dawn
since they told me you're gone.

Sir Studly's Dance Partner

Sir Studly put out his cigarette
when the band played a minuet.
Did he ask me to dance?  You bet!
And that’s when I began to sweat.

No lessons had I, least not yet;
still I stomped on the floor like a vet.
Sir Studly soon began to fret;
an assault on his toes I beset.

Two small feet became quite a threat,
not to mention my toe ring baguette!
He did not see me as a coquette,
as he came after me with a net.

I must say I have no regret;
there’s a lesson here I won’t forget:
Make sure your dance steps are preset
‘fore you dance with a studly brunette.




January 9, 220
For William Kekaula’s “First Time Here – Any Monorhyme” poetry contest

French Ladies

Ladies from France
Renowned for their glamor
Parade designer dresses
All day long all night long
Like gazelles in stilettos
Looking fit looking fab

It’s a mystery and conundrum
How successful they are
To maintain girlish figures
While we punish ourselves
Trying to lose every pound
It’s not right it’s not fair

I’ve decided to see for myself
Take the next red eye flight
Meet the ladies for breakfast
Spend a day à la parisienne

So here I am ~
Starting off with café au lait
And a big buttery croissant
Rush to this shop and this bakery
One errand then another
What a joy to sit down for a bite
It wouldn’t be a meal without wine
And a baguette s’il vous plaît
Then artful pastries sublime masterpieces

Whew ~
My day is done I’m back crossing the Atlantic
What have I learned from my day with the ladies
They’ll buy one croissant or a chocolate not a box
They love friends to laugh and chat at the table
They’ll nibble their pastry savoring each single bite
They prefer to shop for fashion than for food



Read on air by invitation  ~  April 28, 2021  'OPEN POETRY WITH WOLF SPIRIT'

AP: 2nd place 2020

Posted on November 19, 2019

Won't Let Me Forget

That active song won't let me forget.
It's lyrics spin like dancing wet ink,
and for four solid minutes I think
I am sixteen, playing Juliet.

That painted song won't let me forget.
Like strobe lights pulsing our skating rink,
when I absorb that chorus I think
we're hand in hand in your red Corvette.

That scented song won't let me forget.
Your Old Spice cologne can dance, I think.
With whiff of the rhythm, my teeth sink
into our fresh, shared, loaded baguette.

That Springsteen song won't let me forget.
I sip it's lyrics like a warm drink.
In this reflective moment I think
you're tracing my angel silhouette.

That taunting song won't let me forget.
It's lyrics tease like your flirty wink.
I still laugh. I still cry. I still blink.
I still hear the rev of your Corvette.

That leeching song won't let me forget
and it won't let me otherwise think.
Like a leaky faucet fills a sink,
you keep rewinding that old cassette.

2-21-19

Long Leisurely Lunch

Lazy, long, leisurely lunch,
    Lolling, laughing, lingering,
     O'er lamb-stew, linguini 'n lager.

   In Louisville, Los Angeles, Las Vegas,
    London, Lisbon, or Lyon;
     At Los Olivos, Las Palmas, La Paloma,
      La Scala, La Baguette, or La Castilla:

   Let lunch lie palatially on your palate,
    Let lunch slowly settle in your limbs,
     Let lunch last always:
      Let it lustrate and luminate
       Life lived long and lived well.

Marie-Antoinette

It all started with a bet
Inside a launderette
Over a cigarette
With a brunette
I hadn’t yet met

Her name was Marie-Antoinette
As she said it she did a pirouette
And wow what a silhouette
Coquette she wore an amulet
Feared nothing short of a bayonet

Forgot the laundry it was still wet
I got hungry and craved an omelet
Asked M-A to join me in my Corvette
Drove to the closest luncheonette
Ordered baguette and anisette

We talked right until the sun set
She showed me a statuette
She dreamt of a trip to Tibet
So we jumped on a jumbo jet
Me her and the rest of the jetset

Across the aisle was the oddest duet
He played the clarinet she the castanet
While Marie-Antoinette rhymed the alphabet
Dancing and waving with a serviette
Try and imagine this strange vignette

Marie-Antoinette Marie-Antoinette
Forever in her debt 
Not so easy to forget
I only have one regret
I left Marie-Antoinette back in Tibet



Submitted on November 14, 2022 for contest 2022 POETRY MARATHON MILE 20 sponsored by MARK TONEY

AP: Honorable Mention 2020

Originally posted on February 17, 2018

On Becoming French

To be French means I’ll need to stop a few things, 
Whilst other small details I’ll seize.
I'll need to start smoking a lot, and
Start eating a whole lotta cheese.

But I wont wear berets with striped shirts,
Or hold a long skinny baguette,
Or say words like merde or putain, 
Va te faire foutre, or even say couchette.

But, I will talk as though I am in love, 
And eat frogs legs whenever I dine,
And be happy, with passion, with all that I am, 
Then, with friends, share all of my wine.

Door To Nowhere

Door to Nowhere


Royalty have Chateau’s
With moats and drawbridges

Artists have colors
Paints and brushes and dreams

The poor have soup
And Marie's gateau’s

The lonely have open doors
To nowhere

I let my baguette go hard and stale
So I could stab myself with nourishment

As my blood flows slowly
Through that door with no hope

I with no rope, fade away

Leila Alaoui

Cappuccino café

Leila Alaoui

Why does one have to die?
So that we can see the bold and noble heart
That used to beat with passion, why?
Her smile now, heaven sent from the sky

Her beauty would have fooled most men
For it was not her, but through her lense
She observed the burdened and tormented souls
Shining light on their toils, her only goal

Why do they seek Parisians martyrs?
Killing for the sake of hate seems all that matters
Can you slaughter such a beautiful vision?
Or will she hide inside a cameras transmission?

Leila left parts of her all over this earth
Each Photograph of our souls she took
She buried herself in the smiles of hands she shook
Eyes dancing, we saw her photos of beauty… worth

She met her fate at Africa’s door
Coffee and baguette her last meal that sad day
Evil men laughed at the blood they did spray
Her camera fell then to the ground

Her memory shall brighten all of your tomorrows
With her photos and kiss, 
We stand silent in sorrow
One day, the camera, another shall borrow

Bbc News Alert Bossy Cow

BBC News Alert


Somewhere in France
In the Countryside
A farmer has been arrested
For molesting an old cow
A drunken old hag was on all fours
Crawling around in his field
He, having had his wine and baguette
Thought he had forgotten one cow
Off he went to fondle and milk her ****
Turned out they were as dry as prunes
The cow in English barked; get your hands off of me
To which the pour farmer replied in absolute shock
Merde! Why you cow who barks, you speak English!
How can this be?
She replied I am not a cow you blind old farmer
I am a mooing poet of sorts
I dropped my dictionary in some cow dun here
Can’t seem to tell the difference between the two
I understand replied the farmer
Like me looking at you and a cow
Was very confusing indeed
Well I shall take me leave you old blind fart
The farmer snorted
Let me cut the fence open for you
She crawled back onto the road
Whereby the farmer was arrested
(Alsace has left wing laws it seems)
For letting his cow wander
Upon the intellectual property
Of France

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