Best Baguettes Poems


Soul Food

Bagels and baguettes
Bap or fried bake,
The fruits of the flour
are easy to make

Chollah, chapatti, 
Cinnamon bun.
These global delights,
make eating such fun.

Filled with Caribbean sweet meat
like Guava jam,
Scottish smoked salmon; 
Or Danish roast ham.

Add a fresh fruit salad,
Some sparkling wine,
A candle, red roses and  
you’re ready to dine.

Joanna Davis
Categories: baguettes, culture, encouraging, family, food,
Form: Rondeau Redouble

A Satin Moon

Sometimes I perceive the moon
as a pearl; a polished satiny gem.
Aloft the world in midnight's pitch,
surrounded by myriads of stars...
baguettes of celestial diamonds.



June 19, 2021
Bite Size Poem No.8 Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Categories: baguettes, feelings, moon,
Form: Free verse

I Love You Rain Come At Me, By Davieo, David Rothchild

I love you rain
Come at me
With your sparkling
Diamond splashing
Water baguettes
Diamondize me
Lick me with your
Splishering diamond joys

I love you rain
Come at me
With your portly portable pumping poetry
Flitter pitter patter buoying boosty banter
Pouring snoring, roaring soaring, jumping jets
Splitting swishing swashbuckling glitzy gorgeous glitterama
Blinging blanging clanging gluey golden glory
Air cleansing wooing wooshing wooting wind friend story

I love you rain
Come at me
With your dancing
Deftly dangling diamonds
Unfurl glowing skies
Flights of soothing cries
Your micro thunder
Kiss parade bluster
Skywide rosary seeds
Natures prayer leads
Meditation chi gong traffic
Micro hugs of time's fabric

I love you rain
Come at me
With your awe inspiring
Diamond light cracking crackling kisses
That sharpen, brighten, spin, shower, empower
The kaleidoscopic bright lips of faceted light!
Nurture us all, fill us all, with your connected inside out love!
Load us up with your resilient diamond fiber winks & glows
Quiet slinging sure serene silent super strength that guides the cosmos

I love you rain
Come at me

By Davieo, David Rothchild
Categories: baguettes, 8th grade, angel, appreciation,
Form: Free verse

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry


Premium Member The Challenge of Eating French Onion Soup

My favorite dining place in town is a place called La Baguette.
'Tis a quaint French café and I haven't found its equal yet.
They serve the most scrumptious French onion soup west of Gay Paree,
And it is slurped by discriminating snobs as well as we bourgeoisie!

They serve other grub such as baguettes and burgundy beef stews,
Escargot, pate, salad maison and an assortment of cheese fondues.
And Monday through Friday they ladle bowls of soup du jour,
But each and every day they serve French onion soup for sure!

Eating French onion soup is a challenge and requires a bit of skill,
Especially, dealing with the stringy cheese in that delectable swill.
The glob of provolone clings like a boa constrictor to my spoon,
And dangles from my noble chin making me look somewhat like a goon!

De mal en pis (just when my dilemma has gone from bad to worse),
Faire bonne mine (to put a good face on matters) I tend to curse.
To save face, next time I'll ask the waiter, "S'il vous plait (if you please),
I'll have a bowl of your French onion soup sans that stringy cheese!"

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt,USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Categories: baguettes, food, humorous,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Li And The Dressed Chicken

I am Li from the East
Not the the martial artist

I am half-Asian
Raised in Appalachian

I love to cook
Selling in any nook

I push and pull a cart
Honest from the bottom of my heart

I cook street food
Spook and hook so good

I fry squid balls, chicken and krill
Or saute soft meat and grill

I play as I cook
And can tell stories out of the book

Just watch me and listen after I shook
I can also say how you look.

Have you heard the story
Of the dressed chicken in Hickory?...

A brood of chicken, a century ago
Arrived on the shore after crossing the briny sea of Santiago

It's a place in Chile
A land of beauty and wonders of simile

Around four hundred sixty-nine birds gathered
Different ones, condor-fathered
Big and small sizes like baguettes
Greeted the flock of chicken as nuggets

Chickens as birds with colored feathers
Envied for their tiny feathers

One chicken was asked,
"Why are you dressed when basked?"

"Your question is not funny...
It is an irony!"

The chicken said with a broken heart
Inside its chest is a burning heart

Adding, "Dressed is when I get decapitated 
Breathless and emaciated."

"Oh, that's hideous!"
Said the greeter so conscious.

"What else do you want to know?..."
Asked the chicken who was mocked with blow.

"Nothing more," said the greeter
"Sorry for being a tweeter!"

Now you know the story
Of the dressed chicken in Hickory!

Dressed chicken from anywhere
From Santiago to everywhere.
Categories: baguettes, bird, food,
Form: Narrative

Diamonds and Pearls Intro

Diamonds and Pearls Intro

He’s a black diamond standin’ on his throne
Platinum pyramids full of rubys and golds
He rolls royces in silks and riches
First class flights fly first…pacific
Atlantic oasis vacations chasin’ him…
From the states to the islands…they paradisin’ him
Crusin’ round the world in his yacht…no glitches
Shinin’ like baguettes on his wrist…past richness
Sun bathin’ over seas…meditatin’ steadily
In mentality of Garnet…pure clarity
Red emeralds green emeralds…purple tanzanite
It’s Taj Majal relica lookin’ in his eyes
Care for a glass of “The jewel of Pangaea”
Toast to the diamond in the rough of ideas
Higher than the pope…king of all kings
I introduce to you…your majesty… King Sesame


Written by: Aleasha Martin
Categories: baguettes, art, dedication, life, song-write,
Form: Lyric


Premium Member Easiest, Cream-Cheesiest Hor's D'Oeuvre-Iest

Sugar and sliced tomatoes
Simmered quite a lot!
Cook til' thick, add pinch of salt
Pepper hits the spot!!
Cream cheese, tops the bread
Then spread the 
Red!




These are so yummy, easiest hor'd'oeuvres ever!
Serve on warm, toasted, sliced baguettes!

__________________________
For Andrea's "Drool" Contest 10/26/14
Categories: baguettes, food,
Form: Epulaeryu

Paris, Mon Amour

"when the Gods want to punish you, they answer your prayers"
                                  --line from the film "Out of Africa"

She stopped, transfixed, a breathless 
butterfly pinned to a board, and she said, 
"That is So beautiful!" Then, turning
to her husband as they stood in my kitchen 
before an aerial photograph of L'Ile de la Cite' 
shaped like a ship in the beating heart of Paris,  
(young Yuppie wife of entrepreneurial architect 
who owned half the houses on the street 
where I lived), she asked with pleading eyes, 

"Could we go someday?" Knowing the appetite 
for that which lies beyond Beyond: Paris, 
La Cite' Emeraude, or wherever is the personal
Shangri La, I wished I could have shared 
what I've known: a second floor apartment 
in an historic building in the 12th--its 
circular staircase royally carpeted in red,
enclosing a tiny lift, depositing us 
to a storied paradise, its rooms extending 

beyond glass doors of an antechamber into 
a formal salon, two stately bedrooms 
with balconies, and a "bureau," birthplace 
of poems, diaries of dreams, and in the interior 
courtyard beneath our common windows, 
open to the Paris bleu, a caged canary sang, 
lusting for open sky in mornings filled 
with the perfume of freshly baked pastries 
and baguettes from the patisserie below.  

Once, I was besotted with a man who told me
after lovemaking, "I never knew how 
much yearning you needed."  He divined this, 
and for a time he fed that soul hunger in me, so 
that it was hard when he left, and they always leave.  
Ships seeking harbor, leave in their wake
a yearning in the corners of your life, which will 
surely bring back Paris and everyone you have ever 
loved, which will somehow, somehow, against 
all odds, satiate the supplicant heart.
© Nola Perez  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: baguettes, hope, lossparis,
Form: Blank verse

Ghosts of France

One month in May, I journeyed far,
winged through the sky t’wards Eastern star,
to land upon the Charles de Gaulle,
grand port of ile de France’s sprawl,
live city where studied Renoir.

A taxi to a ville by car,
this ville oh Vesinet not far, 
walked round the ibis lake to loll,
one month in May.

Then back to gates of iron bar,
round homes of which it seems there are,
the old grey ghosts of France in all.
They walk baguettes down lonely hall,
the men in black, women in shawl,
one month in May.
Categories: baguettes, international, memory, places,
Form: Rondeau

Premium Member In Paris

I met him at Cafe D L'Epoque, hidden down a covered passageway,
he watched me from his table and then came over;
I found him quite handsome and his accent was real sexy,
     soon, we were sipping sweet red wine;
     and eating baguettes and Brie cheese.
     We talked about many things-
     and then we started walking,
                              he held my hand,
        we went to the Arc De Triomphe, where we kissed
          and again at the Musee Du Louvre . . .
We sat on a park bench feeding pigeons, I liked him a lot,
and found myself inviting him to my hotel room! Oh, naughty girl.
We closed the curtains on the Paris sun and lay on the bed,
     his lips were hungry on mine, both gentle and rough,
     he caressed my hair, whispering . . . my name;
     then our clothes were flung in all directions,
     our hands explored getting bolder and more urgent;
                                and then . . .
        we were twirling and swirling in a dance of love,
            I was floating on the deep blue sea;
and flying in the azure sky-   then falling,
                                                     falling,
                                                          falling,
we stayed in my room all the night and when he left,
I stood at the window. . .  did this happen, it is so surreal, 
perhaps, I dreamt it, perhaps it was just a sexy dream . . . 

_________________________
June 1, 2017

Narrative/In Paris
Copyright Protected, ID 906097

Written for the contest, A Sexy Surreal
sponsor, Lewis Raynes

Seventh Place
Categories: baguettes, lust, passion, romantic, surreal,
Form: Narrative

Table Service

Before you start your meal today I can see that you’re confused
Please let me explain to you now how the utensils are to be used.

Start from the left and work your way in
There’s a fork that you can use to loosen a fin

Next to that is a thing with a hook that slides
Here’s some WD-40 to make sure that it glides

You can use it to catch hold of a fat Farkel berry
Unless of course it’s being served with dairy

Then please switch over to the right side of the plate
And grab hold of the spoon that matches its mate

Use them in tandem to round up the sections,
Of various things in the main course selection.

Next to them is horse shoe shaped spoon with a handle
That’s used for warming up bread with a candle.

After that is a nice collection of knives
Used to get honey from inside of the hives

Now move counter clockwise to the top and find
A nickel plated yo-yo with its string entwined.

You use that for knocking stray fingers away
From the dessert that comes for you on a tray.

At last we come to that spring loaded gadget
You can use it to peel bananas or baguettes.

I hope you got all that down with your pencils,
As this now concludes our tour of utensils.

•	Fine Finlandic Fin Fork
•	Farkel Berry Hook (With safety slide)
•	Tandem (Sometimes Twin) Round Up Spoons
•	Bread Warming U-spoon
•	Slicker Honey Hive Stickers
•	Nickel Plated Knuckle Whacker
•	Spring Loaded Bread and Banana Peeler
© Tony Lane  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: baguettes, food, funny,
Form: Light Verse

It's Not For the Usher To Ask

Many churches today 
have a food pantry that never
had a pantry before.

I attend a church like that.
Some folks are well-fixed, 
others poor, most betwixt.

Some had money before
but not enough now to pay 
the mortgage and then buy food

so the pantry helps them
the same way it helps clients
it has helped for years.

Some folks in the pews quietly
support the pantry with 
checks and canned goods

enabling the nouveau poor
to stand in line with the 
forever poor on Mondays. 

A neighborhood baker slips 
into the church Sunday mornings
just prior to the end of service

and quietly stacks his trays
of unsold bread in the dark foyer. 
He says nothing and disappears.

No one seems to know
who he is but the hungry
love his bread and word

of its excellence has reached
the woman who leaves church early
and always grabs two loaves

of French baguettes and is
out in the parking lot long
before anyone else and

drives off in a red Mercedes.
Perhaps she’s on unemployment, 
low on food stamps or is still

making payments on the car.
It’s not for the usher to ask.
I simply hold the door. 


Donal Mahoney
Categories: baguettes, poverty,
Form: Blank verse

I Was Made By People

I don’t write this for feed back or reaction 
as it's not my need too feel satisfaction 
I haven't invested nor look to progress
I'm just restless with rhymes ink press
them to an instrumental that's all
not a fool seeking approval to go professional
I don’t see or hear responses 
your thoughts are not on my conscience
I dont care if you hate it or like it
it's all cheese to me grated or sliced bits 
tastes the same on pizzas after ovens melt it
just a dried up felt tip impolitely 
drawing on the wall your boring common ite-ey
the world gave me a crippling anxiety
which has removed me from society 
if you want to see me act uncomfortably 
all you need is to say a compliment to me 
Cus me and you are completely apart 
you need them while I stay apart
I'm just messing because technology is at hand
but I'm sure this pastime is hard to understand
I sit at home writing for therapy 
spared a want to care what they think of me
Everyday alone blind never lose a blink of sleep 
opinions they pin on me stay unseeked 
I just ink in my seat to sooth my heartbeat 
so you’re a fool if you think it’s done for approval
I ain’t like you I ain’t usual 
so to think I want feed back
when I dont need that 
if given an elevated social status 
I'd evacuate free to a place more spacious 
however to the 2 faces who were loyal undoubtedly 
but quick to doubt and skip out on me, skidaddle 
once a friend revealed as a traitor 
see you later mate aint worth hating 
I've awakened to truth stated 
plus your company's overrated 
so don't come with me or after 
after friendship breaking cus if I'm not mistaken 
you said to everyone I make up stories
the blagger of Bath known for blagging bad on the ordinary
blagging like a bag carries baguettes in France
saying I'm mentally unstable while you compulsively lie
and I've quit chronic while you're still on it daily 
5 years ago I quit yet I'm bonkers well maybe 
yet plonkers believe how you describe me so clearly
I'll never forgive you for saying I make things up
we were like family and you totally mucked it up
© Nick Trim  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: baguettes, friendship, life,
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Dawn Forever Rising

Dawn Forever Rising

It starts

Street lights fade
their tiny soft-winged tenants flee
checkerboard facades change
last night's illumined squares now dark
become but yesterday's portals
some polished
some weather streaked
all reaching to reflect first breath

Steam ascends from the city's vacuum
gratings rattle with subterranean yawning
people-movers wind their way
through mazes of starts
stops

Topside tracks
like fixed contrails
glisten with frost
not yet enjoined by speeding transit
their skeletal tributaries
readying the trickle of humanity
into a mass ocean of glass and steel survival

Uptown
Downtown

A street sweeper's tire rubber and swirling brushes
beneath the overalled believer in Lottos
holding firm the wheel and gears of faith
of trust
gathering gutter-lodged disposal
glass and plastic
paper and cardboard
spinning into the vortex
lifting yesterday's careless cast-offs
inviting today's Starbuck anew
reflections of another kind

Leashes strain from anxious sniffing
bladders hold
ready to burst
seeking just the right tree
the right hydrant
the "ah, yes" that only a canine can know

Rays of sun begin spilling down alleyways
the long-tail rodents scamper for cover
their bellies full
seeking safety after a long night of ancient ritual
food of anything
digestion of history
all in a night's work

Suddenly

Full light cascades down avenues and streets
itinerant pigeons and seagulls spread habitual wings
ready to adore the steadies
the loners
park walkers
window ledge dependables
homeless with dance cards of crumbs
envying the moneyed insomniacs throwing chunks
baguettes gone stale
fit for few
a feast for many
senses loving the coos and warbles
the bobbing thank you
the reciprocal bonding
few but the lonely can appreciate

Finally

The steel and glass imitation of nature
comes fully alive
a sun's illumination without reserve
energy's provision for another day

Rich mix with the poor
money exchanges hands
the hotdog vendor
the hedge fund taker
the cookie jar provider

Most become tomorrow's yesterday
knowing little of the other light
requiring no rising or setting
illumination that never grows dim
something as nothing
forever light
never of darkness

Such for some
awakens from a New York sunrise
this dichotomy like no other
forever reminding
our eyes of dawn
one's inner light
is forever rising
© Odin Roark  Create an image from this poem.
Categories: baguettes, introspection,
Form: Free verse

Gender Rolls

I am a baker in a quaint, small town,
for my artisan breads the people come ’round,
Tuscan and baguettes by the dozen are sold,
but most people come here for my Gender Rolls.

I came up with them on a cool day last year,
a batch I’ve been baking had come out all weird,
some came out all golden, slight and petite,
others were brown, all bulked and manly.

Specialization will move the product,
so I fiddled, until a stroke of luck:
feminine rolls that were soft, light and sweet,
masculine rolls, tasting strongly of meat.

The female rolls were a joy to look upon,
but they went bad quickly, best eaten when young,
the male rolls had flavors bold and very strong,
many were eating only them before long.

And that’s where the trouble truly began,
that male rolls sold better some would not stand,
they said the female rolls should get a leg up,
that I undersold them, did not make enough.

Other people got mad that I had the gall
to assign gender to dinner rolls at all,
they said it was a form of sexist abuse,
and that I should let the dinner rolls chose!

What if the dinners rolls did not fit well,
what if trying to be a gender was hell?
That said the it was presumptuous of me,
what if the roll identified as taffy?

I did not at first believe they were for real,
that they were just snowflakes, shouting their ‘feels,’
until the day they blockaded my store,
then staged a ‘die in,’ lying on my floor!

The easiest route would’ve been to backtrack,
but a man like me just ain’t wired like that,
so I posted a sign, this ‘creators’ word,
‘When it comes to rolls, there are just two genders.’

Some warned that this would destroy my sales,
but to this day I sell them all without fail,
the Red Pill crowd can’t get enough of it,
what can I say? Gender Rolls are a hit!

Order now and I will custom carve the male or female symbols into you batch. No extra charge!
Categories: baguettes, creation, food, gender, humor,
Form: Rhyme
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