Best Bisque Poems

Chef 's Winter dishes are simply delicious, not too much oil or cream.

Rich or plain,  taste tested to perfection, tiny portions sometimes steamed

He starts...

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I, a salty scarecrow, roam the shoreline
          The moon melts soft like butter on the reach
...

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My grandfather on my father’s side, was a pecker-toothed sidle who raped his 
daughter when she was just ten. He threw down vodka from an...

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SATURN    -   GOD’S    FAVORITE


This  floating sovereign rules her black see *
Like an Inquisition bishop  -...

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Fortress


Stone by weathered cobble I build,
calloused hands ache in sweet surrender
Mortar’d affection of a coalesced consistency,
mixed and blended, bound by love’s tether 

Stacking to heights...

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Brassy Barry’s boastful bumbling Brana Bull 
Badgered Billy’s bashful buffoonish Baboon 
Into baking a boisterous Blackberry Bisque 

Beyond bunking, Barry’s brave babysitter 
boldly bellowed brashly.

Bonafide...

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Under the depths below the deep 
     of this Atlantic Ocean,
live the lobsters that crawl and creep
    ...

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Two cans Apple pie filling
Half cup brown sugar
Half spoon cinnamon, nutmeg
Half spoon all spices
Two cups milk
Done!
For crust mix bisque and milk to
Make dough and roll...

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Flaming steaks and ice cold drinks
you thought good food had become extinct
until you ate here and gave us a nod and a wink.

Appetizers galore with...

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Poetry with soup, is like a nice bowl of Alphabet soup
spelled out to your liken.
Poetry with soup, is like a bowl of Turkey soup very...

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I've got a dish of killifish
I wish to eat that silly fish
Baked, or fried in peanut oil
Roasted, dried, or let to boil.

Make me a star-gazy...

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Fashion shoe treads imprinted on the bisque beach 
global longtitude/latitude design airborne print in flight
Honeycomb print slowly pacing synchronising footsteps
Concentric wave prints grouping Fine detail...

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This chair has chipped paint.     
Its shadow gangly 
in the light spilling through 
the window. A deep 
buttercup bisque steeps.

Through this...

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Blue-gray the barren mountains of Moab
at dusk . . . a tour bus winds its way
up to Jerusalem, City of God, from Tel Aviv.
How one...

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On the first day of 
winter we were covered in
bisque mist and fondness....

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