Best Brioche Poems
Should it be a poet's duty
To write solely about beauty?
A POET’S DUTY by BETH EVANS
ANSWER ON A BED OF NAILS
let me answer the quixotic brioche —
we all need a delicate pinch;
brachial bruising a warning
all the flowery talk dispels the magnitude
of cancer, the carbuncle of abuse,
the horrific salutations of the nazi regime
we march alone but also as a world
arm in arm, armed with insecticide
words like ants; a bench’s rash
a hose in diffusion’s spray
may try to paint the sky
in shades of love’s foray
turn it off; let flow subside
take a better look —
heart on a bed of nails
war of words; a twisting sword
let truth be the blood
that scores
because a poet can also whitewash
with parrots
mimic...mimic...mimicking
seek your bellyache
examine, test, squander
all its savings
let cavalry of water fall
soaking wet
with poet’s ink
10/9/2020
Beth Evans’ A Poet's Duty Poetry Contest
Categories:
brioche, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
sonata for the flute and piano
adding
some slices
of a sunrise tasted with the friends
and a calm sleep on the sand
for the brioche with bilberries
I cut the almonds
I break the nuts
in this August evening
the sky releases the colours- like the agate
on the seashore
at the "Seamagic"
torrents of musical phantasies
against the seediness
the Benedich eggs
excited
a handshake
a dreamy smile
broken peers in white wine
who wouldn't give the marchal stick for a marengo chicken?
when the woodcock’s eyes
start fading away
it is a sign that it can taste quiet
this dusk of the day or life
as ISSA can say
tiny summer rain
a romance in the ice bucket
for later on
between graces and muses
only Seneca’s hen
together with the poetess Kozne Uzawa
it a milk coffee
the autumn is near-
some drops in a caress
may cure the heart
(translated by Margareta Mioc )
Categories:
brioche, joy,
Form:
Imagism
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!
Categories:
brioche, art, hate, history, poverty,
Form:
Rhyme
It's funny the simple pleasures recounted in life
all manner of wonders reminisced I'll miss most..
though list grows shorter with each passing day
thoughts align in proper time as desires sway
storm bent trees, sunsets, a child's laughter,
and chicken salad on toast.
To be true others may find want of finer things.
fancying first class flight or latest in 'lectric cars,
refined tastes in Nanterre brioche or imported caviars
yet never replace good company a heart brings.
As winter closes, and spring finds its way home,
eternally grateful for all new pleasures won
give thanks warm day's return in rising and setting sun
yet alone, to bygone days my thoughts may roam.
Yeah, there'll always be chicken salad and sunsets..
perhaps a slice of keylime pie or two.
When I look back to a wonderful past,
what I'll miss most
is you.
Categories:
brioche, relationship, storm, tree, winter,
Form:
Rhyme
Third Reign:
Her feeding heart and cold command
Enough to make you quit your band
Well, there’s only so much frostbite one can take
You’ve heard her bitter orders before
To leave your sandals outside her door
And go skating on the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
I’d save all my lovin’ for you
If only I knew what you would do:
Let me loose or condemn me at your frozen stake
I’d be a martyr if I could
And stand where the burning saints have stood
On the altar of wood by the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
It’s like a prison in this room
With the cigarettes and hot perfume
Something’s got to thaw out our mistakes
But I feel like a fish in a waterfall
One of these days, I’ll sprout legs and crawl
Away from the banks of the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
We’ve been up all night on this powdery binge
I can still smell the lust that the wind drags in
It’s the only habit I’ve got that’s worthy to break
We could check into rehab and seal the deal
And feel what the super-celebrities feel
Or turn the wheel straight into the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
Her reindeer are bridled; her peasants are gauche
They are starving in line: she offers brioche
But winning their naïve trust is a piece of cake
They’d float to Alaska to polish her nails
Come back bloodied and tied to her sails
Back from a crusade on the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
The bar of demarcation is set
Once etched in the earth, it’s hard to forget
So stand where the poor young Confederates once did shake
When our scorched-earth policies have failed
And your Mason-Dixon address gets no mail,
Just surrender yourself to the Ice Queen’s lonely lake
From Sierra Madre to Branson, Missouri
A blizzard is coming, she’s showing her fury
to you – this is no false alarm, no fake;
Like the perfect conquest of the abortion pill,
like the simple saga of Jack and J---,
It’s a cold moment till the Ice Queen’s lonely lake.
Categories:
brioche, abortion, addiction, betrayal, loneliness,
Form:
Verse
A solemn scent of brioche scrapes along
waking eyes and my freedom comes alive
morning songs of the sandpiper float around
as I revel in secrets that light the glowing sun
Irreplaceable memories dive deep and I struggle
for breath to speak of past promises longing to
forget clouded nights pestered by petrichor pains
letting star-kissed memories disappear in the wind
Stretches and a friendly hello gather me back in
cappuccino fragments filter through the cracks
parchment paper visions elope with wistful daydreams
dancing with feathered friends and tangled sunbeams
Categories:
brioche, friendship, morning, sun,
Form:
Free verse
Those bread rolls look so yummy,
Can you buy me some sissy?
You mean those brioche buns?
So sweet for you, my little one.
But candies are much sweeter,
May I have one my dear sister?
Timmy, I don’t have enough dime,
Can we buy one next time?
But sissy, I’m starving now,
Can we go and sell our cow?
Selling our cow is a big regret,
If we do, we don’t have any more pet.
Oh sis, I’ve this brilliant idea,
Let’s go back home and ask mama.
Smart boy, let’s go home then,
You better walk and hold my hand.
Categories:
brioche, sister,
Form:
Couplet
Summer Lunch
Delivered by cute stud, served in a red chequered box!
On this sizzling, summer,sun-joyous June day.
Delicious, cold seafood salad on a perfect Brioche.
Rapturous, fresh garden creamy coleslaw.
Perfection!
June 24, 2020
10:15 pm PST
Poem # 1,313
Edited
Categories:
brioche, appreciation, food, fun,
Form:
Cinquain
A caption is not a utensil. And highly recommended is the hiding away of the ladles at this time of the year. Frankly it is most often spoken of but never delivered. Delivery deliberations deemed done. And no wise word from a misted curtain of dust. It is rather preferable to be a fun fool in a tin with several characters than a jacknife in a crown. Savour not the savage. And a fattened form of a static void. Goodnight and goodbye to the morning and greetings. *** radishes ravish radiance. Xxxx centralisation oh wait till the riders arrive in much painted earthenware. Beads bring bracelets. And talk not of a bucket of concrete. Talk instead of little sandcastles prettily waving to the seahorses. Then the tide collects for to decorate is often to deassemble. And a coveted crab can often be discovered in a broccoli brooch. But never a brioche. So portray a pocket of pins as a great idea. Especially when ice skating. Snow snoring and wind up there in an arch breathing. Frantic fruits flying. And of course the singular most importance of one single marble stain. Xxxxx pestiferous pesticides.xxxxx pathological phone xxxxx climatologist Z
Categories:
brioche, anti bullying,
Form:
A glorious Spring day, my love!
Won't you come by and let's play?
A picnic next to the placid lake.
Caesar salad, brioche, Cabernet Sauvignon.
How about munchy crackers and Brie?
Just the swimming ducks, the loving lake gently
touching the shore.
And best of all, you plus me, reading Cummings' poetry.
With sun shaded lascivious eyes, under waving elm trees
and a free, cloud pillowed sky
A delectable lunch...even French coffee and for dessert
....me plus thee!
May 20, 2020
2pm PST
Poem# 1282
Categories:
brioche, beauty, food, love, spring,
Form:
Free verse
Lazy Morning
L~Love to lie on pillows, lush and ever so
lusty.
A~An ambrosial dish, right next to me,
Z~Zoetic,yes! And feeling full of life and
and magically,oh so, poetic.
Y~Yummy, yes. A warm brioche and hot
French coffee with a dash of sprinkles..
ever so chocolatey, smiling up at me.
Panagiota Romios
4/4/2019
Categories:
brioche, morning, poets,
Form:
Acrostic
In the center of my garden,a marble fountain stands.
Today, the fountain-birds harmonizing
and conversing in joy,
Of their plans to fulfill for God's day.
Insects, too,are busy doing their holy work,
some building tunnels way under the earth.
If lucky, I might see a hare hop my way.
Meanwhile, I will procure a fresh orange from the beloved tree in my yard.
Oh, what a way to start a citrusy day.
With a brioche, a carafe of French coffee,
on my terrace I will sit.
Inspired, smiling and so immensely grateful, to be an such an insignificant part of all this.
Panagiota Romios
4/22/2019
7:00pm PST
Categories:
brioche, bird, spring, sunshine,
Form:
Free verse
~ NEGATIVE MINDSETTED NIGEL~
Alas~he only can envision the hopeless!
With nary an answer ahead.
His land is for him,only of the following feckless,
With no soulful breath, as if he wishes indeed, he were already dead!
For breakfast he searches out spoiled jam,
On a moldy Brioche, to be sure.
Then, Nigel, the poet and eater declares in untruthful agony as best he can, mam.
That on this planet human life cannot be endured!
The TV set or radio is turned on, bleating like sheep of riots, COVID and such.
He goes to his cabinet to roll a fat joint to quell his mental agony!
Nodding in his non-thinking media mind constituted of negative media mulch.
That God's world is entirely terrible and
loaded with perfidy.
Then, in stained plaid housecoat, onto his computer this poet tragically travels,
Giantic mug of coffee in his poetic hand,
To quill a verse, with his still unshaven, stubbly face.
To repetitiously write the damnable media notes damning and anxious to
declare to us all~ that life itself, is imdeed a is disgrace?
And we sit as innocent as new robins,
Eating his banal poetry so joyfully?
Squeamish, naive, robins we are!
Ever so gleefully, eating untruths, voraciously.
Unaware, that for us, life right now, is as grand as
living on the most glorious,brightest star!
June 22, 2020
1:30pm PST
POEM # 1303
Categories:
brioche, poetry, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
Or ~ Breakfast in the Fields~
The animated, joyful couple, just you and I.
With our picnic, wicker basket wonderfully full.
Of Brioche,our favorite cheeses, fruits, Chai
and mirth.
It's so wonderfully quiet here except for the
sound of bountious butterfly wings.
And I can hear the sound of your soft eyelids,
moving with love, as you gaze at me!
This is our forever time!
Since we met, I have always been thine.
This is our time to enjoy, we are the happy couple.
Who very long ago, found me, just a pretty girl.
And you, my destiny, my eternally handsome
and sensuos, forever, boy.
You still drive me wild, ecstatically.
As it was, and ever shall be!
August 28, 2019
Noon PST
Categories:
brioche, desire, emotions, happiness, i
Form:
Free verse
I'll bring you a brioche
with coffee dear
what would you like
with the brioche
ham or jam.
Categories:
brioche, love,
Form:
Free verse