Best Paella Poems
I lounge lazily on my deck chair
Up high in the spacious loggia
Loafing the time away, patient, waiting.....
The ocean ebbs into the small bay
As the sun sets far away over the horizon.
From below electric lights flash on
One by one and guitars are strummed.
The enticing aroma of paella wafts up
But I sit on, unmoved, immobile, waiting.
In the summer heat, I wait,
For the night to bring her near,
With a dance so sweet, she'll appear,
The summer heat is scarcely relieved
By the faint ocean breeze
The murmur of people reaches me.
She has arrived and the guitars sing.
So does my heart as I behold my wife.
Slowly she pirouettes on her dainty toes,
Her skirt resembling a veronica,
Like a cape that baits the bull
In a Spanish bloody arena.
But I sit on, unmoved, immobile, waiting.
I cannot see her red, red lips
That taste like lavender in height of summer,
I can just barely make out her silhouette,
Her sexual curves, her lithe footing,
Her inviting mien, her head held high,
a proud senora dancing just for love.
In the summer heat, I wait,
For the night to bring her near,
With a dance so sweet, she'll appear,
Soon the dance will end and I...
Why I just wait till she'll come to me,
In the dark cover of the night.
With a tequila and a night of love.
In mid-June's heat, we wait inside the bus,
and everyone has said their last goodbyes.
The Moorish boy I’ve come to know is sad.
He says he knows I never will return.
The bus pulls out (his face just fades away).
We pass through streets that now seem not the same
as those that we first rode down when we came
here six short months ago. It seemed so strange!
Madrid, my first impression of you was
how everything seemed dingy and so grey.
But staying here, I found your treasures, and
enjoyed your many charms that I unearthed.
I’ve walked among your people, tasted foods:
paella, soups and pastries and much more.
I’ve visited Retiro Park, seen art
in sculptures on your streets and in museums.
I’ve visited your shops, your restaurants
where dancers of flamenco hypnotize,
your ring for fighting bulls, your theaters;
your streets seem now familiar, almost sweet!
The group I came with, now like family,
chat happily about their going home.
But I alone am missing you, Madrid,
before I even board that giant bird.
FRED THE PERV.
Kinky Fred stole knickers off the line
One summer night his haul totalled nine
His spree ended in tears
Got an extra ten years
When Judge Sue said that red pair were mine.
LARS.
A young astronaut from NASA called Lars
Blasted off from Cape Kennedy to Mars
But then there was a glitch
When he pressed the wrong switch
Last seen heading at warp speed to the stars.
PETE.
A young pianist from New York called Pete
Could play William Tell using his feet
But he fell of his chair
And he started to swear
Was booed off and thrown into the street.
JOHNNY GABLE.
A mean old waiter called Johnny Gable
Saw a man choke to death on a bagel
He then shifted his body
To the side of the lobby
Said forgive me but we need the table .
O'TOOLE.
A forgetful pilot Johnny O'Toole
Was over the north sea flying to Bule
Then both engines spluttered
Under his breath muttered
Looked at his gauge and screamed no ruddy fuel.
OLD GANGSTER.
An old gangster rose from rags to riches
Got rid of all his traitors and snitches
They'd find in their bed
A racehorses head
Or find themselves sleeping with the fishes.
THE BAKER.
An unwashed old baker from Idaho
Had filthy fingers when kneeding the dough
Folk choked on his paella
Some died from salmonella
Got closed down and ended up on skid row.
O'KEEFE.
A fella by the name of O'Keefe
Was the long serving town's police chief
Someone stole the mess cookies
Everyone blamed the rookies
But it turned out O'Keefe was the thief.
AMOUROUS MICHAEL.
Amourous young Michael from Mayo
At a girls house he tried to stayo
She started to shouto
And then kicked him outo
Said she" you're not staying no wayo."
NIGERIAN POEM THIEF.
A sly poem thief from Nigeria
On the soup caused a mass hysteria
He stole soupers work
Soupers went beserk
On the run now cos he's in fear of ya.
Written 18th august 2019.
Limerick : Once a Senorita from Sevilla – 3
Once a Senorita from Sevilla
Caught a Cock to make a paella
Paella tasted good
But Cock stayed in bad mood
Crowed all the way down : Mama ! Mia !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
pan sizzle.. open air
add peppers.. garlic.. snails.. beware
extra herbs.. boil to a broth
lemon squeeze on rice.. no froth
lots of beans.. hare if you wish
Aha Paella.. a tasty dish
Barcelona looked like a church
as I walked down La Rambla
in search of a vacant room
on that warm morning.
The balconies of the flanking
high-rise apartments were pews
festooned with holy day
football flags and bedsheets.
The white haired flower seller
sat silently with his serrated scissors
and buckets of sugar water
as if listening to a confession.
People who passed me
on that righteous path
became parishioners
with detailed back stories.
The mustachioed man walking
his dog near the grass
was a lapsed Catholic
and Spanish novelist
taking a break from
the tapping of the typewriter.
The chubby middle-aged lady
in high heels and a skirt,
who carried folders and puffed
on a quick thin cigarette,
was a museum secretary
with the curator's copies
and a mother who cooked up
fish and paella for her children
every Friday during Lent.
The invisible clouds that
wafted from the restaurants
smelling of grilled seafood
and lemons and garlic
were like the prayers that a
priest's incense personified.
I later spent a humble evening
in a small rented room
washing my socks and
shorts in the white sink
and reading the boxscores
and baseball epistles
from a day old New York Times.
I studied batting averages
as my underclothes slowly dried
on the back of a wooden chair
with the help of an electric fan.
Since youth, I've been a big foodie; every goodie I've tried, even sushi.
At 18, I traveled abroad, first to France; Thank heavens I didn't try frog!
I got to try crepes (sweet filled envelop shapes) and liquor-filled chocolate
that I ate on a train headed for Spain; but I could not get tipsy on it!
I tried many foods in Madrid, but the strangest thing I ever did
was go to a bar to try fried "calamar." Had no idea it was squid!
In the place where we lived they would serve us a strange fishy soup
that had gobbledy-gook which looked not much better than poop.
My horror I couldn't disguise while eating around those ugly fish eyes.
A soup in Seville not quite as bad was surely the coldest I ever had.
Its name is gazpacho, but I think that machos would rather eat nachos!
Paella I had on the coast to the east; for most it’s a marvelous feast.
But picking out things I just didn’t like, I ended up mainly with rice.
One melon-like drink has a cool taste. In Spain people order horchata.
Horchata from Mexico though they uses rice. It’s not even worth a piñata.
Also from Mexico I had some pork so filled with fat, I thought I’d choke.
And their mole, Holy Moly! I’d much rather eat a cannoli.
In Israel, served a mammal, I was told (once crammed-full), it was camel!
There’s one last super rare thing I’ve tried in my life (and I don’t fib this).
I say it with pride. I’ve recently tried chips made from flour of crickets!
Oct. 25, 2018 for Nina Parmenter's Trying Something New Contest
(the cricket chips are quite tasty! I gave them to a bunch of kids simply telling them that they were similar to doritos and the kids liked them!)
I lounge lazily on my deck chair
up high in the spacious loggia
loafing the time away, patient, waiting.....
The ocean ebbs into the small bay
as the sun sets far away over the horizon.
From below electric lights flash on
one by one and guitars are strummed.
The smell of paella wafts up
towards my rumbling stomach,
but I sit on, unmoved, immobile, waiting.
The summer heat is scarcely relieved
by the faint ocean breeze. Salty sweat
runs down my unshaven face,
a welcome taste as my tongue licks
the sides of my parched lips.
The murmur of people reaches me.
She has arrived and the guitars sing.
So does my heart as I behold my wife.
Slowly she pirouettes on her dainty toes,
her skirt resembling a veronica,
like a cape that baits the bull
in a Spanish bloody arena.
I cannot see her red, red lips
that taste like lavender in height of summer,
I can just barely make out her silhouette,
her sexual curves, her lithe footing,
her inviting mien, her head held high,
a proud senora dancing just for love.
Soon the dance will end and I...
why I just wait till she'll come to me,
in the dark cover of the night.
with a tequila and a night of love.
Frogs’ legs
French cuisine fad
Amphibians hopping mad
Shish kebabs
Cubed lamb chislic
Served on toothpick
Pizzas
Flatbread Italian feast
Waist measurement increased
Bird’s nest soup
Rare Chinese foodstuff
Swiftlets sleeping rough
Mexican wraps
Spicy chicken fajitas
Hot as senoritas
Seafood paella
Shrimp, lobster, cuttlefish
Saporous Valencian dish
Maple syrup
Canadians tree tap
Sticky sweet sap
Digestif
After dinner drink
Brandy glasses clink
17/09/18
'six-word couplet poetry contest' : Sponsored by: Mark Toney
I got
CRAZY words!
Y’all should see ‘em –
They’s a
N’Awleens jumpin’ jazz
festival
wit’ stilt-walkin’, trash-talkin’
jugglers
‘n’ flamin’ side-show
sword swallowers
(Voodoo princess in the corner –
Doncha think y’oughtta warn ‘er?)
They’s ju-ju in the air
& frantic dancin’ lewd &
bawdy
high-life thugs
Well – they jist ain’t
in control
of they senses
an’ they sho’ ain’t in control
of the fences --
Those
have been
s t a m p e d e d
I got CRAZY,
words make hocus-pocus pie
wit’ jumbalaya ‘n’ sweet paella
‘n’ eggplant parmesan --
I think
I’ll eat them words –
I’m sho’ they taste
Deeeee-lishshsh-ussss
‘n’ they ain’t too bad
digested ‘n’ re-
gurgitated, neither!
Yeah! Taste them words
Wit’ yo’ ears,
Wit’ yo’ eyes
Wit’ da pre-rational room
In yo’ mind
‘n’ dance, dance to they samba –
Starlit night time
Drunken, shoutin’ revelers
Aswirl in a frenzy
Of passion ‘n’ despair
Skirts ‘n’ voices
Flappin’ in the stompin,
Stomped-up dust storm
I
Got crazy –
WORD!
My name is Bella
And I love paella
That's not Italian I know
But everything with me can go
I just like things that sparkle
It can be a vampire or a patriarchal
I go to high school
I am not a dumb blonde or fool
I am totally insane about vampires too
Specially one called Edward and that's true!
Dorian Petersen Potter
Aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
10.13.2014
No Luz (No Light)
We were sitting in a Spanish restaurant,
A strange place, but oh so elegant.
We ordered our meal, but much to my disgust,
The call of nature came, and I thought my bladder would bust.
‘Donde esta los servicicos? I asked,
The beautiful senora, as she raced passed.
'Aqui mismo,' she pointed to the far wall.
‘Gracias’ I replied, and I tried not to fall.
The sangria had built up to an alarming height,
I staggered to the door, but oh what a fright.
No light could I find to light my way in,
And as I closed the door, my foot kicked a bin.
Was it automatic I thought - really quiet quick,
But no the door closed, and there was no welcoming click.
I opened the door ‘Senora, no luz can I find.’
She didn’t hear me, or ignored me for the gorgeous bloke behind.
I closed the door, and in darkness I sat,
My hands searching round, for this and for that.
No tissue, no taps, but Ouch! What was that?
As I banged my knee, on the wall where I sat.
The loo was small, the smallest I had ever seen,
But at least I felt better - when I had been.
I returned to the table, my husband looked at me,
‘Is everything ok?’ I wondered what he could see.
‘Senora no luz’ I said in my best Spanish,
And I pointed to the door, over the paella dish.
‘No luz, you are sure?’ She looked quiet alarmed,
As she reached to the door, and extended her arm.
She pushed the square box on the wall by the side,
And the light shone brightly, and she looked inside.
‘Senora Mirar, look here with me.’
La luz is alight, as you can plainly see.
Embarrassed I was, but at least I did not frown,
As she picked up the trail of tissue hanging down.
It was caught up in my clothing, near the middle somewhere,
And I had dragged it across the restaurant, right back to my chair.
Olive and anchovy bites
empanadillas
chicharrones and spiced clam
seafood paella
tortillas and herbs
rioja
Best !
I’ve walked among its people, tasted foods:
paella, soups, *horchata, and so much more.
I’ve visited Retiro Park, seen art
in sculptures on its streets that I adore.
I’ve visited its shops and restaurants
where dancers of flamenco hypnotize,
its rings for fighting bulls, its theaters.
These things I got to see with my own eyes.
I’ve taken buses all around Madrid
and learned so much there. Oh, that I could be
a youth again, enjoying its romance
and all its sites so beautiful to me!
*horchata is a special drink in summertime. It tasted to me like a watermelon smoothie,nothing like Mexican horchata made of rice milk. Spain’s is made from the roots of a plant called sledge.
Jan. 1, 2023
For the Take Me There Poetry Contest of Margarita Lillico
Single slippered Cinderella
Yesternight’s ball bella
Angelic voices heard a cappella
Followed by lovely clarabella
The dinner served was paella
With a side of shredded mozzarella
While faking a case of salmonella
Cinderella invited her fella
To follow her into the cella
Lingering aroma of citronella
With a pleasant tinge of canella
No secrets told near mimicking corella
Misplacing both shoe and umbrella
[ Clarabella = instrument much like a flute; Cella = a room in a temple; Corella = a cockatoo ]
AP: 3rd place 2025
Submitted on April 28, 2018 for contest ANY RHYMING POEM IN APRIL sponsored by LAURA LOO - RANKED 4TH