I loved my life on the fish quay,
among the fisherman's bays,
Just to be involved in fish,
And learn a skill that pays.
Filleting fish all-day long,
For chefs with Michelin stars,
Local chippies,hotel chains, bistros and certain bars.
Some people could not stand the smell ,
of fish upon your clothes,
No matter how much soap you use,
the smell is in your pores.
We had our local fishing boats ,
sell there produce everyday,
A great selection of North Sea fish ,
caught just outside the bay.
Crabs and lobster all alive ,
We'd grade and place in tanks,
Dover sole and halibut,
so fresh and stiff as planks.
Categories:
bistros, boat, fish, fishing,
Form: Rhyme
Black-ice sheers,
it cuts deep into paved-ways and lots.
Night snorts a frigid fog,
the caked and idling cars
only sludge a gripping freeze.
This glacial dark fangs wrists and hearts.
Grit nips at tender cheeks and tongues.
The lights of bistros cannot withstand
their desolate backyards.
A scree of black curb can be crossed,
only if the heavily shod
mash and smash through.
Are we in the end days or
in an age of small uncertain fears
that cannot now truly thaw?
We slip along
uncover small pockets of glee
in these long frozen hours
where exhausted minds sleep
and walk.
Death is upended,
lungs mask against a stabbing air,
small ice sculptures appear
in snowy humps and heaps
as if this time will always be congealed,
nailed like this to scraps of eternity.
Later, these days,
with all there residue of lost souls
will be swept way
from the crusted edge
of mall steps and clogged paths.
Then it will be a different time,
a forgotten time, one only recalled
as a mist behind wintry eyes
as we, all unmuffled now,
glance backwards into yet another
uncertain future.
Categories:
bistros, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Paris by night is gay,
I prefer Paris by day
I love the ambience and style,
French fashion stands out a mile,
From all the others in that trade,
The best designs are Parisienne made.
The French have flair beyond compare,
I praise the food and savoir-faire
Visiting a French bakery
For cafe au lait, gateau or tea,
Little bistros are a treat,
Place where young lovers meet.
Romance in Paris Ooh La La,
For love, one does not need to look far.
Couples walking hand in hand,
It could be just a one night stand.
The French love to love, so they say,
Even if it lasts for just one day.
The feeling of romance is everywhere,
Strains of music in the air.
People reading while sipping wine,
The atmosphere is simply divine.
The lake shimmers like glass
As children's toy yachts come bobbing past.
I have lost all sense of time, as I'm
Captured by the contentment on the faces
Of people of different ages and races
Enjoying their day,
In their way.
Categories:
bistros, 10th grade,
Form: Rhyme
This land is played out on a plain bible.
Nightlights smear a frigid fog, the fumes of idling cars.
A flat-lined wind plies its wheezy bellows through burrowing bones,
smothers the distance, douses the glint of rural glimmers.
Knuckled chills know how to fang a wrist,
nip tender tongues, freeze the rivers run.
Here in the burbs the lights of bistros cannot withstand
their own desolate backyards. A scree heap of black curb
is not crossed by the lightly shod but must be booted-in and leveled.
At such times, winter lends a shivering hand
at its own burial. We become priests all frocked in fleece,
heads bowed or we howl a tune to a faceless moon.
Good or gone to the bad, we are there, in Ohio, anywhere.
Categories:
bistros, poetry,
Form: Free verse
At uncertain times black ice sheers the wind,
The nights snorts a frigid fog
into the fumes of idling cars.
Ohio, once was a light in a hissing bowl.
Land was laid out like a plain bible,
it offered salted potatoes
to the frozen and freezing,
it played a wheezy bellows into rural glimmers.
This night knows how to fang a wrist.
Grit nips our tender tongues.
The lights of bistros cannot withstand
their desolate backyards.
A scree of black curb
can be crossed, but not by the lightly shod.
At such times, Autumn lends
a shivering hand at its own burial.
After the sermon, small ice sculptures
of raw priests, congeal into humps and heaps.
A sweeping wind pushes rotting leaves
into vacant lots.
Categories:
bistros, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Poetry convention is now convened
attendance must be asked and seen
Eve - Present
Jan- Present
AnneLise -Present
Santa Claus- Present
Shakespeare -Present
Greek Ghost - Dead
Jesus - Three days late
Bach - Stringing things along
Poets all
dance and sing
paint, draw and hold purse strings
ah but some poets claim such glory
Why then do they cheat
upon Gods glory?
All in favor
clink our glasses
red wine and friendships
heaven exists
in bistros
of
honesty
Categories:
bistros, abuse, art, christian, muse,
Form: Free verse
YO PHILLY
Statuate Billy Penn who stands on tall
And sits upon the antique City Hall
To view and overlook the sky and trees
There is a small metropolis to see
And see our main Broad Street run both north and south
Where all the lights adorn resplendent sights
As in an airport runway in the night
Along with staggered bistros in the north
A place where philly cheesesteaks do abound
Delicious Scrapple joined in with the eggs
A tasty Amish food that has a flair
Hot mustard and soft pretzels added in
And a sweet water ice to quench your thirst
To love a tasty blend of Philly fare
A Sonnet about where you live Contest
sponsored by Silent one
Categories:
bistros, city, dedication,
Form: Free verse
Based on BBC news article "Maths zeroes in on perfect cup of coffee"
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-37989169
Two billion cups a day we drink
To stay awake so we can think
Tireless workers - every nation
Need a caffeine drink equation
Lattes, mochas, cappuccinos
Our calculator super heroes
Measured, reasoned, wrote a theorem
Clockwork system - mighty fearsome
No longer need barista instinct
Random variations extinct
Future bistros turn bizarre
Robots running coffee bars
Divide the beans and add hot water
Multiplies the bean aroma
Takes away the taste chaotic
Get this right - it's sums and logic
China cups the theory goes
Helps the smell go up you nose
Cardboard mug with plastic roof
Not as good, but where's the proof?
Coffee can't be served alone
You don't need maths - it's just well known
Donut, muffin you could try
Bagel, biscuit, slice of pi
But their reason's most disjoint
Like whole numbers - has no point
You just need a rule of thumb
QED for us dumb-dumbs
Categories:
bistros, drink, funny, humor, humorous,
Form: Verse
Ode to the Netherlands
Oh, Netherlands, I remember you well
the beautiful cities I came to know
Brukelen, Haarlem, Utrecht and Zeist
as a younger man in search of lore
the blue canals along the street
the Amsterdam bistros where people meet
my nederlandse friends and Indonische love
a culture blended with the best of beers
Is it the same as I recall
when Queen Juliana ruled with great aplomb
in the fifty six years I have been there since
bloom on forever , Oh, Kuekenhof
and flow on, Oh, Zuiderzee
My heart will always be with thee
Contest
Categories:
bistros, memory,
Form: Ode
When limbs of Montmartre tint the glow
chemise de nuit falls to the ground,
belle de jour, come moan a pale sound
through alleys winding lamp light’s flow.
Her fine heels toss on follies’ show
she, au naturel , caprice bound ;
taunting stars to rouse below.
Uphill, this mistress wraps fired lips
fleeting sighs mixing red-hot drips,
amidst night bistros’ fragrant plight
where rows of faces wet love’s sips.
Then like a dream, her bedgown flips
denying passion, oh one last bite.
©french sonnet/personification
*Montmartre—famous Paris hill where art,
music, romantic atmosphere, and bohemian
culture thrive despite its religious strains.
*belle de jour--- beautiful lady
*au naturel--- in a natural state, also, nude
*chemise de nuit--- nightdress
. …. .
by nette onclaud
for Cyndi Mac Millan’s Un, Deux, Trois contest
31 may 12
Categories:
bistros, passion, places,
Form: Sonnet
Harsh Mission / San Francisco, CA 2011
Through the harsh white sunlight
the random bits of cast offs tumble and stick
smeared to the pavement and layered upon
upright posts, from pillar to post they roll
on bikes and trikes, on roller blades
and skate boards, down and out,
drunk and oh so sober, they meander
as if on the streets of Paris
in their mock Bistros with their
fake hair, their primal piercings, and their
do me do's just screaming of abuse...
The childlike sibyls and torrid sirens
howl at the fog banked moon
as they stumble on the dole from room
to rented room, or huddle in the bus shelters
waiting to sneak a cheap ride down town.
Bizzaro meets his mate in the masked
denizens of the mission district
breasts starred, caped and on display for all to see
face hidden behind plastic lunacy...
The giggling effervescence of misspent youth
crumbles into a heedless epicurean
mosh pit of aimless wandering
joyous neglect...
It is truly hard to know where the
garbage ends and the art begins.
Categories:
bistros, family
Form: Free verse
down along 42nd and cypress street
the allegorical prostitutes say their not street
hookers but just a symbol of sex.
just like the walking sign post
stop, merge left, bump,
narrow road ahead.
cracked pavement and raindrops,
concaved inward and downward
awake the cornerstreet prophet and
pattern out a little mercy for the junkies
spinning double helix faith.
such a beautiful gray angelican.
the cigarette littered sidewalk somehow
seems to resurrect its stone geist
with dreams of a sandlewood
gossamer in its head.
but he must know just like all
the others to the east, hawthorn st
and alder st, birch st and ash st.
he must remember that things dont
change for the good much at this
time of year.
the gentrified saints have all
moved north, to sit in hipster
bistros and drink organic
sumatra fair trade coffee.
down along 42nd and cypress st
little was said and less understood.
mostly train horns and mumbling,
mostly sleeping nocturnal birds
with a few leaf clogged storm drains.
Categories:
bistros, cowboy-western,
Form: I do not know?
A Parisian smile
Awakens and touches me
After years of being away;
Cobble-stoned street
Of silky chestnuts
Echoes the steps
Of shadowy lovers who
Embrace and whisper shared sighs.
Music spills out
Of neighborhood bistros
As an aged dilettante
Recites his poetry
While pouring the house wine
For nodding audience
In state of ennui
While sitting in the sidewalk cafe.
Categories:
bistros, people, places, social,
Form: Free verse