Brioche Poems | Examples

Doctor Duck

Doctor Duck could not cluck
Whenever he tried, he was out of luck
So he bought bread
Brioche, Baguette, White, and Grain


He'd wake up covered in crumbs
Looking like one of the bums
His wife left him because he spent his paycheck on bread


Doctor duck sure was out of luck
He'd lost it all, every single buck
Doctor Duck was fired
He was always tired


So he worked at the grocery store
All the bread he could want, and more
Just stock the shelves with food
And He'd be good.

Look At the Pastry Sissy

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.

Finer Things

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.

Colvenge' Measner

She wanted the dinner to be specail so she asked
her specail freind to fix it for her.
she would offer both  roast pheasant and chicken
combined with fried polenta with
 buttermilk ,bacon bits redbell peppers, chives and asparagus.
Sagey dressing. Garlicey mashed potatoes, and gravey.
goat cheese/cream cheese herbed pastries.
garden salad with croutons, and a savory Catilina dressing.
Boc Choy and cabbage.
roasted butternut squash medallions.
a rich poundcake and brioche bread pudding
with eggnog, dates, coconuts, dried cherries, and dreid mango:
served with vanilla icecream and toffee.
an offering of wines.
All to get people smiling.

Answer On a Bed of Nails

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

Summer Lunch and a Stud

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

Romantic Rendezvous

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

Wicker Basket Romance

     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

An Always Morning

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

Lazy Morning

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

Pocket Rocket

I'll bring you a brioche
with coffee dear
what would you like
with the brioche
ham or jam.

A Secret Message

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

Fhrifhfkdhfk

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

Ingredients

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 )

The Young French Maid Pours Tea

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!

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