Long Beaujolais Poems
Long Beaujolais Poems. Below are the most popular long Beaujolais by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Beaujolais poems by poem length and keyword.
I went to a cheese and wine party on Saturday,
where huge platters of cheese were on display.
There was Gorgonzola and creamy white Brie,
I devoured huge chunks with a glass of Chablis.
Danish Blue, Mozzarella and Swiss Emmental,
of course I had to try a sample of them all!
I declined Edam and Gouda, I find them too waxy -
and the last time I ate them I was sick in the taxi!
Soft creamy Camembert and blue Roquefort,
went down a treat with a glass of vintage port.
Crumbly Cheshire and Cheddar were so divine,
and tasted heavenly with red Beaujolais wine.
I’d chomped through all of the Stinking Bishop,
our hostess had to restock the whole dish up!
Then I munched little cubes of Monterey Jack -
if my doctor saw me he’d have a heart attack!
When our host carried in a blue Stilton in a truckle,
I loosened a notch on my now straining belt buckle!
I admit blue cheese can smell like men's sweaty socks
but ripe Stilton and crackers, this cheese simply rocks!
Write a poem about Cheese Contest
Sponsored by Barry Stebbings
FICTION POEM FOR CONTEST
11/12/18
Here in Central Ohio, when winter's chill descends,
We celebrate for twelve whole days, our Yuletide dividends.
Deep within the Buckeye land, where Aesculus genus grows,
We throw our hands up with delight as C-bus gifts enclose.
On the first day of the season, Columbus gave to me,
a Strader's Nursery conifer, scarlet and gray tree.
On the second day of the season, next to Scioto's run,
two bright red cardinals spread their wings and play beneath the sun.
On the third day of the season, in German Village quaint,
three bratwursts are a-sizzling, and we eat with no restraint.
On the fourth day of the season, beneath the Statehouse dome,
are four historic artifacts saying O-H-I-O's our home.
On the fifth day of the season, at Short North's gallery display,
we act like art professors while we drink our Beaujolais.
On the sixth day of the season, the Arena District's cheer,
six Jackets skate together playing in blue hockey gear.
On the seventh day of the season, at COSI's large expanse,
seven planets spin above our heads, and we join the cosmic dance.
On the eighth day of the season, at Hocking Hills so wild,
eight waterfalls cascading, are nature's art compiled.
On the ninth day of the season, in Dublin's Irish grace,
nine Celtic dancers stepping, puts a smile on every face.
On the tenth day of the season, within North Market Hall,
ten food booths are a-beckoning with salty-sweet enthrall.
On the eleventh day of the season, with carolers at the Zoo,
eleven million lights a-twinkling, we can see them from the Shoe!
On the twelfth day of the season, near Highbank's snowy scene,
twelve sleds they are a-sliding, adding to this winter dream.
In the heart call of Ohio, this season is our own,
With flourishing traditions and a spirit brightly shown.
The twelve whole days of Yuletide, and our region we adore,
In Buckeye state the holidays keep magic evermore.
Thankfulness
I treasure those heartfelt moments spent at the dining table
With Dad and Mom and us siblings with our own offspring to rear,
Engaged in an eating and conversational atmosphere
In the traditional family gathering festivals.
From the tinkle of the glass, echoed by a spoon on the rim
(To draw our attention), when Dad said grace, and then we’d dig in.
First, a basket of rolls would be set out, served with a fresh, tossed salad.
Then, plates were passed around, laden with steaming vegetables
And turkey meat with mashed potatoes covered in a rich gravy,
And a fine choice of Beaujolais wine to drink and milk for the children,
Followed by Mother’s homemade pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream,
Ending in chatter and laughter, then the clearing of the table.
As I reflect, I cannot help but wonder, where does time go?
And as I look at my brother and sister and our children growing,
Sharing their love, and enjoying freedom from want, I reflect back on years past,
With food always on the table and clothes to wear (hand-me-down or not);
Through Mom and Dad’s example as parents, and with their blessings,
We were taught to be thankful, and now thankfulness comes easily.
Vase Dream - c'est la vie
White vase with no design
Dangling there - c'est la vie
I think somewhere in Center City
Apart from everything
In an apartment rising skyward
Lingering on the edge of ledge
Standing tall atop a railing raw
Languishing over the 20th Floor
Or there about
And more - c'est la vie
The balcony did its’ best of course
Displaying the fragile curves
Morning sun light danced approval
Around bouncing beams above the surface
But nothing could stop a soft breeze from…
Poof!.....And off it went… c'est la vie
An alert French man
Pastry smile and all
Happened along
With left handed nimble fingers caressing a Beaujolais 42
The other hand stretched out with stress
As if to field an errant football pass
And in that chance encounter…Catch!...
Tumbling to concrete boundaries down
Bottle released in a wincing crash
Ground favored his mortal urgency
Pottery saved - c'est la vie
Intact
French man’s head cracked
Let’s say opened
Something like an egg
A natural death ensued - c'est la vie
A passer-by seized the moment
Lifted vase and fled
Made off down and dirty
An ally
Another fate for vase awaits
Less encumbered
In a land far away
To dream of ledges - c'est la vie
If so inclined
Or so designed
Modified on 10/21/14 for - c'est la vie - Poetry Contest
multi nuanced
flavour
many coloured
& aromas to savour
always in the taste
& swallowed
without haste.
bottled
magnums
& jereboam,
bouquets
to hint
of lemon & jam
chadonnay shiraz
sauvignon
tempranillo
merlot jostle
in a throng
of
wein germanic
bernkastel moselle
&
the trinity
champagne
sherry& port
the latter
stilton's best escort
beaujolais
loved
by the light-hearted
a lingering thirst&
race
to import
first
none
can surpass
rioja's reserva
at a thousand feet
oak aged
ripened
in summer heat
An eighteen year old sailor on the Riviera in the Spring
Mademoiselle Your smile can make my young heart sing
Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo who could ask for more
I volunteered for the USO, so on duty days I could be ashore
I held her hand and said bon jour, i danced with her that day
Looking into her eyes, Aime-moi, s'il vous plait
Stopping by a sidewalk cafe, we had a glass of Beaujolais
Then I walked her home and promised to meet another day
Two days later I returned but she was nowhere to be found
I saw her one more time before my feet left solid ground
It was a one time memory, a love not meant to be
She returned to college and I returned to the sea
I still have those memories and the wonders that we saw
But to cry, i'l n'est pas necssaire pour cela.
I think back sometimes and it cuts me like a knife
France will always be a special part of my life.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98eIW6CN62k
Those Parisienne days of love beneath the Champs Elysees
I remember Paris 1949, drinking a glass of old Beaujolais wine
And I recall that summer when we kissed and you were mine
In those Parisienne days, you were always `Ma Petite Poupee``
`
Looking back at photographs, summer days warm as honey
corner cafes with creme brulee, pretty eyes a shade of rum
sharing penciled love notes and paragraphs, you ma tres jolie
together we did taste the wine, beneath the Parisienne sun
We toured La Tour Eiffel I must admit you were tres belle
with a french berret smile I guided you towards the lake
Bassin de la Villette, where you were happy picking shells
In those Parisienne days we were always wide awake
I recall that summer when we you promised to be mine
in the petit cafe, where we shared a bottle of wine.
Pink vase with no design
Dangling there so blue- c'est la vie
I think somewhere in Center City
Apart from everything hectic
In an apartment rising high skyward
The item lingering on the edge of ledge
Standing tall atop a railing raw
Languishing over the 20th Floor
Or thereabouts and more
The balcony didn't expect such curvatures
Or fragility on a morning broken
The sunlight nodded approval of course
Around bouncing beams above the surface
But nothing could stop a soft breeze from…
Poof!.....And off it went… c'est la vie vase
An alert Frenchman, pastry smile and all
Happened along with nimble fingers
Stretched out, caressing a baguette bread
And Beaujolais 42 in fragile glass
The other hand grabs out with stress
As if to field an errant football pass
And in that chance encounter…Catch!...
Tumbling to concrete boundaries down
Bottle released in a wincing crash
Ground favored his mortal urgency
Pottery saved - c'est la vie, Intact
French man’s head cracked
Let’s say opened, something like an egg
More scrambled than not on concrete
A natural death ensued with the seizure
A passerby, identified as a stranger
Seized the moment in a grab
Lifted vase from the newly deceased and fled
Made off down and dirty
An awaiting ally came conveniently placed
To avoid detection from the law and all
Another fate for vase awaits out there
Less encumbered in a far away land
For dreams of other ledges and escapes
If so inclined as far as we can understand
multi nuanced
flavour
many coloured
& aromas to savour
always in the taste
& swallowed
without haste
bottled
magnums
& jereboam,
bouquets
to hint
of lemon & jam
chadonnay shiraz
sauvignon
tempranillo
merlot jostle
in a throng
the trinity
champagne
sherry& port
the latter
stilton's best escort
beaujolais
loved
by the light-hearted
a lingering thirst
&race
to import first
none
can surpass
rioja's reserva
at a thousand feet
oak aged
ripened
in summer heat
Can someone turn the taps off
Or is it leaking from above
I feel that we will float away
If it rains another day
It’s slowly driving me insane
I’m sick to death of rain ~ rain ~ rain
The sirens they are sounding
Is there someone out there drowning
As briskly they are walking along the famous prom
Are they singing like Gene Kellies
In a pair of yellow wellies
And whilst “Singing in the Rain”
Are they walking their Great Dane
Who is dressed from head to toe in a stylish bolero
As they sing and dance together
They don’t care about the weather
The seagulls perch so sick of it
No sign of tourists eating scones
Or greasy burgers or ice cream cones
They are cold and wet and predatory
So forced into the squally sea
It’s their only chance to eat you see
A bite of seafood ~ a passing shoal
To eat a meal their only goal
Oh please bring back the sunshine
For our Paradise is not the same
With all this water pouring down
It’s really sad ~ it’s such a shame
The shops they are all empty
As the tourists do not come
The grey skies are so full of rain
Oh will they ever come again
But wait ~ the skies are clearing
There’s something golden way up high
Could it be the sun or a rocket flying by
The clouds they are dispersing as they seem to be rehearsing
for when the sun shines down from a cloudless deep blue sky
So as the dawn is breaking and your heart is truly aching
At the wonder of a golden orb ascending way up high
Tourists are now coming with their bottles of Beaujolais
As they frolic in the sunshine ~ sunburnt before midday
Seagulls flying overhead and very closely eyeing
a child’s ice cream ~ oh no those gulls can really be so mean
Another day in Paradise ~ so do come down
it’s awfully nice…
Written 2018 ~ long before Covid 19 after a rather long spell of rainy weather…
Contest ALL YOURS (Feb 21)
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A