Long Foie Poems
Long Foie Poems. Below are the most popular long Foie by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Foie poems by poem length and keyword.
Hands clench stuck in a culinary trench with no French
Devotion can’t bench sensory commotion a saucy wench
Emotions wrench if no whiff on the breeze of cheese stench
Potions & notions quench..ocean lotions tastebuds drench
For a foodie bouillebaisse with timeless grace like Judi Dench
No dodgy Brigitte Bardot politics or slick card tricks of tarot
Go for Gallic garlic gall.. all will enthrall when in Gaul..Escargot
Choir of desire ce soir more beurre.. pot au feu.. boudin noir
The star steak au poivre or oeuvre as they make fresh tartare
Mussel frites hustle.. boozy bustle.. shellfish tussle of a bistro
Cassoulet with pomme puree then creme brulee classics spar
Foie gras a mardi gras or bizarre faux pas in brasserie bazaar
Pastry crew Michelin route could be choux or tasty en croute
Never hasty flavour douche a louche croquembouche maestro
Pouting fondue goo spouting fountains on mountains outing
Creamy tartiflette or steamy andouillette from piggy toilette
Forget Pret get a better baguette cornichons raclette touting
What’s more francois then petit pois or dreamy dauphinoise
Carbs shouting.. barbs flouting.. baked camembert scouting
No doubting dishes with calories sprouting diets are a routing
For some it’s foodie hell for me Heaven..my true blue belle
Fruit de Mer in that terracotta apparel has me over a barrel
Travel under the spell crustaceans relations you fell.. unravel
Shell fish fresh from saline swell my divine dell in La Rochelle
No askance glance at the chance for your palette to dance
In a trance at how they enchant stuff always buff & enhance
Know in advance their cultural stance.. revolution..the lance
Saw red aristocrats dead off with their head no longer prance
Instead perchance adored smorgasbord hoard vive la France
My “honey” with chestnuts will not come for Christmas,
It’s life, you have to enjoy yourself anyway
once a year,
New Year’s menu to enjoy at the time you like,
Foie gras with a glass of Monbazillac,
Snails with butter,
Scallop shell with lemon-white butter
Short break
Quail with hot mango
and hazelnut potatoes,
Maybe cheese with the tour des grands ducs (local wine)
Then the dessert
Traditional bûche de Noël
You are all welcome
No need to be a millionaire even at Christmas
Merry Christmas ou Joyeux Noël
Ma « dinde » aux marrons ne sera pas pour Noël,
C’est la vie, il faut se faire plaisir quand même
une fois dans l’année,
menu du réveillon à déguster à l’heure qu’il vous plaît,
Foie gras avec un petit verre de Monbazillac,
Escargots au beurre persillé,
coquille Saint jacques au beurre blanc citronné
Petite pause,
Cailles accompagnés de mangue chaude
et de pommes noisette,
Peut être du fromage avec la tournée des grands ducs ( vin local)
Puis le dessert
Bûche de Noël traditionnelle,
Vous êtes tous invités
Pas besoin d’être millionnaire même à Noël
Joyeux Noël
Steam Train Troubles
Percival the steward of the train
Ordered foie gras and oysters too
But left them on the station platform like a fool
Wealthy customers will find this rather tedious
Trips from Switzerland to Germany can be quite mundane
There is plenty of coal though to keep the engine going
Steaming over rail and snow
Not too many murders are expected this go round
Business is much slower this time of year
Train travel lost its luster over time and customers as well
It is quieter with poorer clientele around
A handful of rich still occupy first class
Hang out about the open bar up there
Mr. Smith forgot his ticket
His wife is having an affair with Percival
The conductor wants them both arrested
For their blatant misconduct most unpleasant
Guns come out inside a tunnel entrance
Train covered sights and sounds inside the cab in there
When it exited, Percival was dead
Natural causes were to blame
With a bullet in his brain
Hundred dollar bills were scooped up from the floor
By witnesses who saw nothing but the trees outside
Steam engine rolled along the tracks as usual
Taking truth and reason with it through the snow
Created on 1/14/15 for Shadow Hamilton - “Railway Journeys” Poetry Contest
Smith’s Octopuses Party On Pontoons
Rumor Has It My Dear
Rumor has it my dear something spectacular is near
Bring your batik hats to our grand lavish scene
Wear flowing Kebeya robes
Let them flow in the air
We’re having our party upon the ocean
On pontoons made of bamboo notions
Flown in from Indonesia with crews
Planks will connect all the segments
Chris Christie will help with construction
Bridging rafts with bamboo shoots & roots
(We understand he understands bridges)
Yachts will punctuate the festivities
Covered in purple red flowers with care
Tied to the floating swaying affair
McCartney and Sting will be there
Octopuses Garden is the theme
And Paul will bring Ringo to sing
The Clinton's and Bushes are on the list
Paparazzi will see if they kiss or do tricks
And who can resist our guests of honor
Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt
The main menu is set like this;
Foie gras loco moco carne
Matusaka beef
Pheasant/Mallard breast roast
Beluga Sevruga, Osetra caviar
Goût de Diamants, Taste of Diamonds champagne
Haute chocolate ice cream
This all seems like a dream
We pray that the weather holds up
The only waves we wish to see is from us
In the form of greetings and pleasantries
The party has been planned for ages
If storms should gather
It won’t really matter
We’re thankful
The Royals, Mr.& Mrs. Smith are here
To weigh down pontoons and rafts
With billions in sacks of gold trinkets
Door prizes for sure, (sorry no doors), for those who attend
500 guests will arrive at the gala
A date with Mick Jagger and two jaguars
Assured for each person as gifts guaranteed
Compliments of King & Queen Smith
Whose parties should never be missed
A mystery guest, no surprise
A legend in his own mind
Mr. Trump and his hair might arrive
Since the pope is preoccupied
We’ll sway to the music with fine company
All are welcome to our heavenly scene
At the octopuses party on the sea
7/11/14 Rumor Has It contest
Thistle Be Nettlesome To Weed...
Who (on a lark) doth
spur my distant soul
fully bellowed ahoy
quickly hastening
ye to catfish
as a way to avoid
this beastie boy
wherein America playfulness
of generic gull versus buoy
ought tubby coy,
where thee
(latter days haint)
feeble, (non fable us)
jerry-rig mock up employ
appetizing as pâté de foie
gras, flavored for
tastebuds of goy
opposed to dietary
strictures of Jew,
moost likely christening
implies holier than thou
(especially, asper those hoy
tee toy
tee upscale rich folk)
proudly prideful mensch
linkedin kindling joy
de vivre, while
quietly dwelling stoke
king traditions ensconced, poke
king and prodding youngest
generation to become
rooted like mighty oak,
within their mini mansions,
and attending synagogue,
solemn non joke
kingly seriously
commingling, congregating,
and copulating plenti
fully, while livingsocial
at least among other rich folk,
sans Mainline, Pennsylvania
a cohesive family tribe
dispersed members of Zion
prompting this atheistic
scribe try'n
to fathom long gone - NEIN
never forgotten Semitic
village people (mine
ancestry), who hailed and
harkened from Eastern Europe
wonder on this
eightieth anniversary,
of Kristallnacht, where genocide
cleft a jagged line,
where ponders thyself
countless relations
haunting as I dost
eat, sleep or dine!
Merry Christmas, my poet friends
Nicaraguans or Spanish
May God love you tomorrow,
That cats purr in front of the tree,
American or Iranian, Portuguese
That Santa drops off gifts
In your shoes or socks,
Make a good meal of foie gras
Grilled snails with parsley, oysters,
The world needs everyone,
Merry Christmas, my poet friends,
The world needs so much peace,
Write this word wherever you go.
Slip this word into Santa’s hood.
Joyeux Noël, mes amis poètes
Nicaraguayens ou espagnols
Que Dieu vous aime demain,
Que les chats ronronnent devant le sapin,
Américains ou iraniens, portugais
Que le père Noël dépose des cadeaux
Dans vos souliers ou chaussettes,
Faites un bon repas de foie gras
D’escargots grillés au persil, d’huitres,
Le monde a besoin de chacun,
Joyeux Noël, mes amis poètes,
Le monde a tant besoin de paix,
Écrivez ce mot partout où vous allez.
Glissez-le dans la hotte du père Noël
Let’s go on the mother load road trip across continents skip
Even the hip can’t snip or pip the lip fillip of each sip or dip
A sybaritic not a critic’s tour to explore why more is more
Streets of beats galore & locavore treats an epicurean drip
In the Argentine bravado larder of course the empanada
From their mercado source with fine wine could try harder
Top of the poll Asado's charcoal soul to the song of cicada
Austrian fold in the past caught for foodies some sort of sport
They’ve fought over which Sacher torte does bewitch hold court
Or flattered the dish that mattered plattered crumbed & battered
Viennese wheeze a subpoena tease for a leaner schnitzel wiener
Lazing ease & grazing please on amazing spice isles in pyjamas
Laid back smiles made crack conch rice & peas in the Bahamas
Don’t give a damn about Claude Van Dam give me real mussels
Garlic specked not muscle flecked fraud whenever in Brussels
Snaffle waffles abroad should be crisp gooey as Belgians know
Elite frites oh and their stonker bonkers Wonka flair cocoa show
Brazil’s fill me to the gills thrill is still & always will be Feijoada
Even those in a posh off roader chose this nosh meat's Pagoda
Top of the steeple of food of the people a homegrown Skoda
Adore for any course a tour de Force encore honed toned Yoda
Canadian hardy foie gras machine a mardi gras that’s Arcadian
In the stirrup chirrup quaffing absurd maple syrup is Palladian
Nerds with their curds scoffing mean poutine almost Circadian
For rookies ducks pluck shells shuck bones suck cookies for luck
Opiner cuisine not in history stuck a mean memory mystery miner
Hymn of whim cough overcome by swim in broth Szechuan numb
Yummy unctuous darlings scrumptious diddly umptious dim sum
Ho hum no scrum finer all day diner always did come from China
This erstwhile avid poet stir "boy"
prone to hyperbole in a "man" newer
(manure) of writing about his foie
gras bulls, (which matter of fact
happen tubby Ruby red)
redirects his gripe, how
he no longer doth enjoy
sharing his rhymes without
(poems), resorts to joy
full tongue in cheek humor to
lament, harumph, decry...
a source of annoy
ants, sans how nearly every
one of my satisfactory
albeit "FAKE" Hiam
Bick Penn- -Tam Meter
most definitely did perturb,
irk, and displease to cloy
administrators regarding gamut of
various and sundry writing groups,
(yes specifically geared to poetry),
(presuming me in cahoots with George Soros)
I suspect did employ
secret double agents groomed by
Mark Zuckerberg, and/
or Sheryl Sandberg deploy
ying ambiguous reference did not tow
arbitrary guidelines to cite nearly each
endeavor of mine as discrepancy
causing equivalent as digital row
points of view not
countenanced from this bro'
penniless, nearly without dough
nuts to dollars, thus to assuage ego,
(which rejections of sorts)
did rankle at first, hence
explanation no mo' crow
wing (except on my homepage),
an abrupt end explains absence
in case any readers did show
interest can still peruse yo
yo wing unstrung thoughts
from this average joe
by enclosing a blank check
addressed to this wise
acre and silently assertive bozo,
who will express how ire doth flow,
yet tactfulness and diplomacy
kept in mind before I go
ranting and raving like some roe
ving madman wading in deep water!
As you walk
without hesitation
without gratitude
Seemingly,
without fear
As you walk
back to your place
of power and privilege
You still
require her to smile
As you walk
past the place of humanity,
brokenness
shrill echoes
of shattered glass
You still
require her to smile
As you walk
back to your place
of power and privilege
Her silent screams
and muffled dreams
are washed away
By the vault of indifference
that slams behind you
she is resigned
to a slow sifting
hourglass of isolation
Yet
you still
require
her to smile
She wearies
of the preparation
of submission
a mask that suffocates,
her pretense of desire
But she is
the
entertainment,
the
meal,
the
pleasure,
the plaything
Her belly aches of
raw foie gras, figs
and Bergerac
It no longer matters
that her soul
is absent from this feast
She gathers her body
stained and sweaty
from your momentary
remembrance of her
The violation
puddles
in quiet places
She submits
to a place
of self-loathing
She knows
that
this
is not
the last
of green men
that will require her to smile
Didn’t digest my all-dressed pizza
Suffering now from insomnia
A touch of every possible phobia
Mostly of ravenous bacteria
And humongous tarantula
O yes, and the sordid mafia
Did I call my Grandmamma
Did I put away the spatula
Did I book girls’ day at the spa
Did all the bourgeois really die of cholera
I’m drowning under this plethora
Remind me What’s that formula
O yes, Abracadabra
Tra-la-la and La-di-da
And poof now I’m in a gondola
On the way to utopia
Dressed in graceful taffeta
Eating baklava in the basilica
Hanging from the candelabra
Swinging to the tunes of Lady Gaga
Supported by the silliest orchestra
Hey you Pass me the foie gras
I have a cockeyed camera
You’ll see me at the cinema
I love you Etcetera Etcetera
AP: 1st place 2020, 3rd place 2025