Long Gallic Poems
Long Gallic Poems. Below are the most popular long Gallic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gallic poems by poem length and keyword.
Early Times
Panting through a few females.
Running on the spot mostly.
Go to Paris to find myself
find a locally made Gallic STD.
Have a Ringo mustache,
the prostitutes on the Montmartre
think I’m pretty cool for a kid.
Beach bum along the Mediterranean,
bare feet imprinted on sand do not last,
however, sun, sex, and cheap wine
should not be underrated.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Age Twenty
Took her home to meet the parents.
A good girl,
not much sense of occasion.
Stripy rainbow knee-high socks,
mini skirt, pink hair
deeply cockney accent
and prone to casual expletives.
Father kept grinning until his smile froze.
Mother took her cues
from the Arch Duchess of mucky-muck.
~~~
Age Thirty
In the used car lot
sleazy car salesman blindsides me.
I should have been ready
more alert,
driving home in a ten year old Mercedes
wondering
if my childhood will ever end?
I am now a professional,
nurses figure larger in my life
than they ethically should.
Head for The Far East
to administer to the halt and lame
including, metaphorically speaking,
myself.
~~
Age Forty.
Finally qualify for veteran status
in a marathon race.
My athletic son is also running in it.
I fake a sprained ankle,
then disappear for ages
travelling the world.
When I return,
my shoulders grow cold from icy stares,
wife is dating someone else -
family relief all around.
~~
Age Fiftyish
Fish diet, wife still unhappy, son married
and distantly related to Trotsky.
Adorable brats for grandchildren.
Got a mistress who thinks I’m great,
but maybe it’s too late,
testosterone levels going south.
My Boss hates me.
Adultery & divorce,
new wife, much like the old one
but less y.
We roam the globe again,
desperately seeking something -
anything.
~~
Autumnal Years
The police are getting younger.
Dental appointments are reaching danger levels.
I’m not holding any grudges
for I have been right all along.
Turns out I am a poet
and quite enjoy pissing folks off.
Life is good, but then again
it always was.
~~~
Soft-shell steamers (pissers) are best prepared by steaming with aromatic liquids like white wine, garlic, and herbs, cooking for 5-10 minutes until shells open. Clean them thoroughly in salted water, then steam and serve with melted butter and the broth, discarding any unopened clams.
often she'd serve pissers fried but today she served them pissers in soup form with two loaves of garlic bread and a greek salad.
2 cups of shucked steamers
1/2 cup of shredded cooked chicken meat
2 cups of white wine
2 cups of whole milk
1 stick of butter
1 cup of grated parmesan
2 tablespoons of flour for roux
4 Tablespoons of fresh tarragon
1 teaspoon of cayenne pepper
1/2 cup of cooked chopped bacon
2 egg yolks
2 talbe spoons of lemon juice
1/2 cup of heavycream
2 cups of boiled soft parsnips
1 tablespoon of minced garlic
1/4 cup of minced onions
1/4 celery
1/4 cup red bell peppers
1 cup of sliced mushrooms
a two pot soup
pot number one
add steamers and wine bring to a boil
cover with a lid and remove from heat.
set aside.
pot number two
melt five tablespoons of buttter
with five tablespoons of flour make a roux
remove the roux and set aside.
sauté mushrooms , celery
add garlic and onions and red bell pepper
and add roux
. stir in in 2 cups of
Veggie stock and 2 cups of whole milk
in a bowl whisk egg yolks
whisk in heavy cream
cayenne , lemon juice and
pour wine from steamers
add to pot
add steamers
bacon chicken and parsnips
on a low heat cook until the sauce has
thickened add a slurry of corn starch and water add tarragon and chives
or serve with a dollop of sour cream topped with chives and tarragon
to thicken soup more
if you desire such.
serve warm or hot
( Steamer soup can be jazzed-up with four tablespoons of crushed flaming hot cheetos crushed and sprinkled on top of hot soup)
gallic bread and a greek salad a fresh salad from Greece
traditionally made with tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion,
Kalamata olives, and a block of feta cheese
, dressed simply with olive oil, oregano, salt,
and sometimes vinegar or lemon juice
Albarino, or Cava wine or a sparling drink!
Enjoy!
Duncan MacAlpin thoughts were disturbed
Beauty he had seen in Crovie
Had stolen his heart with one look.
Her face a map of Scotland.
Where would I begin to look for her? He wondered.
Mercury smirked, for He had already arranged everything.
In rivers, marshes, swamps, bogs, the wetlands…..
Duncan blinked; had he heard his favorite Celtic deity?
A shiny black kelpie seventeen hands high appeared.
Standing between Duncan and the ocean.
Duncan instinctively knew he had to get on his back.
He had not ridden a horse since the Gallic War.
Why are you hesitating? The transmigrated kelpie asked.
Not in words, but in telepathy.
He knew kelpies are able to manipulate your thoughts,
so he hesitated a little longer, wondering who was in charge here.
Did you want to see the lass again or not?
The kelpie fairly flew once he was on his back.
Took him to Kirkcudright where he tossed him into a flower bed.
A girl came running out to see if he was all right.
It was Adaira McFallen, the girl he had seen in Crovie.
He could not believe it. His faith in kelpies more vivid than ever.
She too worshipped the sun, moon, and stars,
and believed in the transmigration of souls. A match made by Mercury.
The Corsican was never really Gallic.
The Austrian was not remotely Prussian.
Jugashvili (let's put this in italics)
could not be, in a month of Sundays, Russian.
The point of Communism is, it's global,
or else it's nothing. Swimming or it's dead,
like sharks, it fans out (kind of like Chernobyl).
Like peanut butter, it was made to spread.
This in-one-country nonsense once held sway
(Archangel, all the way to Kazakhstan),
but when he died, his system blew away,
as do all systems centred on one man.
Napoleon's snowball stopped with "Viet Cong".
The wonder is, it lasted quite so long.
What a slap in the face!
It’s an international disgrace!
(Descriptive distraction)
and (subversion in action)
It’s now commonly used in parlance by judiciary
while in literature this prevalent (lie) I see.
With a bland, enough face?
or is there the hint of a trace?
Could there be in its origin, a.. motive? or motion
created to infiltrate a nations notion?
A.. (sort of sufferance)
involved with its utterance!
So (abused & misused) is the category
I must zero in all my batteries,
Now I am clearing my decks,
here I go, what the heck!
For I have admiration for a Francophile
would converse with a Russophile
I so enjoy your work Faberge
and appreciate the charm of the Gallic sway
But for me there is no third way!
(now) without any doubt I am coming about
And stoking all my fires
for full ahead’s my desire.
On the literary beach
I see a very (rotten peach)!
And it was ‘hidden’ in full view
Hmm.. let’s see what some firepower can do
For the doting parents who pray
keep our kids safe today.
Hardworking moms & dads who care,
find time that is to spare
From extra help with early reading
to painting nursery room ceilings
Some working 14-hour days
it makes me angry I say.
Aunts & uncles, grandparent, teachers
of calm nature and reason
With motives pure and in step
with life’s seasons
And the name of the paedophile should by rights be theirs,
its been hijacked, does anyone care?
It’s too good a description, just not the depiction
to be bandied about, LISTEN
AS I SHOUT WITH TRUE INDIGNATION
CHANGE THIS DECEPTION OF NATIONS
© Joe Maverick 25-04-2011
The boy stood on the burning deck
arms akimbo legs a'brace
while cannon balls rolled above and beyond
'twas the greatest challenge he had yet to face
as pouring oil on troubled waters
they who only stand and wait also serve
to post o’er ocean without rest
don't receive all they deserve
and crying, “O Captain, my Captain,
an order's sorely needed,
should I stay or should I go?”
but remaining at his position
alas little did he know
Luc-Julien-Joseph Casabianca (1762 – 1798)
his distinguished father lay fallen
extinguished cold and dead a deck or so below
Orient the gallant Gallic flagship of the line
had weather'd every rack and tack
meanwhile the port of Alexandria was near
during the Battle of the Nile
(August 1798)
in the Bay of Aboukir
when Alexander and Swiftsure
the victor ships came in with object won
and the gunpowder magazine exploded
blowing crew and child to kingdom come
tho' Rear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson
did all but four of the French fleet destroy
the noblest thing which perished there
was the heart and soul of that young faithful boy
With apologies to; Felicia Dorothea Hemans (1793 – 1835)
John Milton (1608 – 1674)
Michael Geoffrey Jones (born 1955)
Walter Whitman Jr. (1819 – 1892)
A NOTE FROM MALCOLM
My advice is free, and time’s not billable
Try speaking French and I will soon know
Don’t claim a local or a provincial accent
It really does not sound as if heaven-sent
Nor a comment heard such as il fait beau
As the accent is always on the last syllable
As a teacher, these things do really matter
One must develop that Gallic look as well
Sometimes that simple shrug just says it all
From Southern Pyrenees up North to Gaul
Whether from Paris or le Midi, one can tell
In some regions, the vowels do sound fatter
So, let us practice the deep grunting sounds
And don’t forget all those hand gestures too
But accents can apply to letters when written
Cedillas, acute or grave never seen in Britain
Where just the plain and simple words will do
Whilst pretty perfume accents do the rounds
The Fable of Jesus
Jesus was skeptical of his tribe, he didn't
whether he was a Semite, his father, the renowned
the wood craftsman had green eyes and knew
a few phrases of gallic monks had visited until
the Rome administration banned them
Jesus, to please his father, built a bookshelf, it was
It was so bad his younger brother had to take over
Jesus took umbrage and moved to Jerusalem, where
he hung out with radicals of his time
he was good at talking and soon became their leader
there are a few girls in Jesus's fellowship
one of them was Magdalene who had the hots
for Jesus, tall and elegant back in his youth
Jesus became famous when he threw moneylenders
out of the church, many more people joined his flock
He thought he was powerful and took on
the Rome colonial administration and arrested
they mocked him and gave him a crown of thistles
egged on Haiku
y the hateful priests, was crucified
During the night, women got him down from
the cross, hid him in a cave till his wounds healed
A fisherman called Peter smuggled him and
Magdalene to France
they had seven children, and he ended his days
as respected goldsmith
Laid back over oarlocks,
arms akimbo, hat slouched;
slow riding the Loire.
The river pushes
into a bobbing place
a sylvian picnic
where female bottoms convene
in soft repose.
Iridescent thuds, a thrashing of fins.
A large trout flops in the gunnels.
Wide lips, mouthing Gallic obscenities;
the rainbow splashing
of a disgruntled fish.
The rowboat rolls, rights and recovers.
Upon the shore
bottoms rise like plump geese
from green lawns.
The fish sneers,
flips a glowing Gauloises
between thick lips.
Full-figured forms rise
to watch the watery fuss
then shrug
as more wine is poured.
The trout jumps into the river.
Parasols open and twirl.
We all smile behind our hands
as Renoir paints on.
French “The Language of love”
Darling, speak French when we make love
wicked words I don´t understand but has a whispering meaning of delight.
I stand before you with salutial ********, a soldier of love
ready to sacrifice myself in your subterranean pleasure.
Your wishes have to be expressed in French, or the steed will not react
with proper force thinks it is time to return to the stable
On the subway in Paris, I got in the way of a woman who wanted to exit
she swore at me, thinking she said words of love, I kissed her and was arrested.
But soon released when they understood I was a foreigner
lost in the ways of the Gallic idiom.