Long Maitre Poems
Long Maitre Poems. Below are the most popular long Maitre by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Maitre poems by poem length and keyword.
The food was chased by a bent tine fork
Along the surface of a smooth glass plate,
Eventually was skewered with brute force torque.
A similar force confronted an unyielding cork
But for this event, on this mechanical date,
The food was chased by the bent tine fork.
A stab of grace presented the French basted pork
And lingered face front like scavenger bait,
Eventually was skewered with brute force torque.
Such moaning and discontent, could it have been more late
From a Five Star Diner in the village of York?
The food was chased by a bent tine fork.
It was not prepared by a chef but by a dork
More worthy of satiric praise than glowing hate,
Eventually was skewered with brute force torque.
The Maitre d’Hotel offered his black plastic spork
Immensely gracious but too late.
The food was chased by a bent tine fork,
Eventually was skewered with brute force torque.
C'est aussi simple qu'une phrase musicale.
He is driven by the music in his mind.
Images swirl and almost coalesce...
toujours guide par le son
insaisisable de cette musique...
I merely listen and record.
What makes the music in his head?
It leads, he follows.
I say...vous pouvez compter sur moi...
et qu'est-ce que tu faites des interets?
He smiles but only sometimes
speaks aloud to clear the air.
Le son de sa propre voix le rassurait....
mais, que se passait-il?
He almost never knows where he might be,
but almost always finds his way.....
where the music sounds the strongest.
Les enfants suivirent doucement le maitre.....
He nods again...C'est bien fait.....
alors, je vous dire au revoir....
I chance one final query....
Quand tu reviendras?
He only says.....jamais.....
Years have past but still can’t quell… won’t snub Orwell’s “the Moon under Water” pub as did cast a vast spell which did last….but pray tell what the hell should we call the restaurant of our dreams….which memes bestows seems to have all the right themes…glows how about “the Sunbeams below Sea”
Fables about higgledy piggledy chairs & tables
Cradles candles & scandals under their gables
Culinary cables run free no bland brand labels
Feast on every bit of the beast gourmet stables
Restaurant procured and manicured by a savant
Chef the ref hits the right clef is the commandant
An epicure tincture the cure for any bon vivant
An apothecary of wonders dispensed you adore
A third space with grace for either rich or poor
Service smooth as lace sings like a troubadour
Sweet as the smell after a downpour of petrichor
To attract and have a pact with every locavore
Delightful detour will always get highest score
Every encore makes sure come back for more
Beacon of light for us with appetite of a labrador
Another secret lover met palate whet paramour
The restaurateur not only a brassy raconteur
Flavour to savour taste bud flood provocateur
With bravura not bravado true entrepreneur
Not only an aficionado a classy connoisseur
Food looking pretty thanks to chef de partie
Maitre d’ quick with a ditty and slick repartee
Never sh*tty always a pity if they’re not witty
Cheer for every peer & the atmosphere is free
Sanctuary of treats from nearby streets so gritty
Harmonious not parsimonious not overly twee
Sybaritic symphony its rhapsody down to a tee
Glee of a miner finding gold & going on a spree
Umami tsunami a melody for my old china & me
Marvel at the majesty of a well woven tapestry
Pedigree and fancy free filigree the place to be
Treacle toned well honed academy of alchemy
Push the glutton button for a gourmands epiphany
Charms calms any qualms are like balms of apricity
Nowt finer for any city diner than elan & bonhomie
That it seems would be a restaurant of our dreams
Teems with reams of gleams “Sunbeams below sea”
My spouse and I were ushered to our table by the Maitre d'.
We noticed right off that it was strangely quiet as could be!
Zombies sat at their tables, heads bowed as if in meditation.
Many with glazed eyes as if in la la land under sedation!
I noticed that each held a small gadget in hand,
And deft thumbs clicked away to beat the band!
Each was 'texting' oblivious to family and friends.
Concentrating only on their 'receivings' and 'sends'!
Conversation was limited to an occasional, "Pass the salt, please!"
I was fearful of being tossed out of the place should I dare sneeze!
I mused, "Will future generations learn to text before they can walk?
Lord have mercy! Will kids in the future even know how to talk!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Gardens – After Dark
Buddha sits stoically observing his garden.
The Gnomes snore as the Fairies toss and turn
asleep on the soft petals of flowers. The impish
Pixies party with the flashy fireflies.
Nocturnal seekers. Mice, forever paranoid,
scurry to and fro in a break even carbohydrate burn.
The raccoons, mask-wearing felons, are more direct.
They have already “cased the joint” and are sure of their objective.
Le Skunk, “but of course”, Pepe LePew, he fears no one,
boldly waves his white stripe, slowly peruses the menu.
Monsieur Owl, something of a Maitre d’, oversees the
dining arrangements - while planning his own.
The first hint of sunshine will trigger “last call,
dew will form on the flower petals awakening the Fairies.
Fireflies will drop the pixies at their three story walk-ups.
Gnomes will snort, stretch, and scratch themselves.
A gentle breeze will cue the wind chime.
The Buddha yawns, the birds sing morning prayers.
6/20/2016
submitted to – Little People – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Shadow Hamilton
Impromptu early dinner
Before party crowds arrive
December festive décor
Christmas carols in the air
Far from holiday shopping madness
Dining halls extremely peaceful
All truly mesmerizing and ever so perfect
Surely this is how heaven be
The fireplace ablaze and crackling
The jeweled tree propped in the corner
Glittering and winking on cue
This is indeed the best of the season
A fond memory through the year
Treasured preciously in our hearts
We meant to return every year
To repeat this heavenly date
Life happened – too busy or too poor -
Finally we did make it out
Excited at the prospect
Of renewing our enchantment
But where was our tree
Nowhere to be seen
The Maitre D’ insisted
There never ever was a tree
No matter what we had to say
In awe we sat in disbelief
Finally thanking stars up above
For our favourite Christmas memory
The one we both remember
No one will ever convince us
That Christmas magic is a myth
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS~ 2023
AP: Honorable Mention 2021
A man without a car is a poor fellow,
It’s like a cowboy without a horse, a lonely soul,
He doesn’t know what to do or who to visit in the ranches,
He walks alone in Los Angeles or Dallas,
He can’t visit the great rivers of Utah,
Nor go to photograph the mighty bisons,
Everything is complicated without a car, without a horse,
The cowboy can’t dress himself in California,
He can only feed on salads or sweet poetry;
Everything is difficult, buying a book, a new razor,
Look at the shooting stars above Lake Powell,
Everything is so far away, the flowers on the green hills,
A cowboy without a horse is not free, poor fellow
He can’t cross the Grand Canyon or Arizona fields,
He sees no sun, nor can he meet again his friends,
The gold diggers, the noisy saloons, the poor fellow,
The poor fellow, he is not master of his destiny.
Un homme sans voiture, c’est un pauvre bougre,
C’est comme un cowboy sans cheval, sans âme,
Il ne sait que faire, ni qui visiter dans les ranchs,
Il marche solitaire dans Los Angeles ou Dallas,
Il ne peut visiter les grandes rivières D’Utah,
Ni s’en aller photographier les puissants bisons,
Tout est compliqué sans voiture, sans cheval,
Le cowboy ne peut s’habiller en Californie,
Il ne peut que se nourrir de salades ou de poésie ;
Tout est difficile, acheter un livre, un rasoir neuf,
Regarder les étoiles filantes au-dessus du Lake Powell,
Tout est si loin, les fleurs sur les collines vertes,
Un cowboy sans cheval, n’est pas libre, vous dis-je,
Il ne peut traverser le Grand Canyon, ni l’Arizona,
Il ne voit de soleil, ni ne peut retrouver ses amis,
Les chercheurs d’or, aux saloons bruyants, le pauvre,
Le pauvre bougre, il n’est pas maitre de son destin.
PS, when i come back from the garage friday, i was the happiest man of the world
Written By: D. Collins 12/1/15
Love don’t sweat in rain, sleet, or snow.
It’ cool, calm, and collected in dealing with foes.
It doesn’t worry. God gives it an upper hand.
A decisive advantage over every other man.
Love don’t sweat, it tag-teams with old school.
When they think its sleeping, it comes right at you.
It may have to dress up in camouflaged fatigues.
And repel upon you from the tops of trees.
Love is intimate. Its close and personal.
It gives you a hug and says what’s happening Bro?
It is indiscreet with nothing but good intent.
It can suddenly change and want revenge.
All is good in a world of love and hate.
Love has never gotten to the party late.
It’s the Maitre D’ who greets you at the door.
It’s extremely confident and never insecure.
We set sail as Reggae music played out on the Lido.
Our first night was casual; no need for tuxedo.
We could eat a pizza by the Windows On the Sea
or go beneath and dine on shrimp and meet the maitre d’
We could gamble, see a show, or just gaze at the ocean,
then in bed, relax the head and sense the soothing motion.
We woke up in Freeport where the ship would dock all day.
Folks could disembark, take tours, or on the ship just stay.
On board were people lounging or dancing to Calypso,
working out or shopping or even playing Bingo.
All day long you could find folks doing funny things
like contests for the men with hairy chests or knobby knees.
Day Two when we awoke, we were then in Nassau.
There was stuff for everyone, from your kiddies to your grandma!
Little ones could stay behind. The staff would entertain them,
or the kids could tag along with mom and dad. No problem!
Those who liked adventure could visit Blue Lagoon.
For snorkeling with sting rays, the boat left right at noon.
I got to pet a dolphin, but extra had to pay
to swim with one! That was sure an extra special day.
In town I got nabbed quickly by a plaza beautician.
Getting braids was all the rage, so people got their hair done.
We went to the gangway before the ship set sail.
Those not having fun by then were deader than a door nail.
“Day at Sea” arrived as the trip was winding down,
and the biggest night was coming; women wore a gown.
That final evening getting all dolled up to dine was when
I wished instead of ending, the trip would start again!
Gals and guys with braided hair; everyone looked nice.
Ah, the midnight feast with pretty sculptures carved in ice.
The ultimate for having fun unless you were just snoozing,
in the laid-back natives’ lingo, I say “Mon,” I sure loved that cruising.
(may not be following precise time line, but this was before year 2000 that I took my one and only cruise, so I'm a bit fuzzy on precise day by day details. it was a Carnival cruise only 3 to 4 days in Bahamas and back to Florida)
Feb. 1, 2022
for "My Favorite Vacation In Rhyme" Poetry Contest of L. Milton Hankins
h e ‘ s r e a l l y
nowhere man
living life
s a n s p l a n s
stuck on roads
kicking cans
b u y i n g t i m e
h e ‘ s r e a l l y
nowhere see
u s e d t o b e
a maitre d'
for a cruise ship
on the sea
f i n a l l y e s c a p e d
h e ‘ s r e a l l y
nowhere son
a n e n i g m a t i c
friend of none
playing hard
having fun
d y i n g I n s i d e
h e ‘ s a r e a l
nowhere cat
d o e s n o t c a r e
where he’s at
growing old
getting fat
t r y i n g t o f o r g e t