Long Sauces Poems
Long Sauces Poems. Below are the most popular long Sauces by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sauces poems by poem length and keyword.
You’re my banana split my favorite treat
Rocky road chunky monkey and one more ,
Your 're my Pina Colada ,hard to beat
Sprinkles,whipped cream,sauces I surely adore ,
The Pina Colada, a booze drink with flare .
You’re my peacock , a flashy bird of pride .
You’re my hope diamond your beyond compare.
You are like a redwood tree, strong, my guide
Banana splits are great ;eat them ,you get fat ,
Do not drink to much or you will get drunk ,
If peacocks have nous , be not a plutocrat,
Treat your beloved with care or stink like a skunk.
Balance desires with care no, plights to share.
You and beloved are glad without a care.
In the eighteenth century, it made its first scene.
This is one of five main sauces in haute cuisine.
Culinary experts give credit to France,
although it may have come from the Netherlands by chance.
Just take some clarified butter, egg yolk, and lemon juice.
These simple ingredients can be put to good use.
Preparation must be performed carefully.
Over moderate heat, it is whisked constantly.
Heat in up, but not to a boil.
Too high a heat and the ingredients spoil.
The butter, juice, and egg yolk can separate.
When it is this way, it is not too great.
The sauce goes well with fish and asparagus.
However, with Eggs Benedict, it is most famous.
Many other sauces can be made with variation.
Each of them has other items in combination.
It is also a base for Sauces Mousseline and Maltaise.
With some herbs and peppercorns, you can make Sauce Bearnaise.
Replace the butter with oil, and you can make mayonnaise.
This is one of the best known sauces in the world.
It can be found no matter which flag is unfurled.
Should I write of grand romance,
of star-crossed lovers tell?
I've not known enough of that
to really do it well.
Should I write of torrid sex,
hot and steamy affairs?
I'm old enough now to see
that there's no meaning there.
Should I write heroic tales
full of daring and lore?
But what tale could I tell you
that you've not heard before?
Should I write of politics,
get mad and take side?
But most people won't listen
if you're not of their tribe.
Should I paint a word-picture,
delightful imagery?
There's thousands of small poems
on sunset, dawn, and trees.
Should I write a Limerick,
give you the best one yet?
But who could do better than
that man from Nantucket?
...hmm...or....
Should I write of chicken wings?
A bar food mighty fine,
all those great dipping sauces,
but not too hot with mine...
Too much heat buries the flavor.
Buffalo wings, buffalo wings, buffalo wings
when I was young, just a boy
the skies overflowed with flying buffalo.
Take shelter for if you looked up
splat on your face from a buffalo butt
Now the poor creatures grounded for we clip their wings
deep fried and tasty sauces they are a favorite food thing
Herds of buffalo floating in the sky
kids waving at them as they mozy by
Peaceful and plentiful wouldn't hurt a fly
but sad for them their wings we fried
Poor buffaloes on foot they must roam
no longer in the air can they call home
Buffalo hunting a dangerous sport indeed
shot from the sky hunters squashed for their deed
O poor bison how now life must stink
hunted for their wings on the brink of extinct
So when chowing down on their tasty wings
watching sports with friends gathering
Why is the taste not what your expecting
cause buffalo wings taste just like chicken.
My Delft blue plate, a replication of an imitation, lies smashed in the trash. Do not know the who nor how, never heard the crash. Flat circular center an idyllic scene sealed beneath clear glazed glass, cracked. 17th century Dutch fishing sloop, cuts towards wild reeds by a bygone windmill, beside a thatched roof cottage before a deciduous wood, white clouds in a soft cobalt sky, distant seabirds soaring. The plate’s raised outer rim replete with blossoms and feathered leaves. My Delft blue plate, thousands of meals, sticky egg yolk, thick turkey gravy, steaming potatoes, sweet corn, buttered vegetables, juicy meats, tangy sauces, pasta, chili, sushi, marmalade. Each dinner I exhumed bit by bit, bite by bite, the motionless wooden windmill, gulls suspended in air, the slicing sloop. Tiny figures on deck, lifelong companions. Everything wanting wind. I sit by the window in my 10th floor concrete cage, peering through grimy glass. Rows of residential towers resemble headstones in an amber haze, along the barren banks of an asphalt creek. We all wait for wind. I scroll the internet seeking a duplicate Delft blue plate.
(published in "Boats Against The Current", 2024)
By day six I was antsy
Stayed in my room all morning
I knew this would happen
While the glass-shatter of the ocean waves
And yelps of surprise from scores of little kids
Drifted in
Through my opened balcony doors
From the beach below
Made the mistake of paying attention to my phone
And the more I did
It seemed
The more emails dinged
Like an elevator arriving at my floor.
Last night a waiter ruined it all
As my wife and I were showing off
Dining outdoors at a fancy restaurant.
At first he thought us hicks
With a giant yawn in front of us
But then we spent $15.00 x 4 Specialty Mules in chilled copper cups
And $27.00 on a spicy Tuna Tar-Tar special-of-the-night appetizer
Sea Bass 40 bucks
Rib Eye 45
He then brought an ashtray though I had no cigarette
Told him we’d finish it off right
With cheesecake scooped in homemade raspberry sauces $17.00
By then we’d been there an hour and a half
Though I made a deal with the waiter
Don’t rush us and we won’t rush you
He said deal
So the female manager delivered the delectable cheesecake
With the bill.
I handed over my card and asked for two spoons
Asked her if gratuity was included
Yes she said 18% and rolled her eyes
Flapped off
I added another 30
She swooped back like a seagull for a dropped French fry
Flew away with the signed bill
And just as we teetered up from our little table
Taut with white table cloth
To walk back to our hotel
Amongst the lighted jewels of Collins Avenue
The waiter popped his head out
And yelled across the patio packed with North Miami elite
Thank you for the extra tip!
I thought as if
He was just checking that we hadn’t made a dumb mistake
Or was using us
To shame the others.
That’s when I got homesick for Michigan
Because I wasn’t sure.
Imagine.....
Scrunched lazily in a bed of your chosen leaves each and every night
To pacify your senses in the richness of earthy-scented legacies
Our ecstasy would prompt our dreams to drift away the moonlight
In nature's cupboard saturating us to delight
In this splendiferous ornamental landscape potpourri
Favorites......
There is of course dark green BAY, the pungent sweet shiny leaf
Loved in soups, stews and sauces and decorative wreaths
CILANTRO serves us tasty signals of subtle, herbal, lemony bright
When cooking in our kitchens playground with recipes just right
MINT is the refresher both clean and sharp - so snappy
Essential to the gum we chew, it makes our toothpaste happy
EUCALYPTUS is strong and bittersweet so conspicuously alive
Its medicine embraces our care in illness and with health to survive
PEPPERTREE stuns our tongues devilishly it tastes so hot and tangy
Rudely smacking our senses sharply burning us to the third degree
VERBENA lulls you to a deeper earthly perfume, lusty and titillating
A citrus romance for salacious hearts and sultry languishing
THYME and SAGE mixes well with much especially ROSEMARY and PARSLEY
It is the herbal gift to our Thanksgiving table as we are wise to use it sparsely
PINE has needles long and thin, its woodland floor fusion creates the pathway
For a long journeys venture of our illusions of forest and stream far away
A bed of leaves to lay ourselves each and every night
A gift of dreams these scented legacies, its ecstasy to our senses delight
November 13, 2019
Scented Leaves Poetry Contest
Sponsor Kim Rodriguez
the fragrance of the kitchen brings me to full awake status
coffee, oranges, and butter are the first smells to which I alert.
the closer I get, the more aromas I can decipher.
pumpkin spice, onions, Worchester and barbeque sauces are next.
I begin to salivate, ready to sample whatever the cooks will let me have.
Cinnamon! We are having fresh homemade rolls too! Well done!
What smells like chocolate? I ask my mother. Hot cocoa, have some.
My father has begun to dunk round droplets of dough into a grease vat.
Homemade donuts! This might be the best Thanksgivings Day ever!
By the time the turkey, gravy and mashed potatoes are ready
my stomach is growling with crazy appreciation
and I have not tasted much of anything yet.
Feeling low best way to alter is kneeling at the altar of the Taco my romeo
Halter stealing TexMex slaughter dealing burrito or nacho cos ends with “O”
Clever clogs in boho vlogs falter say hey “Cilantro” but it is a herb so no
Yanks know tanks finest order for lothario or marauder's below the border
Crow say tally ho a true aficionado go gung-ho for mojo halo of Mexico
Mole is not a relic a culinary medic as holy as a cleric just like Pozole
Wholly done slowly not being hasty most things tasty ends in an “E”
Alright in the larder not from the Armada friends Guacamole or Tamale
“A” senorita might say forgot Enchilada and Quesadilla or Conchinita
Sages simmer sauces for ages so many stages as the flavour rages
The most pure for many I’m sure would quip the tip “al Pastor” Taco
Their cocoa gusto & avocado bravado so come on everyone go loco
Forget the crime.. sublime..prime chime once upon a time in Mexico
In our town lived a crazy old crone
with no spouse, and her kids were all grown.
Once frightened by rats,
she bought a few cats,
so no longer did she live alone.
As it turns out, the cats were so nice
that they wouldn’t attack even mice!
They wanted instead
to only be fed
yummy foods like her chicken fried rice.
At her table, the old lady set
two tall stools. Yes, that woman would let
the two cats dine with her,
wearing bibs so their fur
from the sauces would never get wet.
The old woman now lives happily
knitting clothes for her cat “family.”
While asleep on her bed,
the cats purr on her head
while the rats in the house still run free.
Jan. 14, 2018 For Line Gauthier's 'CRAZY CAT LADY: RHYME' Contest