"foie" poems
What would you like for dinner, Honey?
Pork? Beef? Human?
Ah, I’m never sure about human.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a free range or organic human ever,
Which has always surprised me, seeing as they choose the environment they live in.
Haha, they have the most ridiculous hierarchy of alpha males and leaders,
The psychopathic lead the docile.
I find it hard to eat this animal,
Always in the back of my head are the rumours
That they have a conscience
Somewhere underneath their thin skulls.
And all the controversies,
About it not being quite human meat,
Or being diseased,
Or the weirdoes, with their
“where did humans come from anyway?”
They barely have any meat in them anyway,
Useless animal really.
Sometimes it’s just fat, sometimes just bone.
I don’t like the chances.
Too much risk.
I think I’ll have some foie gras, or maybe some veal.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
Succulent, meaty, ribs falling off the bone and drenched in a velvety, thick, sauce.
“Check please.”
Tender chunks of lobster tail bathed in sweet, drawn, butter.
“Thank you. That will be all.
Heavy, cream-coated, strands of fettuccine accompanied by fresh peas, Speck, and shaved Parmesan.
“I wish I could stay but I can’t.”
Filet. Rare. A veil of Roquefort and sautéed wild mushrooms in a Sauternes reduction.
“It's just not the right time.”
Perfectly seasoned carne asada with a creamy roasted poblano sauce, queso fresco and the cool, half-mooned, sultry innards of a Hass avocado.
“I'll call you tomorrow”
A decadent Kobe burger blanketed in cheeses, caramelized onions, crisp bacon, and a cap of unctuous foie grois.
“But thank you for everything.”
Peanut butter and jelly on white bread.
And you would have me forever.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 4:42 PM UTC
Shoppin wiv Albert.
I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.
He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
Lifetimes ago
Behind a sofa, on hard floor, we slept entwined,
Warmed by lust – and those eyes.
Waking early
Another appetite took her
She wanted bananas
Not coffee, nor toast, or foie gras
But with whispered twinkle –
Bananas.
So I braved the detritus of folly
The beer can minefield, the tangled bodies of fallen angels
And stepped silent, into Finchley Sunday morning.
Welcoming the early sunshine of Maggie’s suburb
With the smugness of a man fresh loved.
The corner shop, door wedged in anticipation of heat to come, was dark
Looking up the old man fixed me with dark, dark eyes
Raising one eyebrow said he, “Bananas?”
“Yes”, smiled I
And I knew there was so much to know
Lifetimes ago.
Learning still.
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 5:11 PM UTC
you are everything
you are everyone
you are every cliche
you are the sun,
you are the stifling heat
that cannot be escaped
you are valentines cards
misdirected and misshaped,
you are hotmail,
you are myspace,
you are my face,
hungover and exhausted,
you are lost kids,
you are something that was fun,
you are not getting shotgun,
you are beer
that's been in the sun
too long,
you are a sad song,
that's not been made better,
you are the hole in my sweater,
or my pockets,
you are the chalky sugar that's
passed off as rockets,
you are the first drummer of the beatles,
you are evil,
and i don't mean that jokingly,
you are choking me,
like turtlenecks,
or high stake bets,
made on the wrong team,
you are what seems like
a good idea at the time,
you are past tense,
you are jeans caught in the fence
preventing teens from sneaking in,
you are cold wind on a dry winter's day,
you are Coldplay's last two albums,
you are too much talcum powder
you are convenience store flowers,
you are forced,
you are hoarse
voices in place of song,
you are wrong,
you are the weakest link,
you are outdated references,
you are beverages,
that have lost carbonation,
you are hesitation
that leads to regret,
you are the new york mets,
you are first impressions
that i make on the elderly,
you are Beverly Hills Chihuahua,
you are foie gras,
you are aqua
and their music in my head,
you are cold beds,
warm beer,
empty freezers,
old tears,
fake appeasers,
new fears,
you are the moments
when it feels like no one's near,
you are searching for Waldo for hours,
you are any buildings "bigger" than the cn tower,
you are fake,
you are first date awkward silence,
you are last date awkward silence,
you are violence,
you are hybrid suvs,
you are bees,
you are black flies,
you are forgetting an event is black tie,
you are something nice to forget,
you are socks that are wet,
you are the slow driver in the left lane,
you are fame,
you are fleeting seconds
never to be recaptured,
you are the man on the corner
screaming about rapture,
you are actors selling out,
you are stains on a couch,
you are lost remotes,
you are failed attempts to save face,
you are everything
that has ever graced
this time and space,
here and above,
you are everything,
you are love...
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 5:12 PM UTC
Christ and his apostles
had but bread and wine to share.
At that Last Supper many came
to a table nearly bare.
Gandolfini came by honestly,
his girth and double chin.
The mayonnaise he relished
May be what did him in.
He enjoyed a glass, or two, of beer
He liked his King Prawns fried.
He downed a pint of Morgan’s ***
with foie gras on the side.
Two Pina Coladas for dessert.
But surely that’s no sin.
Some speculate t’was the massive tab
That led to Tony’s end.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
Rod Serling In The Blue Finch Foie Gras
went peacefully when the proper Authorities arrived
to escort Him from the Pate' to the Patio
but was overheard trading barbs with a flat foot
florid with Aqua Velva; both eyes -
without Harps, Utterly.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 4:20 PM UTC
Purple hibiscus,
gathered from depth of the woods.
Serpents, in the wild,
captured for haute couture.
Coffee beans,
defecated by civets.
Foie gras, caviar, champagne flutes,
Evian, sipping her piña colada,
getting her tan.
Serpent’s skin,
rubbing elbows,
with the alta sociedad,
plucking her eyebrows,
rouging her lips.
" And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil. "
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
I'm told foie gras will change my life.
That it's savory, exemplary
to die for.
Ironic.
Someone already did that.
A gavage in his throat...
plumped, fed,
suffocated by
his own fat
like an inflating noose
on an unwitting neck.
Ironic also that
his flesh inflates my girth
and feeds my gluttony.
"Stupid things...
don't even know they're dying."
Dying indeed.
A slow and painful death.
And how deserving of it, yes.
Stupid things.
Too stupid to recognize their plight.
After all, don't the stupid
deserve their fate?
Ironic how - to this day -
we still think we're so much
more evolved than
our forebears.
Evolution aside,
The Divine Rights of the Food Chain
still stand.
*I do not understand it,
therefore it is less intelligent than I,
therefore I have the right to torture it.
I made it,
therefore it cannot live without me,
therefore I have the right to ruin it.
I own it,
therefore it is mine,
therefore I have the right to **** it.*
Our strength grants us Divine Right, indeed.
May the kingdom prosper under our boots and be grateful, for
history has proven us such gracious and kind masters, after all.
Are we not?
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
black liquorice.
a man walking me with his hand on the small of my back.
chilli-flavoured chocolate.
being called "exotic".
salads.
my long beautiful hair (it's a trap!).
eggs in the morning.
making myself look "pretty".
foie gras.
bleu cheese.
macarons.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 1:39 AM UTC
I met my uncle Albert
down at asda, in aisle three;
he got there in his mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed sainsburys,
tesco liddle n the spar,
but not one o' them flogged caviar
truffles or foie Gras.
He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
He shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 12:04 PM UTC
a glance
a word
a gesture
a little sigh
a formula
the neighbor’s greetings
the train schedule
a note on your door
quite clear to understand
not long ago
now seem to foster
strange significances
the code for
unequivocal interpretation
no longer works
ambiguity hovers in mid-air
you hesitate and ponder
before you speak
begin to choose words carefully
hoping
against your knowing
that this would make them clearer
yet feeling that it does not really matter
that whatever you say
may be received quite differently
from what it is meant to convey
likewise
what you hear and see
appears to lack precision
possible meanings
proliferating connotations
of irony, deceit, hidden aggression
threaten to shroud familiar sense
make you question old axioms
in fearful apprehension of unperceived realities
signs of a loss of self?
your brain dissolving?
senility approaching before its time?
or just too much of that foie gras and cabernet
the night before?
will it be gone tomorrow
with bright sunshine and blue skies
or darken your remaining days
under leaden clouds of doubts and insecurity?
Or is all this just a reminder
that you should take
nothing
for granted and that
the only constant in life
is
change?
* * *
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
Foie gras
Exploitation of geese
Posh food
Cows with udder
Too big for their bodies
Industrialized
Greyhounds
Get legs broken
If too slow
Bleeding bull
Disorientated in the sand
Slowly dying
Taser rowdy whites
On uncontrollable blacks
A gun is handy
Water
Rocks splinter rollers
The breakers hones the rocks
Into shark fins
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 7:05 AM UTC
Parqués entre des bancs de chêne, aux coins d'église
Qu'attiédit puamment leur souffle, tous leurs yeux
Vers le choeur ruisselant d'orrie et la maîtrise
Aux vingt gueules gueulant les cantiques pieux ;
Comme un parfum de pain humant l'odeur de cire,
Heureux, humiliés comme des chiens battus,
Les Pauvres au bon Dieu, le patron et le sire,
Tendent leurs oremus risibles et têtus.
Aux femmes, c'est bien bon de faire des bancs lisses,
Après les six jours noirs ou Dieu les fait souffrir !
Elles bercent, tordus dans d'étranges pelisses,
Des espèces d'enfants qui pleurent à mourir.
Leurs seins crasseux dehors, ces mangeuses de soupe,
Une prière aux yeux et ne priant jamais,
Regardent parader mauvaisement un groupe
De gamines avec leurs chapeaux déformés.
Dehors, le froid, la faim, l'homme en ribote :
C'est bon. Encore une heure ; après, les maux sans noms !
- Cependant, alentour, geint, nasille, chuchote
Une collection de vieilles à fanons :
Ces effarés y sont et ces épileptiques
Dont on se détournait hier aux carrefours ;
Et, fringalant du nez dans des missels antiques,
Ces aveugles qu'un chien introduit dans les cours.
Et tous, bavant la foi mendiante et stupide,
Récitent la complainte infinie à Jésus,
Qui rêve en haut, jauni par le vitrail livide,
**** des maigres mauvais et des méchants pansus,
**** des senteurs de viande et d'étoffes moisies,
Farce prostrée et sombre aux gestes repoussants ;
- Et l'oraison fleurit d'expressions choisies,
Et les mysticités prennent des tons pressants,
Quand, des nefs où périt le soleil, plis de soie
Banals, sourires verts, les Dames des quartiers
Distingués, - ô Jésus ! - les malades du foie
Font baiser leurs longs doigts jaunes aux bénitiers.
817
Modern Haiku
Foie gras
Exploitation of geese
Posh food
Cows with udder
Too big for their bodies
Industrialized
Greyhounds
Get legs broken
If too slow
Bleeding bull
Disorientated in the sand
Slowly dying
Taser rowdy whites
On incontrollable blacks
A gun is handy
Water
Rocks splinter rollers
The breakers hones the rocks
Into shark fins
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 7:04 AM UTC
on the ceiling fan,
lying carpet of grey strands.
Flying blades circle overhead
moving heat through the chalky
air. Dust bunnies hiding
underneath the bureau and rocking
chair. Under the four-post bed
they roast. As foie gras
on toast they sit plump. Dumped
on the valance and curtain. Unbalanced,
the slightest wind and they’ll fall
for certain. On the shelf they cover
her books. In the nooks they lay
as a clump of potter's clay. On the hardwood
floor swept up with the broom. Upon death
she'll be dust in the ground with her groom.
Jun 23, 2023
Jun 23, 2023 at 7:13 AM UTC
Many conspiracy theories get the connections and convolutions right. What they get wrong is the distracting end game, when the truth's so clear. Just look at the results. The rich and powerful always escape culpability, escape punishment. If the evidence proves too blatant, creating nets of legal and PR complexities keep the farce of "justice for all," while maintaining their Old World nobility.
Victorian inbreds and mobster charlatans, cutting corners and destroying civic morals, just to grab up more Earth. Soon their cheapness will became ubiquitous. They'll all end up in imploding pleasure submarines, dining on deadly raw foie gras, or barreling off a crumbling bridge in a driverless car.
Aug 13, 2024
Aug 13, 2024 at 11:51 AM UTC
Watching old Anthony Bourdain
and I hope the uneaten food gets donated to his staff
like how the great feasts of young King Henry VIII
got thrown to poor, after He had a bite or two
of foie gras done 12 ways
Never mind
After all that's happened
Tony should be beatified
I remember laying on the floor of my parent's room
when I couldn't get to sleep in middle school
and we'd watch a back to back block of No Reservations
on a 13 inch box TV on their nightstand
The next thing we knew, people grew more open for a time
Wegmans' got sushi, and Dad loves it
The parents weren't so ashamed of the city they fled to the 'burbs from, just for a second
Took them to a bespoke restaurant during pride month
and they thought it was a gay bar
just because they flew a rainbow flag out front
They grew to welcome it
for a few years at least
Thanks Tony
Wish you were here
and I had more to say about that
than a ******* postcard script
Your voice is still echoed in my house
on an endless nightmare streaming channel
kept on mostly for my chiweenie
You'd be horrified, but
still I know your take
could help reinvigorate our hope in a connected world today
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 4:35 PM UTC
Hmmnn ... lets see,
how about a simple disgust
at opulent luxury,
... there's a start,
oh ... & many roomed massive mansions
with heliports & tennis-courts,
that too perhaps you're
not down with,
& million dollar wedding rings &
3 million dollar nuptial feasts,
tiger medicines, rhinceros horns,
elephant foot ash-trays &
private zoos with leopards
for the pleasure of the
near sated man who
needs everything,
& 5 million dollar automobiles,
pate, foie-gras, shark-fin soup,
gold faucets in your bathroom,
& gold seats for you to rest
your so sweet golden
*** on,
penthouse suites overlooking Harlem,
cigar-chomping industrialists loosening
their waistcoats after a heavy steak
dinner over which they've carved up
a portion of what is rightfully
others by birth & right,
hundreds of thousands of dollars
tickets for a seat by the boss,
so's you may get the chance
to whisper your pleadings
& caress his oh so mighty
ego,
pipelines across sacred lands,
Christian hypocrites, wealthy churches,
Catholic debauchery, Evangelical
preachers, replicas of Noah's Ark,
sweat lodge motivational hucksters,
Rolls Royce gurus,
ancient Southern hate
& men in white hoods,
taking a look around,
paying attention,
choosing,
& then signing up.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 1:30 AM UTC
The News Today
Louvre in Paris has closed its door the staffs stand
on the steps and sing the national anthem they have
no lifeboats and can't stop Louvre being filled with
the art of debris, cleaning up will be a headache
what is art and what is *******
Meanwhile, 80 million rats have sought higher ground
occupying rich people’s homes sleeping and eating silk
sheets and Foie gras get drunk and aggressive on rare
wine and defecating on Persian carpets
Also in the news, a boy in Japan has been dancing with
bears and eating their blueberry jam.
The boy says he will be a zookeeper when he grows up
to put his parents in a cage. The rest of the news is boring
the routine stuff about useless wars on sand dunes
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 8:13 AM UTC
The snobbish din of clinking cut-glass and a murmured ambient sound,
Of fine dining the Foie gras that seems so profound.
Seems like such a class divide from yesterday’s soiree,
Of the taste of fried chicken and chips that street food provided me, amidst its mad melee.
Tomorrow will be the oriental chimes to my ears and my palette of taste,
As I rate the **** of their culinary, taking my time and never in haste.
Never minding my late last night, quaffing exoticness in cocktails and dreams,
Amidst psychedelic lights, thumping music and frenzied screams.
For I am to decide the best of the best,
Of gastronomical delights that the nation offers, without a rest.
So awaken your senses and make ado,
For the show that’s a Tell All of the Top 10 in eateries and breweries, old and new.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
Personne pour toi. Tous sont d'accord. Celui-ci,
Nommé Gladstone, dit à tes bourreaux : merci !
Cet autre, nommé Grant, te conspue, et cet autre,
Nommé Bancroft, t'outrage ; ici c'est un apôtre,
Là c'est un soldat, là c'est un juge, un tribun,
Un prêtre, l'un du Nord, l'autre du Sud ; pas un
Que ton sang, à grands flots versé, ne satisfasse ;
Pas un qui sur ta croix ne te crache à la face.
Hélas ! qu'as-tu donc fait aux nations ? Tu vins
Vers celles qui pleuraient, avec ces mots divins :
Joie et Paix ! - Tu criais : - Espérance ! Allégresse !
Sois puissante, Amérique, et toi sois libre, ô Grèce !
L'Italie était grande ; elle doit l'être encor.
Je le veux ! - Tu donnas à celle-ci ton or ;
A celle-là ton sang, à toutes la lumière.
Tu défendis le droit des hommes, coutumière
De tous les dévouements et de tous les devoirs.
Comme le boeuf revient repu des abreuvoirs,
Les hommes sont rentrés pas à pas à l'étable,
Rassasiés de toi, grande soeur redoutable,
De toi qui protégeas, de toi qui combattis.
Ah ! se montrer ingrats, c'est se prouver petits.
N'importe ! pas un d'eux ne te connaît. Leur foule
T'a huée, à cette heure où ta grandeur s'écroule,
Riant de chaque coup de marteau qui tombait
Sur toi, nue et sanglante et clouée au gibet.
Leur pitié plaint tes fils que la fortune amère
Condamne à la rougeur de t'avouer pour mère.
Tu ne peux pas mourir, c'est le regret qu'on a.
Tu penches dans la nuit ton front qui rayonna ;
L'aigle de l'ombre est là qui te mange le foie ;
C'est à qui reniera la vaincue ; et la joie
Des rois pillards, pareils aux bandits des Adrets,
Charme l'Europe et plaît au monde... - Ah ! je voudrais,
Je voudrais n'être pas Français pour pouvoir dire
Que je te choisis, France, et que, dans ton martyre,
Je te proclame, toi que ronge le vautour,
Ma patrie et ma gloire et mon unique amour !
454
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!
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 3:44 PM UTC
We placed you on a pedestal
So high up
And you fell,
We bowed at your feet
And crucified your soul.
You were running wild
In dreams of our youth,
You stood in the mirror
Where we threw our pain
Of paranoid projections
And hatred directed towards you.
The world's own scapegoat to its ****** up problems.
We destroyed your face
On the silver screen.
In a consumption society,
In our capitalist marketplace,
Where we bled your extracted tears
And murdered you on the stage.
This is who we are,
Just a pack of violent wolves
Cannibals.
We killed you.
Forcefed you, for foie gras
And milked you, for caviar
Our sacrifice,
An effigy
Made you a martyr
For your love.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 2:10 PM UTC