"macaroon" poems
The chocolate digestive is a marvel of invention
Custard creams are sickly, but worthy of a mention
Shortbread can be gritty, steer clear of the cheap ones
For if you love your biscuits, your pockets must be deep ones
For perfect dunkability, the hobnob leads the field
But prone to going chewy if their packet isn't sealed
Bourbon creams can satisfy when nothing else is offered
Avert your eyes from pretzels, no matter how they're proffered
The lowly Garibaldi is an underrated treasure
A macaroon is excellent for eating at your leisure
Enjoy the home made cookies and the chocolate crispy nests
And save a pack of party rings for fobbing off on guests
But biscuits can be functional, with keen survival craft
A packet of pink wafers can be used to make a raft
Penguins can be hollowed out and used to smuggle crack
And if you throw a ginger nut, you'll always get it back
A Jaffa cake is handy as a snowboard for a spider
And flapjacks are a sustenance and energy provider
Wagon wheels are lethal when they're wielded by a ninja
Brandy snaps cure cancer with a tiny hint of ginger
Experiment with biscuits, they're a versatile thing
Try horizontal dunking or the highland shortbread fling
Keep a packet stashed away for when the end is nigh
And always have the kettle full, and milk in good supply
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
When Mr. Apollinax visited the United States
His laughter tinkled among the teacups.
I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure among the birch-trees,
And of Priapus in the shrubbery
Gaping at the lady in the swing.
In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor Channing-Cheetah’s
He laughed like an irresponsible foetus.
His laughter was submarine and profound
Like the old man of the sea’s
Hidden under coral islands
Where worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence,
Dropping from fingers of surf.
I looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling under a chair
Or grinning over a screen
With seaweed in its hair.
I heard the beat of centaur’s hoofs over the hard turf
As his dry and passionate talk devoured the afternoon.
“He is a charming man”—”But after all what did he mean?”—
“His pointed ears…. He must be unbalanced,”—
“There was something he said that I might have challenged.”
Of dowager Mrs. Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. Cheetah
I remember a slice of lemon, and a bitten macaroon.
3.5k
We visited an art museum today
“The Guggenheim” with it’s white spiraling architecture
I felt slightly cultured as I flipped through a book detailing an artist whose last name I vaguely recall started with a Q
Conveniently forgetting the very reason for my presence in that room being to charge my phone
Feeling educated as I recognize the names Matisse, Lautrec from my brief intro to art history courtesy of our overly enthusiastic design teacher
Basking in my elegance, taking petit little bites, of a macaroon in a cafe outside the museum
...Before noisily slurping my blood red ice tea
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 7:48 PM UTC
A Parody
Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?
Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!
Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y
Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!
Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!
And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free
The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty
Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?
Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic
Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri
Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!
Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!
From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!
Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 1:18 AM UTC
***Our story begins in a galaxy far far away
on the dark chocolate side of The Milky Way
the planets all look like cookies and donuts
boys and girls grow to be bakers and astronauts
they have five different planets that orbit two suns
****** is smaller and Butter is the bigger one
the first is Glazey-1 the second is Eclarian-2
spell Heaven backwards and Nevaeh-3 comes into view
the forth is my favorite, they call it Smore-4
most well known for it’s white melting core
and last but certainly not least is Oreo-5
it’s surface is hardest and is smallest in size
a special place for sure is this sweet solar system
planets sparkle after a sugary rain sweetens and mists ‘em
watch a cartoon, blow a balloon or hum your favorite tune
or you can do as I do, and wish upon Macaroon Moon***
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
Tell me your secrets tell me a tale of centuries passed where you recall meeting at what we called the wrong time what if maybe years from now I lift my head tilted towards the sound of a barista clearing the table where you then sit where you are only focused on a poodle called Gaillard who is chocolate brown groomed to perfection with a winter coat matching the faux fur wrapped around your neck as winter has fallen no bleakness just crystal skies iced cobbled pavements too cold for the puppy with big brown eyes whimpering for a seat on a warm lap of an owner feeding treats comfort provided by the attentive barista returning from the inside of a busy café serving hot fresh expresso drifting smells across untouched air toward me who orders another chocolat chaud arriving with a macaroon an unmarked napkin to which I write "Tu me manque" standing I walk to her table Gaillard remembering my scent lifts himself to my chest as I lay the note down where the one who'd be gone so long whispered back sweeping her hair to the side, "Tu me manque plus"
simultaneously they say; "I knew I'd meet you again someday..." a smile from both, "in Paris," with a giggle a caress a simple holding of the hand.
© Sia Jane
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
oh little macaroon
with your shell of beaten egg whites
sweet swiss meringue buttercream filling peeks out of your sides
but still trying to hides it’s saccharine form
oh little macaroon
with your bright pink composure
you're perfect with no air pockets
sometimes you can be filled with savory chocolate
oh little macaroon
i don't know what to do with you
your so cute sitting there
without a care
i don't want to eat you up!
oh little macaroon
your smell has gotten the better of me
im so sorry!
i nibble your edge with a bit of regret
i've loved you since the moment we meet
and im sorry it must end
BUT I'M HUNGRY!
oh little macaroon
please forgive me for biting down on you
your crisp shell gives way to soft and chewy texture i've been craving all day
sweet artificial strawberry taste does not take hast to fill my mouth
without a doubt
this delightful creamy taste will stain the roof of my mouth with a rose tint
oh little macaroon
what's it like in my tummy?
just so you know you were oh so yummy!
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
I could eat a dozen
Perhaps I ought, I glance at
The box, white and untouched
Alone on the table, sweet air inside
I can’t help but break the seal
Revealing ****** frosting, perfect lines
Would anyone know if I took
Both a fritter and macaroon?
Lord help me, no restraint
As I grab a fistful
My waistline can’t trust me
My tongue simply yearns
For every single pastry
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 3:42 PM UTC
Lead through the hospital house,
where residual ashes of Zeus
lay in heaps at broken corners,
coating derelict floorboards.
GO! The purple ball of light
is waiting.
Enter the hall of purity,
filled with macaroon sorrow
and empty thoughts.
Athena stands on the right,
her head upon a serving dish.
Listen closely ...
A distant phone
in the darkened cove
is ringing.
DON'T ANSWER IT!
Beware a nurse on the left.
Recognition of her temporal existence
permeates through mucous membranes.
Notice the stillness of air.
Breathe it in, it does not flow.
Follow through a doorway
to the kitchen.
Silver pans (or chimes?) (or bells?)
hang above a perfect sink
while droplets of blood
incessantly drip, drip, drip,
falling from a crying wrist,
gently striking the sink bottom.
Plead to not be forced
into the room of mistaken hospitality,
where beds of white cotton
invite with chanted whispers
the compliant to lay exposed.
View the ceiling from this
submissive position.
It yields confusing colors of light:
- Red wine
- Blue water
swirling together
and forming indistinct patterns.
Fearfully watch as a waxing
flying caterpillar
emerges from the purple swirling porthole
and craving intense gratification.
It will consume the laying prey
through frantic silent screams.
Feel the edges of a harsh cocoon
woven around the bed.
It traps with silky wings
and trembling agitation.
Do not scream
Do not cry
Do not try to fight.
Allow icy numbness to spread
and entertain immortal abandonment,
for who would understand?
- Kerry Ann Herrmann
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
An emergency macaroon
on a boulevard, in March,
Because my sugar levels dropping,
mind foggy, dopamine high crashing;
because legs aching; I can’t unknot
the multi-coloured tangles this evening;
because yesterday; because I said yes; because.
Because you never said in so many words.
You say there is cloud cover
with chance of rain, but you know there
will be rain because you have a headache.
You can tell but you can’t say.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Gordon is a spider
He lives in my bathroom
I feed him up on house-flies
And chocolate Macaroon
Gordon is a spider
He lives behind the bin
He hides away when people stay
- it’s very kind of him
Gordon is a spider
(At least, I think it’s him –
Oh no! What if a bigger,
Meaner Gordon did him in?)
If Gordon Two ate Gordon One
My throne is surely cursed
No second toilet-mate could share
The manners of the first!
If Gordon's really bought it
I don’t know what I’ll do
I’ll have to write a notice
For my guests upon the loo:
**WARNING: SAVAGE SPIDER
BE CAREFUL WHEN YOU POO!
HE ATE HIS PREDECESSOR –
HE COULD BE AFTER YOU!**
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
*don't worry, you're not watching ******** **** but it might be equivalent, given the stature of the words... i never knew why Hebrews complained at the word Jew sounding yuck, and the Poles never minded, even with Pollack... funny... anyways, you either accept this wording or you accept ******** **** your choice.... but censoring spelling is like inbreeding anti-literate farmers who have tractors instead of horses these days... bake that macaroon slightly more, i want to see a suntan on it; chance of a bagel thrown in gratis? i thought so... happy Hanukkah.*
Hier stehe ich mit den Händen voll Blut
Und trage in mir eine beißende Wut
Du sagtest du wolltest den Körper von mir
Und ich gab dir alles gerad wie ein Tier
Ich kann nicht ertragen zu sehen dich leben
So komm her zu mir lass dir den Todeskuss geben
Viele lockte ich schon in den grausamen Tod
Und auch du wirst verfaulen in der Kammer der Not
Winsel um gnade oder schrei es hinaus
Es gibt keine Hoffnung du kommst niemals mehr raus
Denn hier ist dein ende und ich werde es lieben
Zu weiden dich aus am Bunkertor sieben
*Bunkertor sieben
Am Bunkertor sieben*.
Jun 26, 2016
Jun 26, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC
The best looking macaroon
Is it too soon
To swoon
Over your macaroon
I've never been fussed on savory or sweet
But I don't want meat
Just a heart beat
We should meet
In the darkness of night
Bask in your light
While deep and tight
With all my might
I love your macaroon
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC
We’ll hitchhike to mars
on a rocket not a car,
so say your au revoirs.
We’ll steer towards Polaris, the north star
right through the center of the milky-way-bar.
See, the universe is dark and chocolatey.
Stars that glitter like multi-faceted gems,
are just shiny, yellow, peanut M&Ms,
take a handful, if you’d like, they’re free.
We’ll dodge the silhouetted moon,
which is made of enough coconut macaroon,
to make a French confectioner swoon.
As we go streaking, like a comet’s tail,
drag a finger through Saturn’s rings as well,
those are made of marshmallow.
We’ll pass nebulae made of cotton-kandi,
and here’s a fact Einstein would have found handy,
the speed of light doesn’t apply to candy.
.
.
Ramble on by Toni Jevicky
Jun 19, 2025
Jun 19, 2025 at 11:25 PM UTC
Red is the mist that too often descends,
Beige alas the colour of my teeth,
Tan, sadly I only ever burn,
Orange my fake perma-tan
Black my mood on a Monday morning,
White are the lies when I ring in sick!
Blue are the films I secretly watch,
Cerise, not a clue but sounds lovely!
Purple my boozers nose,
Scarlet somebody, from Gone with the Wind I think,
Violet missing an ‘n’,
Cream strictly rationed because of my diabetes!
Green my perpetual envy,
Tangerine, something else to hate at Christmas,
Burgundy, sorry ******* at geography,
Lilac, far too trendy for me!
Azure are the skies I miss from childhood,
Sapphire so very precious!
Cerulean, now I am being a ********
Yellow the starting gun for me to run away
Indigo, when my snooker potting is on fire!
Pink, the ball I always miss,
Navy, something the Swiss don’t have,
Chocolate, something the Swiss do have
Brown the awful jumpers Mum used to knit,
Russet, used to be a tiny English County?
Emerald, a lovely girl I once dated,
Aquamarine such a delicate sea-sick tint
Puce, or do I mean puke, something I do after a skinful
Maroon rhymes with macaroon!
Crimson, I guilty blush when I pass wind!
Grey (never gray!), my hated school uniform
Ruby, any glass of port in a storm!
Auburn, I really love her films!
Lime, lovely with gin & tonic, especially in Vienna Harry! ** **
Turquoise bruises, no stranger to these after a few too many
© Robert Porteus
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 10:14 AM UTC