"mignon" poems
Big ships, small ships, yachts and dingeys
Floating across the mighty sea
Carving their way, displacing their weight
To keep afloat the Captain and First mate.
Old ships, new ships, schooners and cruise liners
Have crossed paths throughout the ages old
Once to explore, make claim, pirate and fight
Now to wine and dine on a luxurious bite
Salted beef, rock hard bread and weevil-friendly biscuits
A 3 course meal fit for Old Salts alike
Weevils & worms and bugs of all kind
Along with sparse portions of meat, you might find
French wine, filet mignon, sushi and pastries
Buffets and fine dining, variety is key
All you can eat, whenever you'd like
No chores, no work, just eating all night'
What a contrast exists between these two worlds
Only 2 to 300 hundred years apart
Once grimy, risky, arduous and fraught
Now fancy, lazy, and much to be bought
What if the Old Salts could teleport to today
And live aboard our floating hotels?
With no masts to climb or sheets to tend
Would they break or would they bend?
I suppose that switch would be easy enough
But send us back to Pirate-ridden waters
You'd be sure never to hear from us again
Swabbing the deck would **** us alone
Not to mention the food and disease of back when.
- BPW
Dec. 11, 2013
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
The tags say, "Dry Clean Only" but I didn't have time before I left.
So now my favorite purple sweater, the one with the elbow patches, smells like you and filet mignon.
Rewind.
July:
"Congratulations, it's a match!" Reads my tinder notification.
Little did I know, I'd actually like you.
Little did I know you'd say you wanted something.
August:
I got your number, we planned on meeting up.
Our plans fell through, but we continued to talk and flirt anyways.
September:
I left for school, as did you.
Hundreds of miles away, you could tell there was something wrong through a text message.
You were there for me, everything I needed, you were it.
You told me you didn't just want someone to **** you wanted someone to love.
October & November:
The texts dwindled down to barely any.
All I wanted was for you to respond, or finally text me first.
We planned on meeting up for thanksgiving, you ignored me.
December:
Finals week approaches and I finally hear from you again.
You want to meet up for real this time.
We say, let's meet over break.
January:
You text me, four nights before I'm leaving again.
Tomorrow? You ask me, I obviously say of course.
Terrified, I think you're going to stand me up,
but when you finally walk into the Starbucks,
my heart drops.
This is actually happening.
You come back to my place, this and that happens.
You leave.
But what I didn't think is that we'd be back at square one.
Ignoring my texts, yet snapchatting me and liking my moments.
Now:
I run to rid you from my mind.
But yet you appear so vividly and I can hear your voice saying, "are you gonna come and get it?"
Just like you said that day.
So I never had the time to dry clean my favorite sweater, so it still smells of your cologne and filet mignon.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:24 PM UTC
I like a tough steak at a regular steak house
(I'm one of those people that doesn't have to have everything tender)
Filet Mignon the spaced out king
pricey Prime Rib
a juicy T-Bone
steak kabobs
a decent well-done steak sandwich,
the non-fatty round steak that
mother used to make
a real rare piece of steak
a cooked by me steak at a
real nice steak house
where the gimmick is cook your own
except for their steak kabob
same with Mister Steak,
that and Outback Steak House in general
Longhorn's will do for something like that!
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 3:06 PM UTC
the cult of the ideal woman.
silent era mignon.
pass the baton.
a little diplomacy.
a little electricity.
and a waterfall of curls.
she moves with the fayre.
I see her idling on Fifth Avenue
and at work behind the counters
of the stores.
besotted men plant young, leafless trees upside-down,
roots in the air, simply because
she wants it that way.
a groundbreaking end
to The Broken Oath,
and her name on the credits
for the very first time.
screens, fans, and umbrella stands.
or maybe lilies in a field of seclusion.
she is stardom.
she is the eternal question.
Aug 22, 2022
Aug 22, 2022 at 11:29 AM UTC
Ce n'est pas Pierrot en herbe
Non plus que Pierrot en gerbe,
C'est Pierrot, Pierrot, Pierrot.
Pierrot gamin, Pierrot gosse,
Le cerneau hors de la cosse,
C'est Pierrot, Pierrot, Pierrot !
Bien qu'un rien plus haut qu'un mètre,
Le mignon drôle sait mettre
Dans ses yeux l'éclair d'acier
Qui sied au subtil génie
De sa malice infinie
De poète-grimacier.
Lèvres rouge-de-blessure
Où sommeille la luxure,
Face pâle aux rictus fins,
Longue, très accentuée,
Qu'on dirait habituée
À contempler toutes fins,
Corps fluet et non pas maigre,
Voix de fille et non pas aigre,
Corps d'éphèbe en tout petit,
Voix de tête, corps en fête,
Créature toujours prête
À soûler chaque appétit.
Va, frère, va, camarade,
Fais le diable, bats l'estrade
Dans ton rêve et sur Paris
Et par le monde, et sois l'âme
Vile, haute, noble, infâme
De nos innocents esprits !
Grandis, car c'est la coutume,
Cube ta riche amertume,
Exagère ta gaieté,
Caricature, auréole,
La grimace et le symbole
De notre simplicité !
1.6k
Il avait de très beaux yeux
Il était haut
Il avait un joli sourire
Il s’est assis sur une chaise dans la classe vide.
Il a été prés de moi
Nous avons parlé un peu
Il m’a dit quelque chose
Il était si mignon
Que je n’ai pas prêté attention.
Je n’ai pas su son prénom
Il ne m’a pas regardé de la même manière que je l’ai vu
Il est parti
Je voulais le revoir
J‘ai pensé à lui tous les jours
Je l'ai revu un jour
J‘étais très heureuse
Il est resté la même personne
Il avait les mêmes yeux
Mais ils ne m’ont pas regardé.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
i will become extinct now
because the cows that i love
to eat and drink will have
no more grass to mow
leaving machine processed
foods for nourishment. eliminating
the use of my four-thousand dollar
orthodontic pretty white pearls and
find worth in the five-thousand
dollar allo-derm gum implants.
i will become extinct now as
my forty-year-old digestive
system in which has been pumping
iron exercises three times a day
testing it’s strength with an
8 ounce filet mignon will have
no use any longer so long
to my habitual adult grape
juice for the vines will have
no place to grow. soon they’ll be
powderized. they’ll capsulize my merlot.
i will become extinct now as
the sun sets but only
because it’s manufactured
like pirates of the caribbean
ride you don’t know you’re
inside. fake flames. fake heat.
fake sunsets which provoke my
deepest feelings. artificial now
emotions controlled to it’s
purest form snowboarding
on snoopy sno-cone creations.
replacing our creator with the
lastest inventions. i will
become extinct now.
for i cannot live this way
because my heart is real.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
You remember that empty winter
Tasted like gin on my breath where it hung,
drops of moisture in the air.
J’ai coupé mes mains sur la glace
Mais mignon, tu es froid,
Et mes bras ne peut pas vous réchauffer.
Nous parlons les mots glacées,
Et ils éclatent dans la nuit brumeuse.
De whisky de vin de gin tonic
Comme les bouteilles, tu seras épuiser.
Alors, qu'est-ce que tu feras?
And those things we say, love
They froth and drip from our mouths
Down our chins and onto the wet snow.
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 8:24 PM UTC
Call me the Queen of Hypothesis
I thought it was a good idea
leaving this.
I want to take a razor to the hair I grew
(long enough to enchant you)
but I won't.
I want to spend all I've got
on nothing at all.
A painted, empty fool who is poverty stricken in riches-
filet mignon, a flight to Spain, fancy finery-
but I won't.
Instead I'll cry in the kitchen.
Cry in the bedroom.
Cry at flowers.
Cry at nothing.
But I won't cut off my hair.
I want to give up.
I want to run away.
Leave town, leave society, leave myself.
But I won't.
Instead I'll hurt.
Hurt in the day.
Hurt in the night.
But I won't give up.
This mouth, it does me wrong.
This mouth says goodbye,
when it only wants to be
on your fingertips
on your neck
on your back
anywhere
just not saying goodbye.
These eyes, they do me wrong.
These eyes have seen the truth of things,
when they only want to
watch you laugh
watch you dress in the morning
watch your body moving on mine-
Just watch you.
And blind themselves against the path we have chosen.
I want to take it back.
But...
I won't.
Instead I'll love you.
And love you.
And love you,
love you,
I love you
until I can love me
just as much.
So call us the King and Queen of Hypothesis, darling.
Look at our glass crowns,
how clearly you can see my heart inside,
saving for something more precious
than all the kingdom's gold.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
Si vous croyez haha
Que c'est marrant, mignon
D'être jeune et vif, detrompez-vous detrompez-vous
Si vous pensez que la jeunesse c'est le printemps vert et joli
Fleurs et petales, cuicui et gouttes de pluie
Non non, détrompez vous
C'est l'orage et le tonnerre
Oui la jeunesse c'est chiant
Mais alors vraiment tres chiant!
Si vous trouvez ca marrant
D'etre sans cesse enfoui dans la brume
Sans savoir, sans comprendre
Sans direction, sans but, sans chemin
Si vous trouvez ca marrant
D'avoir un cerveau de foudre
La jeunesse, c'est pour vous!
Et puis etre adulte,
C'est pas mieux, non non!
L'automne, feuilles d'espoirs qui tombent
Et qui craquellent sous le poids de regrets
Le mensonge qu'on donne aux gamins
Qu'etre adulte, c'est trop bien
Des mensonges, des mensonges!
Detrompez-vous detrompez-vous
Les factures, les impots, le boulot, la famille
Le vin, les clopes, le stress et l'ennui
Et la vieillesse,
C'est pas mieux!
Le os recouverts de glace
Qui crépitent et craquellent a chaque mouvement
Qui grincent comme un plancher épuisé
Les bras pendant comme des branches mortes
Le scalp chauve, et lisse comme un étang glacé
Non la vieillesse,
C'est pas mieux
Les lèvres qui bavent, les mains qui tremblent
Les pensées qui se pâment, les souvenirs qui clinquent ensemble
Le cerveau qui chancelle et s'écroule
Tout comme le corps qui chancelle
Et s'écroule
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
Their unspoken opinions
are like a *** of unknowable, unnamed meats
including skunk parts
one morsel of filet mignon
Family or workplace
longer the hours, years of the living
opinions accumulate
perception strained through mortality
This stew of ethics
holds together, blows apart
trees, planets, atoms, galaxies
on or about year 2000
One must not
express the certainty
that the child's coma-induced vision of a dead grandparent
did not actually happen in heaven
One must feign
respect for all beliefs however abjectly
death denying
because they are harmless as
ozone
zebra
xylophone
zygote
A
beautiful day follows
on Jones' Nose
ripe blueberries, black cherries
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
Car tu vis en toutes les femmes
Et toutes les femmes c'est toi.
Et tout l'amour qui soit, c'est moi
Brûlant pour toi de mille flammes.
Ton sourire tendre ou moqueur,
Tes yeux, mon Styx ou mon Lignon,
Ton sein opulent ou mignon
Sont les seuls vainqueurs de mon cœur.
Et je mords à ta chevelure
Longue ou frisée, en haut, en bas,
Noire ou rouge et sur l'encolure
Et là ou là - et quels repas !
Et je bois à tes lèvres fines
Ou grosses, - à la Lèvre, toute !
Et quelles ivresses en route,
Diaboliques et divines !
Car toute la femme est en toi
Et ce moi que tu multiplies
T'aime en toute Elle et tu rallies
En toi seule tout l'amour : Moi !
1k
I watched
As you held on with every breath
I laughed
When you had nothing left
I smiled
At every mistake you made
I stopped
When I saw that I was unsafe
I saw
The thing that hurt you beyond belief
I felt
The blade that cut you so **** deep
I cried
For all the same reasons
I stayed
When you would've made the choice to leave...
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
Carmen est maigre - un trait de bistre
Cerne son oeil de gitana ;
Ses cheveux sont d'un noir sinistre ;
Sa peau, le diable la tanna.
Les femmes disent qu'elle est laide,
Mais tous les hommes en sont fous ;
Et l'archevêque de Tolède
Chante la messe à ses genoux ;
Car sur sa nuque d'ambre fauve
Se tord un énorme chignon
Qui, dénoué, fait dans l'alcôve
Une mante à son corps mignon,
Et, parmi sa pâleur, éclate
Une bouche aux rires vainqueurs,
Piment rouge, fleur écarlate,
Qui prend sa pourpre au sang des coeurs.
Ainsi faite, la moricaude
Bat les plus altières beautés,
Et de ses yeux la lueur chaude
Rend la flamme aux satiétés.
Elle a dans sa laideur piquante
Un grain de sel de cette mer
D'où jaillit nue et provocante,
L'âcre Vénus du gouffre amer.
987
A tightening black dress to caress her every curve
A seat at the dinner table put on reserve
Pearls that choke the circumference of her neck
Her visage looking eerie and perplexed
The cuisine before her: A delicious French dish
Conversation at dinner was distinguished
But she was lost in a pollutant of words
Couldn’t speak; her tongue placed backwards
She stared intently at the knife near the goblet
She placed it at her throat, sliced it and bled
She bled and her blood oozed onto her filet mignon
The women at the table looked away & wore chignons
One guest requested to try the red sauce on her grub
It wasn’t red sauce; it wasn’t. It was fresh, red blood.
Another guest gaped at her red stained pearls
It wasn’t jewelry imported from Spain; it was blood.
The last drop of blood soaked her dinner
One guest commented on her figure, she’s getting thinner.
She was gone. Her head dropped into her French cuisine.
Guests resumed their talk; the blood still unseen.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
winter snuck in; thief-in-the-night like, when we were all sleeping.
Woke to the cold and blanketing grey,
clouds that hold fast,
time and countenance,
the morning flowing with hidden wishes, those dangerous dreams;
assassin deadly to our comfort.
as the wind, and the world one color,
seems to blow thru.
phantoms and mind , our holding reserve.
the day unfolds. The hours burn secretly, my hearts beat.
This hour unfolds me.
Your love burns secretly, distance and time who's grasp cannot hold our depth.
This moment unfolds, perhaps, as it should.
As I burn for those yet to come.
Jun 2, 2010
Jun 2, 2010 at 11:02 PM UTC
I.
Le nez rouge, la face blême,
Sur un pupitre de glaçons,
L'Hiver exécute son thème
Dans le quatuor des saisons.
Il chante d'une voix peu sûre
Des airs vieillots et chevrotants ;
Son pied glacé bat la mesure
Et la semelle en même temps ;
Et comme Haendel, dont la perruque
Perdait sa farine en tremblant,
Il fait envoler de sa nuque
La neige qui la poudre à blanc.
II.
Dans le bassin des Tuileries,
Le cygne s'est pris en nageant,
Et les arbres, comme aux féeries,
Sont en filigrane d'argent.
Les vases ont des fleurs de givre,
Sous la charmille aux blancs réseaux ;
Et sur la neige on voit se suivre
Les pas étoilés des oiseaux.
Au piédestal où, court-vêtue,
Vénus coudoyait Phocion,
L'Hiver a posé pour statue
La Frileuse de Clodion.
III.
Les femmes passent sous les arbres
En martre, hermine et menu-vair,
Et les déesses, frileux marbres,
Ont pris aussi l'habit d'hiver.
La Vénus Anadyomène
Est en pelisse à capuchon ;
Flore, que la brise malmène,
Plonge ses mains dans son manchon.
Et pour la saison, les bergères
De Coysevox et de Coustou,
Trouvant leurs écharpes légères,
Ont des boas autour du cou.
IV.
Sur la mode Parisienne
Le Nord pose ses manteaux lourds,
Comme sur une Athénienne
Un Scythe étendrait sa peau d'ours.
Partout se mélange aux parures
Dont Palmyre habille l'Hiver,
Le faste russe des fourrures
Que parfume le vétyver.
Et le Plaisir rit dans l'alcôve
Quand, au milieu des Amours nus,
Des poils roux d'une bête fauve
Sort le torse blanc de Vénus.
V.
Sous le voile qui vous protège,
Défiant les regards jaloux,
Si vous sortez par cette neige,
Redoutez vos pieds andalous ;
La neige saisit comme un moule
L'empreinte de ce pied mignon
Qui, sur le tapis blanc qu'il foule,
Signe, à chaque pas, votre nom.
Ainsi guidé, l'époux morose
Peut parvenir au nid caché
Où, de froid la joue encor rose,
A l'Amour s'enlace Psyché.
902
Being 16 and free,
living on the sailboat
with my Dad and brother.
I was rocked to sleep
by the gentle
waves in the marina.
Just being...the wonderful
verb of youth,
Bills came in,
Dad would say, "They can **** us,
but they can't eat us."
We'd laugh and peel
up the Pacific coast Highway
to the track,
Hollywood Park or Santa Anita,
to bet on the horses.
We'd dope the racing form;
Get chili dogs.
Dad would give us
money to bet with.
I saw some of the
best horses ever:
Secretariat
Affirmed
John Henry
Bates Motel
We saw the greatest jockeys too.
William Shoemaker
Liffit Pincay
Eddie D.
Our tiny heroes.
The thunder of the
hooves coming down the
homestretch still echoes
inside of me.
Dad always said, "winners buy dinner, "
but he always paid.
We stopped at this
steak place on the
edge of L.A.
It was dark; they had the best
Fillet Mignon, you cut it
with a spoon.
The sun sank into the blazing
ocean, and with the windows rolled
down, we could taste the salt
in the air.
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 9:53 AM UTC
I served
My heart's feelings
Hors d'oeuvres
Upon a platter
And she sampled
Until it was all gone,
And I thought
That was
The end of that,
But she
Wanted more
Filet mignon and caviar
Vintage wines and cheeses,
And I
Couldn't didn't want to provide
All that she aspired to,
So she walked out
And I
Made more
Hors d'oeuvres
For the next
But they can't see
That these feelings
I serve to one and all,
Are just what I yearn
For myself;
And I do not
Wish to indulge them
Without equal measure
In return,
This taste of excellence
Gateway to Nirvana...
APAD13 - 067 © okpoet
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
Qu'il me soit arraché des tétins de sa mère
Ce jeune enfant Amour, et qu'il me soit rendu ;
II ne fait que de naître et m'a déjà perdu ;
Vienne quelque marchand, je le mets à l'enchère.
D'un si mauvais garçon la vente n'est pas chère,
J'en ferai bon marché. Ah ! j'ai trop attendu.
Mais voyez comme il pleure, il m'a bien entendu ;
Apaise-toi, mignon, j'ai passé ma colère,
Je ne te vendrai point : au contraire, je veux
Pour Page t'envoyer à ma maîtresse Hélène,
Qui toute te ressemble et d'yeux et de cheveux,
Aussi fine que toi, de malice aussi pleine,
Comme enfants vous croistrez, et vous jouerez tous deux ;
Quand tu seras plus grand, tu me payeras ma peine.
1. Croistrez : Grandirez.
678
(actually, now at present time juiced
well nigh high noon same day)
On this January nineteenth
tooth thousand and nineteen
dogged by an earlier notion
searching soul to glean,
(while at Collegeville Diner)
above place previously wrought
poem hammered from this peon
expounded possibly seen,
asper belated birthday
outing now I mean
to expound upon nagging , yet keen
existential question, sans what purpose
validates yours truly within skien
of terrestrial webbed wide world,
no...no...no not
simply pocketing green
backs (banknotes, legal,
tender, money, et cetera), but now bean
older, and displeasing lee not so lean
when just a slip (pre) youth decades ago
yea, that would be
when I hapt tubby a teen
with nary a concern,
nope not even to preen
myself much to the dismay
of my late mother, nay
no idea why lackadaisical, illogical,
and antithetical bee hay
vee yore prevailed, but more to the point
rarely when young and naive did stray
thoughts besiege my mind,
that LX vintage sketchy,
shady, and seedy gray
area bothered concerning,
hounding, pestering and fill lay
mignon noggin ready toboggan
any price you say
for this staged coached blarney
finding this mortal questioning... ray
zing meaning, purpose,
and underlying importance, gestalt, design...
of life more so today
meaning since recent past
also taking stock of
accomplishments from way
back, and feeling stymied okay
at a loss to delineate
any rhyme or reason
to shout hip...hip hooray
quite the contrary, which following
admission might appear cray zee,
but aye decry barely
living capped off with oy vey!
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
Were I to have a queen,
I would adorn her
lavishly,
South African Diamonds
littered with Brazilian Emerald
and Oriental Topaz,
but I don’t, so I give her
onyx and garnets –
Were I to have a queen
She would dine, exquisitely
Caviar and Champaign
Filet Mignon with delicate wild sprigs
Hand-crafted sorbets sprinkled with fresh ground cocoa
but that is not the case,
so we eat frozen burritos and fruity pebbles –
Were I to have a queen
her fines would be worldly
Chinese silks and English cobbled shoes
flowing lace with ruffled fringe
cotton and satin depending on conditions
but I am just a regular guy
and offer flannel and polyester blends –
Were I to have a queen
she would never want for attention
I would constantly remind her of her beauty and grace
express endlessly my undying love and adoration
offer my hand at each puddle and open every door
but I do not have a queen,
I have a wife that I treat this way –
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC