La Petite Bouchee or The Little Bite

On an early March morning,
And quite without warning,
My wife had a brilliant notion.
To turn our Citroen van into
A bijou 4-seater bistro,
She’d run with elan and devotion.


We needed to come up with a name,
Something singularity clever, not lame,
So “La Petite Bouchee” she became,
(Or “The Little Bite”, ’cause that is the same.)

We were joined by the wonderful Neil,
Who gave dining an exceptional feel,
Our customers felt really blessed.
It’s an experience unique and unreal.
It’s awesome, fantastic, ideal,
Find it’s like, well, you’d be hard-pressed.

When you eat at La Petite Bouchee,
You are “ours” till the end of your day,
Your meal should be one you won’t forget.
The ingredients are locally sourced,
With a great deal of care and resource,
It’s all cooked to order, in calm not disorder,
For an experience you’ll never regret.
From the moment that “Neets” began cooking,
Folk of SE London all started looking,
We soon got a great reputation.
We won a Time Out Love London Award,
Michel Roux Jr. loved us, well, we were floored,
First London, next, the whole of this nation!

Our darling was then vandalised,
The three of us all cried and cried,
We boarded her up, battened each hatch,
Prepared our beautiful girl for dispatch,
Blink, and you’d find that our bird had flown,
We moved her to somewhere completely unknown.


Then thinking about it 24/7,
We decided to find our patch of heaven,
So moved lock, stock and barrel,
And all chef’s apparel,
And relocated to Witheridge, Devon.
La Petite Bouchee in a nut shell,
Her charisma makes you fall under her spell,
You can eat quietly or mingle, your tastebuds will tingle ,
Wow yourself, friends and family as well!
© Caro Field August 2017

Anita-Clare

I was so hurt when I met you that day,

I’d been battered and bruised, well, what can I say?

Without you, my world would he dark and grey.

You are essential to my DNA. 

You’re life, you’re love, you’re the Fourth of July,

of July,

You’re the best present that money could buy, 

There’s a bar to reach and you set it high,

You know me, I’ll always give it a try. 

There’s more than love in your bones, Anita-Clare, 

There’s skill, strength and passion for you to share,

And generosity you have to spare,

Try to deny it, my love, if you dare. 

We’ve both made mistakes, but they’re in the past,  

A tentative start, but our love will last, 

You are my rock and I’m holding so fast, 

If I am a schooner, you are my mast. 

I just don’t deserve you, I know that thus far,

You’re not a tea pot, you’re MY samovar,

You’re not a planet, you ARE my North Star,

You are my miracle, that’s what you are.

© Caro Field August 2017 

 

 

Home

A perfect house, four square in its plot,

Built many years ago, with love.

Formerly, a butchery,

Well-known to locals, Touts, Citroen van parked

In front of it,

Welcoming

All to

Home.

© Caro Field August 2017

David Palmer introduced me to the Nonet, which counts syllables per line but there is no required rhyme format. It’s structure is as follows:
9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 

Headdesk 

Allow me here to interject, 

At the very least well, to suspect, 

This, to me, is a crass subject, 

It’s headdesk. 

This just adds to my frustration, 

And leads to mass exasperation, 

Aggravates the situation, 

It’s headdesk. 

Why d’you think that I’m so mad? 

It’s because everything’s so bad,

I kinda feel like I’ve been had, 

It’s headdesk. 

Why so damn gleeful, why so glib? 

Why do you feel the need to fib? 

I swear you learned it in the crib!

You’re headdesk. 

© Caro Field July 2017

Image courtesy : +alh777
David Palmer introduced me to the Kyrielle this French poetic form, which I love and have taken to heart. 

It consists of several quatrains (groups of four lines) written in an aaab aaab aaab aaab format. The “b” line in each quatrain is the refrain or repeated line that can vary slightly from stanza to stanza

Headdesk = an expression of frustration, or exasperation 

Mrs Field

I simply never, never knew, 

Someone with virtues quite like you,  

You arrived, set my world askew, 

You’re the other half of my soul. 

When I met you, I laughed with joy,  

All my wiles I had to deploy, 

And every charm I then employed, 

To snare your sweet part of my soul.  

All you do is done with such grace,     

You’re quicksilver, you move apace, 

With a winning smile on your face, 

Oh, the matching part of my soul. 

I love you my darling, I do, 

Because there’s simply none like you, 

I knew that I had to pursue,

The missing part of my soul. 

© Caro Field July 2017

The Clock Strikes Seven

The carriage clock strikes seven,  

And the whole world begins to change, 

If home was not thought of by eleven, 

Everything would rearrange,  
There’s magic afoot tonight. 

The humble pumpkin became 

An exquisite, elegant carriage, 

Mouse footmen then found fame, 

A strange, eclectic marriage, 

There’s magic afoot tonight.  
And, tell me, what of Cinders? 

She really brushed up well, 

But its the clock that truly hinders 

When caught under a sleeping spell, 

There’s magic afoot tonight. . 
The black widow weaves 

An intricate web, 

No chance act she leaves,

She wants Cinders found dead, 

There’s magic afoot tonight. 
But what she forgets, 

Is love conquers all, 

Miss Otis regrets, 

Beauty will always enthral, 

There IS magic afoot tonight. 
It takes but a kiss, 

And the spell dissolves,  

All that’s left is bliss, 

Their ;story resolves, 

There’s magic afoot tonight. 

© Caro Field July 2017

Love Of My Life Parts I-IV

This is an extended declaration of my love for my wife, Anita Clare Field.

I met the love of my life on line,

I felt loved, sexy and so sublime, 

Each virtue she hits; I love her to bits,

Our future looks rosy and divine. 
With hers, my passions and thinking fits, 

We both despise all the hypocrites, 

We aim for the stars, believing they’re ours,

And any opposition submits. 
From our pasts, we both have many scars, 

We’ve both drawn on such deep reservoirs, 

We’ve triumphed, won, found our place in the sun, 

In a sense, we’re our own avatars. 
My darling, our lives have just begun, 

We’ve a glorious future to run, 

We can celebrate, it’s going to be great,

It’s a challenge, but boy, is it fun! 
© Caro Field July 2017

Wedding photo credited to Anna Kunst
David Palmer further challenged me to make my Gwawdodyn into a chain, by following the same principle and so having four more lines in the following syllable lengths: 9 – 9 – 10 – 9 with lines 1, 2 and 4 all rhyming but line 3 rhyming with itself but then taking my rhyme scheme from line 3 and making that that the template for lines l, 2, and 4 of the next stanza …here goes!

Love Of My Life Parts I-IV 

Love Of My Life

David Palmer introduced me to a Welsh poem, the Gwawdodyn, that consists of four lines in the following syllable lengths9 – 9 – 10 – 9 

Lines 1, 2 and 4 all rhyme. Line 3 with itself. 

My beautiful mother-in-law, Joan, was so proud of her Welsh roots, so this poem honours her but above all, it is written for my amazing wife, Anita-Clare Field. I am so, so proud to be married to you. 

Love Of My Life

I met the love of my life on line, 

I felt loved, sexy and so sublime, 

Each virtue she hits; I love her to bits,

Our future looks rosy and divine. 

© Caro Field July 2017

Soliloquy

A soliloquy’s almost like thinking out loud,

How you feel at that moment, your hopes and fears,

And you talk to yourself, although in a crowd,

And your dilemma imperceptibly starts to appear.

Shakespeare used it with consummate ease,

As a means to reveal or accelerate plot,

He used it to inform, elucidate, tease,

The question is “Are you?” or “Are you not?” *

[*To be, or not to be, that is the question.”]

© Caro Field July 2017
https://plus.google.com/photos/photo/117666142163490376405/6444117534518191970?iem=4&gpawv=1&hl=en-GB

Midsummer Cloud

We had rented the villa

Back in the Spring,

It was painted vanilla,

It kinda had ‘bling’. 

It was high Summer,

When we arrived,

The trip there was a bummer,

It was a very long drive.

The building, imposing,

Sat four square in its plot,

Smaller flats juxtaposing,

Magnified it a lot.

And yet, towering above it

Was a giant cloud,bank,

And I have to admit

That the building shrank. 

Like giant, white pillows,

It spread over the sky,

Like a wave surges and billows,

As wide as it was high.

© Caro Field July 2017

Photo credit: +Malay Nandy

https://plus.google.com/photos/photo/101638056787085783036/6443672295540310706?icm=false&sqid=115643641182595311608&ssid=72be7bb2-e8af-4722-bc1e-627ce6ddac2d