For the Love of Soup

Not soup, exactly. But not poetry, either.

Further to an earlier post (here) in which I reported having deleted my contribution to the ever expanding genre of erotic soup poetry (here) I now discover that Chel did not. So here it is …

Soup fetishists, as you probably know, in order to combat the gallons of liquid calories that they consume during gastronomic orgies, prefer poetry that makes them physically ill. I might include this work in my yet to be published anthology ‘Songs of Love and Bulimia (vol III)’.



that I scoop out of the entrails of our love

the little bits of pre-digested passion
that fall like manna from above

and into the tureen. obscene in a fashion
our love that travelled the universe like a comet

with all the colours of a parrot

oh, wait. that’s vomit

and I think I see a bit of carrot

floating around in there


with the noodles and oodles of emotion

providing the notion

to express

like milk from the breast

all the best,
to us

with love



8 thoughts on “For the Love of Soup

  1. What the heck is that a picture of? 😀 It goes really well with the poem. I love, “Like milk from the breast, all the best!” The whole ending is hilarious. And the noodles and oodles of emotion! 😀 It does turn my stomach a bit, though!


      1. Uh, less hygienic times a million! This is a thing?! Who knew? Wow, you learn something new every day. I wouldn’t eat the grapes. That could just be me. 😀


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