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Best Poems Written by Brian J Potter

Below are the all-time best Brian J Potter poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

Orange In My Pocket

When I arrived I brought with me
an orange in my pocket
it warmed me nearly, as my girl
her picture in my locket
providing me security
like Linus and his blanket
it cleansed me of my awkwardness
its scent wafted about
helping me to feel at peace
once I took it out
its orange glow provided strength
in a chilly world
just like the warmth I felt
back home with my girl
it transformed my imagining
dead trees came to life
the fruit it bared
that I held dear
I gave it to my wife
a chance to strive
our drama free from strife
red is fine, yellow too
it's better when they meet
blending in a fruitful whirl
my girl is orange sweet

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

Beard

I once sported a manly beard,
a beastly beard had I.
But then on the farm, at the crack of dawn,
while my lady cheered,
she chopped it off, and while the cows mockingly mooed,
I quietly cried.
And with that, a little something inside of me died.

I would venture to guess it was my manly pride.

She brushed and whispered into my tickled ear
"Brian, how I pined for your lovely face,
and your youthful countenance.
You don't need a mane to rival a lion in ferocity
-you're sensitive and wise,
I can see it in your eyes,
and your words they always seem to make sense."
Who was I to debate with her?
Her words would lose weight
if I failed to concur.

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

I'm Just A Brick


I’m a brick and oh so lonely,
sitting here a hundred years.
Dry as dirt…oh if only
I could shed a single tear.
Here’s my story, forty stories,
up way high above the ground.
To the left and to the right,
looking up or looking down,
all the bricks are just like me,
an ocean of monotony.
Yes, we share, but we don’t talk
about the life here on our block.
Two years past, I fell from this wall,
and preyed someone would miss me.
But whether below,
or returned- way up here,
I knew no one would kiss me.
Birds above are everywhere,
people below hold hands and walk.
My life though,
all take for granted, sitting here
day after day.
If my life was more enchanted,
I’d gladly be a brick who’d say:
“I’m a brick, a happy brick, 
happy to be where I stay.”

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

Concrete

The city above us reaches higher and higher
tipped at the top in all its glory with
iconic, prickly, spires,
as long as air rights permit it.
Build, tear down, rebuild, as the wheels below spin round
in sync with the people who dream,
and the unbridled greed.
Sidewalks, though, remain the same,
i.e., concrete
-people come here to compete,
and they prefer the ground
static, unforgiving and mundane
-the cracks house stunted plants,
squat down low, you might see 
ants- too.
People are ants when you are on the 100th floor,
and disappear if you go high enough, or if you forget them.
Back on the ground you
might notice concrete, light grey,
doesn’t hide dirt well, but people barely care
-would you continually step
on a light-colored shirt?
and furthermore, is a visual foil to a 
galaxy of flattened gum wads, 
jet black- gum wads that remind me of opaque black holes
up above the sky.
There are innumerable pebbles too,
studding the walkways largely unaccounted for
by the naked eye. We grid our concrete like
we grid the city -the geometric dividing lines
are narrow spaces like mini streets
-if we are Godzillas, then OCD Godzillas
avoid these streets, but if trying to catch
a bus, that all goes out the window.
Concrete’s biggest foe may be jackhammers
-shuddering in their presence, succumbing
to brute, deafening force -a staccato berating
beat, like an amplified version of the concrete
pounding of feet, of people and pets,
or an even more amplified version of the
gentle tapping of grounded pigeons.

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

I'm Just a Brick

I'm a brick and oh so lonely,
sitting here a hundred years.
Dry as dirt...oh if only
I could shed a single tear.
Here's my story, forty stories,
up way high above the ground.
To the left and to the right,
looking up and looking down,
all the bricks are just like me,
an ocean of monotony.
Yes, we share, but we don't talk
about the life here on our block.
Two years past, I fell from this wall,
and preyed someone would miss me.
But whether below,
or returned- way up here,
I knew no one would kiss me.
Birds above are everywhere,
people below hold hands and walk.
My life though,
all take for granted, sitting here
day after day.
If my life was more enchanted,
I’d gladly be a brick who’d say:
“I’m a brick, a happy brick, 
happy to be where I stay.”

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

How Odd

A pretty flower solitary in an abandoned field of endless weeds
-unpicked by a weed lover, who is unfaithful.
A long zigzagging crack on a ruined wall
containing pockets of moss green moss,
glistening, and glossy
-harboring a colorblind emerald green lizard
unseen by the uninquisitive.
A nest way, way up high- consisting of tangled twigs picked from the dirt
-touching the sky
-empty and forgotten and yet revisited.
An unwitting cow covered by an enormous brown spot
that wraps around it with edges that barely touch on the other side.
A two headed snake that pops up on the internet, hissing.
A tiny hard to define bug upon your monitor screen
-just out of reach, that might in fact be an eye floater, which bugs you.
A cat and dog ying yanging purrfectly, forming an absolutely perfect sphere, that rolls.
An inside out fish tank with…yes you trapped in the center,
with a limited supply of oxygen.
A dead tree bough on a thriving tree.
A thriving tree planted in dead soil.
Dead soil on a thriving planet.
A wind that blows back against a breeze- and a breeze that blows back in turn,
and then out of turn.
Leaves bearing the brunt of the confusion.
Anomalies each… I have seen.

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

The Fam

Mu uncle Franklin
was a pro wrestler.
He lit up a room
like Nikola Tesla.

My aunt Judy
was a cake maker.
Her cakes were tall
like an LA Laker.

My brother Steve
played video games
-until my mom Kate
called him names.

Kate, to her credit
was a fine, fine artist.
But with brains, forget it.
I am the smartest.

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

On Point

Pith is pithier than pithy
-it’s not a question of if.
You know atoms are tiny
when you get at ‘em.
Sometimes they’re the point.
Meanings have layers
like lasagna.
Two or three should suffice.
Any more is a little less nice.
Less is more is the better
advice.
But I sense I said that twice.
Lasagna and spaghetti
go to together like a Yeti
and Big Foot.
So maybe skip the spaghetti.
Are you aiming to have a carb overload?
You better avoid that road.
I like little feet as opposed to a big foot
-they’re tinier.
More minor.
Less dimensional.
They can be on point
-and that’s plane to see.
I could say more but I don’t see
the point,
in that case.

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

Just Below The Harlem River

Life is quite good
-indoors in Inwood.
It’s uptown Manhattan
at the northern tip
-the northern tip is
the tippity-top,
where the kitty cat 
Calvin loathes to stop 
-cat napping.
Curled in a chair
100 paws from
the door…
clawless paws curled
and inert.
Licked immaculately 
clean of dirt.
Perfectly content
to go nowhere,
or at most a stone’s throw away.
“Everything’s here,
I’m in NYC”, he mused.
“If I get bored
I’ll watch the news,
or read the New York Post,
and the deli downstairs
does a pretty good job
with a Denver Omelet
and whole wheat toast.
The Bronx is a pitter
patter away, just in case
I want to stray.
I checked the map
(there’s a little bridge)
but for now, this chair is
where I’ll stay,
and take a kitty 
cat nap…
all day.”

Details | Brian J Potter Poem

I Think

I think 
that I will ink in
my drawing of a pink
flamingo, and as the ink 
sinks
into the page,
the flamingo is born.

Then I colored in a unicorn
I had outlined already.
But this time around my palette was rainbow.
Maybe a little LGBTQ+, etc.
-or just cute.
And he flew off
the page.

Henceforth, I shaded in
an allegator
that had waded into shore.
He had been
just a doodle before.
But now that he was complete,
he reminded me of
a dinosaur.
And then he sunk back into the water,
and swam away and like a dinosaur
was seen no more.