Best Petticoat Poems


Premium Member Potpourri

This potpourri is a redolent of our sweet memories
When you and I happily shared our love under those deciduous trees
Those fragrant petals and autumn leaves were gathered  for you to keep
Bear in mind that my love for you will never fade; but, it’ll run so deep.

You will always be in my thoughts while I’m away
When I’m in the battlefield, you’ll always be in my heart to stay
You’ll be the source of my valor, strength  and hope to be alive
You’re the only reason why I always dream to survive.

I’ll always remember those blissful moments when I’m with you
You always prepare my breakfast - one of the sweetest things you do
In our dining room, before you serve the meal for me
Center table is adorned with our sweet potpourri.

Oh, how lovely to see you one morning upon waking up
Your  beauty I adore is celebrated outside in musical chirrups
In your beige hat, nice dress in billowing skirt with petticoat you wear
With your sister, those sweet potpourri – you lovingly share

Dining room was entirely filled with a morning grace
When sunshine peeps through  the window pane, I see a glow on your face
An enlightenment I feel, for I know your melancholy soon to vanish
When the curtains wave, I’m here my love -- don’t feel any anguish.

The picture  of you, I paint  it enormously in my mind and heart
When the sky dims, it will be my only hope to look at
As every bit of tiny leaves and petals dispel their fragrance into the air
Inhale and feel deep in your heart my everlasting love and care.

June 9, 2013   5. 10pm





Note: 
This is a poem dedicated to George Dunlop Leslie. He is really one of the  great painters. I admire him and I’m so impressed with his awesome paintings. I thank our dear friend, Isaiah for sharing him with us /me and his  works.  He truly inspired me to write this poem especially by one of his paintings, Potpourri.  I imagined myself as the lady on his painting. i: )))))


First Place
Contest: Any Poem Goes
Judged: 6/19/13
Sponsor: Poet Skat


Second Place
Contest: George Dunlop Leslie  (Choose a title from one of his paintings)
Judged: 6/17/13
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
© Len Gasun  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Yesterday’s Wishes

Back when girlish daydreams 
rode the ether like coal-glowy-clouds
my featly feet kept a beat in spring grass 
as I flounced with Romany winds—
breezy-gypsy-lips brushed my cheek 
as I whirled in his imaginary arms
‘til I fell over on pillows of clover…  
white fields of clover did pillow my dreams
as slow-motion-cumulus shape-shifted 
into what I wanted to see

I found you where you stood   
a wizard-well made of stone
there you sang   
your mouth O-pen 
like the eye-of-the-storm 
and oh— with fluent depth 
your slippery rime beguiled my mind

June wind—  a flowy fifer  
blew across your rounded rim—
folksy-fife twisted petticoat heartstrings… 
my wishes stitched  my seams bewitched
—hopes bloomed 
like soft-stemmed peonies twined 
by choke-hold-vines 

in the season before my summer solstice 
when skirt-pleats still hid shy knees
how was I to know 
wishing for lambs from edelweiss
was as fictive as sugarcane unicorns
so I dared not damage the magic 
with doubt’s dent
as I cast blindfolded coins 
weighed down with cinder-block-hope 
in fealty to a wishing-well deity 
who made ethereal echoes of my name
—yet callous your schemes pitching dreams 
as empty now as this fool but for my shame 

back then life was unmapped—until clover fields 
became sneak-away-streets paved with your name 
where remains of yesterday’s wishes lay 
like burned-out cars along couldn’t-care-less curbs

Premium Member A Fish Lass Lament

Along the harbor shores at Gammel Strand
where other costumed fishwives ply their trade,
I trudge along the cobbled Danish dock
and barter with the catch to earn my pay.
My voice is harsh and roughened by the chore,
when once my petticoat was pink and lace,
yet now it reeks of fish and nothing more
while wind and sun is drawn upon my face.
But here, within, I'm still a princess bride,
whose dreams anew float on the evening tide,
yet start awake and washed with mornings ebb -
another day to wear a calloused pride...
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member Cabin In the Forest

The year was 1680 and I was travelling,
            I sat in the carriage looking out the window;
The coachman was driving the horses quickly,
      As a storm was approaching us from behind.
Thunder was booming and rolled over the forest,
            Already raindrops were falling on the glass;
The sky was overcast with dark shifting clouds,
      And everything was getting dull and gloomy.
This road was so deserted and remote from civilization,
            I must admit that I was afraid.

Suddenly the carriage lurched and was falling over,
            It bounced through the foliage, twisting and turning;
And then it stopped and all was quiet and still,
      The coachman was dead and the horses also.
Struggling, I managed to climb back up to the road,
            My corseted body, full overskirt of pink satin;
And parchment petticoat unsuitable for climbing,
      The bun on my head loosened and my hair fell.
Oh dear, it was so dark and misty on the road ahead.
            But I started to walk in the inkiness.

The forest around me was pitch black and frightening,
            But there, through the trees a light was burning;
The rain was coming down in torrents that blinded me,
      As I stumbled forward through the tangled trees.
A wood cabin was hidden in green lush vegetation,
            It looked so secluded and isolated and lonely;
But I found myself banging on the door loudly,
      As sheets of rain poured on me from up above.
And then the door slowly opened and light spilled out,
            And I stood there dripping wet, and . . . . 

________________________
August 22, 2015

Poetry/Narrative/Cabin in the Forest
Copyright Protected, ID 15-702-939-0
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym.
Form: Narrative

The 60s

American Bandstand, Aqua Velva Ads, Aretha Franklin, and, the Andy Griffith Show
Black lights, Bewitched, bean bag chairs, beads, Batman and the Beatles
Cleopatra, Corvairs, Corvettes, Chevelles, Captain Kangaroo, Civil Rights Movement
Dionne Warwick, Derek and the Dominoes, Dennis the Menace, and Dodge Dart.
Ed Sullivan’s Amateur Hour, Elvis Presley, the Edsel, and new expressions emerge.
Fiddler on the Roof , Flower Power painted vans, Free love, Fiber optic lights, 
Giget, Green Acres, Glen Campbell, Gun Smoke, Go-Go Boots, “Go with the flow!”
Hello Dolly, Have Gun Will Travel,and the Hippie Movement begin...“Hang Ten”
Imperial (the car), I dream of Jeanie, and new phrases  “In your face” crop up.
JFK youngest U.S. President, and Jackie Kennedy stylish First Lady,
Kennedy was assassinated and the nation mourned the loss of their young leader.
Lamborghini 350 GT, Lava Lamps, Lady and the Tramp, Lost in Space, Lassie
Mousekateers, mini-skirts, mobiles, macramé plant hangars, Mash, The Monkeys,
Nissan Skyline GT-R, Nash Metropolitan, and Nestles’ Nestle were signs of the times.
Ordinary people seek peace during the years of war and social change of the 60s.
Pillsbury Doughboy, Petticoat Junction,and Peter, Paul, and Mary, placate.
Queen for the Day TV show, bring a fantasy escape during radically changing times.
Rabbit ear antennas for TV shows: Route 66, and Rowan and Martin’s Laugh- In.
Sherri Lewis and Lamb Chop, Shake and Bake, and the sexual revolution start.
Twist to The Four Tops, The Flintstones,The Adam’s Family, The Twilight Zone.  
“Up your nose with a rubber hose” and similar expressions are the times’ lingo.
Valley of the Dolls, Volkswagon Karmann Ghia, and Vanilla Fudge, gain popularity.
Wonderful World of Disney, Vietnam War, protests, and “Groovy” words crop up.
Xenoglossia emerges; “Make love, not war,” “Far out,”  “Catch you on the flip-side.”
Yonderly Vietnam Veterans return home to social unrest without a hero’s honor.
Zanadu dances around in the minds of the partakers; religion is legal, not marijuana.

Copyright March 7, 2015 
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: The Decades
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler

Birth of Bonnie Blue

"Why that ain't nothing but my red petticoat that you done bought me Mr. Rhett." mammy 
says after he ask her what the rustling sound is he hears under her skirt.  "Let me see!" he 
says. Then she pulls her skirt up a little and shows him. Then mammy says, "Mr. Rhett you is 
bad!"  Rhett says, "Well it took you long enough to wear it!"  She says, "Yes sir I know, and 
I'm sorry about that."  Rhett ask if she still thinks they're mules and then mammy says, "Mr. 
Rhett, Miss Scarlett shouldn't have told you that. You ain't gonna hold that against old 
mammy is ye?"  Then he ask her to have a drink with him to celebrate the birth of his 
daughter, Bonnie Blue.


My favorite scene in a movie "Gone With the Wind"
Hattie McDaniel as Mammy and Clark Gable as Rhett Butler
*2nd place winner in Frank Herrera's contest for favorite scene in a movie.


Delightful Disorder

A sweet disorder in the dress kindles
In clothes a wantonness; a stole about
The shoulders thrown, a fine distraction; an
ErrIng Lace, which here and there enthralls the
Crimson Vest; a cuff neglectful, ribbons
Flow confusedly: a winning wave (note)
In the tempestuous petticoat: a 
Careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a
Wild civility: does more bewitch me, 
Than Art when too precise in ev'ry part.

Premium Member 50's and 60's Weird Tv On Channel Three - Part 3

 Continued from Part 2 


Some kid is spraying Clearasil,
He wants to make his pimples nil;
He paints his breath with chlorophyll;
I’m in the dream of someone ill

I’m fleeing but I feel a goose,
Behind me grins a guy named Bruce,
His velvet miniskirt is puce
Why can’t I even call a truce?

There’s Billy Graham on a binge
His holy words do make me cringe;
If nonsense were a door with fringe
Then Billy Graham would be the hinge

I hear some Wallace words unkind
How has our race so soon declined?
His thoughts should be in sheit enshrined;
Thank god my eyes are color blind

The Beverly Hillbillys pace the street
The crowds are lying at their feet
While Petticoat Junction joins the fleet
And Green Acres makes it complete

I guess I know that something’s wrong
I haven’t yet met old King Kong,
They say ‘he went back to Hong Kong
For that is where he do belong’

Now I’m pausing in the gloom
And watch the reruns they exhume
They still do stink, I smell the fume;
To run away I must resume

Here comes Mitch, he’s singing songs
While Lawrence Welk, he beats the gongs;
I need to buy some racing thongs,
Instead they sell me three Ding Dongs

Behind me now there grows a tree
While Howdy Doody bends his knee;
I haven’t lost my sanity,
I’m merely tuned to Channel Three

 End
Form: Rhyme

Gone Are the Days

Remember Petticoat Junction?
Perhaps Green Acres too?
I Love Lucy and Carol Burnett,
Just for a laugh or two?

Dick Van Dyke and The Munsters,
Back when the "tube" was fun;
Doris Day and Love That Bob,
Don't forget The Flying Nun

Maxwell Smart was an agent,
We all knew Uncle Jed;
Hazel was that clever maid,
It's sad how comedy's fled

The Honeymooner's over,
F Troop's down to zero;
The Beaver's long forgotten,
While Hogan's lost his heroes

Gilligan's left the island,
A Jeannie no longer dreams;
Car 54, where are you?
At times, I wanna scream!

Andy was a country boy,
Gomer, a seargent's pest;
Who made room for daddy?
Don't fathers know what's best?!

Maynard shaved the goatee,
Mister Ed's lost his voice;
My Three Sons are missing,
Ozzie and Harriet had no choice

McHale can't find his navy,
The Addams flown away;
A Martian ain't so favorite,
Our Laugh In's gone astray

Primetime's lost its essence,
Laughter is a con man's game;
A Family Affair's in mourning,
Is the "new age" ours to blame?
Form: Quatrain

Premium Member Argus - and the Lady

Time was ticking away as I stumbled in the rain,
            My carriage was in a ravine, the coachman dead;
Oh the beautiful horses with their broken necks,
      I followed a light until I was knocking on a door.
Sheets of rain poured down on me from up above,
             Slowly the door opened as I stood dripping;
I fainted and I was lost in a sometime world.
      Slipping into an inky, dark, fathomless void.

Blowin' free in a dreamy, lovely, drifting place,
            As gentle hands removed my dress and petticoat;
Then I felt my corset and undergarments being taken,
      I really should protest, after all I was a lady of 1680.
For days in delirium, I heard myself softly muttering,
            The king will come, the king will come, the king;
I lay on a soft bed of furs before a blazing fireplace,
      The forest green with leaf and stream in the wild.

The warrior Argus tended to me for many, many days,
            He had found the carriage and buried the dead;
She is beautiful, he thought with growing sweet love,
      And then one bright dawn I opened my eyes.
Looking down at me was the most handsome man,
            And I was shamelessly aware of my nakedness;
I should be screaming was my first reaction in reality,
      Then the King's Guard was breaking down the door.

And I loudly yelled, "throw down the swords!"


____________________
August 25, 2015

Poetry/Narrative/Argus- and the Lady
Copyright Protected, ID 15-703-650-0
All Rights Reserved.  Written under Pseudonym.

Written for the contest, Album Tracks
sponsor, James Fraser

Ninth Place
Form: Narrative

Premium Member Mauve Picks a Winner

Spindly stretching brambles rebel from main form
    Amused bending stems eject spikes of rhino horn
    Thorns barely a repellent for birds resourceful
    Tweezer glowing twilight globe, a bitter morsel


    Fresh field alien green cone births berry's infant
    Chantilly lace pale pink petticoat wraps nymphet 
    Confetti celebratory moult bulges her fertility 
    Eighty protruding bulbs shiver in vulnerability 


    Stern season carousel chastens scanty branches
    Snow swallow, boggy terrain new tepid attaches
    Saw edge foliage unfold, twitching fox ears
    Clusters encombour limbs, absinthe adheres


    Florid flocks tossle, augment midnight family babble 
    Morning dew melt sapor stains fingers which dabble
    Outcast tongue teaser, lumpy rubber cleaved
    Mauve motivate jaunty juice, mouth received



                  9th August 2022

                Written for Contest:
            Thoughts on Blackberries
                     Sponsor:
                    Matt Caliri
Form: Couplet

Moronika


Moronika ... 
there are whispers a-floating
People say you got a low wattage bulb,
your thoughts be dimly glowing
The ideas you think of
covers a lot of six-year-old territory
Temper tantrums are your cake-and-ice cream first love,
pineapple upside down behavior cherries
Moronika ... 
rumors are spreading, spreading around
Tabloid talk of the town,
enquiring minds hear tell you’re a moron
Insult that stings like angry bees,
got you buzzing madder than a wounded Klingon
Bruised pride hurts a lot indeed,
no loyalty serpentine bites from seditious peons
Moronika ... 
intelligence suggest three cans missing in your six-pack
Empty top-shelf drawers,
half-pint wit in a ten-gallon size zeppelin wide hat
Living in a mansion of fun house mirrors,
reflections of yourself are so distorted
The blank television picture is getting clearer — 
uptight smarty pants fitting over a loose petticoat Id
Moronika ... 
got dense popcorn thoughts 
that never puffed
Moronika ... 
the whispers are a-floating:
the twin air quote balloons you bought
were helium dumb and dumber

Premium Member Bonanza Night

The shows I watched when young were black and white.
About five channels came on day and night. 
The Beaver, Opie, Jeanie, Flying Nun
were characters I liked both good and fun.

Shows of humor sometimes missed their function;
one like that for sure was “Petticoat Junction.”
But “Laugh-In,” “Lucy,” and “Bewitched” were cool;
“Three Stooges” I rushed home for after school.

“Lassie” for the kiddies, “Rifleman” for dad,
“The Man From U.N.C.L.E” for us all, a 60’s fad.
By standards of today, those shows were tame.
The raciest perhaps was “The Dating Game!”

One genius fat guy, Hitchcock, gave a thrill
with horror tales. I like those re-runs still!
But there’s one 60s TV  show that I
recall the best; I’ll finish telling why!

“Bonanza,” broadcast Sundays, was the one
for romance, drama, and great family fun,
for on the Ponderosa lived wise Ben
and his three sons, well-off but simple men.

The chubby one named Hoss was kind of sweet.
The oldest, Adam, I found really neat!
Little Joe, whom we girls would like to marry,
later moved to “Little House on the Prairie!”

It may not have been best of old TV,
but it was sure a cherished show for me
because it came each Sunday night at eight,
a special time so great I could not wait!

My mom and dad and we eight kids would sit
together happily enjoying it.
Before the show began my mom would pop
a huge pan full of popcorn, butter on top.

Each time commercials came, we’d dip a bowl
of ours into that pan; I’d get so full
for I’d eat eight or ten small bowls of it.
Once I begin with popcorn, I can’t quit!

This was the family custom I lived for
since television and food I both adore.
It was the night we all together sat
enthralled, and there’s not much that can beat that!


Written by Andrea Dietrich
(I have too many today to name TV favorites but I really
think "Bonanza" has to be my favorite from my childhood!)

For Michael J. Falotico's  "Ryhme Me An Old TV SHow.... Poetry Contest"
Form: Rhyme

I Should Go To Bed

It's late at night and I am yawning.
Not a good time for a poem to be spawning.
But never the less, I'm going to try.
No matter how much I ask myself why.

DVR timer just switched off my show.
What the hell was I watching, I don't know.
If you are still reading, I apologize.
I gotta tell ya', it might not be wise.

Anyway, there are a few stanza's left.
Though this is daft, I hope I am deft.
But I have my doubts that it will turn out.
Say, do you remember Petticoat Junctions Selma Plout?

Well, let me try to bring this to a close.
Oh, I apologize, I started to doze.
My entire body is falling asleep.
I guess any more lines will just have to keep.

Good Night.
Form: Rhyme

Moon Dance

A coy moon glides in a lively 
Viennese waltz
Across a sky of billowing 
petticoat clouds 
A flowing, triple time, closed 
step, pausing halt. 
A ballerina basking in the glow 
of appreciative crowds.
© Joe Murphy  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Couplet

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