Long Portmanteau Poems
Long Portmanteau Poems. Below are the most popular long Portmanteau by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Portmanteau poems by poem length and keyword.
Do you mind
If I share a dialogue?
My chalice of truth and reality
Is far too full to contain the depths of my soul
A chalice of roads trod, rivers crossed, and mountains climbed
Bearing a brew too overpowering and juxtaposed
To consume in solitude
Come share in my abundance
Lest I overflow.
Do you mind
If I share a smile
The sun in my face
Reflects the sun on a topaz sky
Reflects the gurgle of a newborn
Reflects the grace of the cotton-tailed hare
As does the sun
The joy of a friend
The harvest of effort
The awakening from a dream to a dream-filled reality
Creates a warming hearth within me
A hearth that comforts but never burns
Come bask in my warmth
Lest I grow cold.
Do you mind
If I share a tear?
My portmanteau is heavy-laden
With the tears of grief, fear, and shame
Tears of my own vulnerability
Tears of distrust
Tears of surveying the parlor of felicity
But an unidentified hand holding me back
Preventing me from entering
Tears from screaming for help at those in that parlor
Until my voice is bereft of speech
Yet no one even notices
Tears at believing that even God has turned a deaf ear
Tears at saying farewell to loved ones all too soon
And forever accosted by enemies and naysayers
Tears at the eternal thunderstorms
Thunderclaps that ascertain that misfortune is imminent
Crystal balls of hail that smash all goodness into oblivion
And floods that wash away all signs of its existence
My salt-caked, drenched burden
Has increasingly become overwhelmed
Come help to relieve it of this liquid sorrow
Before I explode.
Do you mind
If I share a hope?
For as long as there is
Air in my lungs
Ink in my pen
Paper on my desk
And a God in Heaven
There is hope.
Hope, like a new spring
With the budding of daffodils
The sprouting of leaves
And the melting of the remnants of a cruel season gratefully forgotten
Hope, like the comforting embrace of a friend
The respect of an opponent
And the support of ones with nothing material to gain
Hope, like a holy dove
Begs us to acknowledge it
And the leafy message it brings
That life can be beautiful
As beautiful as we make it
Come nurture hope with me
To keep it alive.
.
ohhh
meyne waited
yes yes
ohhh yesss
(the bard praises hiz God)
the promise uv love
uv love
mine tender grip
ourn treasure
yourn diaphanous dowry
mine chest
ourn phuk'n love
there'z not the diamond
you'd need wish for
you'll be too busy
with phuk'n
lovez
*"phuk": explosive
exploded
spark sound
et cetera et phuk'n cetra
*"Meyne":my portmanteau for
'my eyne' :)
*Sunday'z testimony ')
Democracy is a portmanteau word
People in power, it’s well understood
The power is huge, and the people are not
They give power to a few who sound good
And those representatives are ruling class
They don’t smell like “demos” at all
But they like to be chosen by them, or by us
As democracy fable is told
But there is a sweet paradox I discovered
The assortment of those who campaign
Can’t recognize that it’s people in power
Because ruling’s an elitist game
Plain people aren’t very ‘elite’, to be frank
It’s believed they are not that refined
So what it boils down to is the front rank
Of the very top people aligned
But do you believe it? I doubt if you can
Considering what’s on the list
And what is prepared for us by those men
Looks not too enticing, at least.
He exited the train carrying a luxurious
portmanteau
Walking with a BODACIOUS strut
exuding an air
which swept away the SMOG
Just CHILLAXING 'pon the bench
she watched ___
He approached the ticket master
letting SNARK sayings flow from his narcissitic persona
A lovely lady dressed to the hilt
sashayed
Across the cobbled train yard
Displaying an air of refined richness
Which adorned her every move
Rich in wordly goods and in social grace
He only had the appearance of riches
Not a cent to his name
Definitely lacking in social graces, arrogance was his game
But could he do magic
And TOMFOOLERY everyone
Across the cobbled train yard with his eyes on the prize
He fell ASPRAWLING entangled in a slight crack in the neat cobblestones
Prostrate upon the cobblestone with verbage of a sailor flowing from his lips
The cheap imitation leather ripped from his
portmanteau
Here lies a man humbled by a fall
Finis'
Portmanteau has two meanings and the first is a suitcase..The second
combinating two words
Tomfoolery--tom/fool--tom a common man and we all know what fool means
Asprawl--a/sprawl...self explanatory
Chillaxing--chill/relaxing
Smog--Smoke/fog
Snark--snide/remark
bodaciouos--bold/audacious..bold/ brazen
sashay not a portmanteau means to glide move..The dictionary said it would
be unknown to most English speaking people..
Oh spite, oh hell – to the Hell in my own name too!
The hell in love, the hell in romance, the hell of all men!
He being in my name as well of course… as if I’m made of men!
Do they control me? Na… funnily enough the sound of
my name’s conclusion… and what (no doubt) a modern man
would say at my fawning
Aside: What Demetrius feels about me without love’s potion.
for them. My name; partly made up of them all -
Hel e na.
He created me.
Created my name.
This man who shook history, shakes the
vast fields of stages still: created language,
created insults and idioms, created footlickers
and scullions and loons.
Aside: What Demetrius calls me, no doubt.
What if though, we were thrown into modern day -
we four tangled lovers? Our forest now a cobbled
city street, our names a hashtag or blend or
portmanteau of #Demena or #Hermander…
Aside: or #paintedmaypolegetsherman
…how my old Bard would laugh and
we would be his self-coined ‘laughing stock’.
I’ve been in ink and upon folio paper. Aloft a stage
and before groundlings: photographed on set, reviewed in
magazines, photoshopped
Aside: False imitation! Spurious image!
for internet trolls - a word
with a very different meaning to the faeries I’ve met.
How language adapts! But what, pray tell, stays?
Intrigue. Love. Summer seasons and shows,
his words, his characters - us and you and your
interest in him: a roundel we return to even
in his words we unknowingly use…
I should know of course… He made me after all…
Hel e na…
and you, in your hands and seats and voices,
still make me feel that same love and spite and Hell.
Neither of us are likely to be forgotten soon…
na.
Above a cloudy jar of brine
That floated greenish hard boiled eggs,
Beside a Schlitz beer waterfall
That told bar time (ten minutes fast),
A taxidermied Jack-A-Lope
With rabbit ears and tiny rack
Stared marble eyed into the dark.
“We don’t have many Jack-A-Lopes
Back home in any city bars,”
I told a man who served us drinks.
“At prices there, that’s no surprise.”
The barman said without a smile
And told us of the Jack-A-Lope:
Time was you looked, you’d find his kind,
But rarely in these mountain slopes.
They only bred in wintertime
And only in electric storms.
It’s rumored round that milk that came
From mother Jack-A-Lopes could cure
Whatever walks on twos or fours
So rare it was most called it myth
As much as Sasquatch ever was.
Until one day a dowser came
Divining where to dig a well.
And gripping his good witching stick
Could swear he saw the front branch twitch.
He scrunched his eyes and looked again.
“No, something’s in that undergrowth.”
Up popped the branchy antlers of
This fearsome critter, Jack-A-Lope.
Now as it was this dowser had
A more than common whiskey thirst.
And had to live his life downwind
From ordinary decent folk.
Like pictures of Napoleon,
He stuck his hand inside his coat,
Produced a flask of sour mash,
And threw it at this portmanteau.
Some say it hopped away afraid,
But those that know have winked and said,
“That animal attacked the flask;
Without their bourbon Jack-A-Lopes
Will fade away until they’re gone.”
Outsiders paid some license fees
For hunting season, dates of which
Cannot be found on calendars.
The most were poached as trophies for
Hotels, saloons and brothels where
The mounted heads amazed their guests.
No hunter had had an interest in
An animal that can’t be killed
Because it never ever was.
But now so heavy was the hunt
The Jack-A-Lope was soon extinct,
So every one of them was killed
To prove one time they did exist.
The bar grew quiet just as if
Some meaning might be understood.
I pointed at my empty glass
And asked the barman pouring drinks,
“What’s on that plaque below the head?”
“Some Latin words, a kind of crest.
A family motto more or less.”
Vivace the tempo of the morning only due to current scheduling.
a Adagio type atmosphere is prefered: so they asked the guest
to allow the wait staff to use a cart to serve buffet style while
the actual line at the buffet could move along evening up
the time spent waiting to be served.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fried Cucumber fritters with smoked salmon and sour cream and dill.
with lobster eggs benedict, the toast was center cut
from a sourdough loaf and toasted and buttered.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Then they shall dine. As unhindered by the obstacle.
might such find them inspiration.Truest in compliment
or complaint neither agrees with the professional.
Yet please may they be happy, and might there satisfaction
validate my affords to please.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
the desires and expectations and needs
of a person are communicated to people
when they are communicated to the right
people or person your satisfaction can come
about: thus bringing about pleasant a fulfill-
ing emotion that occurs when your expectations
are met.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Written By: Með Virðingu
------------------------------
While preparing for my five-day holiday, I chanted, Yo ho ho ho!
As I packed most important thing, I was in full whistling jaw
So many stuffs to take, didn’t know what bag could make
Shifting taste left my first girl-things inside an unchosen portmanteau.
As I finally landed to a delightful holiday scenery far, far away
I tried to enjoy a whole-day tour ‘though uneased at first red bay
With nudging ebb, running through jeans and winter clothes
I ricked my leg and nose… limited smiles to dazzling view array
So many places to go with lots of panorama to see and meet
But feeling restless ‘till sunset, with porous pads I needed flag retreat
The first night I checked in a hotel, I nastily worried and panicked
Nowhere to find my gears… unbudgeted, I paced three at night market
I was going around cool places in a bus, but didn’t climb a tower
When shopping beauty- foods started, I was thinking of hotel hair blower
To dry up my wet gears in manteaux ‘till midnight before another day
That’s my biggest disaster but I’d survived like I was in a House of Big Brother.
Oct. 21, 2016 1. 45am
.
the heavy night's
fog
front mine
lenz
hern
monochrome
brilliant
thuh roll'n fog
'pon thuh
prairie'z thick
front mine
lenz
hern
kodachrome
dynamic
*vernaltography: my portmanteau for;
"spring photography".
*Tography is a general term used to refer
to the art, process, or technique of creating
and producing images, typically through the
use of various branches and sub-fields such as
photography.
*"tography." Definitions.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2025.
Web. 8 Mar. 2025.
In goodwill frame sans garnished aim,
A gift with a portmanteau name,
And given to a friend,
Motive nor any end,
Plane, polite gallantry, no game.
But world, wrapped in motive--
Subjective and dative,
Cause following effect
And fiction feigning fact,
Finds a fawn fawning in front of a dame.
________________________
Happenings | 25.05.2026 | chocolate, gift, humour, world, Limerick
Note: A goodwill gift given by PM Modi on visit to his counterpart of Italy—no more no less but becoming a hot subject of the chatter circuit of social media. This ditty cries out of this excess and still ends up with an excess of alliteration of its own in the end.