Long Potpourri Poems
Long Potpourri Poems. Below are the most popular long Potpourri by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Potpourri poems by poem length and keyword.
back a small number of years thee diva of this domicile
exhibited an aura, charisma, enigma…devoid of any guile
boot of late turned a cold shoulder to me and I’ll
avoid denigrating, haranguing, and lambasting said dell lisle
la, whose avoidance behavior toward me – who goes a mile
out of her way to ensure our paths do not cross – noah din nile
per the above – well, perhaps a slight bit of hyperbole
viz this, mine swift tailored, harried style
per potpourri of puzzling perturbation evinced
by said olde world germane German dame we lease this duplex
treating us, as if we committed some egregious crime
subsequently forced to stand trial
viz aversion toward this convivial, frivolous and introspective chap
methinks said realtor/renter joined a coven den
where doe eyed zen of thieves
occupy teaching rubric of mean-ness while
taking appropriate and selective pages from play book of sarah palin,
which tension unlikely to cease for the next nine months till the deed
doth expire, where by this witch a taw hook cans ass (ours) will be freed
of renting a long and fostered, roach and fox infested, century21
from once salient sympathetic ear this now manifested Scrooge like greed
reminding us (essentially via cessation of any interaction),
how she once did heed
to our various and sundry travails – though neither myself nor spouse,
the latter whose vociferousness regularly exudes loathsomeness
toward key per, once a vouch saving storied angel without fail and indeed
wife tis not shy to vent where a plethora of expletives lead
rant and rave toward an impending crisis that will me send out an SOS
ever felt compelled to join Hemlock society or drown sorrows in mead
yet disappointment arises, when formerly positive dynamic now im peed
did by reasons unbeknownst to me,
who feels grateful ye chanced to read
my babbling of poetically irrational from a regular Joe,
who doth not sport Harris Tweed
nor (despite any immediate intimations)
doth newt smoke booze nor drink week.
During the day
there's a deceptive lull
in the staid common parlor
when the home seems deadly dull
Stale air, disinfectant and potpourri
stirred only by the worried, hurried strides
of harried nurses down hectic halls
stuffy efficiency personified
In contrast to those, the steady repose
of regular residents
dressed up and posed
as odd antique mannequins
in fusty old clothes
like some bizarre storefront
window display
Obsolete, old folks
like aged birds perch
lean and lurch
awkward and angular
nodding and napping
half-waking, flapping
on various arm chairs
Others like basset hounds
lay the room 'round
eyes shut, drooping jowls
intermittent gentle growls
little subtle snores
comfy and carefree
bodies drowsily draped over
the sides of settees
Insensible to sound
and drooling a bit
sweetly sleeping all throughout
like innocent toddlers
with cookie-smeared faces
ingenuous and
all played out
Then eventually, nursing staff
bustles them awake
for activities, dinner
more medicines to take...
Then off to bed
as visitors leave
deluded and deceived
thinking that's all there is
pitiful old people, tragically perceived
A symphony of spoons,
a poised poke of fork quartet prongs,
the clatter of knives
resounding, rebounding
in a chamber of diphthongs.
The boil and sizzle of oils,
crisping the chips, tempura and pakora to brown.
so biting the crust
makes the cracks ring out loud,
then softens to an ooze.
the slow chewing flows
into a sing-along song,
as the tongue savors the juicy flavors.
A slice of ripe lime, bright green
a gentle, slow pour of warm wine,
draws out two vowels to sound as one
as the mouth rounds on every morsel.
The steam sighs, rising up in spirals,
from the feast that hums and mumbles, low and strong.
Each bite a voice unfolding—
a choir of chew and tongue, sung
savoring the diphthongs
in each mouthful of potpourri chowder.
ALLUSIONS OF A VANISHED NOW*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
stainless-steel womb
welded shut,
buried beneath the oak's gnarled roots,
remnants given to the earth.
allusions of a vanished now~
faded sepia photographs,
a girl's clumsy drawing of herself,
a compact disc, its molded plastic brittle,
a mix of forgotten summer love songs.
headlines tell of wars, violence, and bloodshed
tidings of momentary joys~
the scent of potpourri, a best-selling book,
a poem scribbled on frangible parchment,
a smooth, grey river rock,
pocketed on some long-ago walk
treasured remembrances.
When unearthed decades from now,
will future inquirers understand
the echoes,
the desires,
the fears,
the loves,
invisibly etched in these ordinary relics?
Will they see us in the dust motes dancing
in the beam of their curious light?
Or will it all just be
a mysterious puzzle,
a murmur,
quickly forgotten,
returned to the earth's clutches?
*Note: Poem published 6/27/2025 then deleted; (Poetrysoup.com/poem/allusions_of_a_vanished_now_1737437) This is my original pom
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
(for my personal twist read the last stanza];)
Stands tall and hovering this great green landmark lady
The world's most famous gift and token
Welcoming all into Uncle Sam's ethnic potpourri
In her vast melting pot sweet melee awoken.
Pointing as it seems to the star spangled sky
from the land of the stripes and star-spangled banner
Her torch to meet the tourist traveller's eye
while she tires not of standin' in that manner.
Ah this world famous sea-green statue
Her fans would love to have her tattoo
as she welcomes all and sundry
from her pedestal a man-made plateau.
If you ever go there
and have time to stare
View her from the colonnade
or view her from the promenade
With that well-known torch lamp
this mother of exiles champ
She does for welcome and freedom stand
A beacon beckoning upon Liberty Island.
On the Seine River stands her model return gift
just downstream from Eiffel tower
Ah Lady Liberty's one American lady
weilding real worthy super power.
Eiffel designed the Eiffel tower
and he Lady Liberty's designer as well
And Bartholdi her sculptor,
sculpted her so swell.
Extol I may this famous monument
but mine praise can't compare to 'The New Colossus'
A tribute by her own American by Emma Lazarus
Her face too for Liberty's model quite famous.
And when asked personally what I admired most about Lady Liberty
I sighed and replied, 'atleast she wasn't dressed in mini or bikini
for liberty is not in libertine but rather in attires of modesty
Why, milady Liberty thank God you're almost dressed like me
I frown at super models whose role model in dress ain't you nor the Virgin Mary.
I smell something so beautiful!
Many different fragrances are drifting toward me.
So many sachets of poetry are prettily displayed.
Such visual delights!
I stoop to relish one - a citrus blend
with sweet anise and cinnamon.
Ah! How fun this poem is with its taste of licorice!
And here’s one that is rather sensuous.
Its aroma is the clove,
clary sage, bergamot, and rose.
How luscious! I linger at this one for a while. . .
Now I lean in toward the scent of chamomile.
This poem soothes the spirit
with its lavender and jasmine blooms in it.
Oh, here is one not only sweet but spicy!
Coriander wafts my way
with cinnamon and ginger. Such a treat to savor!
Next I view a bowl
filled with myrrh and frankincense.
And what else?
Why, it’s the earthy scent of sandalwood
with a touch of patchouli for good measure.
My, this is an epic poem to treasure.
Right next to it I spy a tiny one -
a packet of herbs and other little things,
But oh, how sweet its fragrance
of nutmeg, citrus and vanilla. Indeed, I’ve found a gem.
And here is one completely fresh - a most creative blend
of lemon, lavender and pine. It is divine!
Now a strong scent of sweetness comes to me,
This time from lavender laced
with small petals Of germaniums, and again,
the wondrous cinnamon
that takes my mind far back
to sentimental scenes of childhood.
Balsamic and earthy is the final poem that tempts me
with cedar wood, spruce and fir -
another one with thoughts of life and nature
to ponder as I linger one last time. . .
Then I must leave this sanctuary.
Day after day -
how I love to fill my senses
with poetry potpourri!
May 1, 2016 for Linda's Poetry _______ (fill in the blank) Poetry Contest
(hope I did it right this time!)
Dear Poetic War
I'm here to inform you to change your name to (War Shoe.)
Warlock doesn't even fit you!
I have many ways to insult you.
I have to play nice, can't you see all them evil eyes!
Poetic Warshoe the only talent you poses is the word LOCK!
No need to try and crush what you can not see
All you are is another loser who can't let me be.
You silly jail bird, you sound more like a game of Monopoly
Its my turn and I hold your ticket to get out of jail for free.
Don't worry Warlock, Board Walk is owned by me.
Washing your couplets down with a cup of tea.
I laughed so hard your words almost made me pee.
Warshoe, why are you jumping on me like a little flea?
The only stinger you have belongs to a bumble bee.
Poetic thug you are messing with the wrong killer bee
Sorry I told you I share my fate with Nate!
Go grab some more help from your psychotic mate.
Raid I will spray on your strategies you poetic bug.
You have no class to be a Warlock.
The only thing you master is being a poetic thug.
Go back to playing dominoes, cards, and chess.
Your poetry smells like potpourri.
My demons will hit you with an epic battle of success.
Hunting me is the way you want to waste commissary.
I will enslave you to worship the grounds my feet caress
Challenging me will be the best thing you've had in 5 years.
First I will send you this letter with a small request.
Look down first before you think you pushed me over the cliff.
I own the crown causing massive damage to your quest.
You will never dominate my battlegrounds, I will end you in a swiff.
Your sword will be conquered in my arena, bringing you down to a rest.
I will make you suffer begging for mercy and forgiveness.
For trying to step up to the best.
Warshoe you already failed my test.
In this game you will never beat me at my own contest.
Your heart I won't eat I will feed that to my guest.
Warshoe its time to rip you out of the shadows where you hide.
I will LOCK you in my WAR of hell.
Shackling you in a fetal position as we collide.
Your fear will spread for everyone to smell.
I will end your poetry with no pride.
I will post venom in your abyss through out your cell.
A poison so rough now bend over and open wide.
Warshoe by the time this is over you will bail.
And I P.D. will still have you under my spell......
by;P.D.
Potpourri, What Me Worry?
Have a Minute? In a Hurry?
Reflect, Few Knew 3rd Sept. 1964'ie,
Our World Unfurled, "Let There Be Nori!"
More Precisely, "Eleanor Anne",
7 of 7, Infinite "Can", Wonder Woman,
And Golly, The Mile Champion, She Ran!
By No Means Dumb, Nori Was the Sum,
Harry & Eleanor Enabled Dr. Schol's Alum,
Beat Drums! Blow Trumpets! 'Til Lips Numb!
Inherited Curls Red We All Adore,
Her Generosity & Humility Galore,
Spreading Joy In Each of Fifty-Four!
Nori Has a Secret, A Hydrogen Bomb,
A West Virginia Gentle Farm Boy, Some
Say is Her Loam, Vita-Mix, Topsoil Tom!
Husky, Kona, Loved but Exceedingly Furry,
North Conway is Where Tom & Nori,
Build Their Oasis Refuge From Hurry!
Nori, Count Your Life by Smiles Not Miles,
By Friends, Not Stipends, Not "Upends",
May You & Tom Together Enjoy Years,
Empty of Tears, Bills in Arrears & Fears!
The blood and lapis daylight sets
in ether. How the mind resets
brutality of winter chill
with February's codicil;
what gossamer a dream begets.
I hear the crickets in the dark,
their clicking takes up where the lark
has been. The flagrant marigolds
have huddled into twilight's folds,
on sanguine nightfall to embark.
The eastern zephyrs fall and rise
with rapid movement of my eyes
and echo whispers midnight makes
of blood white trails on moonlit lakes.
In silhouette I recognize
a dogwood, though can only sense
its glowing coral consequence.
The blossoms tell me they comprise
sweet spawn of sun rays in disguise
and capture all my heartbeats hence.
Now honeysuckle is entwined
on crisscrossed pathways of my mind
with jasmine in a potpourri
to conjure shamrock reverie
that leaves the pewter scape behind.
Around the lambent dogwood tree
alone upon that verdant lea
buds can prosper, bees will hum.
As though seduced by opium
I greet a vista I can't see,
at least not quite. I know it's there
and feel the dogwood everywhere,
behind me, flanking left and right,
an omnipresence in the night,
like answers to unconscious prayer.
Now high upon a clovered scarp
the tree is standing clear and sharp.
In silence I see restless blooms
play music that my ear assumes
is chiming dulcet as a harp.
Such Efflorescent star bursts splay
like windmills on a gusty day
that in ebullience do portend
a vibrance that will never end
and all my reticence allay.
In waking to a winter storm
that's February's gelid norm
I long still for my fulgid tree,
resplendence that surrounded me,
but only meet a turbid swarm.
I rise and pull back hermit drapes
to see the torrid flurries traipse,
yet through the chaos can discern
the leafless frame for which I yearn
beyond the window storming scrapes.
The dogwood stands just as before
unclad upon the icy moor
with nascent berries undeterred
as though through humble verse and word
like daylight through an unclosed door.
2/23/18
Strength Thru Adversity
Gregory R. Barden