Long Pots Poems
Long Pots Poems. Below are the most popular long Pots by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pots poems by poem length and keyword.
The bride looked so lovely
All dressed up in lace,
The groom by her side
In His rightful place.
Food in abundance,
A mountain at least,
Guests by the hundreds
Flock to the feast.
French bread and garlic
Prawns in clay pots,
Sweetmeats and jellies
And ice cream for tots.
Chopsticks provided
For eating the rice,
For those who can’t work ‘em
Fingers suffice.
Old Uncle Albert
Says “waste is a sin”
So proceeds with a smile
More food to force in.
Due to his greed
He’s not feeling so bright
But continues to eat
Just out of spite.
Children are running
All over the shop
Some are so tired
They’re ready to drop
People are dancing
The music is loud
Everyone’s happy
What a great crowd
The sun is still shining
It has from the start
The bride and the groom
Prepare to depart
Into the limo
All cute coy and chaste
The groom bids the driver
“Drive on and make haste”
I’ve been to some weddings
This wasn’t the worst
I have to go now
Old Albert has burst.
September 2011
Yellow lilies in turquoise pots. Smiling happily, smug even.
But as happy as their cocky orange spotted cousins? Maybe not.
Their blue-red dark lily cousins had appeared for the first time this year.
They were outstanding; so remarkable, it was practically embarrassing.
The yard was aglow and alive; more spectacular than she had a right to be.
Showing off in a casual, yet fanciful way, without even trying.
Cardinals, robins, and wrens were gliding in by the dozens,
attracted by the plethora of colors. The feeders were full of course, six in all.
Feeling the love of this Shangri La created out of a piece of God’s country
was every creature in the grass, on the barks of the tree, and under the bushes.
Butterflies, dragonflies, honeybees,
and wasps were preening around the flowers.
And there were five gardens, plenty of spots for everybody.
An older lady in a wide
brimmed hat was collecting bits and pieces of dandelions
to spread around in the
vacant spots. She was the curator of the yard.
The dreamer who had thought this
up twelve years ago, and built it up out of a simple prairie pasture.
She played for hours on her heaven-on-earth, and it showed.
God’s masterpiece, enhanced by one
lone woman and plenty of appreciative creatures.
The memories of the Elders had grown weak as time and seasons past. Like old pastures remembering only faint hoof marks.
Twelve villages shared the lands from the river to the vast horizon. All was well and none could recall any serious situations that had not been resolved by the Council of the Villages. The Council was comprised of twelve women, one from each village, chosen by the “whim of fate”.
Each situation was assessed in the same manner. All concerns were heard by The Council of The Twelve Villages. The Ancients had wearied of battles and so made the solutions simple. All members of the Council carried a smooth stone. Their decision made by placing their stone into one of two earthen pots. Each would walk into the thatched hut alone to do so. They would then gather with the villagers to “count” the stones in each of the earthen pots.
If the number was even things remained the same, if not those involved were to work out a suitable solution with the help of the Council and the villagers. It was a fair and fluid system adhered to by all in theory and practice.
Strangers arrived one day from a village on the edge of the vast horizon. They were welcomed and allowed to visit all of the twelve villages, share in their bounty and observe the actions of the Council of the Twelve. Requesting a meeting with the Council they petitioned for entrance into the Council of the Villages.
The Council considered their request. The stones were counted. Seven in favor, five against. The Council of the Villages assisted in setting up the “new” village for participation in the Council. Few had any idea how complicated things would become with the addition of “the thirteenth woman” for things would never remain the same again.
John G. Lawless
©10/4/2022
A few days ago I was sleeping when I heard a lot of bird singing outside my bedroom window.
I opened the curtains and saw a Red Male Northern Cardinal hovering his wings whirling. I did
not know they could even do that ! Did you? He was staring at me and tweeting his loudest.
Then, I heard another tweet as he spun away so fast. Going to my porch window, I saw the
most beautiful bird, I have ever seen. This female Cardinal was so heavenly and sublime to me.
She must have been painted by God, with a tuff of red on her head, red strip over both her
eyes, some black around her bright orange beak, she had a gold hue with muted red feathers
all over,and of course, the male was a vivid red. They landed on my flower pots, railings,
hanging plants, coming and going for many hours. When she looked at him, there was such
love, she seemed to be telling him, "kiss me when the sun sleeps" I felt such tranquility . . .
when cardinals come
angels from heaven hover . . .
with life messages
The love these two displayed reminded me of the love I had for my husband and though he
has left this realm, I whisper to him, I can still feel, "your fingers around my soul." A true love
is for eternity. I cannot get the images of the cardinals out of my head. What message did they
have for me, what spiritual message was in all those tweets, and the beauty of that female will
haunt me all the days of my life. They left me breathless, for usually I have to go into the woods
to seek out such beauty, but it came to me this time and I will always treasure that. One thing
is for sure, I have a great peace since that day . . .
a vision to hold
a treasure to lock away . . .
a riddle to solve
In the hills of Ireland
where shamrocks sway
lived a leprechauness
in her quiet way.
With a pot on the stove
and a shoe needle in hand,
she cooked, she cleaned,
in her magical land.
Across green valleys
where rivers run wild
roamed a Clurichaun
with a mischievous smile.
In a bacchus of wine,
amidst whispered
tales of chance
and fragrant scents
he found delight,
till her laughter and wit
caught him one starry night.
She challenged his whims
with a playful jest
and slowly but surely
she won his interest.
Through banter and laughter
their voices entwined,
in each song and piano night
two hearts aligned.
Through the magic of music
their love came alive
in sweet melodies
they found their thrive.
Hearts found solace
in each tender glance
in the harmony of love.
they found their first dance.
A Clurichaun is like a Leprechaun.He leads a capricious life,iindulging in wine and fancy.
The Leprechauness (The female version of a Leprechaun).A mythical creature from Irish tales known for making shoes and the guardian of her pots of gold .
The time was 1969, the place- Home-Economics class in junior high. While guys got sent
to “shop,” those of us of the softer sex learned culinary skills. I loved those days when the
room was filled with the sounds of our chatting, laughing and clanging pots and pans, as we
busied ourselves preparing meals before sitting down at our group tables to enjoy the fruits
of our labors. That was my first semester. In the next semester came. . . .SEWing.
Gone were the room’s former tantalizing odors. And the tables once used for sampling
our experiments in cooking had been ominously transformed. Now there were patterns
we’d been asked to buy in fabric stores pinned onto pieces of material and laid out
across the center of each table. Those forms for clothing-yet-to-be, strange maps imprinted
with vertical and horizontal lines and codes along their edges, confused and overwhelmed
me. The implements of baking - mixing bowls, pans, and the cups and spoons for
measuring - had been replaced by a much less comforting display of thread and thimbles,
sewing machines, binding tape and scissors.
With zero scintillation and after the befuddling explanations from my teacher,
I somehow ended up with a hot pink mini dress(actually wearable!) with white trim
amateurishly attached, and. . .for all my effort, the stunning grade of C.
Thankfully, in high school I discovered among a broader choice of electives, Creative Writing
Class, my time to sparkle!
For Carol Brown's "Story Time" (just one story of many that would comprise my bio)
It came to me
upon reflection
Life is one
great big collection
Starting with a
teddy bear
and ending with
a gasp of air
The time between
those points is rough
accumulating
all this stuff
Books and knick knacks
line the shelves
and in it all
we lose ourselves
Hand-me-downs
and souvenirs
hoarded all
throughout the years
Cups and saucers,
pots and pans,
electric heaters,
ceiling fans
Pictures, music,
magazines
amounting to
a hill of beans
Clothes and cars,
boats and planes,
nervous breakdowns,
aches and pains
Husbands, wives,
foes and friends
This great collection
never ends
And once our time
on earth goes by,
the years wind down
and then we die
We never seemed
to have enough,
and someone else
gets all our stuff
Peckham London, a dwelling holding secrets of many
until my friends relatives unlocked the door.
Uncle Clive,an Indian desendant,held the key of forth coming
to the five terrace house,adjacent pre war cemetry,now a park.
We would visit,at nights many storys were spun.
An almighty bang came from above,uncle Clive shot up the stairs
only to be knocked back to the floor.The baby(Alison) crying,layed on floor
an unexplained reason,she was pulled from her bed.
Pots and pans dancing melodically,auntie Olga froze at kitchen entrance.
One christmas joyful spirits,carols freely sung,tin of sweets emptied from above.
A spiritualist was called, impilicated uncle Clive,the attraction to the poltergeist.
Hazel Mark and Stephen,expressing happenings,tucked up at night.14 years old,petrified.
Paul Beadnall.
Sponsor Constance ~My Dear Heart ~
Contest Name A Creepy, Scary Haunted House Poem, Please
It'd been one of the most bizarre days; downright crazy
so I had a martini, maybe four, so things got kinda hazy
I fumbled in my wallet so I could pay my pricey bar tab
Friends thought I had too many, so they put me in a cab
I stumbled up the steps. It seems walking was a chore
Couldn't find my key, so I tried beating down the door
Her screeches of "Where the bloody hell have ya been?"
Pounded in my head, making me sorry that I'd come in.
She hissed, then off to the kitchen she foolishly prattled
With horrendous noises, pots and pans were being rattled
My head was sorely throbbing so I begged her to be quiet
She screamed, "Don't yell at me! Blame your liquid diet!"
She banged a bowl of something down on the table cloth.
I weaved my way to a chair as my mouth began to froth
Put my head in my hands when the room started spinning
Caught a glimpse of that evil woman. Yeah, she was grinning
A mound of muck she'd plunked down right in front of me
looked like it should still be swimming in the salty sea
It smelled vile and disgusting... nauseatingly atrocious
I gagged and turned away, that's when Liz became ferocious
I couldn't move an inch to find my way back to the couch
I was a brick, held by mortar. My wife was being a grouch
but I couldn't find the strength to flee. I felt far too dizzy
My turn to shout, "Can you just stop your naggin', Lizzie?"
I didn't mean to say it, and my words came out so slurred
My vision was fuzzy. Everything was clouded and blurred
Something was staring up at me while awful music played
That's when I saw green heads and grew appallingly afraid
Whether fantasy or reality, frogs had escaped from a pond
These were fugly creatures. From evil they'd been spawned
I was being serenaded by a quartet of deep croaking voices
So suffers the drunken man while his heartless wife rejoices
I crawled to bed when I couldn't take the harmony any more
Lizzie punched me and said, "Wake up if you're gonna snore."
I tripped down the stairs, woke the dog and made him bark
Left the wife and found a bench to sleep it off in the park
Once upon a time
Cleaver prince tried to hide
Listen closely Beauty and her friend they denied
Prince had problems and she was insecure
gave analogies to some but understanding was not clear
And beauty had friends
which she could count on
they may have been right but this time it was wrong
Beauty, Beauty
Where have you been?
Looking for my prince
No I was looking for his chick
What for
This chick been missing witch
What chick what wrong do I need my blade
Girl you crazy but prince been playing and coming home late
He said he had to work overtime
But his friend told me that he was lying
He have been getting off two hours early
I have not been sleeping and hitting nothing but birdies
I thought this thing would never end
But when I see my friend
Our relationship will end
Be tormented in fact prince clothes off the floor and put in a sack
Beauty please you want do that
Watch me and have my back
Jack been buzzing me on the phone
Stocks raised and he been home alone
You wrong B and you must listen
Keep pots on the stove wait a minute
No girl I know he been cheating the castle butler told me
Just listen to this call I recorded yesterday
I know right now you here what he had to say
He was meeting at the regular time
Do I look slow do I look blind
We are finish and this it
Kings have castle and beauty have many bricks
Girl you crazy lets get out here
Ooh here he come wait right here
Where you been prince and who is this
Well I wanted to tell you but you always have a fit
So now I am leaving because you act like things don’t matter here
You tripped too many times and this relationship have shattered tears
walked with his stuff Beauty fell down and splatter splattered
with tears of misery
longtime could be
all of a sudden suddenly
Beauty cried so much she hit the ground and fell asleep