Long Pottage Poems
Long Pottage Poems. Below are the most popular long Pottage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pottage poems by poem length and keyword.
Gaelic: it was my mother's native tongue,
and her grandmother’s elder tongue.
Grandfather was a Romani gypsy,
horses naturally understood his voice.
My lips follow English,
a tangled language with too many roots,
tuberosities awkwardly clumped together,
like hard and lumpy potato soup -
a dish My Irish mother made
with an inattentive gusto...
her pink tongue licking the corners of her mouth,
as she slopped the part-cooked pottage out
into thick porcelain bowls.
She had quite forgotten her mother tongue,
or how to respect the potato,
and its historical significance to all in exile.
My own tongue was young and tender,
and too hungry to care. Already I instinctively knew
how to take my lumps.
Before Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Before Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
Before all concerned attempted to fix him
Before they all failed to make him great again
He was first an exported idea from the old country
Such an idea was anathema where Humpty was from
So Humpty succeeded far above and beyond expectation
In reality, Humpty was an idea whose time had come and
no one, but no one could stop Humpty from being the greatest
because he was, in essence, a great gift to a world of power mongers
So Humpty crossed the high seas and beat a trail through high weeds
He eventually explored and fought his way west from sea to shining sea
Similar to the Great Alexander, he conquered until there was nothing more
to conquer except the great outer space where he dreamed of living someday
But time was running out on Humpty and his people grew restless and self-centered. Having grown weary of lofty and noble pursuits, his countrymen eventually rebelled and turned against Humpty, against traditional values, against the Church, and even against the God of their fathers. He was stripped of his constitutional rights and sentenced to live out the rest of
his days sitting on a high wall on which there leaned a broken cross painted red, white, and blue. Humpty's family and friends were forced to move away, leaving him all alone and surrounded by foes, fools, and pleasure seekers. Puzzled, weak, feeble, and fainted, Humpty finally fell off the celebrated wall to
his death. After Humpty's death, it seems that the masses all of a sudden saw a great light that arrested and captured them because their hearts were broken over the demise of Humpty. They prayed and labored feverously to restore Humpty to life again but to no avail. Humpty was gone. It was too late. In Humpty Dumpty they had what the whole world longed for, but they gave it all up for a 'mess of pottage' (pride, pleasure, greed, indifference.........)* Sometimes it's too late to acknowledge that which we once ignored.
06242018PoetrySoupContest, The Mystery of Humpty Dumpty, Faraz Ajmal 3P, *Genesis 25:29-34
Picture # 4 used as inspiration
At our lakeside cottage where we have pottage at night
When autumn comes and russet mums' blossoms daze
Go to bed early, nothing to dread and wake by sun's light
As the sun sets there's no regrets just joy at summer's end
Fall wears her gown, her trees a crown as sun sends angular rays
All of those glorious colors and arboreous reflections seem to blend
Upon the lake beside our cottage , no place we've tried above it does rise
Our golden lab lying asleep, as nights slowly creep upon days
We peacefully rest, and feel so blessed as sleep softly creeps with surprise
It’s Christmas day
Hip hip hooray
With festive cheer
And our family here
The feast begins
Amidst all our grins
Crackers pulled, mottos read
Fancy hats upon each head
With turkey eaten
We’ll not be beaten
Enter the flaming pud
Which looks so good
But whence it came?
This pudding of fame
‘Twas a Roman cook
Where first we look
Making pottage of meat and veg
Placing in readiness on a window ledge
By the fourteenth century frumenty it became
Meat with fruit, wine and spices, it was not the same
This soupy dish was a fasting meal
A preparation for Christmas was the deal
With added eggs, breadcrumbs and fruit it changed once more
Plum pudding lasted until banned under Puritan law
The arrival of King George, the ‘Pudding King’
Got the outlawed pud back in the swing
For his royal feast he did declare
Plum pudding would be the dessert fayre
By Victorian days the meat had gone
Enter the Christmas pud known by everyone
Merry Christmas!
~~~
A seasonal frame of mind led to this!
No pease porridge for me if you please
neither hot nor cold
especially not if what's in the pot
is nine days old
for when in Parma Palermo or Pisa
(no pottage slop)
I'm predisposed and have the propensity
to pour a potent potable
(pink plonk)
and prefer to partake of a piece of pepperoni pizza
with pancetta pomodoro peperoncini
porcini plus a peck of pecorino on the top
even the penchant for a piccante prosciutto panini
or pass me a plate of penne puttanesca
with the proclivity for a platter of pinoli pesto
possibly pasta with parmesan
and I'm pleased to wine and dine al fresco
It’s Christmas day
Hip hip hooray
With festive cheer
And our family here
The feast begins
Amidst all our grins
Crackers pulled, mottos read
Fancy hats upon each head
With turkey eaten
We’ll not be beaten
Enter the flaming pud
Which looks so good
But whence it came?
This pudding of fame
‘Twas a Roman cook
Where first we look
Making pottage of meat and veg
Placing in readiness on a window ledge
By the fourteenth century frumenty it became
Meat with fruit, wine and spices, it was not the same
This soupy dish was a fasting meal
A preparation for Christmas was the deal
With added eggs, breadcrumbs and fruit it changed once more
Plum pudding lasted until banned under Puritan law
The arrival of King George, the ‘Pudding King’
Got the outlawed pud back in the swing
For his royal feast he did declare
Plum pudding would be the dessert fayre
By Victorian days the meat had gone
Enter the Christmas pud known by everyone
Merry Christmas!
Oh, America,
my beloved America.
The world owns your soul,
and chortles as catastrophe comes.
Bartered was your legacy,
for riotous living,
and pottage no longer gratifies
your innards cravings.
Terrorist lambaste your innocent,
and spread false doctrines.
Fear and anxiety hold you captive,
casting foreboding shadows o'er your land.
As a mongrel wallowing in its vomit,
so it is, you and your sin.
Having no vision of signet ring and fatted calf,
your robe now drapes a self righteous frame.
Has the line in the sand been crossed?
While your flag still flies, the eagle soars,
and your Statue of Liberty stands erect,
return unto the father.
Oh America,
my beloved America,
God loves thee more than I.
This was how it went down
Just before my countdown
I was sent in a lockdown
And was seen as a downtrodden
Caressed and scourged
How did i get down?
I wouldn't say
But i would if i could
I only slept for few seconds
Just to wake in a fine bondage
With someone feeding me with
Pottage
Of course the one i trusted
So i told you about me
And you hated me for being me
Whose fault is it that i grow?
While i called you "my person"
You pressed the button
And the dragon was unleashed
Well not this time
Because i woke while you slept
Took the fire extinguisher
And defended myself from the fire
Poured by your dragon
It had burned me enough
I wasn't shock when i knew
Its you
But i felt pity for your actions
Because i defeated the nightmare
Kindly read the letter i sent you
"Dear Ex- trusted one,
Do Wash My Trash"
STAY OR GO yes or no?
An offshore island we remain,
whether we stay or go..
But our history we need now
to declaim.. and say No!
Truly enfranchised for only a
few decades,now cheaply given
away for a pottage of gold...
all without our say so..
Sacrificed on politicians' ego trips.
We, the people,the everyday man..
back to square one of a century ago..
Disenfranchised again,ruled by a few..
part of another illusory 'grande ideale'.
Our kin so recently fought to win the war
..but we so easily gave away the peace..
Time again,for the English common man
to say No,to regain our release...
Time for this undemocratic 'Union' to cease..
Time for us to depart,we do not 'belong'
It's time to move on..
put once more 'our enfranchised horse'before
'our' cart.
The 'global village' is now here.. a larger
stage on which England,on its own,
with much to give..can play a full part.
You may hear me recite my PS poetry on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
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