Banked Poems

Victoria, do your duty, Along with me'

Do we all hear the rumour? A funeral draws near.' A spectacle is intended I think that much
Is real clear.' There will be black gloves and the
Muffled drums, that measured tread..Somber
Theater spun.' Staged to draw compassion from those (who might come?) The cornet may sound? Majestic..But I think we all know
What's the come..'
That vic-pols funeral is marching in the shadows here thrown long.'
Under the sun, As many narratives un-ravel.. That they still try to grow.' So will the
Blinds be drawn upon them? Will the windows
Stare out blank.? And also will True Blue Victorians 'about-face?' And here I shall be quite frank! Leave
Them to realise.? What a mess they have banked.! Heaped up like those mountains.'
When (they turned on their own?) Yet I think its not Victoria.? Nuh..Thats not where their
Love; and loyaltys are sown.' May they well listen.. And deeply' to that winds lone lament and moan.'
In a broken-hearted city.' Where they once did strut.! Its recorded and shown
To posture and enact such wicked anger, to vent, Yes I see, And saw
For me it has stuck deep in my heart, and in my gut.To remain reminder forevermore.'

runny eggs

letters never rhyme with words,
like the moon's distant from the sun,
hissing are the bats so unheard
and pleading is no-one.
Forests burn by the mornings
and.....painted are the reds,
skulls since Racism
of hating the Indians
or the Mexicans.
Or the Latinos,
Or the blacks,
He's worse than sins
banked chips in casino
over the dearth of a river's banks.


Street-lights flickering
Until Dawn whitens.
Pebble beaches hurt the feet.
Propaganda's sunken
to ease the pain of our toes
An edge of stones we knew,
and how the searches glow
Cold are the ifs and the hows
And Barista coffee of mornings
seize a moment and lose the speech,
I stopped believing since the last chill
of an unknown of a dying will,
and now moving in the Russians....
Vodka with ice-blocks orange

I once had love,
in my child's tummy,
Sighted above,
eggs runny,
walked before the dummy...
Quake from the above
English 18th century

I once had love,
in a child's tummy,
Sighted above,
eggs runny, 
bulldog scummy
I'm flying boxing gloves
as the day's now sunny.......

You can't haphazardly
destroy what is already
not fractured but broken.

WATERED LIFE

Life's no banked river...
Life's roving waves frothing shores...
Life's oceanic...

Butterfly Go Home

GO                                  GO
GIVE                                GIVE
GENEROUS           @ @           GENEROUS
GIFTS GALORE         | |         GIFTS GALORE
BUTTERFLIES BELONG       B       BUTTERFLIES BELONG
BANKED BESIDE BOXCARS     U     BANKED BESIDE BOXCARS
MONARCH BUTTERFLY WING  T  MONARCH BUTTERFLY WING
LARGE VIBRANT ORANGE T LARGE VIBRANT ORANGE
AND BLACK MARKINGS I E AND BLACK MARKINGS I
LOVE YOUR JOURNEY R LOVE YOUR JOURNEY
SEE YOU ACROSS     F     SEE YOU ACROSS
NORTH AMERICA OH L NORTH AMERICA OH
CANADA YES Y CANADA YES
TO MEXICO GO   TO MEXICO GO
EGG LARVA AND G EGG LARVA AND
CHRYSALIS WE O CHRYSALIS WE
MILKWEED IS   MILKWEED IS
YOUR HOSTING H YOUR HOSTING
FLOWERED  O  FLOWERED
PLANTS   M   PLANTS
BORN     E     BORN
GO             GO

Landscape

Today the sun set at dawn, the grey sky poured down in torrents banked tears of yesterday.
Today, cows grazed not in the pastures evergreen, the was no herd boy playing a lekolilo melody, the stream had dried and all the gay lads came back ashen.
Today no lark sang in the meadow, no goats bleat in the valley, just a lone horse galloping on the plateau.
Today, a heroine fell, and all mourn. Even the busy bees hv taken a day off to salute this thabana-ntlenyana, this mammoth queen who leaves monuments and tales to be repeated over Bo and yonder.
Today, i shall rejoice for i know though you are gone, you are always here. In  the soft breeze, in the happy songs of the morning lark, in the cry of a new born baby, in the stream that flows past our fieldd, giving us life. You are here in our hearts and minds eternally. 
Today i bit farewell to a mother, a grandma, a wife and  heroine in the lives of so many.
Lala kahle mama!
(c) 2014 moliehi molupe

Happiness

Happiness is the whirl of lyrical runes,
voicing of raging monstrous stories in loons.

Happiness is the rough silence of the heart,
that cries in loneliness of love torn apart 

Happiness is a prodigal daughter that,
swims in the rainbow of her abductor's cart 

Happiness is like sleeping in milk sea foam,
intoxicating deep embrace in risk loam.

Happiness is a fear tickle that brings cheers,
a belly full banked in the depths of our ears.

Happiness burns pure like the sax of cigars,
a remembrance for how we soar in the stars.

Happiness is the screeching of our lost soul,
a ride that fondles a tender name in whole.

Happiness is harmony clocks of sour wines,
serenaded in Sunset play, Red Tide Whines. 

Happiness is the smile of a sealed deadline,
that strokes our creative sane, ego hairline.

Happiness screams, a colliding in your name,
a chasing of moon and stars, a racing game.

Ancient Elm, Regally Frocked

Rooted on a moss-banked hill,
its branches spread far and wide.
By Summer's end, leaves veined gold and crimson.
Then, Autumn’s hand brushed them with russet paint.
Twas the time of year the elm tree despised.
Wind ruffled in their last days,
leaves danced as if burning flames,
until gales sent them tumbling to the ground.
Barren, as though in malaise, the elm stood.
Blame was cast upon harsh Winter weather.
Weeping for its naked limbs,
on a moss-banked hill it grieved.
For the change of season, it held loathing
and contempt for Nature's wrongful doing.
For surrounding its roots with drifts of snow
But on cusp of Spring's advent
tiny buddings will appear.
Branches will be clothed in fulgent raiment,
an umbrella agape, providing shade
for trilling songbirds in need of perching.
Reigning from atop the hill,
Ancient elm, regally frocked.

Going To See Honey Sanchez

Anti-Poem— “Going To See Honey Sanchez”

gloria and me we take a yellow taxi from canoga park
we go to see honey sanchez at the olympic on grand
she be the dragon lady on skates she and terri lynch
both of them girls be tough as nails in their ripe beauty
both wearing thunderbird white riding fire and blood 
lighting up the banked track against the texas outlaws
gloria keep telling  shirley hardman she be dead wrong
stop your mean ways shirley girl stop beating on honey
baby she say to me could I get her a soda and peanuts
the crowd be all noisy tonight and I can smell hot dogs
the people here they be rowdy and angry they scream
cuss words eating greasy onion rings and drinking beer 
my gloria she be saying only one skater be her top hero
I says who and she smiles and say it be honey sanchez—
skater dragon lady at 18th and grand in her ripe beauty

Exceptionality

Such beautiful clarity is within my life line
No longer asphyxiated by darkness I'm fine

Experiences come frequently with bold exceptionality
I find myself expertly escorted into a new spirituality

Giving and receiving affection on the most simplest of terms
Finding flowing Infinity with perfectly banked turns 

Finding deep tranquility in the here and now
Giving my ideal love to all that let me show them how

This has never been a journey without darkening
But in all those that have crossed my path what I've learned has been starkening

With all the words spoken that I've sealed with a kiss
All the verses to paper that my pen does never miss

If your reading this then I humbly invited you 
To see the reflection in what I write too

Feel it's meaning as if it was meant for your eyes only
For I possess enough love for the entire world to never again be lonely

Kamalatte

[ with a hint of the bridge from A Man Has Dreams
sung by the character George Banks in Mary Poppins ]


A bank is a community where people banked
They did so with impunity until it tanked
When interest, like a river, overflowed its banks
And fishes, schooled communally, all died and stank.

For Kamala, online communities give thanks.
Her oratory gaffs, a laugh while they make bank.
The little sh*ts get lots of hits; her ratings tank.
Cuz twitter’s a community where witters wank.

The Underdog

The Underdog

The underdog wasn’t expected to last this long
The status quo, the elite were sharing, 
Didn’t return as expected
World order in the balance, at tipping point
All those who were fed, are now struggling to eat
The world banked on democracies defeat.
Ukraine is still standing
Punch drunk but aware
The aggressor and expected victor being
Mutilated on the field and still the disbelievers
Spout venom in his defence, hoping he’ll
Recover and order will return.
But that’s long gone. The plan was three days
Until the end. They waited until conspicuous
And then had to act. Delayed delivery while
words dripped blood down the wall. 
Fortunately, principled countries are literate.

When it’s over; the delaying guilty
Will pretend, it’s the right result.
Of which it is for the underdog.

Behind the scenes, in the corridors of
Power, they’ll rue their mistakes and 
Costs will be counted.
Forever gone the good times; never be the same.

But when victory comes even the doubters and 
Losers will shout, Slava Ukraine!

David Cox 05/08/22

The Gift of Life

Oh, what a gift- our Life!  Just stop and think;
each day that comes and goes slips quickly by.
Before we know it- gone in just a blink;
another follows to live well- apply.

Sometimes, a banked-on, steady gift it is-
lived to the fullest- or just splurged away.
With every breath should come a simple quiz;
how many more are left after today.

Accept each day with mind and heart as though
it is the only one left on our pile;
for, over time, those gifted days will flow
away unused- or labeled with a smile.

No expiration stamped on each Lifetime-
it passes on as silent as a mime.

July 10, 2022

Contest: It's All About Three Q's
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Life
Form Chosen: Quatorzain 
Checked with HowManySyllables and RhymeZone

Home

The journey, long, at last is o’er,
safely I stand before the door
of those four walls I call sweet home,
a simple place. For when I roam
home calls, a map within my heart,
not unlike a seafarer’s chart,
a guiding star, beckoning beam,
whispering softly like a dream
reminding of its happy charms
enveloping, like loving arms.
When I am sent away from you,
dear home, my life tasks to pursue,
I sense your pleasant spaces, all,
indoors and outdoors sweetly call.
I will return to your sweet pay,
treasures banked for reunion day.

March 30, 2022

Theme:  Home
Form L - Lay - New Poetry Contest
Constance La France, Sponsor

December Reverie

Is there a time when love is new?
Love is old~ 
as old as the rocks, the sea, the air.
Love is a liar as timeless as eternity.

The singer sings her blue song,
the sort that lingers such a long time
after the truth has been washed
in the whiteness of life.

The memory of you lies against my heart,
like a cold soul seeking an ember
from the banked fire,
in the depth of a winter night.

A Collection of Days

A Collection of Days
David J Walker

It looks for all to me like
The same sky
Passing by  
As I wake to greet
Each new dawn

And the midday grass is
As green and fresh 
as any shaggy lawn 
I ever mowed for money 
As a boy

Every summer day
Every leaf that fell in Fall 
Ever winter snowdrift or
Spring rain
Feels and looks and smells 
The same as when 
I first arrived
All those years ago

So
What has changed
What has slowed and
Rearranged the
Ebb and flow of life


I am sure this is the
Same day continuing on
As when it first begun

Oh yes,
There are new songs 
To be sung
New lives and things
 to learn to love
New clothes to wear 
As the old fade and grow threadbare 

But tell me it’s a Monday 
Or Tuesday and how, 
Other than timebound 
Obligation, it is any different
than that  springtime Sunday
we walk in the park with the
realization that 
The sun is setting and 
Soon it will be dark 

And when the darkness comes
I will have banked 
A collection of the days
Of my life
As if all in one timeframe
Filed under my name

• Short Banked Poems
• Famous Banked Poems
• Best Banked Poems
• Read Banked Poems
• Long Banked Poems
• Banked Quotes