Best Banister Poems
Walking deep into the woods we stumbled on an old abandoned place
A white and blue farm house with a wraparound dilapidated porch
Tall grass was overgrown and with many shade trees of oak and birch
Plant pots of dried up and decayed ferns left on the railings in disgrace
The black roof was missing shingles and caving in on one side
The front door a pale worn yellow with a climbing red rosette
I start to feel more anxious as I see a freshly discarded cigarette
We walk up to a large picture window to peek in, all fears aside
We see some old beautiful antiques covered in dust and cob webs
Below the wooden banister staircase is a beautiful tall clock displayed
I feel a chill up my spine as I hear the clock ticking, now feeling afraid
An old worn oriental rug lay under it in faded patterns of muted reds
We decide to try the knob to see if we can get in to explore
As I touched it I felt a shock and heard faint whispers
I quickly let go as my hand started to feel hot and blistered
I tell my friend we need to leave now I think danger may be in store
We walk towards the back and see an old woman weeding a garden bed
She stops what she's doing and turns around to ask us who is there
and starts slowly floating in the air and says to come in for tea if we dare
We quickly turn and start running toward the woods, screaming as we fled
7/13/2020
Contest: Decayed House Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
I went out walking
In the afternoon
I looked to the sky
What would it be like
Climbing a ladder?
Up into the sky?
I pondered my thought
To climb the ladder
i saw the ladder
It had a banister
I could hold onto
When I climbed it
It gave me3 courage
To climb upward
One step at a time
I saw the dark sky
The stars were shining
I saw the dipper
the moon was huge
I saw planets small
I saw planets large
The clouds different shapes
A rainbow seen
Then my foot slipped
Falling so quickly down
Where would I end up?
Falling in darkness
I was frighted
Landing on the ground
From a dream I woke
Tonight, her footsteps crack and moan —
She's useless when her tears frost over,
The gutter running without her, alone
There's another ghost inside porchlight silver,
A foot melting on the banister —
She's dark as the wind that picks her up,
This twisting whirl of white clumps
Against wind now seeming touchable —
Outside, the snow jumps
With the draft...and then the window's wail,
Being broken apart like snowflakes assails,
She touches the real parts in foggy glass —
The cold that blasts through a girl's face,
Years after, the woman outside this table —
So the terrace is her cup, white laughter, dark tastes.
Golden oak, the banister gleams,
its clean waxed surface lightly
touched by her soft, soft hand as she
descends the green carpeted stair,
tossing her lustrous, long blonde hair.
She is modishly dressed, in a casual way
(a green twill frock) and she is
eating an intense red, crisp apple,
which she carries aloft in her left hand,
left elbow resting on left hip.
The apple aroma precedes her to the door
and out, into the bright gold light.
She closes the door, engages the lock,
firmly bites into the crisp apple flesh,
flashing her strong white teeth;
her pink tongue licks a dribble
of juice from the left corner
of her red, red mouth. She shakes her head,
gold in the golden light, and she tosses
the half-eaten apple to the lush green lawn,
laughs at a soaring greenjay, passes (unnoticed)
a flight of fluttering golden butterflies,
and blithely continues on her determined way
to her beauty appointment, her club luncheon,
and the rest of her busy, busy day.
DESSERT TABLE
Yes, it’s a beautiful spread
A tantalizing sight
With not Cezanne depth or solidity, but
Our hostess’ fond delight
She’s gathered not justs -
Not just cakes, cheeses and fruit
But a famous pot of snowball flowers,
A tall bottle of ultra-expensive wine, to boot
Now witness her many noted guests
Completely sated, become indecorous, loud,
A regular old-times gathering –
This flouncy, pot bellied, gut roaring crowd
And there are eager eyes, thrust noses
The sober might spy
Peering through banister slats, through cigar smoke.
For just one taste they would die
A wedge from an extant white, coconut cake,
Circus of green wrapped sweets,
Strawberry shortcake, cheesecake
An invitation what they seek
I fear, though, this luxury shall go elsewhere
The pastries, cheeses, fruits gathered all,
The youngsters, discovered, sent off to bed,
And cookie, chauffeur and butler shall have themselves a ball
Out of nowhere,an idea
Then image;
Out of this picture,a sentence,
Then a page;
Out of the verse,a sonnet,
Then a rhyme;
Out of this art,a hobby
So sublime
labelled this imagist form 'a tabb' in his honour.
EVOLUTION
by: John Banister Tabb (1845-1909)
Out of the dusk a shadow,
Then, a spark;
Out of the cloud a silence,
Then, a lark;
Out of the heart a rapture,
Then, a pain;
Out of the dead, cold ashes,
Life again.
He looked out at the snow and ice,
As a cold wind whistled winter
Through the door, bringing hope
Of making a real-life snowman,
A special friend for a lonely boy,
At least in his world it was so.
He ran out of his room and leapt so
High, sliding down the banister as if on ice.
Then, putting on his boots and scarf, the boy
Flew out of the door into the depths of winter,
Laughing, scooping, sculpting his snowman,
His pal, his accomplice, his hope.
He rolled about without a hope
Of caring for the cold, and so,
Wrapping his scarf around his snowman,
He skidded about on sparkling ice
Losing his boots to the big mad winter…
And there was no happier boy.
A solitary but cheerful boy,
No others there to spoil the hope
Of finding secret delights in winter
That only he believed in so,
Secrets long buried in solid ice,
Yet found inside a snowman.
He danced and chatted to his snowman
And he in turn smiled down at the boy,
Complete with carrot nose and eyes of ice
It filled his heart with warmth and hope,
Showed him the meaning of life so
Full of love, in coldest cruellest winter.
Back inside he looks on winter
Watching his own precious snowman,
And though the fire roars and sweets so
Tempting fill the senses of the boy,
Nothing gives him more joy-filled hope
Than gazing on two lumps of ice.
The darkest winter, that lies inside a boy,
Is brightened by a snowman, a light of hope
That friendship gives so, through frozen ice.
Six Hundred Boys
Six hundred boys were singing in the hall
Six hundred boys were singing in the hall
Six hundred boys were singing there
Singing out a secret prayer
Six hundred boys were singing in the hall
Angelic voices bouncing off the walls
Angelic voices bouncing off the walls
Praying, there would be no pain
The masters, they would show restrain
Angelic voices bouncing off the walls
Bend over boy, it’s time you got the rod
Bend over boy, it’s time you got the rod
For sliding down the banister
Failing to call the master SIR
Bend over boy, it’s time you got the rod
Bend over boy, and get six of the best
Bend over boy, and get six of the best
You shouldn’t be a fighting
Substandard is your writing
Bend over boy, and get six of the best
Touch your toes, hear the swish of cane
Think of England as the blows a reign
Stiff upper lip, as you’re hit
Must remember all that ****
Touch your toes, hear the swish of cane
Six hundred boys were singing in the hall
Six hundred boys standing, proud and tall
Six hundred boys were singing there
Singing out their secret prayer
Angelic voices bouncing off the walls
THE SUN WILL SHINE
The elevator has malfunctioned.
Issues are surmountable.
I just have to see a way to defeat the problems I would not let hold on.
I'll climbed the stairway and go out on the roof to think alone.
The sun will shine for me.
So many images form from my past for me to scrutinize.
A proclaimed inclination of a defined destiny is only a heighten presence of an
aspired eternity.
Certain scenes are prophetic of perused and lucid thoughts.
The sun will shine and I will smile once more.
Entering my apartment and opening the patio doors, raindrops are hitting the
banister.
I will take a seat in my favorite chair and close my eyes to meditate.
I will breath in fresh air.
The sun will shine on me.
Globules of joy will form.
My dynast will be eternal.
__________________________|
PENNED JULY 18, 2014!
A single golden light
Danced through the frame,
And spangled out of the dark house
As snow spun downward
Into the abyss of the night.
A man trembled inside
Shaking his head in pain.
Tears grew off his face and
Watered the floor.
He sat for sometime,
Then slid off the couch
And heavily trudged up the stairs.
He opened the door and saw his son, sleeping
Soundly in the swollen room.
The hushed raspy breaths of the boy
Echoed in the stillness of the man's heart.
Moonlight spilled through the pane
tricking the blue curtains to shine.
And in his heart he knew,
All is well.
Then moving to the next room,
Where the form still lay,
Of his teenaged daughter.
Headphones jammed loud in her ears,
Playing the beat of her resistance.
The man was glad she could escape
What he could not.
Softly he leaned over and kissed
Her forehead, whiffing the smell
Of her fresh hair die.
And in his heart he knew,
All is well.
Shutting the door behind him,
Staggered down the stairs,
Leaned on the banister.
His gaze met the open room.
Empty with lace curtains,
Plush couches,
And his spirit glass.
Then through his swollen eyes
He lingered over the pictures on the wall,
And silently walked to his desk.
He pulled the drawer open
A brush of cedar hit his nose,
He use to love that smell.
He pulled out a revolver.
And in his heart he knew,
CLICK
It wasn't.
The youth
Good toppest lustre of the day
The brave hulk which makes hay
These adherent shining through blames
Our pure ambrosial saints ain't flames
These souls has a new odour today
The young beautiful flash to play
We are the good children of glare
Our colour candytuft shift blur
God's love mends and make the youth
This time and space experience use
The living waters with the future frozen
Our power through the mirror was spoken
Past passion, post move on the song
The uniform dance, listen the flowers wrong
Happiness blossom the rainbow nation
Our fruit bloom the path of fasion
We are blood washing through the rails
Of a sweeping banister. Unfolding tails
"The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts."-
Italo Calvino
We moved into an inherited old house with a friendly ghost,
our house is an old Victorian built along the mid coast.
Our ghost is not threatening, scary, or causes any fears,
We believe she is the lady of the house and has been for years.
We first noticed her strong scent of lilacs filling the room,
while outside there were no lilacs or flowers in bloom.
We have awoken to smells of tea and freshly baked apple pie,
and often find her teacup on the counter left clean and dry.
She can be a prankster and will sometimes hide our house keys,
we frantically search and then suddenly find them with ease.
She also moves our clothes, pillows and takes our old shoes,
we are not sure why but think she’s keeping herself amused.
Our young grandson came over one weekend to stay overnight,
and told us he met the sweet lady in his room dressed in white.
That weekend he screamed as he fell over the banister railing,
panicked as we ran down expecting to find him hurt and wailing.
He was smiling as he sat perfectly upright in an empty plant pot,
and said the old lady caught him as he fell and put him in this spot.
We were relieved he was not hurt, did not have a scrape or a scratch,
and thanked our ghost lady of the house for her life saving catch!
2/23/23
Contest: Writing Challenge - G Words- Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
( checked with rhymezone)
* This is a fictional poem but based on an experience I had as a child. We lived in a haunted home. I was four years old and fell over the banister. My parents found me sitting upright in a plant pot, not injured. For years I have wondered if I was helped to safety by a ghost.
Two hats hanging on the banister
Stacked on top of each other
When the sun shines the shadow
Appears on the beige wall
The sun shows a shape
A face on the wall
Appears wearing a hat
A face on the wall
The eye m nose, and mouth
He is staring at me
The face is sideways
It is why one eye down
Part of his lip and hat
His shadow is sideways
That is how he appears
Every sunny day
Sliding down the banister of life...
make sure the splinters point away.
Let go of what's gone behind.
Face the bumps with courage.
Don't mourn your journey.
Slide with laughter...
it's the ride
of your
life.
Brian Strand’s CONTEST NO 184 any theme/form max 12 lines Do NOT add name, photo, or any data/info to your entry. Poem only please.
THE RIBBON
The ribbon laid gently,
In the old ornament crate;
Even amongst the bold colors,
It still looked so great!
Originally, wrapped around,
A banister garland of green,
Each year, it adorned,
The prettiest decorations, seen!
Long enough to fully complete,
The journey around the stair,
It continued to a table,
Made of oak and it's chair;
Streaming downward, with a twirl,
The red ribbon did flow,
Past candle-lit windows,
Frosted over in the glow!
Trekking over the mantle,
With the nativity, spread about,
Journeying, like the Wise Men,
Who travelled to seek it out!
Then, finally, up the fresh Scotch pine;
It had come, so very far;
The ribbon, tied in a bow,
Resting, just beneath the star!
Many years had passed;
It seemed like yesterday;
Yet, I reached forth my hand,
To start it, on its way!
And, as I wove the ribbon,
Those precious memories came,
Bringing back, special times,
With feelings, just the same!
E. Self 2015