Long Banana Poems
Long Banana Poems. Below are the most popular long Banana by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banana poems by poem length and keyword.
I like to think big thoughts,
but when I tie my brain in knots,
I eat a couple tater tots.
Who was best? The Sultan of Swat?
Maybe he was - maybe not.
I'm not sure, but if you ask me, man,
my money's on Ohtani from Japan.
If you think my poems ain't good enough,
consider that I know lots of stuff -
like: there's no fruit more popular than a
orange, an apple, or a banana.
I think it would be really neat
to have suction cups for feet,
I would not be limited, anymore,
to walking only on the floor.
Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall,
I'd stroll the ceiling and the wall.
Everyone would fall in love
with me as I look down from above,
knowing I will never drop
as my feet loudly pop, pop, pop.
An American perspective on domestic and world events, in no particular order
SCOTUS rules that Trump’s immune
China flies the spy balloon
Starship booster landing glee
J. Assange is walking free
Bergdorf, Neiman join Saks
Our Secret Service sucks
Russia swaps her jailed spies
Alexei Navalny dies
Mitch McConnell’s stepping down
“Boris” causes Europe drown
Biden cancels loan debt
Hunter’s pardoned by his dad
Hezbollah - beheaded snake
East Coast’s shaken by the quake
Eagle Pass – still open path
Gaza tastes Israeli wrath
North of 40 goes Dow Jones
Loses fight one Alex Jones
French Olympics is a dud
Milton, Helen’s awful flood
Bitcoin’s rising through the roof
“Donald Trump is bullet-proof”
MSNBC for sale
Diddy Combs in Brooklyn’s jail
Donald wins and Harris not
Brian T. assassins’ plot
Bankman-Fried, the largest fraud
“AI” reach is getting broad
Pavel Durov nabbed in France
But illegals push, advance
Mid-East war still rages on
“Year of Snake” is almost born
TikTok may not be around
Syria has fallen down
Anti-Semites flowing crud
Israel keeps oozing blood
Taylor Swift, the billionaire
Art, banana, millionaire
Gone Red Lobster, Tupperware
Weapons for Ukraine affair
Prada sews the spacewalk suit
DOJ quits Trump’s pursuit
Spirit Air takes nose dive
Elon Mask in overdrive
Iran rockets come like rain
Hostages remain in pain
No DC resolve, it’s air
Beirut pagers need repair
Russia crumbles from within
Lower price on gasoline
“Brat”, the word of current year
Now, to ones we once revere
Gone for good, but left imprint
Culture, sport, each own footprint
Lou Carnesecca, Dr. Ruth
Wheel of Fortune Chuck, sad truth
Quincy Jones – culture brass
James Jones - Darth Vader bass
Newhart Bob, satire most
One Phil Donahue, the host
Famous Amos, Maggie Smith,
Richard Simmons, workout wiz
Global flier Dick Rutan
Gossett Lou, of actors’ clan
Matthew Perry, Terry Garr
O.J. Simpson football star
Willie Mays of baseball fame
Y. Sinwar, mankind’s shame
Year’s drawing to a close
Parties, cheer and best clothes
Time for thought and time for fun
Merry Xmas, everyone!
December 15, 2024
To me banana leaf is not cheap life providing lien
It serves me with certain safety like heavenly dish of earth
Dark venom fallen down in its safety embryo of oxygen
Venomous snake spreading burning meteors on heart
Breathing afraid of excess sneezing, cough, fever, headache
Unseen venomous flowers giving honey and aroma of death
Tasteless deaths do not allow to be near tearing lungs of air pack
Bloodless killing hands moving around the world with cursed math
At present for the stainless amorphous killer-
Truth forgetting to love
Love forgetting to be sympathized to life
Life forgetting to breath independently
Vulnerable life digging out the river of orphanage tears
30.03.2020 Chattogram
Legacy of the Green Monster
An odd green monster
Resides within the corner
Of my kitchen sink –
Mouth open,
Stomach rumbling,
Whispering feed me – feed me now -
Ready to receive scraps of wilted salad,
Spicy pie,
Pasta sauce and olive pits
With bits of Tuesday’s stew -
Not fretting when it’s musty perfume
Mingles with strawberries
Past their prime –
Banana peels -
Or
Tattered leaves swept from the floor
Dragged in on furry paws;
No sweet smelling new mown hay;
The useless and expired
Now expelled from the monster’s grip,
A smorgasbord of the over ripe,
The underdone,
The scorched and slightly singed
Mingling – Maturing -
Ever ripening in
A mountain growing by the house
To once again revive growth,
With discarded apple cores
And sweet potato peels -
This pungent bisque spread on sleeping garden beds
When springtime wakes the earth
From hibernation
Only to find tomato plants
Growing in the strangest places.
Contest - All About the Environment
A field where tall bony trees,
Where hums the cool gentle breeze.
In the gentleness of the grass green,
There lived two rabbits Colin and Tim.
Colin and Tim two best friends,
Lived in little caves in the grassland.
Colin looked like autumn and fallen leaves,
His roasted chestnut fur like all hallows' eve.
Tim looked like winter, his eyes like hibiscus,
His fur as serene as snow, him as lovely as Christmas.
Two buddies, they never fought ,
Hatred, they never got taught.
Their friendship was something so admirable,
As amiable as ever, just like some sweet old fable.
One day they decided to make banana bread,
They were sitting in front of the fire when this thought came into their tiny little head.
Tim brought flour and eggs,
He ran as fast as he could with his galloping legs.
Colin had honey and bananas in his cosy candlelit kitchen,
He decided to read his grandmother's recipe
And began to learn.
They still needed chocolate and baking powder,
Tim went to the market (again) and came back singing louder.
They mixed everything together,
Their heads, light as a feather.
But something very important was still missing—oh! Vanilla,
The batter mixed, then baked, the bread was ready and voilà!
They ate wholeheartedly with smiles as soft as silk,
The banana bread tasted better in the soft pouring rain with some chocolate milk.
MR. PLAYER COMES CALLING
Playful monkeys on trunks of gold.
Banana like branches, like hammocks.
“My friends and family dynamics…
Oh, the fun of the life I pleasantly hold!”
Jealous of a competing tree…so calm.
So busy at her task, sun shines hot.
Pleasantly singing of what life’s brought,
Lai Lai weaving leaves of palm.
Swinging his hairy silhouette he turns up
party music, which relaxes “Mr. Player.”
Pulls his sweetheart close, he turns ever grayer.
Knowing she’s growing older, he must break up.
Lai Lai swings tree to tree selling homemade goods.
Pays for the tree she rents. Smiles at her troubles.
“Who does she think she is? Never offers me her baubles!”
“The player” decides to ditch his girl, present falsehoods
to the girl across the way. He must bring her down
Out of her, oh so humble, ho hum existence.
Cool player expects no real resistance.
As Lai Lai sees him swinging her way, she wears a frown.
His charms come calling, arms are swinging…
Lai Lai not shy on wisdom, pulls back a branch.
Her refusal, shakes the tree, Player in an avalanche.
Wounded head to toe, besides his pride is stinging,
Mr. Player found he was better off with his queen bee.
Finds her sunning herself, banana splits laid out in feast.
She mocks and laughs and cleans up her big hairy beast,
“She’s too goody two shoes for you! What you want is me!”
Lai Lai relaxing after a hard week of pleasant labor.
It’s Sunday, waiting for her hard working man.
She’s time to dress herself in silk, wave the heat away with fan.
You see Lai Lai’s fallen in love with her ambitious neighbor.
Moral: Don’t fall for a charmer.
3/7/2017
Nayda’s Fable Contest
The series "Despicable Me,"
we've flocked to theaters to see.
Wee minions--cute creatures--
and bad guys each features.
To all we respond with great glee.
I never dreamed five years ago
that I would soon dash to and fro
in search of these minions--
in children's opinions,
all treasures. How well I now know!
Some kids possess minions galore:
the one-eyed, the two-eyed, and more.
They giggle and jabber;
"BANANA," some blabber.
Their odd appeal, who could ignore?
My grandson's like other young boys.
For Christmas he craved minion toys.
His loved ones went shopping
for hours, not stopping
till we found gifts he now enjoys.
The minion-themed presents I gave
were puzzles, a cool talking Dave,
a pillow with three guys
with one or two huge eyes.
For these he did hug me and rave.
` I'm glad to say just one thing more:
Fart Blaster, I left at the store!
The child would have driven
me nuts if I'd given
him that thing; but Dave, I adore.
Date posted: February 23, 2016
The rhyming scheme of a limerick is aabba.
Anything but bread
I bumped into a man named Fred
And listened to each word he said
A story I was soon to dread
For all he talked about was bread
In detail he spoke every slice
Some made of wheat and some of rice
There’s cinnamon and sugar spice
And sourdough he mentioned twice
Banana nut he found so sweet
The perfect early morning treat
With coffee as you take a seat
To bake it though, a major feat
He chronicled each rim of crust
A lighter tan or darker rust
Or sprinkled with a pepper dust
I guess somehow he thought he must
When then he changed and featured toast
I think it’s what he liked the most
I can’t believe how he could boast
He’d tell his tale from coast to coast
I told him I was running late
I had a very special date
A meeting and it couldn’t wait
I headed out beyond the gate
I started walking down the trail
He didn’t stop, I heard him wail
“Be careful of the loaves on sale,
you’ll usually find that they are stale”
Into a café I then fled
And thought about that man named Fred
When asked to order, this I pled
“Just bring me anything but bread”
Inspired by Maureen McGreavy’s Baker’s Dozen poetry contest
That’ll teach me to read the rules first. : )
Death smiles at me in my nightmares.
I'll end up in hell like all those daring spirits.
Every time I pass a cemetery, I curse Lucifer.
One more day on this generous planet for the dark souls.
A hard-drug cure to silence those ill-omened angels.
I'm always in a bad mood without the sweetness of those bundles of green bills.
My sense of joy is monetary.
I wield the weapons of war like a soldier trapped in the bowels of a banana republic.
Hating myself is a suicidal project.
I address the angel of death from the African slums.
I break their laws; I'm not in a republican mood.
My logic is a Saharan burst of gunfire.
Descendant of guerrillas of Sahelian culture.
I'm allergic to Françafrique when I hear the self-pitying ramblings of the Republic.
My lights come from the openings of the homeland of those fanatic slave-traders.
I am a fundamentalist Catholic who recites Quranic verses like an alcoholic.
I hate failure and I adore easy money from illicit drug trade.
I prefer darkness, like the Western predators who rob Africa.
6/26/17
Skies with an occasional rainbow
While organisms and plants across the terrain grow
Just trying to take care of business and lay low
Whichever way I go
This is real life not no game show
Nobody is perfect and has a halo
Better late than never
Than to take forever
Put one foot in front of the other
Don't judge a book by it's cover
Be happy
And don't eat crappy
Take care of yourself
Or else
You may be in a state of poor health
Regardless of if you got less or more wealth
It was poorly written
Without any kind of vision
Therefore what made it different?
If a message wasn't given
Would anyone listen?
The fruit was cantaloupe
The sunscreen was banana boat
The nearby animals were antelope
Don't get me started
About something highly regarded
Unless you'd like to be departed
Underneath daylight or a sky that darkened
You must be a fool to think it could've been pardoned
Broke a curse
Above and below the dirt
While among so many folks on Earth
Regarding the entire gamut
All across the planet
In areas with or without granite
And other agates
Sky gazing
And mind racing
Faster than a heartbeat
In areas near and far from where people farm wheat
I don't always understand
Across the mother land
And world, didn't always have the upper hand