Long Banister Poems
Long Banister Poems. Below are the most popular long Banister by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banister poems by poem length and keyword.
HOUSE OF GRANDMA
Huge house of Grandma once in grandeur and pomp
ran full of kin, cousin, relatives.
The staircase leading to roof had a beautiful banister
The residence was my birthplace.
So far, I remember on my visit, when I was four
Grandma put a flyer under the porch of the house.
Flyer was a dazzling golden satin designed by herself
with sparkling spangles and red rosette at corners
showing ‘Welcome Little Princess’.
Onward whenever I visited, I saw that hanging in same gorgeous glow.
She died when I was seventeen.
I reminisce her deep affection
After fifty years I revisited the decaying house
now left under caretaker.
Door window in broken condition: Rusted latch in gate.
Garden Once bloomed mostly in white flowers
spreading pellucid placid calmness
now full of feral ferns, wild weeds, thorny bushes.
Most expected scenario. I was not shocked yet sighed.
Whelmed to see the flyer still hanging
and shows ‘Welcome Little Princess’.
Gentle zephyr whispers.
.
Sun rays making network of shadows through cracked lattice.
Flyer though pale, dusty, bland,
spangles still in shimmering sheen.
The decaying house welcomed me
though Grandma had left.
I wept.
07/18/20
Second Place
'Decaying House' Contest by Constance La France
Here I found a cruel necessity for a new, chilling ambience
There was even a need for the drifting fogs of dreary past
A need for the blurred emptiness that sadness elates
An unimpeded appetite for a long lost banister of emotional distain
Negative pores glimmered petulantly on polluted shores
Drawn to an irrefutable cloud of looming gloom
Swollen was the tide of crestfallen reveries—ashen treasuries
There in that dark, empty room of ill refute
I felt the word ‘alone’ in a new shade of gray
I felt sincerely barren—I hesitate to say
Yes, I welcomed the weak ray of diminishing hope
I disposed of lurid happiness to gamble with tragedy
I both lost and gained
I was both enlightened and degraded
And all else in between
Images sustained their displays on my burning canvas
Lighting up merely to blacken and destroy
Weeping for the sake of weeping alone
I grasped onto the disturbing unknown
And spat upon my inane, dull, idealistic parables
Never meant for meaning or demeaning
Only remained then was a desperately distilled and angry fright
It was this fright alone that pushed me more to account
That pushed me to curse my every being
For daring to weep for the sake of weeping
Was a personal sin at best blessed
There in that slowly illuminating room
That slowly blackening burning room
I both lost and gained
I was both dead innocent and garishly guilty
And all else in between
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
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
"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.
The Yuletide Season
Seen through the window by the fireplace’s illuminating fuel
Is a family gathering celebrating the Yule;
A union of Noël greeters in wondrous delight
Expresses warmth, joy, and happiness within the house.
They wish each other a Merry Christmas with sincerity and cheer
And exchange cards and presents while snapping pictures.
In the corner, a fir tree stands with a star topper bright
Decorated with ornaments, tinsel strings, and twinkling lights.
Down the banister and around the room, garlands run,
And over the mantle, holly and a wreath are hung.
Then singing is heard accompanied by piano music playing,
Followed by the raising of glasses to toast the Yuletide season.
Outside in the cold covered with snow while walking alone,
Memories of home come to mind, and how the years have flown.
So, our house is supposedly haunted?
The rest of the crew laughed their petootsies off
Didn’t everyone watch Channel 5 News?
ghosts, monsters, ghouls, goblins and one witch resided here
She was the ringleader of the burglary ring
Sent them in and out of houses pilfering and looting
If anyone gives you trouble, use my cell number, she said
Homeowners always back down when faced with a flying witch
Their clubhouse was at 2300 Pennsylvania, and it was filling up
The gremlins had not paid rent for a year; they were getting tossed out
Two sheriff’s deputies were at the door now, demanding to see them
The witch stuck her head over the banister
Give the officers candy, she told the ghost who had answered the door
She wanted them to come back next month to kick out the gargoyles.
I feel quite certain
can
is to canister
as sin
is to sinister
Lust
is to luster
and teach
is to teacher
as preach
is to preacher
But not mini
is to minister
as not what sinister sermons
are to lusty sermonizers.
It also feels
like cause
for pause
that war
is to warrior
but we have no equivalent language
for peace
is to peacer.
We do have blessed
are the peace makers
but not peaceful players
Or cooperative
equivalent to peace
restoring justice workers.
Now I feel curious,
so probably no threat of furious
I can not put this can
back in my canister,
ban my empowered banister,
or limit my ignorant sins
to neglecting intuitive sinister.
Paint was peeling off the banister
Grass needed cutting in the old back yard
Some weeds curling up around the fence
Neighbors sitting, times were hard
Burgers, dogs, pretzels and chips
Kids playing ball out front in the street
Quarter barrel on tap in the old metal tub
Back porch get together, plenty to eat
Mom had some shirts hanging on the line
Little income but no one cared
Laugher, smiles were spread around
Food and soda and beer were shared
Memorial Day would be the first
Then the Fourth of July and Labor Day
Neighbors were family way back then
We wouldn’t have it any other way
Good time would last until late at night
Just neighbors getting together sitting around
Laughing, joking, good old day stories
On the back porch is where they’d be found.
Fear
I raise my hand from the banister
As I ascend a flight of stairs
The air is musky and quite repugnant
And dust is a common feature
Though beneath the smell of musk
Blood lingers like a faded memory
At the very top of the stairs I pause
Gazing at an antique vase
Sun flowers are painted on the surface
Yet the realism runs far deeper
It's then that I notice the insignificant stain
A small spot that ruins perfection
And as I stare the blood begins to run
Drizzling down the side of the vase
The blood hits the floor like the feet of a cat
And races toward me like a red carpet
Sunlight that once eagerly streamed inside
Falls flat leaving me in bleak shadows
Stumbling backwards to escape the blood
I falter at the sound of ear peircing screams
A Banshee has awoken in the midst of my nightmare
Filling my pounding ears with sharpened knives
The black lights flicker once and then light the room
Coming from nowhere and everywhere
Crystal blue orbs filled with curiosity silently judge me
Like the eyes of an elegant immortal goddess
Her pale hand raises upward as I gaze transfixed
And her index finger beckons me
A curse has been placed upon me as I step forward
Unable to break the spell that holds me
The blood that once seemed so weak and so shallow
Now forms a puddle through which I wade
Destiny stares at me from her mirroring eyes wide with seduction
And I abhor my inability to escape this façade
Within only a foot from her I find my feet finally come to a halt
As her lips split into the ghost of a smile
Her hands descend into the scarlet puddle of blood before raising them
Blood slowly seeping from the imperfect bowl her hands form
And then she blows the blood into my face and my body shatters
I'm naught but a magnificent creature of despair myself
And when I awake shaking and stuttering with the police shaking me
The eyes of my immortal goddess, a Banshee, seem to smile at me
Without words I can tell that my end is nigh
For fear was not meant to live forever