Long Banjos Poems
Long Banjos Poems. Below are the most popular long Banjos by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banjos poems by poem length and keyword.
The moon is bright, and the chores are done
Tonight's the night to have some fun!
The harvest in, calls for a night's hell-raisin'
Take me out in the old hay wagon!
Not far to go, where the old dirt road ends
There on the left, where the oak branch bends
Let's hurry, Pa! ....Hitch the old grey mare!
We'll share with folks sorghum pies I've made
Stop la gaging, there's some moonshine waitin'
I'll wear my calico, with petticoats wavin'
Fiddles playin', and banjos are strummin'
Feet are flying, to some do-si-do-ing!
We'll kick up heels, with a still of whiskey
Come'on old man, while I'm feeling frisky!!!
___________________________________
For the Hoe Down Contest:
A banjo is playing in the bodega.
A door proclaims its ding and dong
voltaic birds bounce to its tintinnabulum,
flickers of auricular featherings
wipe shelves of a million years of dust.
The banjo is at prayer and you are there
as you peal with its cadence and quiver.
The bodhisattva
they that dynamo the sonic tides,
the waves,
air waves, sounding and soundless,
who sparkle
in the high deep heavens
and in the low wallows
where ankles are the muddy roots
of wind chimes and cow bells.
Sounds unleashing
the knelling thunder of peace.
Alabaster hands poised in mid-air
signaling an elemental perfection.
The kinetics of gesture and stillness,
as doors open their choiring mouths,
as banjos mimic the sounds
of all practicing avatars,
and we hearing
only the ding yet missing the dong
unthinking un-ring Gods temple gong.
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
What are these objects in your frames?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Why must they gotta be the same?
Cars and busses, traffic lights
Bicycles and motor bikes
Crosswalks, signs, and steps and stairs
Fire hydrants everywhere
Boats, planes and parking meters
Tickets, fines, misdemeanors
Why are you so fond of these?
Why are palms the only trees?
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
The pictures trapped inside of there
Oh captcha squares, oh captcha squares
Depict a world so bleak and bare
Arid, bland, unaesthetic
Barren, drab, unpoetic
Sterile, cold, antiseptic
Unconcerned, apathetic
Somber, sad, and desolate
Woeful, bland, pedestrian
Weary, grim, dreary, hopeless
Grainy, gray, out of focus
It doesn’t need to be this way…
Many things could fill your squares
Why not fill these things in there?
Tambourines and castanets
Bass trombones and clarinets
English horns and piccolos
Harpsichords and xylophones
Fiddles high and Irish whistles
Jingle bells and finger cymbals
5-string banjos, mandolins
Saxophones, accordions
Desmond Tutu and Mandela
Cassius Clay, Cinderella
Charlemagne and Genghis Kahn
George and Ringo, Paul, and John
Twain and Edgar Allan Poe
Wayne and Brando and Monroe
Ida Wells, Frida Kahlo
Steinem, Parks, and Ferraro
River Thames and stormy seas
Winter wrens and bumble bees
Cyprus, ash, oak, fir, and pine
Sassafras, willow, and lime
Daffodils and magnolias
Marigolds and begonias
Cabbage, beets, and potatoes
Carrots, beans, and tomatoes
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
If your pictures must remain
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
How aboutcha change the frames?
Captcha circles, captcha suns
All the captcha olygons
Wiggly captcha twiggly lines
Twisty captcha twiny vines
Captcha diamonds, captcha hearts
Captcha clovers, moons, and stars
Captcha ribbons, Captcha lace
Captcha colored string bouquets
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
We understand you're here to stay.
Oh Captcha Squares, Oh Captcha Squares
Just be more creative, OK?
On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
The inside is decorated
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Loud hillbilly music plays.
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.
------------------------------------------------------------
Written 6th October, 2014
A collaboration by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire
Through the Mississippi River trenches
Bayou close
Plantation seen in the distance
Cruising through Southern history’s past
Battle and Struggle
Civil War breakout
Slavery quo
Acceleration having a slow pace
Rebel among the multitude of voices
Southern accent
Freedom thought
The need being a slow proceed
Won’t, Can’t, Shouldn’t and total stand still
The vision of slaves being compelled to function on the many plantations sun up to sun down
Breezes were only a wave with a fan
Mississippi River far and wide
Shores yonder
Banjos setting the tone for boundaries forbidden
Folklore testimonies
Singing and dancing through the circumstances
Slaves praying every chance
Only Slaves knew the trouble they seen
Having the understanding I mean
Southern drawl components
Mouth to Mouth
The Mississippi River belle telling how the Mississippi River being the passage way in bringing Slaves for plantation purposes
Mississippi River ever wise
Southern element no surprise
Beyond the spectacle, but slaves had to succumb having no surrender, but ordinance.
Natures bugle call to action
Daffodils trumpeting springs arrival
Bluebells sprout from hidden tubas
Spring is playing us its symphony
Battling banjos played on sunny porches
as the sun sets you can imagine a cello recital
or guitars played by camp fires
summer times Renaissance
The years clock is beating out on a tin drum
Leaves falling softly making the sound of a tambourine
played softly by the ghost of Karen Carpenter
Autumn drops on us like a drum roll at the end of a song
Lift your voice at winters arrival
sing carols to your god and celebrate his son
a choral celebration of the years end
sing songs of the seasons
comp entry 03042016
D Daisy plays, and Violet bathes in a sudden evening rain
A Anointed too, is Rosie's face, with every gentle drop
N Narcissus squeals with laughter, too, and sings a sweet refrain
C Crickets dance, wear plaid berets, and do a Celtic hop!
I In the mud we’ll find two weeds, they flop about a lot!
N Nanny Mum, and Granny Plum , play banjos in the band
G Gardenia's cheeks are white and sleek, she scrubs from end to end
R Rabbits hear the jubilee, and from their holes they pop
A A squirrel or two, come down the tree, where all the fuss began
I In spite of fear, the little mouse, looks out to see what’s up
N Nearby, the cat, just waves his hat, allows the mice some fun!
D Dogs join in, start chasing cats, they splash, and play like kids
R Rainbows fill the evening sky, where now the sun peeks in
O Overhead, the clouds are tinged, in greens, and blues and reds
P Pretty is the world tonight, refreshed, and smelling good
S Softly now the pitter-pat upon on the evening’s hood
________________________
Submitted for PD's Acrostic Contest:7/3/14
,
A black cloud descends…. , , ,
Each flower grows hopeful! ,,
In jubilation, katydids, laughingly, make noisy ovations! , , ,
Party-planner, Queen Rosie, STOPS to
unleash verses,with ’xcited Yiddish zeal !
……………………………………………………………. , ,
D Daisy Mae, and Lily Gay, bathe in refreshing rains ,,
A Anointed too, are tiny baby buds, with every little drop ,, ,,,
N Narcissus squeals with laughter, and sings a sweet refrain
C Crickets dance with plaid berets, and do a Celtic hop!
I In the mud we’ll find two pigs, they splash, but then rain STOPS!
N Nanny Goose, and Granny Goat, play banjos in the band
G Gardenias, stash away umbrellas, they scrub from end to end
R Rabbits hear the jubilee, and from a hole they pop
A A squirrel or two, comes down the tree, where all the fuss began
I In spite of fear, the little mouse, looks out to see what’s up
N Nearby, the cat, just waves his hat, allows the mice some fun!
N Dogs join in, STOP chasing cats, they splash, and play like kids
R Rainbows fill the evening sky, where now the sun peeks in
O Overhead, the colors smile, in greens, and blues and reds
P Pretty is the world tonight, refreshed, and clean, and good
S Softly STOPS the pitter-pat upon on the evening’s hood
…………………………………………………………………………
Thirsty trees, and tender tulip tongues, tasted today’s tantalizing tonic
Rain STOPS to retreat, to replenish, refresh, repair, and rest
Delighted dancers STOP, to discuss day’s divine delivery duties
Rainbows remind recovering revelers reasons to STOP and reflect, rejoice, recent rainy rewards
Slowly, in soft slippers, STOPping to shine, sun sets silently.
Satisfactorily satiated, the scenery seems serene, sparkling and sleepy…..
..............................................................................................................................
Inspired by Debbie's Contest "Aye, Aye, and a Mistress"
You were born here,
Blue Ridge foothills,
spirits of Cherokee in
Appalachia's olden heart and veins.
Scots-Irish influence of beloved
bluegrass,
moonshine of the drinking kind.
Your parents weren't the responsible
type,
as you and your three sisters spent
your childhoods in foster care and were
once left with your mother's cruel friend
for two years,
you went through so much.
Your single grandmother Robbie
did the best she could,
a beautician on her feet all day.
Her white farmhouse with no
indoor bathroom,
and an outhouse in the yard.
She fried okra better than anyone,
grew an acre of tobacco.
You were living in Texas,
joined the Navy at nineteen,
and it became your home.
We met within its ranks,
survivors of child abuse.
We wed, weren't wealthy.
We raised our daughter after
returning to your hometown.
You walked her down the aisle,
and treasured our son-in-law,
and grandchildren too.
You passed at the age of
fifty-nine,
interred by a gentle stream
in the Veterans Cemetery,
where someday I'll also be.
Appalachian Homecoming,
as banjos and dulcimers play softly. ~
I can hardly wait reading welter of books...
courtesy Karen Windle a gift horse
ponied up late afternoon May18th, 2020
over roan nay bore lee volition.
Unbeknownst how she raised (cane),
and loudly wrapped outside the door
every ounce of her eighty plus pounds
slip of elderly lady petite bow legged
spry late 60's though older looking gal
argh – I expect unpleasant fallout after
piercing eyes unexpectedly discover
references made regarding aged waif,
who inexplicably signalled presence
in toto i.e. presents to comprehend, a
bounty, nah, not worth causing mutiny
nevertheless heave on lee delight hup
pea zing helter skelter discombobulated
alienation courtesy coronavirus lockdown
concomitantly venues to borrow books
puts serious and perilous bind aggravated
assault upon cerebral cortex regarding a
forced hiatus deprivation to binge read
reduced to peruse the daily toilet paper
no stimulation for imagination to indulge
magical mystery tour thwarted helter skelter
ye silently ask rather infer "what me bored?"
Despite severely circumscribed choices
whiling away hours, who knows lockdown
courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19)
warrants near indefinite closure accessing
literary material buzzfeeding noggin,
an egg gone eye zing torture rankles
healthy predilection to binge osmotically
passion for written word all the while
authors unbeknownst evoke quintessential
pleasant provocation dredging up
10,000 leagues below the jewel bedecked
cease son bewitched (Alder time) tremendous
metaphorical pristine hinterlands
Matthew Scott's vernacular semantic
hodgepodge orientation withered away
figurative gripes wrath and rail against
series of unfortunate events ala defiant
Lemony Snicket, when despair plummeted
to all time low, who should unwittingly
telepathically hear plaintive SOS sent
none other than intrepid Karen Windle,
who's mysteriously rapping announced
dog send appearance bore deliverance
(cue Banjos), where ecstasy didst delve
where still waters run deep, nevertheless
welcome respite when printed material
weekly magazines offered scant respite.