Long Bank Poems
Long Bank Poems. Below are the most popular long Bank by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bank poems by poem length and keyword.
Truth burns at the center of all occurrance,
it is a heat that motivates appettites to enlarge,
truth is a multiplier of quests,
satisfaction always arrives at the porch of a new path,
truth does not reveal endings, only beginings that behave
like currents pushing towards a shore,
truth demands stamina from the finder as well from the seeker,
it dashes in delight from the tired,
indolence receives no invitation from truth because laziness is a debtor,
a fish with no gills,
credit walks not from the bank steps of truth,
one must exchange, transact with it, as wanting is to worth,
Truth holds strength in one hand and suffering in the other,
He gives quarter and meal to surviving artificers who are organizing
their talents for future enterprise,
to the brigand and beggar He puts on a pewter plate
bland beans representing distance,
disillusionment preceeds the knowledge of utility because
new truth means fallacy is an ancestor,
an anthropologist is truth, observing your traits,
orbiting the ability of your judgement,
some of Truth's revelations are more expensive than others,
sometimes He will take your Past and grin like a haughty antique dealer,
truth will invest in your Future as a gambler revisits old glory
speaking fresh fortunes in cold ears,
He is an opportunist incessantly offering information for spirit,
without the ignorant truth becomes a vagabond in a vineyard of sweet rust,
the secret of truth is that it is ours
if we wish to be honest with ourselves,
truth is the inheritence of the strong who know how to make it,
oppossed to those waiting for it -
J.A.B.
I'll play the bad guy,
if it will make you feel better.
I'll make it my favourite role,
they'll probably award me an Oscar.
I'll stand in the firing line,
taking all the shots - maybe I'm bulletproof.
Put on those boxing gloves,
but punch me hard, so you knock me out.
I'll be your willing punching bag.
I'll act a joker, paint a smile on my face.
I don't know how to play the victim.
You can tell all the media -
I'm the villain.
I'll be your gangster,
rob a bank for you -
but I can never be a killer.
You can belittle me,
stab me with your words,
poke me your insecurities..
Defame me, shame me - massacre my character.
I'll slay your demons, whilst you slaughter my personality.
Let them point all the fingers - at me
I promise I'll be silent,
no courtroom will hear my confession -
a secret I'll take to my grave.
It's ok, I'll hide the truth.
I'm immune to the insults - just numb.
I won't look for tomorrow - It may never arrive.
Forget forever - I'm not evergreen - are you?
In this mad world,
I'll die misunderstood -
just like Van Gogh
Strip me of my clothes,
trample over me like you would on snow.
Leave me vulnerable,
shivering among unfamiliar faces.
Before you go,
cut me open,
let me bleed dry, just like a poetic death.
When I'm just a memory,
remember me when it rains.
Maybe the mystery of each drop,
may explain the unexplainable pain.
Bank robber Jim was one unlucky bloke
Went to draw his gun but the holster broke
It dropped on the bank floor
And went off with a roar
The shock was too much and he had a stroke...
Though he was unconscious he hadn't died
Woke in a coffin for his final ride
In a desparate bid
Banged on the coffin lid
But all he could hear was laughing outside...
Written 17th June 2021
Then someone shouted can you hear banging
It was quite faint because folks were singing
The sheriff prised off the lid
And he was so glad he did
Because he thought we'll have us a hanging...
Jim didn't know whether to laugh or cry
Resigned himself to the fact that he'd die
Saw sheriff holding a rope
Realised there was no hope
And for unlucky Jim the end was nigh...
He was taken to the gallows in town
Handcuffed and wearing nothing but a frown
Jim was then starting to choke
But with the drop the rope broke
The crowd screamed as poor Jim came tumbling down..
Unlucky Jim jumped up quick as a flash
As he passed the bank ran in and grabbed cash
He stole the first horse he saw
Then let out a loud yee haw
And for sweet freedom he made a quick dash...
Written 19th June 2021
A bounty hunter called Nevada Slim
Went after bank robber Unlucky Jim
With tracker Spirit Bear
They discovered Jims lair
And Jim's future was now looking quite grim...
Slim called out "put your hands in the air"
Jim grabbed his gun, Slim said "don't you dare"
But Jim was too fast
And let off a blast
Slim fell dead then Jim shot Spirit Bear...
Jim quickly packed his things and rode away
Thankful that he'd survived another day
He decided to lie low
But what old Jim didn't know
Was that Pinkertons were heading his way...
Jim was sleeping in the afternoon sun
And didnt hear the cocking of a gun
He woke up with dread
Saw guns at his head
And a lawman said "Jim looks like your done"...
Jim was handcuffed and they rode back to town
There to meet them was Sheriff and Judge Brown
The charges were read
Jim nodded his head
Sheriff said " this time Jim you're going down" ...
For Jims last request he asked for a smoke
And noticed the hangman had a new rope
He put a hood on Jims head
Jim dangled then he was dead
An escape this time!, there wasn't a hope...
Written 1st July 2021
RIP UNLUCKY JIM
What a bad experience in Guantanamo Bay
Being called Insane
Then guess what friends
It started again
I’m walking passed the bank
Stopped, lit my cigarette with my gun lighter and had a smoke
Decided I’d pop in to check my balance
Bank teller thought I was a gun waving crack on coke
You know the story
There’s this big police bloke
Had me face down on the floor
In a neck choke
He said “You must be Mad”
Waving a gun in a bank
Well you know it already
“ My name’s not Mad” I know it’s sad
I remembered the last pain
Been called Insane
So I thought I’d adopt
The old name again
Here I am in a first class hotel
With all padded rooms in a white jacket all snug
With belts on the sleeves
That teaches you how to hug.
I write to you with the pen between my teeth
I write my plea
Tell them my name’s not Mad
Read my other poems my names there you’ll see
More'n nine months on...
and still I feel infuriated at myself
concerning squandered funds
passively, senselessly, and willingly
surrendered nest egg
to computer hackers
(imposters, jackknifing, and liquidating)
coercing me to forfeit funds,
whereby yours truly (me) blindsided
thru convincing telephonic dialogue
witnessing unquestioned trust
I unquestioningly, unerringly, and unblinkingly
carried out instructions
essentially cadging, depleting, and exhausting,
checking and savings accounts (mine)
courtesy convincing scheme
yoking naïveté (mine)
with FAKE conspiratorial claims
Citizens Bank tellers
linkedin as thieving magpies
(twittering bird brain analogy
hatched courtesy yours truly – me)
once ridiculous ruse beak came obvious,
I never ceased
maligning self as half cracked egghead
repeatedly replaying telephonic scenario
only this time
with home grown perspicacity triumphant
and fraudsters, marauders, and usurpers
harangued, interrogated, and jailed
critiqued, maligned, and whipped
courtesy just law of the land.
Clear as day,
I still recall the bloke
who chose one alias
(probably quite a few
in his bag of tricks)
videlicet Harvey Specter,
he coaxed at least one poor sucker
(the writer of these words)
to fork over his life savings
without yours truly batting an eye,
whose gullibility now legion
among the posse of scoundrels
sharing the ease with which
money plucked out figurative fingers
(like taking candy from a child)
diminishing paucity of integrity,
increasing perspicacity of acuity,
where wool will never
be pulled over my eyes
(ewe can bet my bottom dollar)
against being fleeced,
and now a heightened awareness
a wretched costly life lesson
inflicting a painful financial contusion
additionally severely wrecking, pummeling,
and bruising psyche suddenly woke
keenly alert to the bad to the bone
doggone wicked wily weasel ways
of unrepentant rapscallions.
She heralds the new day
Soon the gates would open
She’d be free
Ten years
Model prisoner
The guards bade her farewell
Wish they were all like her
Four hours later she was back in the smoke
First stop the bank
The lock-up was at the far side of the docks
Five hundred pounds deposit would secure what she needed
He was going to ask the obvious question
But, something about her
She watched them sit down at their usual table
Open for business
The first shot killed the father outright
Five more rendered the son immobile
He watched her reload
So cold
Four shots later, their lives ended
More importantly, their lifeline ended
Every business needs new blood
A new lifeline
She would provide it
Let’s Rob the Bank
Let’s rob the bank
Take all our money
And the overdraft
Go somewhere sunny
Let’s rob the bank
Escape the monotony
Worry about nothing
Eat bread and honey
Let’s rob the bank
Rent an huge flat
Somewhere in the sun
Buy a Siamese cat
Let’s rob the bank
Let them do the worry
We’ll live it up
Life in a hurry
What about the kids
Your son my daughter
We might miss
Them at the alter
If we rob the bank
We’ll live in hiding
No phoning home
Somewhere in West Riding
Can’t rob the bank
You know it’s wrong
The police will hunt
We won’t last long.
Get up for work
Carry on like ever
Dream of escape
But knowing we’ll never.
David Cox 05/11/23
Here in Chicago, Illinois the landscape is flat
No hill or vale to break the monotony
A concrete jungle downtown, surrounded by highway
Leading to endless cornfields south of the metropolis
The suburbs and exurbs' main drags all eerily familiar
McDonalds, Starbucks, Walmarts, Athleticos
Bank of Americas, Chase Manhattans, CVS' and Marianos
Walgreens, 31 Flavors, Pizza Huts, BP's and Shells...
Would Woody Guthrie still sing 'This Land is My Land'
Could he, if he viewed Chicago firsthand...
Yet here in Chicago we have a Lake Michigan
which stops tornadoes in their tracks
turning them into harmless water spouts
and whose waters change hues with the wind's every move
Here in Chicago we don't worry about hurricanes or typhoons
Although we're a hotspot for displaced raccoons and financial tycoons
Here you can buy a brick house in a nice neighborhood for under half a million
Unlike Manhattan and San Francisco, where a tiny condo costs a zillion
Sure, we've got a crime problem, and it gets a little worse each year
But there's still many a corner tavern that'll cook you a meal with that beer
All I know is that I've lived here forever, and though I lock my door at night
Only once a year, on Halloween, does my neck-of-the-woods give me a fright
Movie seen
Driving home
Newly found couple
To be alone
River bank parked
Dead of night
His golden blond
Beautiful sight
Their lips meet
Hands wander
Imagination flow
Hearts ponder
To be comfortable
Seats are changed
Buttons loose
Clothes rearranged
Passion starts
Hands walk free
Skin explored
Of he and she
Naked souls
Join as one
Heavens merge
Joys begun
With her thrusting hips
In vice like grip
Her loving want
In her he slips
In passion applause
His lava flows
Her warm insides
Outer body glows
Sweet sweetened mix
Perfumed skin
Warm with-drawl
Potions swim
Kisses in clench
Tenderness
This loving two
Soft caress
Sexed and fed
They head of home
Wondering about
Their next love roam
There once was a man from Duluth
whose habit was spinning the truth.
He had told the same tale
(every day without fail;
'twas getting quite long in the tooth).
He sat down to drink in a booth
then ordered a double vermouth.
He said a tornado
shaped like a potato
had taken his poor wife named, Ruth!
The men in the bar yelled, “Forsooth!”
But one woman thought it was truth
(the gal was a newbie
who'd just smoked a doobie)
and sent more vermouth to the booth.
“The first time I ever saw Ruth,”
he said, toasting her with vermouth,
(Though usually crisp
when he drank he'd a lisp),
“wath back in my youth in Duluth.
“She'd one perpendicular tooth.
When she withled came her pet gooth.
It wath love at firth thight
and we wedded that night
with her gooth on top of a mooth!”
“We honeymooned outthide Duluth
in a cabooth, just me and Ruth.”
He then heaved a big sigh
(he was getting quite high)
“And of courthe the mooth and her gooth.”
He took a big swig of vermouth
and said that they never found Ruth.
“Just an arm at the mall
and her foot on a wall,
pluth one thingle tooth in Duluth.”
He wept as he pined for his youth,
so the gal ordered up more vermouth.
Then the telephone rang
and the bartender sang,
“It's Ruth, your ex-wife in Duluth.
It's I telling you the sad truth
about her and 'who goothed the mooth'!
Now she wants a good check
that won't bounce, you old wreck,
like the last at Bank of Duluth!”
The new gal cried, “Cad, You're uncouth!
You gave your eyetooth it was truth
of poor Ruth and her gooth,
the cabooth and the mooth
in Duluth, and all for vermouth!”
The man said, “The truth in Duluth
and why I keep hitting the juithe
ith that Ruth and the mooth,
the cabooth and her gooth
were a nooth I had to cut looth!”
The new gal cried, “There weren't no gooth,
nor mooth or cabooth in Duluth!
There was just poor old Ruth
and some nooth that was looth,
plus a drunk who soaked up the juithe!”
The man from Duluth knew the truth,
“Thereth no more vermouth. Whath the uthe?”
So he crept out the back,
but the rest knew the tack:
he'd be back next day for vermouth!