Long Banks Poems
Long Banks Poems. Below are the most popular long Banks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banks poems by poem length and keyword.
Sadness reaches further
Than the shores of the island's heart
Stretching outward thru the banks
Inward, where the rivers start
Population of the mainland
That, I do not know
But sadness spreads like,"wildflowers"
Past the shores of,"I told you so"
My forest once held vegetation
That was green and full of life
Flowers once blossomed there
The aroma serene and nice
Life was almost perfect
Everyday was bright & new
Until the fateful day, heartache came,
And it broke the island into
Quakes of mass destruction
Swallowed happiness deep within
Trees collapsed on the spot
Flower lost their grins
Hope was never given
A chance to run for cover
It remains trapped in the abyss
Alone without its lover
Joy remains hopeful
Clinging for its life
Upon mount envious
With jealous by its side
On that day,
The 10th cold day
In December you shared the news
That shock like a quake
It took away
Everything
I knew
R.K.Harp
P
Beyond boundaries, beyond humdrum of human race,
Beyond provinces mundane, among mysteries of space,
There is a realm of thriving wonderment, an idyllic place,
A place of peace and goodwill, hosting heavenly grace,
Where pavements glittering gold beautify every street
Surrounding ornate, walled, mega-mansions of elite,
Where people garbed in fabled attire gather and greet
Grooving to exotic melodies, extolling tempo upbeat,
Echoing sounds of mirth celebrating Shangri-La aglow
Reveling on prairies and streams, glinting angelic glow,
On pristine banks of paradise where rivers of elixir flow
Blossoming beauty of Eden, gardens utopian bestow.
There we meet, relishing dreams, musing in our fairy-tale,
Beyond drudgery, beyond worries, beyond mortal pain,
Lauding courtesies of nirvana fantasies mythical unveil
Elated in enchantment of exhilarating, paradisal domain,
Ecstatic of your fervid stance, inviting fervor of romance,
Caressing embrace of love holding me close to your heart
Proffering gestures esoteric in seductive tease of glance
Synchronizing beats-melodic, passions euphoric impart.
The pilot formally announced
the desired cruising height was reached.
At three hundred and forty knots
the plane flew like a cruise missile.
As I peered out of my window
above cotton cumulus clouds
such stunning sights of serene scenes
within my musing mind did meld.
Blue-grey clouds created an ocean
of tranquility and beauty
in which islands of snow-like clouds
reared up like Matterhorn Mountain.
Frosty formations of forests
blessed with Amazonian beauty
with canopies of white for green
punctuated the placid landscape.
Like a giant anaconda
a waveless river wound its way
through the wispy white cloud forest
which lined its lush banks on both sides.
Towards the West, the setting sun
showered smiles of satisfaction
on a stunning snow-covered strand
stretching out to the horizon.
I saw a lofty mountain range
Of fluffy white cumulus clouds
overlooking a vast ocean
with a bow-shaped beach at its base.
The images that each one sees
as they look down from up above
are vast and varied as the sum
of grains of sand upon the shore.
They are the figments of our mind
much like the biases which blind
our eyes to those not of our kind,
and who in thought we have maligned.
If we would only take the risk
of getting close to different folks,
and learning who they truly are
we will very soon discover;
that the biases which so blind,
and confine us to our own kind,
like the images, we soon find
are only figments of the mind.
She’s a lyrical dame with a sexy refrain
Creeping cat-like out of the dark,
Crossing the high bridge, the wind at her back,
On the hunt like a hammerhead shark.
She caters fetishes, routine and ritual,
Plus a few that are rather unique.
She’ll treat your fever with high-grade medicinals
On the banks of the fabled French Creek.
She performs all the obvious favors
That involve the way a vixen behaves.
And when you crave a particular flavor
She consents like a rented-out slave.
She’s a practical dame with a sorry refrain
Slinking sideways into your bed.
Making hard things simple as summer rain
While clearing the space in your head.
And should you consider the hand she’d been dealt
When her pimp turned her out on the strip,
Consenting transactions are all well and good,
But you might also leave her a tip.
Shed a tear for those deceased
In COVID’s agony and pain,
Shed one for their bereaved
Never to see loved ones again,
Then spare a thought for those
Who daily risked their lives
Doctors, nurses, ancillaries
All Parents lovers husbands wives
The para meds, the porters
All who make the service run
Remember them in prayer
For the service they have done.
Emotionally bruised and battered
By death’s daily dealing
Those whose lives are dedicated
To caring and to healing.
Spare a thought for those
Overworked and underpaid
Never to be forgotten for
The contribution they’ve made
I bet they really appreciated it when
We stood and clapped our thanks
They probably think of it every time
They have to queue at food banks.
( very recently Nurses have voted to go on strike after, in real terms, suffering pay cuts over the last few years)
(for: Deborah Guzzi)
The forest sings for her hunter
The twin of the fierce panther –
& I sing a sonorous song
That echoes beyond the sky
Of a thousand miles;
I sing like Dinta the hunter
Craving the hearts of clansmen
& the soul of my native drum
To greet a maiden of a lofty dance
This huntress beyond the Niger’s banks!
& fondly I bend to cast
I poise pleasantly like laying a wreath
To sing like Dinta the hunter
To cast my songs on these marbles
The marbles on her memory
’Tis a memory of a thousand miles
To greet a maiden of a lofty dance
This huntress beyond the Niger’s banks!
A perfect cast I crave
The melodious weaver’s band
Of songsters, of dancers, of praise-singers
I crave the ancient hearts of drummers
To dance the dance, my native dance
& drum the drum, my native drum
To greet a maiden of a lofty dance
This huntress beyond the Niger’s banks!
For she who drank of the dregs
Of yonder Niger’s banks
'Tis the rite, my write, our write
The fruit of my forest
The forest of my songs
The songs of my drum
The drum of my clan –
O, the forest sings for her hunter
A hunter still in poise for a huntress?
April's Torment - The Villanelle Of The April Fool
April couldn't stop thinking about the April Fool
It was just so april fish and pranks
Never had she known anything so dual
That morning, April was shocked by the fuel
She found herself feeling rather march manx
April couldn't stop thinking about the April Fool
Marcus
Later, April was spooked by a stool
She tried to focus on those shanks
Never had she known anything so cruel
Marcus tried to distract her with a tool
Said it was time to start thinking about francs
April couldn't stop thinking about the April Fool
April took action like a mule
The April Fool was like a toxic clanks
Never had she known anything so dual
April nosedived like a gullible person, ghoul
Her mind turned to the banks
Went to withdrawn some money
The teller told April guess what you don’t have any..April Fool!!
Never had she known anything so cruel
4/1/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
If one will but convey sincerity, the world will frequently rise to their side
And powerful people flock there as well, appealing to presence and pride
Swelling the ranks and the banks and ambitions of any who will row with the crew
Or play with the band on the wagon which plays into their sycophant's view
And if we relate to the weight of this kind of collective bargain
We might rally, sallying forth to the cause, manufacturing sense, and also some rain
Turning sense into cents is a most noble cause, industry, husbandry, work without pause
Marches and rallys support those most diligent, invested in that which has brought them to light
And lighted they'll stay until death do them part, apart from the day which might cause to benight
Canine calamity follows that day just as surely as that day will follow that night
And some, but not all, will follow the path that causes this folly, before it's a cause to take flight
While we revel in clever debate and discourse, and pursue dialectic with purpose and vigor
It's with special purpose that speciousness fills all those who falsely shout "Stand and deliver"
And deliver the speeches which serve to dissemble in due course their own course to serve
It takes special skill to pursue that which isn't really a special display of infectious nerve
The skill that it takes is sincere self-deception, elevated to the point of the state of prominence
Which delivers rapscallions their status, position, all while in pursuit of their own dominance
"The world will little note, nor long remember," sincerer words were never spoken
But history will forever note the humility accompanying the grace
Beside which superficial sincerity is recorded as token
The dustpan of history has not stomach nor space
To accept from the broom these bits of delusional grandeur
Displaying with sincerity the rank similarity 'tween the means of this influence… and the scent of manure
Granules of recollection rub like salt
Flailing in the fog of seven years ago
Deafened by incessant frog cries
Vines dangling began attaching to each other
Drying river stagnated, slime slippery with algae
Vigorous tree growth stooped in defeat
Muddy river banks fixed my feet, prisoners
Quick sand sapped my energy, ate my memories
Spears of bygone javelin my lungs, make gasp
Emerging from the mist of six years ago
Mountain side incredibly steep left me breathless
Static crinkle hissed between my eardrums
Channels flip changed without my inference
Hard luck hollowing trunks of high altitude
Offered to swallow my past, kindly include present
Flattened cushions of childhood fights , bring distance
Spinning cartwheels into oblivion of five years ago
Faintly flickering home movies startle between grins
Marbled images depict how we were, junctions punctured
Paths deviated, split decisions, moments distilled
Bottles broken, options poured, down the sink
Faltering swell glimmers foaming overdrawn fantasies
Slices rewound reflect fleeting of four years ago
Head barely above, awash in nonsense, victim of tides
Pushed under and pulled above, or is it more apt
the other way 'round, heavy, ocean surrounds drowns
Pencil case zipper obediently conceals, shoved down
Fragmented fragrant shavings of three years ago
Greyed erasers took too much, left the wrong stuff
Coloured stubs refuse to function, shrink upon prompting
Mirror tells me glamour remains against toughest test
High eyebrows, pristine lip lustre of two years ago
Marilyn wink in the blink of camera, busy filtering truth
Tree hugging Boho took over, appealed to populus ideal
Cocaine sand between toasted toes, garland encircling forehead
Currently I'm languishing in roses
bestowed by crown of thorns
* * * * * * * *
The forest is cool, inviting. I look for small wildflowers in lush grasses growing beneath the trees. Sunlight streams in shafts
and there is birdsong, birdsong and delicate ferns on gentle banks.
Soon, I see a pathway that winds beside a clear stream. The roots
from the trees reach toward the water etching deep ruts .
Large rocks decorate the edges -mark the curves that beckon
beckon me to follow on.
A large puddle appears, blocking the path. I take off my shoes and paddle through enjoying the squishy mud.
Suddenly, a bear - I STOP,
watch it foraging for berries. With caution,
I back, silently away to let it follow the terrain
onward to its cave and hibernation.
Something sparkles on the ground - I stoop- pick it up.
It is a long key with a open circled end. I put it in my pocket
thinking it will make an interesting ornament.
At the end of the path, I find a rustic cottage with
high garden gates, banks of rhododendrons.
A secluded hideaway.
There is neatness, order to the whole scene.
smoke rises from a chimney
into clouds overhead.
I pull out the key. It sparkles temptingly.