Long Banshee Poems
Long Banshee Poems. Below are the most popular long Banshee by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banshee poems by poem length and keyword.
O parachute, thy rider.
How to keep one aloft?
Spread thy edges to defer!
He who squatted coughed!
Unity, sing in unison.
Each louder than the last?
Vittle, side with venison?
Legs in traction plast!
Thus refuted, O my rock?
Lines around in chalk.
Broken is the bowl, O block.
Corn, thy tattered stalk.
So you've been feeling stifled?
Just flicker as you fall.
Soldiers, how you rifled!
O banshee, how you call!
Ghoulish was the repast grim?
Crater, nurse thy rim.
Light of harpsichord, draw dim.
How about her or him?
Rain on us, O lightning!
O thunder, now to roll!
Fain would it be frightening?
Soak in gin, my soul!
The cone or the caldera?
What kind of choice is this?
Ergo, O my era...
O death gods, blow a kiss...
The howling could be coyote or wolf
The screaming is Tasmanian devil or banshee
Wait, is there such a thing?
I meant bobcat
It is evening now
Time for the nocturnal creatures to come out in full force
The puma, lynx and fox hunt down the prey that does not hide well
There are so many creatures, all tasty.
Where to begin?
Who to eat first?
A scream
Could have been a bunny or a mouse.
Dinner now
The moon shows shadows on the forest floor
a Luna moth glides by
the mosquitoes begin their feeding frenzy
Sucking the blood of mammals like tiny vampires
Bullfrog begins croaking a bit more loudly
Firefly flits around confidently
The evening has begun for the night creatures
Written 6-5-2022
Poetry Contest: Creatures of the Night
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Beneath the palm trees, silence weeps,
Where fields of sorrow hold secrets deep.
Echoes linger, soft yet clear,
The cries of the people that the world wouldn't hear.
Tamils, the people who are proud and strong,
Their voices are lost in history's song.
The government let our history be in blunder,
So let them suffer by a strike of thunder.
In Mullivaikkal's shadowed shore,
Footsteps fade, return no more.
Innocence lost in fury of fire,
Dreams consumed, and hope to expire.
The cries of the people are unheard and unseen,
Echo-like shadows where peace had been.
Our expressions have been gloomy and blue,
As this gruesome genocide had been a taboo.
Children's laughter stilled by war,
Mothers and wives waiting by an empty door.
An ancient language, a culture so bright,
Bore to witness to the darkest night.
A resilient culture, where hearts bled,
In every grain, are the tears we shed.
Our tears pour down like a waterfall,
As we are under the government's horrific thrall.
Bullets and voices drowned,
Yet the heart of the people beat unbound.
In the ashes, stories breathe,
Of love, of loss, of grief.
A genocide veiled by silent vast,
Wounds that live in the echoes of the past.
A woman wails like a banshee,
To hope to find an end to this grievous genocide.
We remember forgetting is a sin,
The lives that ended, the truth within.
Justice calls from distant cries,
Where the spirit of the people never dies.
Their spirit, broken and defiant,
Bearing the truth like a roaring giant.
The place where the tigers used to rule,
Is now the place where we are used as mules.
Tamils endure; their spirit is strong,
In every tear in every song.
The world may turn its face away,
But the memories rise within the dawn each day.
For justice, for peace, let us strive,
To keep their memory, their spirit alive.
Oh, let a saviour be born to protect and serve,
So could you help us be in peace and preserve?
The clouds descend
On this moonlit night
The greying stones
A deathly site
Like a banshee's wail
From below the ground
Echo of evil
Dark shivering sound
The cry of a man
In pleading pain
Begging for release
In life's domain
An oak door flies open
A shadow runs
Screaming in horror
From the Banshee ones
Up the steps he races
Under full moon glow
His heart racing
Blood in flow
A presence appears
At the dark oak-ed door
Sisters of the night
Bloodied amour
Saliva in red
Droplets of life
Quenched from their victim
Escaping this strife
The dawn nears
Quiet echoing sounds
For the man who escaped
The sisters playground
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy2.php
(fear not stalwart reader, the sword of Damocles just grazed thy chest when fate found us a place to call home).
to avoid the pitfall of prospective homelessness
which near future prospect
induces existential angst i confess.
Today i.e. about two years ago (end of rope rhyme rote
approximately deux orbitz round the sun),
i wanted ta die and bid god riddance grandly
going gamesomely gra grave,
de deum, and cymbal crash
to Bing mulct emotionally, physically and spiritually -
all the grinding hardships would be gone in a flash
how tempting to seek ot a solution sans hemlock
or other deadly potion,
whereby toothless mouth need not gnash
boot simply swallow and drink from the goblet of
mortal freedoms renting psych ass under
with purposelessness mine hash
tag, which bout with suicide
while n the edge of thirteen -
Anorexia nervosa defeated -
then as now experience
10,000 banshee maniacs whip lash
lacerating, flagellating,
and repeatedly rousing thoughts
shin to circle back to why death be not proud
when life on par with a mash
up of ennui, futile gobbledygook housing incubus
analogous luft waffe bombardiers quash
the joie de vivre per je ne sais quois spritely spring
in step happy jollity,
and levity attempt to make light
of psychological me's mental illness rash
whence thru the (then) lvii roam min years
as chief garbage taster of trash
hurled my way gnome matter
the gremlins dwelt within the Wabash
distance to inflict din er of dissonance
targeted this mortal for'er abash
as soon as he got expelled
from the womb, his reddened ears did bash
from sonic screaming boom causing astir the nurses
into the maternity ward
of me late mum sped like dash
her, and fast as a comet Prancer doth emulate
a con vixen dancer, cuz ova this rude half
re: that came a boot
from genetic chromosomal dna wash.
Old Jackster's been bad, so what is new
Been naughty since way back when
Really not ashamed to admit it though
Kinda proud how I did it back then
Girls all clamoured for more, more, more
Was only too happy to oblige
Not long after the preliminaries were over
I immediately hit my stride
Ride 'em cowboy screaming like a banshee
Those were the days of my youth
Now all I can do is scream like a banshee
The sexual part has gone poof
Still works okay when I dream at night
Been a while since I was a cub
They say the seventies are the golden years
I'd rather be that handsome young stud
© Jack Ellison 2014
She’s got moves like a dancer
out there on the floor,
she screams like a banshee
and sleeps like a whore,
you’ll have no defense once
her sweet lies are deployed.
She’s got eyes that terrify
and electrical touch,
she’ll take what you give her,
then give back too much,
she’s got a pull on you that
man, you just can’t avoid,
she’s my drug of choice,
my drug of choice.
She does bedroom marathons
when she gets in the mood,
will forget everything
even sleeping and food,
couldn’t keep up with her
even if on a love-steroid.
Never seems to run low,
and she never will crash,
Loves to live the high life,
and blow through the cash,
a weekend with her leaves me
feeling so damn destroyed,
that’s my drug of choice,
my drug of choice.
She can’t just sit there and wait
if a man falls behind,
when she can’t get it from you
then another she’ll find,
and she don’t give a damn if
cheating leaves you annoyed.
You know she’s not gonna change
but nothing can be done,
she’ll never be a girlfriend,
just a damn addiction,
go too long without her and
you’re angry and paranoid,
damn my drug of choice,
my drug of choice.
La la la, la-la-la, laaa-la!
La la la, la-la-la, laaa-la!
SO THE KITTY SAID TO ME,
MEOW MEEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW.
SHE SAID TIME TO FEED ME,
MEOOOWWWWOOOO.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
LIKE THAT OF A BANSHEE.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SHE CALLS OUT TO ME.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SCRATCHING AT THE DOOR.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SHE DEMANDS FOR MORE.
UPON THE WINDOW SILL,
MEOW MEEOW MEOW MEEOW MEEOW!
SHE SAID CHASE ME STILL,
MEOOOWWWWOOOO, WILD AND PROUD.
here kitty kitty kitty
pretty pretty princess
here kitty kitty kitty
pretty pretty princess
(kitty)
Laaaaa, la-la-laaaa, laaaa laaa!
Wooohhh-laaa, laaa-la-laaaa!
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SCRATCHING AT THE DOOR.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
SHE DEMANDS FOR MORE.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
THE KITTY QUEEN OF NIGHT.
MEOW MEOOWWW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW,
HER VOICE A BANSHEE’S CRY.
Laaaaa, la-la-laaaa, laaaa laaa!
Wooohhh-laaa, laaa-la-laaaa!
I can’t get the moors
out of my skin;
me the indirect descendant of Jim Bowie,
the wild colonial boy
now planted like a
‘Wandering Jew’ in a pot,
in tame Ohio.
Planted in a State
where few venture
far from their high school roots.
The moors grind you
into peat and gritstone,
They keep walking you around
while the open spaces sweep you dry,
even in the downpouring sky,
even under the bitter grasp
of banshee winds.
Who could love such as these?
Who lament
the bone hammering miles
trudged between hags
and toughs, the flat featureless,
rambling, high acres
of heather and mist?
Yet, I find myself to be this longing,
to be this itch to find my own wilderness
here in suburbia.
Here you may find me
strolling along the grassy edges
of Mall parking lots,
spot my shadow
climbing a sunny day;
my head bent into an imaginary horizon,
eyes following paths
that only shaggy sheep can trace.
I can’t get the moors
out of my skin -
me the wild bog asphodel
now planted
in a pot in tame Ohio.
The moors grind you
into peat and gritstone,
they keep walking you around
while the open spaces sweep you dry,
even in the downpouring sky,
even under the bitter grasp
of banshee winds.
Who would lament
the bone hammering miles
trudged between hags and toughs,
the flat featureless,
slog over those high acres
of heather and mist?
Yet I find myself to be this longing,
to be this itch to find my own wilderness
here in suburbia.
You may find me now
strolling along the grassy edges
of Mall parking lots,
spot my shadow climbing a sunny day;
my head bent into an imaginary horizon,
eyes following paths that only
shaggy sheep can trace.