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.
She walks alone through the forest in white;
Under thick boughs she lets out her lament—
Holding her head and wailing in the night.
The wind is blowing so fiercely tonight—
Going places few others ever went,
She walks alone through the forest in white.
The moon in the sky shines so very bright,
And her entire journey has been spent
Holding her head and wailing in the night.
She sees the trees now veering to the right—
The path up ahead appears slightly bent;
She walks alone through the forest in white.
The night is dark, with no one else in sight—
To deliver a message, she’s been sent
Holding her head and wailing in the night.
She sees the house, and steps up near the light,
With her bare feet touching the cold cement.
She walks alone through the forest in white,
Holding her head and wailing in the night.
© 2014
Analogous to black box
holding untold secrets,
I share the following self
introspection with ye,
which purported hidden truths
might set me free,
albeit laborious effort
to loose constituent amalgamated
compound elements unmined
tantamount to agony
riddling psyche effort to extract
thorny matters incumbent upon me
versus tapping Androcles and the lion
think Roman mythology.
Oftimes methinks... whoami
spending scores of years
with frustrated sigh
hermetically sealing body electric
housing generic garden variety guy
severely emotionally tormented
contemplating, integrating,
blithely urging wish to die
even at this moment,
yet reluctantly shy
away to embrace death wholeheartedly,
nor would I try
putting anonymous life (mine)
on the line, though...
nonetheless envisioning rejoicing
(as told to significant other -
the missus naturally averse
to my demise well nigh)
without ability to explain why
per se if mortal ailment
truncated mein kampf
Noel cowardly lie,
cuz becoming gratefully dead try
not to laugh while
yours truly cannot deny
permanent absence twill recognize
hard skool of knocks alumni
posthumously make his name linked with
hallowed as if that martyred,
though the feted occasion
beholds mine scattered
cremated ashes carried,
loosed, whisked... to sky
will not require men to don black tie,
nor mourn angst peppered soul,
no longer will any banshee cry
all quiet on western front forever reunify
me with cosmic consciousness eternal ally.
is a mass hysteria
induced by the sound
of Indies short-tailed crickets mating,
not, as conspiracy would have it,
the result of a sonic weapon,
a microwave attack,
or malfunctioning eavesdropping equipment.
Likewise, the Sausalito Hum
was not a snooping Russian sub,
or newly laid electric cable.
No, blame the love sick plainfin midshipman,
a simple toadfish sounding off like a foghorn.
Pay no attention to the banshee cry of the lynx,
or to the brush-tail possum sounding off like machinery grinding,
not to puffins like chainsaws,
not to cheetahs chirping,
not to koalas bellowing,
not to ptarmigans chatting like cartoon characters.
Stories of spying and international espionage might be exciting,
but Mother Nature is much more surprising!
Inspired by "Animals Keep Creating Mysteries by Sounding Weird", Ed Yong, The Atlantic, January 8, 2019.
Farcical is the modern age?
Yes, and reason thus:
Solemnity killed the sage!
Rage, refute! A plus.
Kindness, do ye often pay?
Those who sway, betray.
Poison in my pen, to slay!
What then will they say?
Dragonfire, thy fullest plume!
Vampire, choicest vein!
Choke, O mortals, on the fume!
Now to end the pain!
Hound dog, bay! O banshee, wail!
Bitterness, tell tale!
Slave down river, bill of sale?
Slops in master's pail...
Break down, communication?
O constellation, bow.
Ergo, elevation?
Keelhauled from stern to prow.
Welts around the beggar's neck?
Pigeons, how you peck.
Ships at sea, fear ye a wreck?
Hope, become a speck!
O fortune, bane or beckon?
Fates Three, call Muses Nine.
Tell them back in Kingdom Gone!
Hell and Heaven, fine...
Belamite Howling at the Moon
A belamite sat drinking
In a bar
On the dangerous left side
Of the city of Angels
By the rail road tracks
In the dark dangerous part of town
Where the police fear to tread
And the tourists never came
Twenty drinks too sober
The belamite drank
His way to hell
One bourbon, one scotch
And one beer
Drinking alone
With his buddies
Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, old grand dad
Mr. Bullit, Jonny Walker
He looked up
At the naked lady
Dancing with an attitude
That could kill an elephant
In heat
He stumbles out
Looks at the blood red blue moon
And begins howling at the moon
Liked an escaped banshee
From the depths of hell
The other drunken inmates
From that bar of evilness
Joined him in howling
at the rabbit in the moon
A hole in the head shooting pain trembles
nightshades coldly down the spine
a soul lost in the land of the living
carried away in darkness
flying inside dark clouds holding just a dream
Distant thunder roars lightening splitting cracks
sure as the crow flies crawling opens hells gates
dark jewels of the night
charred remains churning in a cauldron
boiling goodness tears of thoughts
Piercing screams spawning nightmares
holding a promise once made
walking in a valley amongst the dead
shadows now smile hearing animals scream
as the moon plays silver dancing light
Dreams snatched away from reality
the crow calls echoes in silence
victims of this world howling over and back
tragedy cries in their pain and suffering
eyes seeking light
whispers through the branches
a heather bleat creature of the night calls
Haunted by humans chained to the earth
awaiting shadows and sunsets
a cursed banshee wails supernatural screams
from everywhere and nowhere
Mind numbing winds passing through
a white silhouette shredded shroud
around a heart entombed
in agonies' twilight shades clouds darken
storms brewed stirring specters chase the wind
Cold rains become lost tears
the willow weeps in eternal sorrows
a lament for the dead
as the silver crescent moon smiles goodbye
Blends in clear as day after sunrise
forgotten in a valley of unrest
death bell's toll out from the past
onyx feathered crows call painful cries
Forever seeking heaven's gate now sealed
that promised choice was lost ages ago
only burning hellfires
or cold earthworms await
Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
I can’t look back; too many tears are there.
The woman that I used to know and love
is someone else now, and much less than fair
is what my God has given me a part of.
In Banshee I must use a different name
or leave this town and leave the woman who
has left me cursed, and yet it’s all the same.
She can’t be mine no matter what I do!
By some I’m called a beast; at least I’m no
damn coward, for I rise up from the dirt!
And since I have no roots where I might go,
I stay and face all foes and swallow hurt.
By violence one day I’m bound to die
but here in Banshee, I keep getting by.
Written April of 2016
Inspired by the Lyric contest of Rob Carmack and one of my favorite cable shows
Lyrics shown in the contest were from ‘God Hates a Coward’ by Tomahawk
According to the Book of Genesis, God created the oceans on the second day of creation by separating the waters from the dry land. God looked at what He created and it was good.
"I am one, but we are many, we must be motivated to motivate others. Every time you discard a plastic container there is a chance it will wind up in an ocean. Say NO to single use plastic items, It’s a start” The Poet.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Such a dream, not the recurring one of falling.
The Pacific Ocean - to me it was calling.
“The people of earth are poisoning me,
discarded plastics are thrown needlessly.”
“They form a canopy, stopping the sun.”
the ocean, begging for help, "something must be done"
Dreaming, I explained that I’m only one.
“Imperative that it’s stopped, humans must unite.”
“The world must be shown all the damage and my plight.
you must organise groups to join the fight.”
“This is urgent, the rubbish is smothering me.
Humans, please see I’m not a garbage tip for free.”
“I control climates, create, oxygen to breathe.
Economies rely on me, so now I seethe.”
Showing anger and desperation, it would seem,
the Pacific Ocean intensified my dream.
The ocean like a furious banshee,
waves fiercely explode then merge to the angry sea.
I awake so motivated to make a start.
The Pacific Ocean needs me to do my part.
Here I am
I am a stone and I am crashing through my own window;
Where I will end up, nobody knows.
I am sure to never become a sure thing;
I doubt I will ever find a path to leave you to your wondering’s.
As I scream through the air like a banshee at night,
My words fall apart in front of your eyes.
I know a fool when I see one in the mirror;
My vision of love has become so unclear.
Next to you but without you, I stand here all alone.
Sit peacefully with me in these times of madness,
So when I fall I can hold my clone.
I have no ready-made rhymes written within my mind,
But still I drag these lines from deep down inside.
Just broken thoughts, on broken lines;
Broken hearts see all the signs.
A broken clock, my heart it dies;
Only twice in a lifetime will it tell the right time.
Until we are forever herein and going there,
We are always nothing, forever nowhere.
Nothing and no-one;
No-one, so gone.
I was loved once; will there be time for another someone?
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Three faerie neonates left in the garden bright
They slept well yesterday, well into the night
The Banshee wanted to save them, but was attached to a house.
The Brownies were worried they would be eaten by a mouse.
Three brave faeries from fairyland came up on Kelpies to rescue them
They noticed one was a single, but the other two were from Brothers Grimm.
They fed them some chocolate cake dunked with milk and fresh fruit.
Those baby faeries were grateful, and began to laugh and toot.
Should we take them back to fairyland? The oldest fairy asked.
A crowing rooster came by and said “Have they had a bath?”
The Banshee was throwing a big fit throwing pots and pans.
They should stay here! She screamed in their Irish homeland!
The brownies organized a campfire, and the fairy elders were called.
The elves and gremlins came too, and the babies were dressed and dolled.
It was decided they were to stay in Ireland, so they were taken to the kitchen.
The Banshee stopped throwing things and began to stop her beetch'n.