Long Bantam Poems
Long Bantam Poems. Below are the most popular long Bantam by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bantam poems by poem length and keyword.
What have Tests become
Not really a conundrum
The game’s true fulcrum
To beach bum humdrum
Cricket now plays dumb
Kowtow to cash cow scum
To T20 aplenty did succumb
Moolah the ruler in this slum
Seduced reduced simulacrum
Absurd but heard the word’s still mum
Batters in tatters another LBW plum
Chickens no bantam baby tantrum
Same silly song will willy nilly strum
A dastardly turns bastardly doldrum
Forget regret best bet rule of thumb
Rank dank stank so glum & then some
Beat the drum or Tests simply overcome
Stark dark depths these guys lies do plumb
No comfort for our sport not even a crumb
Our sort annoyed destroyed in Pink Floyd void
In perverse parallel universe worse is to come
So ho hum reeling feeling “uncomfortably numb”
BOLD
So what now you were told
That you were to be bold
courageous, confident
courageous, confident, and fearless; ready to take risks.
To show- showing or requiring courage some bold plans.
Adventurous. Are those the thoughts of man
Audacious. I never conceive that I am
Courageous. Only in the arms of Jesus
I now shall be daring, fearless, heroic, bantam
Resolutely I do say, I am just a man
Confident when in doubt cry-OUT Jesus
Straight forward unto God
Speak His words out Be in His love
Be gallant assuming all things are His truths
aweless dauntless enterprising intrepid
Be unafraid for the Lord our God fights all of our battles
undaunted speak up, valiant valorous
Holy rest in His way
Be told, no you know not that’s not your way
For you are bold
You don’t have to be told
For you are bolder boldly boldness overbold Holy
Speak,
Speak,
Speak
You don’t have to be told
For you are bolder boldly boldness overbold Holy
Holy
Holy
I gonna be now
BOLD
4/15/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2023©
In our hearts of hearts
Seldom does the mind thinks
Grandeur particulates healing for ourselves
Materialistic beliefs placed in spiritual sheets
Cover me, console me in my anguish and grief
Must I ask up in my chest for kindness?
Must I look with my mouth spurn out my eyes?
Visions of helpless not why must I hold on too
Those physical visual cues
Must I hold to have acceptable life and health?
Or shall I just rely on in God we trust;
I’m just a seed-bearing break of a plant,
Whist in this vast universe I’m just a bantam chink
tween rocks, stone and matter
Just a physical substance in general, as distinct
from mind and spirit calls
I’m liken a still life flower chink twixt the wall
2/29/20
For Flower in the Crannied Wall Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: craig cornish
There are not enough words to describe
The devotion and compassion this poet's eyes beheld.
It was a plain room arranged for safety,
comfort, and care.
A fine bantam table re-purposed with medical supplies
for any emergent unplanned surprise.
An unexpected large bed filled the back right corner of the room.
Creating a barrier for an unsteady walk.
Soft pillows surrounded a determined man,
bent over, straining to stand, wanting to rise.
Pursuing some task, he had left undone.
Desperate for freedom, confused, lost in time.
Unaware of the witnesses standing aside,
A woman gently wrapped her arms around the man.
Intertwined fingers completed a tender restraint.
Whispering, begging him to stay,
Seated beside him protecting the man.
This was a path I had walked before.
I knew it so well as I stood near the door.
Felt the terrible anguish of another parting too soon.
As a daughter held her father.
How unfair it seems to separate this pair.
Why must we rip ourselves apart?
As life starts closing doors.
What is this path we walk down carrying flowers with thorns?
This cruel bitter loss felt by all
as the daughter anointed the man with a gentle touch.
Reposing her head against his thin shoulder
to encouraging his rest.
My heart wanted to hold her, lessen her pain,
Offer her hope, ease the load.
But it was her watch to stand.
I recalled my own dark watches of the night.
The wretched tearing of the soul.
The desperate need to hold on,
Knowing the need to let go.
This was the daughter's obeisance to give away.
All that she was, her loving tribute will ever remain.
As a daughter released her hold on the man.
A notable writer in the literary Norwegian firmament was Jens Bjornebo who was the leading radical star
outspoken and a perfect spokesman for modern times in
the sixties and seventies.
Jens, let's call him Jens came from an upper-class shipping family and received a top education at the time
when only a few could afford to go to university.
Since his father was in ship owner class, bantam Jens joined the merchant navy, but only for a short time he was not of the material needed as a sailor.
Jens was a multi-talented man, who wrote poems, romances
dabbled in movies and was a noted amateur painter.
Jens was a popular figure at that time, he was openly critical of modern society he found it stiffing and
restraint for free democratic practices his views were
well-liked among the elite of writers and communicators
his several books were well-received mainly because
his words didn't shy away from writing in a way that at the time was seen as anti-democratic
The talent Jens had a problem when alcohol was served
he, when a child drank his father's after-shave lotion and
as he got older his problem got worse and worse till
he finally managed to stop, but this depressed him so deeply, that he felt as if he was not able to write anymore so he
hung himself from the rafter, and that was that.
Scruffy the Bantam
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
Grey Mare Lane Markets, was a place I used to like
I used to go there Saturdays, riding on my bike
Down Mount Road, then Hyde Road, then down Pottery Lane
Told my Mam a snake I’d buy, she’d say “then don’t come home again”
I ended up with day old chicks, a couple for 5 bob
I used to think they’d give me eggs, and I’d be like Old Lob
but they would not even last the day,
before the poor things passed away
so next week I will buy some more,
telling Mam I’d “buy a snake” as I ran out the door.
One day I got a fighter, who made it through the day,
a real bantam rooster, who decided he would stay,
he lived just down the garden, in my dad’s little shed
I always called him Scruffy, ‘cause of the black mark on his head
He was afraid of nothing, not dogs or cats or me,
and I always threatened him, one day you’ll be my tea,
then he was gone, I don’t know where, I guess I never will
I like to think he chased a cat, and is trying to catch it still