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.
Percy would stand up and sidestep and tap dance while the bullets bounced around him....
Percy laughed at death
and the Grim Reapers sickle missed him..
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942stoush/
PERCY WATT.
Percy he was as thin as wire there was none as game as he...
In Syria where hot lead did fly, bullets zipping round him like a Bee. ... (1941)
Percy walked across the open ground, as we watched him from the trench...
I'd call 'Jesus, Perc get down', as he'd dodge the bullets, French....
For he never was a moment still always shifting changing place....
He'd taunt the Vichy French to kill, they just couldn't hit this Ace....
He was a great morale booster, this lean boy we did admire....
Game as a young red bantam rooster drew the Foreign Legions fire.....(French Foreign Legion)
And then in New Guinea green, when sudden death was all around.......(1942)
Bullets bounced where Perc. was seen while the others hugged the ground.....
I'd yell 'Get down young Percy mate those Jap's will surely kill you!'
He`d laugh and say 'They can`t shoot straight, they're so bung eyed that it`s true! '.....
No they couldn`t hit young Percy Watt yet he lived where others died....
Came home alive it was his lot,...
Though the bung eyed Nip's they tried.....(my father worried about a 17
year old)
Don Johnson....Percy is in the Toowoomba cemetry :( old age got him.....
Percy was a young ex sunday school teacher about 17 year old in Syria. He was convinced he
couldn't be shot in war and never was hit by the many bullets fired at him .
In close quarter fighting he was deadly with the bayonet parry and butt slap on the Jap.
He worked in the Toowoomba foundry after the war.
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.
Mister Government Taxman,
IRe See
you’re reaching into the citizens’
pockets again
Mister Caesar Palace Chamberlain,
your adept eyes
are deeply searching
every pocket square inch
for that last Penny pinch
Mister Vig Publican,
heavyweight coin collector,
you got another clock punchy bantam bettor
in a phantom debt clinch
The interest jabs piles on
every quarterly compound
Principally,
it hurts to tangle
legally ...
Round after round
Especially,
with the kangaroo court side
so plaintiff pouch
friendly
Mister Reaper Taxman,
you love to calculate take an
IRS estimate guess
Cost Grimm
is your pal[e] sidekick solicitor
Repo is the death blow
given to any delinquent visitor
Mister B[adge] Taxman,
with the sticky fingers, moneybag hand
Every sting
gives the Federales pot belly
a forfeiture honey tan
Mister Hedgewick Taxman,
you keep furtively
pi offering
shelter scam price add vice
And fee subtracting
a briefcase hefty skim slice
Mister Dachshund Taxman,
the Crown Boss Dollar Hogg
best coin collar hounddog
Sniff the silver scent
leading to the gold hidden —
Unreported income forbidden
Mister Sandman Taxman,
always ready to penalty collect
every garnished debt
Lien dreams
give those default
phat pockets
An open docket behest
Treasury coffer-filled desires
so pillow wet
No po’ usury soul ever due tribute grieve,
when the purse-hated Taxman
corporeal plane untimely departure leave
*IRS is the U.S. Treasury acronym
for Internal Revenue Service
— Romantic Warrior
Bertie Brown the Bantam weight was training for the fight
The tickets sold the seats laid out all ready for the night
‘Buster Brown can knock ‘em down’ the posters all agreed
But this one worried Buster sending tremors to his knees
He badly needed solace to prepare him for the war
but all he found were cronies and the Yes men at the bar
so with seven pints of Guinness drunk to sharpen up his wits
Bertie slipped down off his stool and flexed his mighty fists
To the cheers of husbands everywhere he set out for the bout
Followed closely by the eager mob and half a dozen louts
The front row seats fell silent as Bertie took the stance
belt pulled tight, and sleeves rolled up, shirt tucked into his pants
his opponent came out swinging, a jab, a swinging right
as full of Guinness Bertie swayed with all his wobbling might
But as he counter punched his right with a wild and powerful swing
He spun round twice and lost his feet and landed on his ring
Then struggling dizzily to his feet his face now pale and wan
He didn’t see the knock out blow from Elsie’s frying pan
The Friday fight was over, and the crowd dispersed quite sad
It hadn’t been the best of scraps, though the best that Bertie had
At least she hadn’t cut him up, or blackened both his eyes
For Berties missus, Elsie was at least three times his size.
For fifteen years each Friday night Bantam Bertie fights the fight
But up against a heavyweight it’s not a pretty sight
So Guinness drinkers everywhere remember and relate
When fighting after drinking, never punch above your weight.
The serpentine and ageless liquid
mercurial possessed snake
eternally swallowed
since the beginning of time
one unquenchable thirst to gorge and slake
slurping up an icy cold mountainous pebbly shake
yet fresh as an irish spring
using thy tongue o gaelic spake
then tumbling down into the cavernous abyss
subsequently carving
a deep criss cross patchwork
across the rock hard rugged topography
like the handiwork of some invincible force
commandeering a humungous rake
affixing legendary signature
quasi-indelible grooves
only for the near indomitable
chiseled masterpiece
to be erased, twisted then wrenched
by that natural landscape altering phenomena
identified as an earth quake
creating a fresh tabula rasa to begin anew
inviting waters from on high to carve
from the ebbing and flowing millennial currents
which eventually find a more direct course
beginning as trickling creek
swells from winter rains
and thence in summer while the sun doth bake
when flora blooms and fauna prance
the firmament then abandons
bent elbow oxbow lake
as a former bend in the river.
frum - thhis hen pecked bantam
which spouse will never hush
and let me concentrate at some endeavor
but please DO NOT consider me a lush
nor believe this mainline/ lower merion resident lives plush
for his values quite out of sync with majority in a rush
to chase the ole might buck
if quiet, you can hear the whoosh!
Rocky was a Bantam of infinite style
He knew how to drive all the chicks wild
Then one hapless day he fell in the pond
Farmer Cherie was there, first to respond
Hauling Rocky out, wrung him like a dish rag
Rocky pulled through, but his brain did lag
He'd be struttin' his stuff, then he'd be on his back
Like a toy train that had ran off it's track
Farmer Cherie would have to go give Rocky a boost
Put him back on his feet to walk on self induced
Time and again Rocky lay on the ground
Feet in the air with the other chickens around
Never made a fuss or let out a "Doodle"
Just waited there patiently out of his noodle
Well, winter came along, and wouldn't you know
Rocky tipped over on day out in the snow
Try as she might Cherie couldn't find while callin'
Rocky in the yard, for all the snow fallin'
The search was called off due to loss of sunlight
It would be up to Rocky to pull through this plight
Next day, they spotted his foot poking out with a leg
Also the tip of a beak and a bright red comb like a flag
While flat on his back, The snow had frozen Rocky
He no longer would strut the yard, bold and cocky
Thus is the tale of Rocky Rooster my friends
And so it is, my poem comes to an end
Just a side note, this sad story really is true
Told to me by my friend Cherie as I told it to you
"Chicken Poem" contest
Placement: Honorable Mention
At cockcrow, I head down to the river, forsaking my little log cabin situated in the dense forest till dusk, which was strongly built by my endemic hands. I have no compulsion for rods and hooks, no bait. I have my ways. I be sincerely unwanted at the riverside. Others be fearful of my gruff, contemptible guise and demeanour. Fearful that I'd snipe their catch or peck their lunch. Incomprehensible! Hence, I descend the forested hill on which I dwell in the purpose of pilfering the village of food.
I plead the inhabitants for at least a bantam amount of vittles but it is nearabout in vain. All individuals barring an altruistic gardener be scornful towards me. He understands my plight as well as harking what myself alleges. He feeds me his residual edibles. It's his generosity that keeps me alive.
When I be passing the villagers shun me and ensconce me from their young'uns. When I be nigh to them I be able to hear mutterings under breath:
"Undesirable,"
"Accursed tramp,"
and an occasional"Eavesdropper!"
That's what they entitle me but I possess a name. I did not merely crawl up out of the loam and come into existence. I did not start off as an abominable creature spawned on the riverbed (some consider I presently be just that). I be correctly known as Grey, I be named Heron Grey.
By Sean Martin-Byrne
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.
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©
Creationist scientists who dig
with astro-paleontologists
As they seek the bones
Of australepithecus
Foretold in the Book of Leviticus
& the Dead Sea Scrolls
Sounded by the deadly tolls
From the bells
Harbored in the Vatican,
Those who mistake the accidents
For the sake of unholy laxatives
To be forced in controlling the pacifists
10% of your income,
& then some
The cross holds one
For ransom
It doesn't matter if your
Beautiful or handsome
Since, the endless chasms
Flood like restless cytoplasm
Induced by the
Phantom's iconoclasm
As the masses reduce
To being merely a bantam
Docile & trite,
This isn't right
What's done in the dark,
Must be brought to the light
Stand up, & fight
For the right,
Rise with all our might
& working through the nights
New World Order plights
Will never bring a fright
Fear no evil,
See no evil,
Speak no evil
They're all just weasels
Being painted on the easel
With the colors of greed & lust
Nobody to trust
But, yourself
As one must
In order to be just
With one & all
& all in one