Long Banter Poems

Long Banter Poems. Below are the most popular long Banter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banter poems by poem length and keyword.


Surveillance Camera

i need to stop frowning and epitomizing
and sell this Caddy to the Cardinal
trying to let it miss your attention won't fly
since writing is speech even if somewhat removed
or fit only for bouncy news anchor banter
pancake makeup a bit too aflame
like they do in shadow theater
where the container is the contained
because we can still index the cornucopia
eff you said the furry little May Pole Bunny
you can be sure he was in on it too 
along with the Hen in the Willow
the Great Flaming Spiral in the Sky 
and the nuns of St. Manacle
doing their Plantation Rebel Dance
with cascade of equally herkimer antecedents
perpetually enthused with the mystery of tomorrow
just don't try to tell me how to move my eyelids
smoke signals will always take care of that
cascading across the clacking copper contacts
in a total lack of continuity all at once
it is a pigeon tongue spoken in barter
barely able to walk after the derision of linguists
lobbed horseshoes across the barricades
against surgeons wielding kitchen knives
on a search and destroy mission
for chopped liver epicures from the Bank of Winter
living dead men's dreams was no picnic
memes eating my soul like red worms
only my degree from the School for the Sickly
standing between me and the Necromancers 
who were emphatically not house trained
my collective unconscious operation manual
tossed on the burn pile half a life ago
now dumbed down to syntactically correct 
in infinitesimal quantities with a Nefertiti smile
my mind a bordello of interpretation
God is not dead he is passe etc.
a raised by wolves feral non-conformist
everything orbits everything else
and that's space for you
which will bend yer crank kid
unless you can get your mood to swing
out from the nether realms of mourning
and the agony of oblique signals
written with the ***** of Satan
shaking money from your pockets again
a Conniving Backstabbing Bastard production
he hated coercion like he hated licorice
he was revolution incarnate all fresh and rosy
it was a kosher Pentecost event
tried quoting Lenin but it was too easy
the proletariat is people in a pickle
the dueling cucumbers of class warfare
now I'm on a dozen watch lists
followed by Diana's paparazzi
to this claustrophobic cinemaplex
and its temporal artery of light
at 3 in the afternoon
a good cheap remedy
following a bad diagnosis


Premium Member The Waste of Cruelty

Written: April 28, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Sara Jama

                   *******************

When cruelty becomes a badge of honor
empathy transforms into an act of defiance
while the evildoers are celebrated!
The resonance of your words  
Your words echo as a sharp blade   
revealing the possum 
shameful crawl   
dragging through sacred remnants
they cut through the fragile chambers    
of my vulnerable existence.  
A rustle of grass 
in the Cimmerian pre-dawn. 
Watching you drown in your denial
Now, a landscape of sorrow
once vibrant with the hues of joy   
has faded into mere shadows    
Shades of happiness did thrive  
I stand frozen, bleary-eyed 
trying to bear sense of
eerie glow of empty eyes 
I am a witness to the casualty
of an all-night bender
Your gaze, a weapon 
cold and unyielding  
left my spirit in ruins  
forever haunted  
by the ghost of what once was 
The dreams you stole   
That left me stranded 
broken in body and soul 
Amidst the unfolding horrors —
border violence, displacements, 
police brutality, genocidal oppression —
Remember this: Cruelty is the point
Cruelty is not humorous nor edgy
Cruelty is not justifiable
Cruelty corrodes the sense of self
Cruelty for cruelty's sake
a repulsive and vile toxic waste
What started as casual banter 
quickly turned into a serious dialogue 
banter quickly grew into a colloquy.
  
I walk a path of despair 
a subdued plea  
where cruelty reigns  
Some find joy in the suffering of others—  
the essence of schadenfreude 
Do we embody barbarism  
when we think  
we have the right to be cruel  
And ignore the agreements we made?  
The casualties were unintended 
Yearning for a healing touch  
for the grace to set me free 
Yet the scars remain  
a stark reminder  
of the cruelty  
that has etched its haunting mark.  
Your malice roars like a storm  
within my spirit,  
leaving me shattered  
and utterly out of control  
I am a victim 
The cost of your design  
and now I seek peace  
In my life 
Humans possess the capacity  
for empathy and reason,  
yet systems of violence.  
They are crafted to dominate  
subjugate  
dehumanize and oppress  
Cruelty is always at the core  
It feels as if we are consumed  
by cruelty in our thoughts  
defending the indefensible.
© Sotto Poet  Create an image from this poem.

A Favorite and Well-Fitted Glove

A marriage formed by insisting parents
To join lands and force grudging events  
We stood stiff, shivering and apprehensive
Each of us nervous, fearful and defensive
He was over six feet one inch tall
I was only four feet eleven inches small
Clutching wilted wild flowers to my breast
Wearing a shapeless yellowed white dress
His shirt was murky grey his suit was done for 
Pants too short and his coat an eyesore
The minister mumbled words barely audible
Yet we heard him say without any fumble
I now pronounce you man and wife
Together you are forever joined for life
Dizzy, I fell into shadows and confusion
But my new husband moving with precision
Caught me his enclosing arms fixed firmly
Saying softly in my ear and only for me 
I’ll take care of you, I promise, wait and see
We began our marriage studying each other
Faking indifference our interest under cover
My husband was confident and never grim
I became proud that folks respected him
His humor was dry spicy and often wicked
I’d blush and laugh I just couldn’t help it
His cursing was mild but if he was riled
He’d switch to Croatian no translation required!
We began to thaw to be at ease to yearn
Each of us maturing determined to learn.
We worked hard to make a stable marriage
Careful to find nothing to dislike or disparage
The core of our marriage was warmth and contentment
As we  tirelessly worked towards a life-long commitment
Laughter and tenderness ensued sharing passion
Soft endearments whispered even if old-fashioned
We had stops, starts, and minor setbacks
As we finally tread on true and straight tracks
We cultivated a strongly anchored life and love
That enclosed us like a favorite and well-fitted glove
Our foundation cemented as the years sped by
We had no children and only God knows why
We filled this lack by composing and teaching
He a sports coach instructing and training
While I by feeding and seeding in writing
To those young minds uncluttered and seeking
A short path is upon us as we rehearse our final bow 
Our off-stage exit beckons as we share a loving vow 
To never forego our familiar and loving banter
That has been the link forging our balanced center
That cultivated our strongly anchored and enduring love
That now resembles a familiar and favorite well-fitted glove.

Revised March 22, 2019
© Carol Zic  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Letter To My Brother

I need to Get this off my chest I need to say this
This picture won't be perfect, no matter how I display it
But I'll try to make it as beautiful as possible
I'm going out of my mind, because you've been sectioned and admitted to hospital 
I wish I could help you, but you're in the best place
I lost my dad at 14, yours died 2 weeks ago, I hope your shoulders soon have less weight
I hope you talk to the hospital staff, and aren't planning your next escape
I hope you realise it doesn't make you less of a man to shed a few tears
You were clean from drugs for 14 months and off section for 2 years
Before this relapse, but it was to be expected
You don't want to speak to anyone, so I can't even send you a message
We've never been the closest, but I always hold you dear
If you need me, then I'll hold your tears
Talk to me, and I'll hold your fears 
I always hated drugs because of how they made you & our sister turn out
Maybe I'm wrong for being this honest and putting them words out
But growing up in care, due to my families drug habits, put me off trying them
Words on a page is the form I'm crying in
I wish I could pull you up, if you need me, grab a hold of my hand
I promise to go a full day without mocking you for being a Liverpool fan
But that's banter between us, cause I'm a United fan and our teams have a big rivalry
I'm only putting this out there, cause I can't speak to you privately
Some people have beautiful lives, why does ours have to be a war?
I'll die with my pain if it means you can be free from yours
You're my brother, why should nurses dictate when and how long I can see you for? 
Same mum, different dads, but we both love Hip-Hop and football
I hope once you figure your own mind out, you'll accept my calls
We've never been the closest but that needs to change quick 
But neither of us have energy because depression drains it
I'm bipolar and you're schizophrenic
So if we're together people are quick to panic 
The difference is I'm the better looking one
Sorry, I'm just having a little fun
Trying to bring a little humour to a hard time
I hope you find some light for your dark mind
We're not the closest, but I'm rooting for you
I hope you make it
I'm sorry because I had to say this
The picture isn't beautiful, but it can be depending on how you display it
© Alex Duffy  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member When You Say Nothing At All

Sometimes words can flay a heart’s tissues
Inflict wounds that last a lifetime
Sear the mind with painful recollections
And make you just want to die

But then again, inconsequential words
Meaningless chit chat
To appease the conscience of the one who speaks
That something’s been said at last
Are just as corrosive
Salt rubbed into open wounds
That aren’t acknowledged
They offend more than comfort
And would be better not said at all

Then there is the silence
Ah…the twisted warped suffocating silence
The silence of self-preservation
Bought at the price of someone’s sanity…life
A silence born out of the knowledge
That THIS will take an investment
Of emotions and time
And so nothing is said
You silently withdraw
All the one in pain hears is silence
A silence that shrieks
Of rejection
Dead silence
Where once there was banter 
Unchecked laughter
……joy……

When you say nothing at all
That leaves a gaping hole in my heart
I try to fill it up with memories
Of when you were courageous and brave
Strong enough to speak
Words that would heal
Instead of this weak thing you’ve become
Only caring for your own well-being

The filling falls out
Incompatible to my heart’s tissues
To the reality of you...
It doesn’t hold
The holes remain
And I slink away
To nurse my pain
And I draw further into my shell
Cocoon myself in outer silence
Yet my heart is in constant conversation
With the person you used to be

When you knock
All you hear
Is resounding silence
For you have taught me well
I am a good student 
I will keep silent
I will not tell you sweet little nothings
While my heart bleeds
And you pretend not to see
I won’t talk of the weather
If I can’t talk about the storm in my heart
I won’t talk of inconsequential things
To give you the sense of normalcy you crave
I want you to be brave
No, I won’t stoop that low
And so……………
I pretend
Not to be there
Two can play this game
And I wait for the knocking to cease
To be left in peace
Safe from a world
Where people say
Nothing at all.

Eileen Manassian Ghali

The title of this poem is the title of one of my favorite songs by Ronan Keating. It is the exact opposite of the message of the song which is absolutely fabulous. Give it a listen if you have the time.....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuJrEBtmM1Q. It was the theme song for Notting Hill, one of my favorite movies.


Avid Bookworms On the Loose

The American Library Association
      implores cognoscenti tubby alert
for impersonators, who
     call themselves Ernie and Bert

     took a page from Sesame Street Playbook
oft times accompanied
     by a Soundcloud of dirt,
boot none other then Pigpen,

     (who worked for Peanuts),
     and pay-dirt, though
     dismissed, cuz he did not exert
true grit, plus more seriously scandalous

     sordid details suppressed kept from press,
     (which scurrilous breach of conduct)
     involved said scallywag
     violating more than flirt

discovered in prurient compromised activity,
     where his skin flute encircled,
     with an ambrosia girt
transgressions possibly affected

     public television station benefactors,
     and sterling reputation of bottom line, nor hurt
locker talk (albeit via exaggerated mainly 
     to make a profit) sounding proper

     sanctimonious Cliff (hanging) notes,
     asper faux expected by
     a "FAKE" trumpeting prophet,
     sans motley crue comic
     stripped of more'n
     motion picture PG ratings,

hence future lurid, graphic,
     banal, ampersand
(&) dressing room banter
     muted, disallowed, and banned

so storied characters birthed by Charles Shulz,
     (who passed away prior to near canned
aforementioned indiscretion debacle)
     returning amidst fanfare hoopla

     much as possible grand
jour "Making Peanuts Great Again" hand
diddly restoring full metal paperback jacketed
     glory and apple pie order land

ding rebirth of cherished popular iconic
     easy to digest bookworm feed
which unexpectedly, inadvertently,
     and horrifyingly

     brewed ferocious breed
on par with the Alaskan Bull Worm,
     whereat armed guards
     strategically stationed

     at libraries entrances indeed
aware voracious young readers,
     would pay no heed
to any obstacle, and such unstoppable

     ravishing knowledge
     hungry kids did exceed
capacity security details dashed away,
     faster then Clifford
     the big red dog re: oh speed

wagon in toto (oz suppose)
to escape paginated bound woes,
but especially to flee bozos 
not tubby confused with Bezos -
     (the richest cat on planet Earth),
whose cashiered spigot flows
née  gushes without any need to faucet.
Form: Rhyme

T'Was a Fox Before Christmas Lcfc

T'was the week before Christmas, as I watched the live stream
I could hardly believe what I could see on my screen.
With Manchester losing to Norwich two one,
We could keep our top spot if we held out and won.

On a day that a legend of football (Jimmy Hill) had passed,
We were top of the league whilst last year we'd been last.
In a restless first half we took the lead at a canter,
Until Lukaku scored to cue Everton banter.

When out from the break we again took the lead,
As Vardy was fouled as he showed off his speed.
Up stepped our Mahrez to take the spot kick,
Which he knocked beyond Howard with a feint and a flick.

With City now flying and fans singing the score,
It took only four minutes before we had one more.
With Vardy again making runs through their flanks
Okazaki nipped in and took his team mates thanks.

With Everton down but by no means yet beat,
A long ball from the toffees fell at Miralles feet.
With only two minutes left of full time on our clocks,
It was once again squeeky bum time for each fox.

As we defended in numbers and all fans stayed wary,
The whistle unleashed a scream from Ranieri.
Eight wins and one draw in our last nine league games,
You can hear history calling our star players names!

Vardy and Mahrez have been grabbing the goals,
Whilst Shlupp and Drinkwater have played pivotal roles.
Albrighton and Kante have been simply on fire,
And he's ably supported by King and by Dyer.

Now Schmeicel, now Morgan, now Ulloa and Fuchs.
Your names will live long in our history books!
To the top of the league against all of the odds.
You have answered our prayers to the footballing gods.

And as the year turns though we know its been tough,
We are sure there'll be more of this fairy tale stuff.
We may pick up injuries and suffer fatigue,
But despite all the talk, we are top of the league.

With a proud Gary Lineker on Match of the day, 
It's been years since our City have been seen in this way.
Not since 2000 under Martin O'Neil,
Have the fans seen a squad with such a quality feel.

Ranieri who's marshalled our amazing revival,
Is still keeping his sights firmly set on survival.
Though there's bound to be plenty of twists and intrigue,
Happy Christmas all foxes, yes we're top of the league!
Form: Verse

Premium Member While I Gaze In Your Eyes

While I gaze in your eyes, cool cerulean blue,
Sifting night, straining stars through morning’s sweet dew,
I can fathom the depths of empyreal skies,
Angels fluttering by, riding wild butterflies

While I gaze in your eyes, changing, aqua-blue greening,
I’m sucked into chasms, cascading, careening,
And yield to enticements which meekly disarm,
Seeping virtuous beauty, sad sensuous charm

While I gaze in your eyes, bleeding fiery blue
Ever tempting with treasures, with pleasures for two,
Being caught at the core of a blazing sapphire
Possessing, enthralling, aflame with desire

While I gaze in your eyes, misty emeralds, deep green,
Veiling laughter and banter, and echoes between,
Then I dream, so it seems, in whatever the place,
Of your scent, of your breath, of your radiant face

While I gaze in your eyes, at times placidly blue,
Near’ as calm as the weirs in the woods all bedewed,
Forty winks relegate to a shimmering lake,
Gently floating on lilies, while waiting to wake

While I gaze in your eyes, caught engulfed in the greens
And consigning my fate unto verdant ravines,
My reactions, at length, become shyer and shyer
Reminiscent of ravens at risk in the briar

While I gaze in your eyes, restless, hesitant blues
Overwhelming sensations with turbulent hues,
I’m succumbing to waves of a storm battered sea,
Being cast like a plank, never meant to be free

While I gaze in your eyes, shadowed, Midnight Lake green
Glowing hazy with dreams, misty thoughts so serene,
Sudden silence befalls me, a fast sinking stone,
Looming lost in your eyes, I am never alone
 
While I gaze in your eyes, saddened, lachrymal blue,
Spilling trickles of rain, pearls obscuring your view,
I’ll attend to your anguish and feelings morose,
Lightly kissing your tears, touching, holding you close

While I gaze in your eyes, pulsing infinite green
Of the earth and of heaven and all in between,
It is simple to see that my hands can hold all
Of the treasures I find which so humbly enthral

While I gaze in your eyes, when they’re bountifully blue,
I’m reminded, love’s lightning is granted to few...

While I gaze in your eyes, when they’re blindingly green,
I’m reminded, love’s lightning cannot be foreseen...

Yet I hope... and I wait...
Form: Rhyme

I Espouse Playing the Baiting Game With the Missus

(which above frolicsome gambit I mastered)
After mine wife
asks for this, that
or something else rife
with intent to provide barrel of laughs,
(likened to barrel of monkeys)
yours truly crafts
description how we share mirth

validating how our respective worth
matters each to the other acting childlike
to stave off altercations
that might come down figurative pike
worst case scenario whereby I strike
mine steadfast fine 
(prairie home) companion.

Neither rules nor regulations exist
to our made up silly game
whereby whenever
one of us knowingly reaches out
to latch hold of desired item
specified by name,
the other person feigns to hand over
then pulls back same
alluded to object

held aloft (think
non verbal teasing banter)
said motions sustained
moments before until...
participant/ recipient
(trying in vain to grab
their coveted cherished
jackknifed prized possession)
becomes angry as raging bull.

Ofttimes when I pretend to surrender
that specific something sought after
by her royal highness prefers advanced version,
she doth lapse into her guttural patois,
which scrambled, throttled, and vocalized
(back of the throat utterances)

metrically syncopated
(couching unspoken) unclear clues
her primal wordless request
vaguely analogous
to decipher cryptograms,
whereby, I learned to look for patterns.

Yesteryear selective pastimes
whiling away hours
included many a cognitively
challenging endeavors
comprising decoding enigmatic
intriguing looking English language riddles
located within entertainment section
of The Philadelphia Inquirer

no I could never solve sudoku,
but eldest daughter (Eden Liat -
yea "star student" who matriculated
and graduated summa cum laude
courtesy University of Pennsylvania
breezed thru those logic-based,
combinatorial number-placement puzzle.

How bland a marriage devoid of non
establishmentarian activities, none
of which include physical intimacy,
cuz me libido indeed went deep south 
linkedin with half dozen plus medications

yours truly readily swallows 
prescribed medication to alleviate
mental health issues such as:
anxiety, obsessive compulsive behavior,
palmar hyperhidrosis,
mild depression et alia.

Premium Member The Sunshine Singers Come to Play

In dribs and drabs, in fits and starts,
the elders slowly congregate;
in the common room of the seniors' home,
they patiently sit and wait.
Some are wheeled in, some simply shuffle
in orderly fashion, without kerfuffle.

They've all been told
there's "gonna be a show"
put off by some "young people"
who (chances are) they don't know.

Many are quite alert and very aware
delighted to be together
and to have an experience to share.
Others come in a different mental state,
in their own little worlds,
seemingly uncerebral
yet dignified, quiet, sedate.

The entertainers have already arrived, in fact,
and as soon as the seniors come in
they start to interact,
exchanging pleasantries with hellos,
how-do-you-dos and "what're-ya-ats!";
smiles and handshakes easily given
with banter and casual chit-chat.

The nurses and attendants smile,
noting the connectivity,
and across the room faces brighten
at the growing sense of fun and festivity.

A happy mood pervades the place
as the singers smile and sing;
their voices effortlessly fill the air,
easy, relaxed, warm, soothing.
Lots of "old" songs are played and sung:
"Country Roads", "Danny Boy",
"Kiss an Angel Good Morning".
"If you know the words, please sing along!"
and so many of them do, with voices soft or strong.

But what sets this show apart
is the interaction
between singers and seniors;
their reaction and sense of satisfaction
of a diversion from the mundane,
a vivid and vibrant distraction.

And those with minds in altered states
are aroused from their lethargy,
hearing the music and sensing joy,
perhaps remembering when they felt such ecstasy.

Often, the singers will reach out to touch and hold a hand.
Elderly eyes light up and smiles show they understand.
A few of the more able-bodied are invited to dance,
a reminder of the long-ago days of youth and romance.

After an hour or so, the concert reaches its conclusion
with applause and cheers, compliments said in profusion.
The Sunshine Singers are pleased with a job well done.
The seniors and staff feel delight and satisfaction;
and everyone is enveloped in a warm glow:
the simple joy that comes from human connection.
© Jim Healey  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

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