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.
I shall delete my existence says the dead man
No more do I breathe
No more shall I rant
Although often I recant
I shall delete all my poems says the loud hen
No more am I here
I shall disappear
Like a child with tuque over head
I shall rescind my tantrums says the dead man
No more death for me
For it was plainly to sobering to be
Back to pen, oh so hypocritical of me
I shall come back using other names says the Hen
No more logical than the other dead man
I am the judge of the poetic world
The laws must be according to childish wee me
We the little men who bicker and whine
We are united, our immature prettiness shines
The poetic soldier who mocks old ladies
Does he not know tiss he who is insanely crazy?
The crow will squawk his cranky banter
The songbird will fly to a more harmonic tree
The Hen will cluck and twitter and rant
All the McVillians with feathers it seems
Flocking together, oh the birdbrains do scream!
Into the store dressed completely in pink
He looked like he wanted to kick up a stink
The legs of his pants had decided to shrink
And was that man angry, well what do you think
He read my name badge and he growled, ‘Mr Purvis…
The sign on the ceiling says ‘Customer Service’
I’ve worn this suit one time and washed it as many
It’s shrunk and it’s pink so have you got any
I need a new suit and I need it today
And do not tell me you expect me to pay
But make sure you get me one that will not fade
Or it will be me who ain’t gonna get paid
I said I will take your address if I may
And also your name; we’ll deliver today
I joked that pink suits him, he wanted no banter
He gave me his details… “Lapland” and “Santa”
26 November 2022
Contest: Write A Christmas Poem
Sponsor: Constance La France
He was a non-talking man, floating around, watching, smiling at me, winking sometimes.
He waited on me hand and foot, bringing delicious ethnic dishes to me on a regular basis,
Never ruining the atmosphere or the mystique by talking or annoying me in any way.
He was my own silent hero, and although I was curious, we went on like this for years.
A mutual comfortableness settled on us, my tall dark handsome stranger and I.
People invited me to parties, where I could meet someone, having no idea I already had.
When they dropped in unexpectedly, at first I would glance around, worried.
But I soon realized they could not see my spirit man, he belonged to me, and me alone.
At night he came to me in my dreams, and we did unspeakable things to each other, wonderful things.
Sighing and smiling, and talking to each other in the banter of lovers in a whispery, confidential way.
He satisfied me like no other person ever had, I was complete now, in the best of best relationships.
The rest of the world can have their humans, and their sorrow, but I am completely satisfied, thank you.
Predictable
Who can predict some of the future?
Who can recall most all of the past?
It doesn't take any skills that I know
But, you must be a thinker that's fast.
When the snow falls white in the winter
when the birds mate together in spring
we know that the blooms of the flowers
are a sign of a positive thing.
Don't worry if you are not right here
When I say that I'm coming to call.
I know where to look and to find you
You might see I am planning to fall.
Do you know when it is I'm coming?
Do you know the right spot that I'll be?
I'm not as predictable right now
like waves that fall and crash in the sea.
So leave me to my steady banter
I can listen for all of my days.
My poetry is like a capsule
It explains almost all of my ways.
The Private caressed his balls out of action during the short ceasefire
the Army had scanned him for testosterone because they needed a killer
He bit into a Milky Way as he cradled his crotch to get ready for the fight
his Universe had become conquest for a medal or a bow to his member
he was an intelligent man and knew that Thanatos and Eros were close
he was bored with war as his days were filled with one kill after another
a bit of rape pillage and outright murder strewn in for diversity training
nothing out of the ordinary just protecting family dogma and fatherland
But wait today he had been given a Galaxy chocolate bar in his rat pack
mouth-wateringly smooth it ran down his sticky fingers in the battle heat
Divine comedy called as he slipped from the trigger to miss the target
oiling his gun had been his forte but sweets and retribution don’t mix
When he reached for the hand-grenade on his ammunition belt he stalled
because he held a flaccid apple and dreamt of virgins and paradise’s snake
gripped his resolve and temptation firmly and waved a whitewashed flag
But he had enlisted for glory so when duty called again he felt like a Smartie
and an Oreo biscuit creamy on the inside sheltered and crisp on the outside
He had once read Nabokov but this moment was reserved for Nabisco and
Lolita approached in hot pants on the horizon in between ruins and dust
Where there’s smoke there is light he concluded and happiness is a warm gun
He had to get collateral damage out of his mind and face mostly friendly fire
so he delayed retrograde action for there is a time for every pulsating feast
and therefore he loaded his kind weapon and aimed straight at bull’s eye lids
dreamt of his wife and his mistress he had to guard with all his body and soul
Just then he exploded in a mine field and became a eunuch in Dad’s Army
14th September 2020
I open my notebook and stare at the page;
Its blankness looks back at me, taunting.
I don’t have a topic or thought to engage,
So writing a poem seems quite daunting.
I think of my day and whatever’s occurred,
Yet nothing has snagged my attention.
To write about nothing sounds rather absurd,
Though “Seinfeld” right here needs a mention.
A show about “nothing” is how it was billed,
But of course it was anything but.
With trivial banter its characters filled
Every episode making the cut.
And so, in that spirit, I’ve written these lines –
A springboard from empty to full;
For sometimes oblivion gives us designs
And we yield to gratuity’s pull.
The cosmos, from nothingness, came to exist
And likewise, the words that I write.
Comparisons naturally should be dismissed
But both needed a spark to ignite.
Shaista, you were the light in every dark night,
Your voice, a melody that made all wrongs right.
I lived for the warmth in your every word,
Now left cold in silence, with nothing heard.
Once, every whisper would touch my core,
Every moment with you, I'd crave for more.
Now silence sits heavy, like a stormy sky,
Your absence lingers, and I just ask why.
I still hear echoes of laughter you brought,
The playful banter, the love we sought.
Yet here I sit, alone in the dark,
Searching for embers in ashes gone stark.
Did my words lose their way on the breeze?
Did I falter, Shaista, or forget to please?
My restless soul, like a caged bird's flight,
Wanders through memories on every night.
If you’d speak, even to show your disdain,
I’d welcome the storm, the fire, the rain.
For worse is this quiet, this void so deep,
Where all I can do is remember and weep.
Shaista, if walls of pride hold us apart,
Let them shatter to reveal my heart.
I call to you not out of simple despair,
But because without you, there's emptiness there.
I’ve written a thousand words you’ll never read,
Poured out my soul with each silent plead.
I’d give every breath, every heartbeat and tear,
Just to hear your voice calling me near.
By condo fence
Bird choir melody;
Song of July
Marriage banquet
Hosts in finery;
Guests and feast sparkle
Gratitude speaks
Spilling fond banter;
Bride and groom delight
Distant laughter
Prompts curious eyes;
Ears on the prowl
See moments crisp
Potato chips tasty;
TV sitcom drama
Evening comes around
Rare red sun horizon;
Daylight waving goodbye
Nonsense can talk
Crude noise intrudes;
Calm thoughts watch
Moment to commit
Territorial glimpses;
Takeover bid
Deep design motifs:
Extravagant ideas;
Simple illustration
Talk is cheap
Only execution matters;
DIY moments
News flash outcry:
Commercial plane shot down;
World mourns tragic murder
War decides death
Destruction forces pain;
Revolutions change nothing
Sad story
Death by fire bombs;
No one spared
Headline news
All over the world;
297 dead mid flight
Such inhumanity
No cause for concern;
Warring fractions impasse
Today's world awakes
Weapons of mass destruction;
In small hordes
Tension escalates
Man versus man;
No one wins
Sooner not later
Change intervenes;
New gremlin harvest
Morning coffee
Aroma of wakefulness;
Prelude to day's onslaught
Once upon a time
Spring held sweet ardour;
Today, old age ferments
Words speed along
Congestion impedes;
Word craft evolves
Leon Enriquez
28 July 2014
Singapore
Based on my consulting this year’s almanac
June 30th being the best possible day for a BBQ out back
I sent out invitations to everyone, I didn’t hold back
There was the lumberjack, the nymphomaniac
The humpback, the hunchback and the hypochondriac
The kleptomaniac, the hemophiliac and the insomniac
No reason to leave out the egomaniac and the pyromaniac
Ooops and how could I almost forget our local amnesiac
I proposed a neighbourly exchange of paperback
I asked them all to contribute, call back or at least provide feedback
Eve of June 30th, gotta prepare my shack
Start to clean vigorously with ammoniac
Wash my floors and dust that miscellaneous bric-a-brac
To make room for guests, park my hatchback in the cul-de-sac
Find bowls for every possible sweet and snack
Think of various games including kayak and piggyback
Think I might serve some type of aphrodisiac
Put together a musical playlist of 60’s to 70’s flashback
Get all set for a promising night of banter and wisecrack
I think I’ve thought of everything and I’m right on track
O gotta go… I think I hear the doorbell- must be Jack
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
When someone violates my trust through betrayal, theft or rumor,
I look into our mutual emotional bank account.
Is it red, limping, crying and hurting?
Is it turning harder than a gallstone?
If so, it is going to be more difficult for me to forgive
Which is not my norm; not my norm.
But, if our emotional bank account is full of playful memories,
laughter and mirth, frolicking and friendly banter,
if she is a lovely pink and green color,
and she smells like lavender,
and I can foresee many more lovely experiences
forgiveness comes automatically,
without hesitation, and this violation is easily discounted
if not completely dissipated.
Which is my norm, which is my norm.
This serves me well, this serves me well.
For I am from a forgiving family,
Whose doctrine and philosophy is
That we are all sinners, and all of us have stoned
At one time or another, or we will.
A forgiving family that understood that
all of us live in glass houses;
every single one of us.
No exceptions.
When you realize this, it is easier
to see your own mistakes, and recognize
the grace others have given you.
Which helps your emotional bank account
stay enthusiastically loving and giving.
Also helps your heart forgive, which is a balm to you.
A salve on your hurt, a salve on your hurt.
Which works both ways, which works both ways.
Forgiveness for you, and forgiveness for me.
We are all sinners; we are all hurting.