Long Banters Poems
Long Banters Poems. Below are the most popular long Banters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banters poems by poem length and keyword.
Silent in its violence
the sun lays ancient fire-fingers
on the heat-scoured concrete of the promenade:
boxy seafront chalets tilting and creaking at angles,
scorched, salt-stiffened gardens,
sand dunes, a screaming blue sea.
It is so difficult to accept a loss, a deprivation.
Innocence flaps its winding sheet behind me,
its mummy cloth of myth.
As from an isolated moon I see
the first cold breaker rush to engulf me -
an underwater undulance,
undercurrents of menace, of malice.
The sand-strewn strand stretches into infinity,
shimmering with the visions, the voices, the echoes,
the faceless departments of government and society.
I watch the insouciant people around me,
they possess a flatness, like blank paper.
They hump and lug plastic picnic paraphernalia,
ridiculously, all beach grime and blistered backs,
reduced to a red cindery glow.
Ice creams, scooped from the freezers
in trinkety seashore shops,
are clutched in sunburnt hands.
They are spreading striped sunbathing mats,
snide and smiling slyly.
Is it a mirage, a delusion,
dredged from the desert-dry air?
The air snags in my throat: the flat summer stench
of warm wood, sun lotion, billowing cotton -
blank but expansive. The creaking, the flapping.
A strange wind howls and banters in my ear
and the train shrieks through its station,
the station of my brain -
a riddled red abyss, poker-hot.
The sun is sinking -
a disc of fire, a blood clot.
Water floods the ridgy shallows,
eddying into treacherous pits.
The black gun muzzle of my mouth
blasts the oxygen from the air.
My nerves a hive of wires suffering
the scarlet atrocities.
Pokers put out my eyes.
Squeezed by the forceps of agony
I see nothing, there is nothing
but a mirage of wavering dunes closing in
and the sea splintering; a multitude of glass glittering.
The old man sat on a bar stool all alone.
Acting like a king holding court on his throne.
While most patrons sat absorbed in their phones;
He spoke to any and all in cheerful tones.
I perked up my ears to have myself a listen;
Seems the old guy was a retired physician.
Seeking to learn more about his profession;
I buy him a beer and his eyes they glisten;
He turns on his stool and thanks me profusely.
Beckons me closer, then banters on loosely.
His eyes look me over, though somewhat obtusely.
As he pauses his tale, I ask intrusively;
Tell me about your most interesting case.
“Sorry!” say I, as puzzled look creases his face.
“No worries mate.” As his mind begins to retrace;
Suddenly a saga begins at rapid pace.
I hear his life story in all its glory.
Some of it grand and much of it gory.
I can’t help but think it an allegory.
I even learn his name, Shamus McCrory.
Listening to all his remembering when;
I garnered this one simply amazing gem.
He spoke not once of any “It might have been”
The four saddest words of man’s tongue or pen.
10/15/2019
Give Me Your Best New Poem
Emile Pinet
Where are you God?
Where are you?
I see you.
I see you
in the clouds as you influence them to swell,
and nudge each other in the ocean of blue sky;
like galleon ships
carrying cargo of tears.
I see you,
in the cool breeze.
The breeze embraces
and leaves a scent around my soul.
I see you.
I see you in the trees,
as your good nature banters each leaf;
they sway and brighten their colors
with your touching influence.
I see you,
in the birds singing in your presence
glorifying your lovingkindness.
I see you,
in my neighbors
those that have become friends
and those that wave from afar.
In awe, who touch my heart.
I see you.
7/29/2021
If they have to point out it is banter
cus you didn’t realise it as banter
As they left no clue it was banter
The simple fact is it’s not banter
Banter’s quick wit the sort with charm
not blunt brain dead comments which harm
banters apparent with its own alarm
you know to reply with words not arms
Some will insult you then say what it is
banter they say but the humour's a miss
the standard they bant to tells you just this
have they a brain or a head full of piss
One reason banter is something some hate
Many don’t get it run their lip like an ape
after an insult “it’s just banter mate”
pointing it out then banter it ain’t
Acting a prat is a different thing too
don’t justify actions stupid you do
a prat you are and stupid are you
It’s not banter not close I tell you true
Banter only works against a near IQ
you can’t banter with someone much dumber than you
Banter is something the dumb do different
They are not canny or clever they’re just a blunt
I know a secret Neely told me, no lie.
Don’t tell me, I cautioned her. It could make you die.
She followed me around all that day and the next.
I gave her the cootchie eye, and a brave genuflex.
She would not leave me alone, she wanted to tell.
I told her she’d better not, for blabbermouths don’t sell.
She will not have another friend if she banters this secret about.
She was bursting to tell me, and soon she did shout.
The secret as hard as she could, which was to the treetops.
I could not make her stop; she was flatly out of all stops.
The secret flew into the window of every neighbor on the block.
Her parents were aghast; they might as well not had a lock.
Now everyone knows what goes on in her house.
She has been called a snitch, a blabbermouth and a louse.
I know I should take some of the blame, but I can’t, not really.
It’s not my fault she cannot hold a secret, my young Cousin Neely.
Ol’ brazen Brenda, battlin’ biography,
Banters bewildered brave boatmen at sea,
Brushstrokes besieging her beleaguered brain,
Broadsided by fiction now baking insane;
Balanced between both broken and brilliant,
Buried by sorrow, bereft not resilient,
A ballyhooed author, back in the day,
‘Fore Brian betrothed her then drowned near the bay;
Basking bereavement, believing though more,
Books barely bound newly found in the store,
‘Betaken, Broad Beauty’, Brenda’s new write,
Beveled bare bitterness abruptly bright;
Barreled, brought breathless by Bernie, beloved,
A character boating where dead Brian shoved,
As buckets with bottoms knowing no end,
Begging attention did Brenda’s mind bend;
Blended for sanity, befuddled realities
Born when begins a life without boundaries,
Betterment bellows because Brenda’s words,
Boxed-up betrayal beneath binding boards.
9/18/2016
I should have grinned when morning came
Atop posts of gaping day, with lunatics
Humming dirges of a broken world.
I remained glued to my gloom.
Rising from the pit of hell, I held
Concupiscent cats hostage.
The course of their waning speed of flight
Harmed my precisions.
From a boanerges' point of view,
Fierce elocution dampened by grey voids of
Unassailable haunts cripple the badinage of
Myths celebrated at dawn's memorial.
I weep through the voice of an alcove's
Muted spirit, one grace, forlorn and dew-wet,
Re-christened at sable-draped ceremonies.
Haunted by such recurring whims of deliberate
Schisms by harridans, I crawl on both knees,
Filching webs atop crests of arachnids.
I should have waved siesta's flag at 3 P.M.
Lush vagaries of new-sprouted greens yield to the
Mockery of phlogiston,
Leaving behind banters from drunken laughters,
Crackles from prostituting fires, meek and ailing,
And hells of sweat from my aching head.
It's been a lifetime of endless wandering,
Seldom seeking guidance from that above.
Yet after 3 score and 7 years crawled by,
Grace was delivered, and it was true love.
This was surely God's plan, as all others fell short,
But this one had endurance, both intense and strong.
Just as repeated efforts from Cupid's empty quill,
Never hit their target, falling short or long.
So as I have matured gracefully on this journey,
I failed to grow on this solitary walk.
Only now can I realize a life worth sharing,
Holding the hand of my loved one while we talk.
Most of all this has transformed my life...
Where my thoughts dwell on another's happiness.
And while our love banters back & forth repeatedly,
There's no limit as we begin a new genesis.
To Those We Miss
by Robert J (Bob) Moore © 2016
I’m still here, though you can’t see me, waiting to hear you speak my name
then memories of life will fill me, and I know, all is the same
you still remember times we had, and give life to this heavenly shade
please think of fun and times together, and the memories we have made
Our time was spent in joyful laughter, fun and games, and banters trade
we talked together, and told our stories, of things we did and were not afraid
to say I love you, way out loud, and hold each other in our arms
to sing, and dance, and hug and kiss, and tell each other of our charms
Time goes fast, and one may leave, like flowers falling from the stem
but they’re still here, to live again, in memories, we tell of them
how we loved them, and they loved us back, and lived our life with us
to help us through our worries, and be there, always, to fuss,
But I know you are still here, so I will speak your name
every chance that I can get, and tell you, with no shame
I love you and I miss you, and I know you’re here with me
and one day we will meet again, and together we all will be.
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Polished now in the hallway, my fond antique
Recalling Grandaunt’s delicate craftwork--
Each pattern of fabric threaded with zest,
As her hands would bounce around pinpoint needles,
Weaving an array of doilies rugs garments
Intently absorbed in a foot pedal’s rhythm
That her hums trailed beyond Nam’s bombings :
The war years seemed like only yesterday,
Calming her through spindles of moon’s quick cycle .
Along each evening’s gloss, we rollicked laughed
Exchanging banters like friends… till she crossed over :
Tonight, I gently pat her own quilt laying on my bedside,
Lining our decades of sweet remembrances…
For a moment, my eyes gazed at stars’ fading wicker,
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
Viv Wigley’s Contest: One nine and sixteen
Written 5/1/2018