"banshee" poems
The Swan from Cornwall
Oh gracious on the pond,
Reached out it wings
while singing his song
Listen my friend
like the frets on a guitar
I'll play you a tune
so distant so far
The words go like this,
So simple and pure
Ripples the effect
I have given the cure.
The banshee it screams
like sirens in the night,
the slow dive that surrounds
its about perfect flight
Oh swan you lifted me
from shadows of past,
No sin is untold
More stories to last
Gratitude and fortune
I wish you a fond
The Swan from Cornwall
Oh gracious on your pond
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
I used to think that sadness was beautiful,
But what is the point of it all? We're supposed to be youthful!
They said time and time over that it would pass, but to be truthful:
The feeling and expressing pain or sorrow for sins, it's all we feel: ruthful
So in the end, what is the point of life at all?
When all we do is sit around and bawl,
"I just wanted to be pretty Cristi, just like a doll!"
But isn't it more important to be happy, above all?
All I have been feeling for the past couple of years is pain,
Even though all I have wrapped around my neck is a golden chain
Rather than his clenched fingers restricting against my jugular vein,
With a voice in the back of my mind reminding me of my engraved Mark of Cain,
It begs and exclaims, and it can't seem to remain restrained,
But to ease me of my pain, they'd say: "Here, have a glass of Champagne."
Can't you see what this mystery is doing to me?
I can't seem to break the shackles that would set me free,
All I'm reminded of is of my unfinished Master's Degree.
"Is that all that matters to you?!" I dare to plea,
"But what about my happiness, or my hemophilia b?!"
Their expressions are forever carved in my mind: dropped jaws and widened eyes,
"If it is such a sin to be happy, can't one consider the act of decriminalize?!"
They'd all put up such a convincing and eerie disguise
As if it would turn back the clock to avoid their end, their demise
But I could tell by their silenced, hushed lips and snake eyes:
My inquiry deserved a Nobel prize
What was it about my question that turned my loved ones against me?
They wouldn't dare turn their heads my way, they'd continue to sip on their black tea
As if I were a ghost, or some sort of banshee
The loss of my sanity is what they could foresee
-
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
Darkness, Shadows, Fright’ning screams
Red eyes haunt you in your dreams
With serpent coils and spider crawls
Clouded skies and banshee calls
Cold chills running down your spine
Something’s counting down your time
Monsters wait to draw your blood
Don’t listen for that sick’ning thud
With every turn you hear a howl
Eerie, freaky, creepy, growl
Apparitions all around
Voices groaning underground
Death and phantoms at your neck
Pirates on a grim ship wreck
Something’s coming down the hall
With fangs and claws and dying squall
Darkness, shadows, is this real
All this fear and dread I feel
I must wake up and see the sun
Or this nightmare won’t be done
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
Smoke signals from a silent cigarette
float to the heavens and linger
in the mucky conscience of regret
resting on the temple, my forefinger
Thumb lifted to expose
a metaphorical gun
countenance in prose
staring at a midnight sun
When will that monster again ****
another that I love,
Why did I so feel
like I could best the powers from above
I created a ghastly Adam
and I dare not create an innocent Eve
my future I cannot fathom
all time left to grieve
I will chase this gruesome snake
no matter where it slithers
across Hell's frozen lake
this calamity summons me hither
My final and only ambition
is to cast a life to silence
his and my cognition
will clash and bite in violence
I created a monster
and a monster created me
Madness! How it so saunters
and wails as if a banshee
Look over on the frozen horizon
a horrid shadow stalks
I, a fire stealing Titan
will march out to solve this paradox
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
Through the fog of disenfranchisement he emerges
Gold watch, Gold rings, Gold hair, Lead heart
He has the resources...
He knows the secret to making money
He must know how I can make that money
So I can finally be happy
As happy as I was before I knew I needed money
Unless the secret of making money is me not having it
He has the influence...
Over those with crumbling foundations of knowledge
And foreclosed homes of empathy
Their situation is dire
They need someone to admire
What channels will this river of adulation lead to, though?
Their minds sneak across the borders of fear
into paranoia
Their hearts scale the walls of love
into hatred
He has the power...
The Botanist tells the customer that the flower is actually a ****
And he must **** it
There are Bedouin villagers who know nothing of the outside world
Except for our bombs
Will the sounds of love be heard over our tanks and guns?
He has no control...
No control of the thoughts of those that live
in the shadows of uncertainty
No control over the brotherhood all men share despite our differences
He is not the sun
And time waits for nobody
And misery finds everyone no matter what
And you can burn the witch at the stake of your fears
But her banshee screams will unleash the titan of retribution
Through all this hatred
Love will save us, right?
Or is love what led us here?
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
Is greatness endowed by the flick of a sword?
You look just the same to me.
Is taking up arms in the name of our lord
really enough to be free?
Just fashion a noose out of three pure white cords.
string it up into a tree.
Wrap it around that frail throat spewing lies.
Rid the world of a banshee.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 7:37 PM UTC
A banshee once went on a date,—
A dinner. It wasn't so great:
She started to cry
Right across from the guy,
Who then choked and fell dead on his plate.
*
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
My mind is foggy
Though I'm not groggy
A mist emerges
My peace it purges
I see contradictions
And feel convictions
That inflict conflict
And indict convicts
So I accumulate cumulus clouds accordingly
To fog my marshy mind more horribly
My brain becomes a banshee
And screams from my mist
She shrieks an awful list
Of everything wrong
And everyone gone
Her voice blasts through my cerebral stratus clouds
And her voice echoes within the silent static crowd
The clouds I gathered to block her wailing
Are completely empty and always failing
They look so absolutely grand and solid in the sky
They're just water vapor that form droplets in my eyes
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 2:59 AM UTC
Every day
I'd see them headin aff
in that clapped oot old banger.
He'd nivver get it looked at -
thocht it'd run
on positive energy and a kind word.
If that were true
my fower year apprenticeship
and six year in the garage
wouldny be worth ocht, would it?
But would he come tae me?
He would not.
There they'd go -
the exhaust gruntin lik a vexed rhinoceros
an the fan-belt scraichin lik a banshee.
Ah couldae sorted that in unner an hour.
Ah seen him workin on it wance, mind -
thocht he wis fin'ly gonny change thae bald tyres
But naw,
he wis paintin' ****** flooers on the bonnet!
Ah kin see them yet.
Headin up the hill,
weans in the back,
cloods ae black smoke pechin oot the pipe.
Ah couldae fixed it.
Ah couldae telt them.
But ah didnae.
An they nivver made it hame.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 5:06 AM UTC
A banshee once went on a date—
A dinner. It wasn't so great:
She started to cry
Right across from the guy,
Who then choked and fell dead on his plate.
O.O
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
Do not eat of Faerie food
And do not drink of Faerie wine
Or when you leave Faerie at last
The home you seek's no longer thine.
Do not step in Faerie rings
Do not enter the Faerie Mound
Or when rescue comes for thee
Your sanity will ne'er be found.
Do not lie to Faerie folk
And don't insult the Faerie Queen
Or for all of eternity
You and yours will not be seen.
Do not enter Faerie woods
And do not walk the Faerie trod
Or, though you come back to hearth,
Your heart will ne'er again be thawed.
Don't listen when Faeries sing
And ignore the Banshee wail
Or you will have the dubious fame
Of becoming a Faerie tale.
Do not look through Faerie stones
That you find on the Faerie ground
Or they will put out your eye
So you can't see when they're around.
Do not enter Faerieland
But if you do, don't leave the path
Or you'll be lost for ever more
In darkness where the monsters laugh.
Do not ask for Faerie help
If it comes take care how you pay
Some want clothes or milk for it
Some are insulted and betray.
Do not accept Faerie gold
From captured elf or leprechaun
For it will turn to moss and leaves
And when you look up they'll be gone.
Don't swim in the Faerie stream
Where nixies and kelpie play
Banshee wash dead men's ****** clothes
In that water, so stay away.
Do not believe what Faeries say
Though it's true that they cannot lie
They never say quite what they mean
Honestly they will truth deny.
Don't even taste Faerie repast
No goblin fruits from elven trees
They're addictive beyond belief
A wise man offered such food flees.
'Ware giving thanks for Faerie gifts
Though they save you from all pain
Or else you may be in their debt
And lose more than you stood to gain.
Beware lights off Faerie shores
And lanterns seen in wild bogs
For wisps will lead folks off of cliffs
And laugh as corpses float like logs.
And buy naught from Faerie markets
They sell goblin fruits, curses, lies
The price your dreams, your past, your soul
Your voice, the color of your eyes.
Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
I don't want to walk in to a room full of strangers
have you even thought of the dangers?
Well I have at 3 am each night
they sure do bring me great delight
I don't want to walk in
oh my god give me some gin
They won't like me
I'm just a wannabe
Imposter syndrome
I just wanna go home
I don't want to walk in
They're looking at the white's of my eyes
I don't mean to dramatise
but I might die
I don't want to talk in
and I can feel my chest
I'm so ******* stressed
I'm walking in
Is this auto-pilot because this is your captain speaking and get ready for a crash and ****** burn
I've reached the point of no return
Walk in you big ******* baby
whats the worst that could happen?
I talk too fast with too much passion?
so what if they don't like me I already sound like banshee
At least try to be care-free
I can't make any guarantees
but step by step in to the room
it won't be all doom and gloom
Just walk in and see you might even make a friend in the end
who didn't want to walk in to too
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
Summer's almost over,
It's threadbare
As your towel;
The summer sands
Are shifting,
The beach is headed south.
The initialed picnic tables
Are stored for other outings;
The concession windows
Flapped now,
The busker's shouting quelled.
Sails are dropped
Like maple leafs,
The moon's rising
Too soon;
The night lights blaze
Over pitch and field,
Where sunshine
Shone in June.
Geese are wedging daily
To escape the wintery gloom;
I'll reacquaint
With the hinter sounds
Of lake winds
And banshee loons.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Regardless of where my life is headed
No matter which wild path it is on
There are always voices that claw their way out
Sadness, Misery,Dripping desire, Torment, Gore...
Live inside of me
I have bubbles in my laughter
Sunshine sky ways in my smile
You'd never know from reading
That I could bake your pants off
Fix your camaro regardless it's issue
And clean your whole house all at the same time
Phone *** operator get you off with her voice kind of love
I make no apologies
Excuses don't dwell here
****** poet with a taste for flesh
An open book with banshee hair
The desire for more and more ink endless on my fingertips
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
I was possessed by a demon so lazy,
He left the Priest feeling slightly hazy.
He wanted some ecclesiastical action,
But this Demon didn't give him no satisfaction.
My Priest said "you've got to stick it to him!"
So I took us both to the local gym.
I did some cardio and did some weights,
I stayed there until really very late.
Finally, when doing some cross-training,
My chest started straining,
And a voice (not mine) wailed like a Banshee,
"The power of exercise compels me!"
So that was how my Demon was exorcised;
Bloodless, sweaty Holy exercise.
Now I'm a major fitness fanatic
Thanks to forces oh so Satanic!
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 3:57 PM UTC
The flames be flyin' hot tonight,
so the horns be heatin' up just right!
Skeep-deep-do-bop-bee-bop-do-skeetle-scat-woo-woo, hell-bop-ba-ska-da fra-la-la-la-la-la-la-foo-foo, yous,
look-see-dee-wee-boys doin' da voodoo,
look-see-dee-wee-girls playin' wid hoodoo.
Cuz, I'm a scat-man,
it's a fat fact ma'am!
Yeah, I'm a scat-man,
it's a fat fact ma'am.
And I dun gives a ****
if there's no reason to the scat-plan.
If you come across the fancy bowler hat,
dun be afraid to start stuttering the big skat:
Batta-tat-tat looksee-da-flat-uncool-rat
givin' his square-eyed-glare to-the-scat-cats ~meow~
skee-shee-flyin'-the-sillee like a banshee,
singin' sillee-skee-shee-all-fancee-free -
and we putssss on the br(e)ak(e)s
just
like thissssssss (!)
and
in h a l e ....
Go! Go! GO!
Skeep-deep-do-bop -bee- bop-do-skeetle-scat-woo-woo,
hell-bop ba-ska-da fra-la-la-la-la-la-la-foo-foo,
look-see-dee-wee-boys doin' da voodoo,
look-see-dee-wee-girls playin' wid-hoodoo.
Yeah, I'm a scat-man,
it's a fact ma'am! x2
Yeah, I'm a scat-man,
it's a fact ma'am.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
I was once God's Picasso painting
(the Guernica era).
Chuck Jones' illustration
of the tortured artist,
laid out like Wile E. Coyote
on a bed of scalding rocks
and a white flag screaming "SURRENDER"
clenched with both palms.
If it were feasible,
I'd have dove head first
into the smoky center of the sun
if it meant my audience understood
the shrieking woes I had to bellow through
to reach their overwhelmed palates.
But Tragedy is the sitcom foil
that has long outstayed its menopausal welcome,
and I would much prefer a haunting.
To Hell with those
who repulse the flies with
the vinegar of exploitation,
gawking as their spit seeps
through seven layers of collected scars,
who ventilate the wrists
to keep the audience comfortable.
Real aesthetic power
comes from a shower
of light hail on the spine,
the moments a ghostly hand
****** you on the finger
with quietly hidden truths
always whispered from a field away.
It's far more bracing,
the lump in the throat,
not the electrical gasp of shock.
It's a far greater sign
of a forthcoming apocalypse,
the angel weeping in pain,
not the footsteps
of the wailing banshee.
The wisp
over the wallop.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:56 AM UTC
She'll sleep tight in a parallel universe tonight
my deeply serious rainbow girl astral projects
communes with Shiva and champions chakras
she has the recipe for what passes as illumined
her ignorance of current events is appalling
but that chosen ignorance is staid and unperturbed
I grumble and complain, I use the news like a ******
I put the pieces together, pattern the puzzle-
I see the BIG picture…I cut my life short
possessing a keen memory is like the proverbial millstone
the information is the lake
rainbow girl is contemptuous of my self inflicted plight
we realize its a matter of time before disparate likes divide
I am fire and she is water, I the destroyer, she the preserver
the passion can be complimentary for just so long
Like the lady bard said:
*You read those books where luxury
Comes as a guest to take a slave
Books where artists in noble poverty
Go like virgins to the grave (Joni)*
She'll tolerate my confabulated artistry a spell
I can see she's a caterwauling banshee of protestation in the waiting
Her mellifluous quietude, equanimity and perfect poise can only last so long
Before my brash stripped down vituperative diatribe is as acid in the eyes
Then be off to resume her prior harmonic convergence of heart stuff
as I with my artistic bent, abbreviate my life
*http://jonimitchell.com/music/song.cfm?id=38 The Boho Dance
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
A Wizard trapped her reflection.
To be within the mirror forever,
She had spurned him with rejection.
Two keys to a mystery box hidden forever.
A brave young Prince wanted to set her free,
Solve that secret of the mystery box.
So he began the search for the first key,
To open the first of the two locks.
He braved a dragon high on its' nest,
But he did not find the key hidden there.
He battled Ice Warriors with his best,
They had no knowledge of the secret to share.
Then he would save a Witch from a Demon Banshee,
She told him all he had to do was ask for his reward.
So the Prince was given the first key,
He searches on, battling a Demon Hoarde.
Years pass him by, until that Wizard he faced,
The Prince was an old man, he still would fight.
The battle was long, the Wizard was disgraced,
Gaining that second key was a victory sight.
The Prince travelled back to the mirror and mystery box,
He was tired and very old, but he would set her free.
So he took out both keys, and he opened the locks,
A light surrounded him from the beautiful sight he could see.
He is young again, he has his life given brand new,
From out of the box, he took out a diamond heart.
Now the girl starts before him with a heart that is true,
The Prince lifted her up in his arms, for they shall never be apart.
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 11:35 AM UTC
how tired how tired
the caged bird sings
before its beautiful neck snaps
between the claws of an angry
fat cat drool
drip drop dripping the ghoulish rubies
that snake past its serpent tongue and
sizzle when they touch its breast
scream like a banshee a women in the
throes of **** as the cats sternum
breaks between the iron clap jaws
of the three headed abomination
cerberus
guardian of the judicial powers
champion of the executive law
enforcer of legislative judgement
slobbering grasping all encompassing
maw envelopes my heart in its
wretched gnashing teeth
and **** my marrow from my bones
with a sharpened gore covered protuberance called security
i see the death of my passions
in this hellish cycle - abomination birthed
from the depths of an elitist mind
control - a choke chain on the masses
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 12:47 PM UTC
There is serenity within its self-stimulating prowess, as a legion of testimony sways in the easterly winds of dendrological plantations. Can you feel the power of the banshee as her Irish spirit cries in the face of certain death? The herald of Caoin is a lamentation for your long and pale hair.
Oh relentless gestations of hatred, I appeal to your haunting foreplay.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
The golden sand swept around in synthe of beech,
where he hath made promises which he’ll keep.
He held her hands and walked past the bow,
the fazed waves whispered with a thwart,
Being thalosophile she stood with no go.
When the sea embraced the shore,
She could not keep him forsaken anymore.
Both settled to relish the saline tang,
As they oft had love pang.
One moonlit night she saw banshee,
Who warned her foredooming death,
She feared his life & ran gasping for breath.
She saw the wind unusually howled
When her beloved sailed and left her in cold.
She woke up and hushed and scream,
“this was a dream!”
Alas! Unconsolable she seam,
When She saw his scar left on her heart,
Memories flashing by and her world falling apart.
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
What do we really gain from hard work and time,
But the dust of life and an intellect mind,
When will my bones grow down deep, Into the ground.
I can hear it in the distance
The sound of war, the true fight.
And I remember, the banshee beat.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
This icy morning chills me
No warmth for my bones
Just frozen touches of misery
Wind like a Banshee moans
Bitter thoughts in my head
No one to ever tenderly want
For I am one with the undead
As this torment continues to haunt
If only love could come my way
Temptation to warm this soul
Someone to show hope this day
To allow my lost emotions flow
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC