Best Nose In The Air Poems
(WITH APOLOGIES TO SHAKESPEARE)
Oh farting is such a sweet sorrow
“I’m sorry but that’s not my barrow!”
My seatmate’s nose in the air,
I act dumb and even glare~
but just then I give another blow.
-Penned due to my irrepressible urge to respond to Jan and BL's posts-
KIM PATRICE NUNEZ
07 March 2015
honest mum it wasn't me
I didn't take a nibble of the cake
it was just as I walked into the kitchen
I saw something move....mum....I did ...
was the biggest mouse you ever saw,
it was stealthily moving towards the cake
whiskers twitching, nose in the air
I watched amazed
then it pounced, you should have seen him jump,
went at least a foot in the air and landed on top of the icing.
lifted one foot then the other....
all stuck up with wet icing
he began to nibble the cake,
when icing dried he licked his feet clean and ran away,
see mum, you can see his foot prints,
wasn't me mum......honest.
penned 5 may 2016.
THE BLACK AND BLUE BLUES
There was blood on the street
On his shirt
And on his shoes
Yet it never made the news
Just another person
Just another tale
Just another sister with a sorry story for sale
A beauty bound to lose
Yet it never made the news
There had been thousands of tears
Throughout the years
And nights of varied and sundry fears
Her face was painted with blacks and blues
Yet it never made the news
She’d been to the cops to tell her story
“listen lady, no guts no glory”
To them it was too ordinary so they’d refuse
I’d pick up a newspaper to peruse
And still her story never made the fu**ing news
When the law finally caught the case
They understood the condition of her face
Needed not was D.N.A.for the culprit was known
After he beat, bludgeoned and broke every bone
This was a couple who should had never become a pair
She with morals and he with his nose in the air
Because she was his dynamite and he was the fuse
And she died yet it never made the fu**ing news
© 2011.….Phreepoetree ~free cee!~
They say I’m rich.
My head held high and swinging hips
belie despair
nose in the air
denying thoughts of childhood demons
that lurk deep within the creases
of my conscience.
I turn outward for
accolades and tainted praise
to validate my living,
but harsh words like stones
bruise my dark skin.
Yet still I limp along, this solo jaunt,
Forlorn.
Moments of reflection
turn to trepidation,
that’s when it comes.
Shhh… knowing hands
secretly tug at the hems
of my innocence,
gone.
You say my shame defines me.
Wasted years of wonder
and senseless blunders
fuel my cry.
I fear when knowledge finally comes,
my light is gone.
They say I’m rich?
I strode in, nose in the air, lofty and proud,
Through the grand doors of the horses arena.
Standing beside the rusted rail, assessing the parade
For the eyes of a hardened ballerina.
The show pony on the track, the performer of fast,
The chase from the back, or lead from the front.
Then I saw deep, deep into the stallion, he said he would win,
So on him I placed my first punt.
Last! ! Well that horse was a liar, so young and so green,
His eyes told a dream that he had.
The next parade was now on, the filly’s eyes shone to me,
She was an athletic sprinting Olympiad.
With hands full of urgent, I hastily fired the money from my pocket,
All on horse named Jitterbug.
She came in only seven lengths from the front, yep I know,
I’m the hopeless tragic horse racing mug.
Where the Foxes Wander
Through the mist of dandelion seeds
That float across the dew filled field
The dancing seeds part majestically
The grass bends the stalks do yield
His nose in the air,
Between the mist of seeds
Eyes darting left and right
Taking in the field of weeds
Stepping forward cautiously
One step in front of the other
Its then another fox appears
A vixen with cubs - a mother.
The fox runs forward not looking back
The mother nips at the cubs
They lie still, hidden they think
The fox returns and noses rub.
He leads the way through open space
Fox, vixen, and offspring
To the chicken run next door
But should I do anything?
The large brown hens pecking dirt
The fox his eye on one
The cockerel then starts to crow
The sly fox is now undone.
© GG 17/06/2013
You have your North side ducks,
And you have your south side ducks.
Neither the twain shall meet.
For each one had his nose in the air.
They simply would not do the greet.
So as it happens they would dance with flair in the middle of the pond.
Always trying to out do the other side…Yes, let’s call it ‘Stomp The Pond’
Wings in motion lifting them up, to stomp the waters with their feet
Acrobatics and splashing around… Man it looked so neat.
So Stella, one of the South Side Ducks fell in love with her North side Pete.
But she couldn’t cross the middle of the pond, with so much action in the way.
Fussing, blustering, and carryings on were the name of the day.
But you know, there’s always one strange duck, and that’s the one who built a bridge.
Now all the others could come across or watch the stomp from the middle of the id.
My moral, I say to you young ones… is as appealing as stomping can be…
The world works better when brought together…
By the builders of a bridge.
Once was a gal by the name of Katrina
She acted superior like a Russian tsarina
Her nose in the air
Walked with a flare
Till one day she got served with a subpoena
(HUH!)
© Jack Ellison 2015
Waking up with the demon digging your bowels
Imagining other marvels, your mind on a different level
Hit the streets with a system in discomfiture
Nose in the air as to flatter any future
People look around without seeing, eaten into by sins, remorse or even longing for a better being.
People got sores they can't heal, come across each other and can't feel.
I walk, ma mind away, and feel nothing
Nor the fresh air that I breathe, nor the fresh breezes from the beach,
I am digging a gap between my life and I, not even hearing the honking.
For I am dating with a siren
She’s sucking blood, killing my soul and drying my heart up
She extends my agony in silence
Depression is getting our life sucked up
Survival trauma,
Hatred, cost of living, pressure, consistency of need, incertitude, ignorance in all its bliss
Our life, a daily drama.......
Like a deadly drug, it makes us dance
Put our nose in the air, turn our backs .
Craven souls, want another chance.
Walking over friends, we call hacks?
On, yes we sign, love, but mean it not!
How many trophies can I win ~ I want!
More flattery, please, as we do begin,
On this racetrack of pride,self loved sin!
Classical poets here, very despised.
Only new poetry forms have a place.
We want only our names in the skies.
Self-aggrandizement, a sad disgrace.
4/19/2023
I spotted a lady in Looe,
who slid as she stepped in some poo,
her nose in the air,
she sat on a chair,
and sniffed at the mess on her shoe.
'It's brown and it's squidgy,' she sighed,
'and smells like a ferret has died.'
She wiped on the seat,
and walked up the street,
still stinking, but most dignified.
written 7th March for Tania's double limerick contest
Yes George! There is a Santa Claus!
The troops want out.
But you want to pout.
With your nose in the air.
A great big snout.
The war in Iraq.
We know it is past.
We know it is past.
But you want to laugh.
You don't have to lie.
You should actually cry.
Yes George! There is a Santa Claus!
Many have died.
While many have cried.
It's time to pull out.
It's time to go home.
The end of the war.
The end of a sore nose.
So lower your great big snout.
Because it is definitely.
Seriously, time to get out..
End Of War-Poem-By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2006,2015..ALL rights reserved..
Note-Poem was actually written on Dec 05,2006:
(Only 2-years before George W.Bush left the White House) :
Boldly stepping out of the forties
Got my tude on and wearing my hat
Head held high, nose in the air
Look up!, look out, fifties everywhere
He has an arrogance that can be felt.
He’s big and burly not petite or svelte.
Smoking two packs a day
Frightens good girls away
And his breath smells like moldy tuna melt
Chastised by neighbors and his old mother
Smells like moldy socks of my teen brother
Puts his nose in the air
Attitude is unfair
Rubs us all wrong one way or another
I'm sure you've heard the term “artsy fartsy”
It can apply to a person or a thing
Most times expressed in a derogatory manner
Definitely has a “nose in the air” ring
In my lifetime career as a graphic designer
You'd think I'd be one of those guys
But nay nay I say I'm not that way inclined
My pinky doesn't point to the sky
Masculine as a male dude could possibly be
Mr. Jockstrap through and through
Chow down raw meat and stand up to pee
Most times leave the seat up too
It's certainly not a comment on social issues
Some of my friends are artsy fartsy
But most of the time my wee pinky stays put
Except when I'm stirring my tea
I'm sure you've heard the term “artsy fartsy”
Many times expressed with distain
Relax everybody it's not meant to be hurtful
Not everyone travels the same lane
© Jack Ellison 2013