Best Snaked Poems
I'd married at 21 and moved overseas with my husband's work, so it had been many years since I had visited my gran at Rose Cottage. I was taken by surprise when I received a letter from her solicitor informing me of my inheritance. Her cottage had been vacated when she went into a care home, and sadly she passed away a few years later. Gran had been widowed at an early age so I’d never met grandpa. I was her only grandchild and had such fond memories of spending summer holidays with her.
ripe red strawberries
boiling in the copper pan
I label jam jars
When I pulled into the driveway I was shocked to see how dilapidated the cottage was. Green shutters were hanging off their hinges and paint was peeling from the window frames. I recalled the perfectly manicured lawns and cottage garden flowers which were gran’s pride and joy, now a forest of dandelions sprouted from the lawn and brambles snaked their way through the honeysuckle arch way. I picked my way through the vegetation which was covering the moss covered path and turned the key in the lock; the heavy oak door creaked like my arthritic joints. Gran’s cosy cottage had always been spick and span, but now every surface was covered with a layer of thick grey dust and lacy cobwebs hung from the black beams on all the ceilings. As I wandered through the empty rooms my footsteps echoed on the old pine floorboards which were littered with strips of wallpaper falling from the damp walls. My heart sank when I saw how much work was needed to restore and modernise the old stone cottage, but with time and effort and help from my family I’m determined to bring it back to its former glory
neglected cottage
in need of renovation
rambling roses bloom
Fiction poem for Thesaurus - Abandon or Abandoned Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart
POEM AWARDED POEM OF THE DAY
06/14/20
Categories:
snaked, growing up, house, memory,
Form:
Haibun
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
This was the first time I’d laid eyes on your final resting place
In front of me stood a grey granite slab covered in emerald moss
Green ivy clung to the stone and snaked round the nearby yew tree
It was evident your grave had not been visited for many many years
In fact, until ten days ago I didn’t know you existed …
A family secret kept hidden from me by my elderly ‘mother’
It wasn’t until her recent death I discovered the real truth
At the will reading the lawyer presented me with an envelope
Spidery handwriting revealed that my real mother died in childbirth
I discovered that I’d been adopted; my real name was Sara James
Seeing my original birth certificate for the first time was a huge shock
Now I know the reason I felt that I never belonged
With my raven hair and pale skin I looked very different from my sister Beth
I’d been told I looked like my great aunt and I’d never queried this
Now I stand in front of the plot where my real mother is buried
I spend an hour weeding, tidying and cleaning the gravestone
Rivers of tears run down my face when I finally reveal the inscription
Carved in the decaying stone I read
Ellen James - died 17th April 1953 aged 33
Fell asleep with her tiny angel
Susan James - died 17th April 1953 born sleeping
Family secrets kept hidden in the graveyard
Sobbing bitter tears I kneel down and leave a red rose
For my mother and my twin sister that until today I never knew existed
Fictional write for Camouflage me a Poem Contest Sponsored by Broken Wings
Theme 1 chosen - Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
08~04~16
Categories:
snaked, death, grave, loss, mother,
Form:
Free verse
His arm snaked round her tiny waist
She asked him what is your great haste
The glint in his eye
Needed no reply
Kids are out – there’s no time to waste!
19th February 2015
Categories:
snaked, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
The line of people out the door.
The queue that snaked around the floor.
The building's sleek art deco style.
The carpets' faded plush red pile.
The "Coming Soon" in convex frames.
The "Showing Now" and big star names.
The James Bond pose in poster shots.
The tickets from the kiosk slots.
The heavy doors that often creaked.
The seats on springs that always squeaked.
The fan shaped lights along the side.
The screen that stretched up high and wide.
The smoke that swirled inside the beam.
The shapes and sounds of Pearl And Dean.
The adverts that had overrun.
The trailers for the films to come.
The feature that would come on first.
The sudden pangs of extreme thirst.
The usherette's cool ice cream stint.
The fancy names like Midnight Mint.
The expectations in the place.
The action of the opening chase.
The talking scenes that went nowhere.
The plastic cup beneath my chair.
The glance at watches in poor light.
The stunts and guns and final fight.
The seats that sprung as credits rolled.
The exit doors and night time cold.
Categories:
snaked, childhood, film, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
The sky, heavy-laden with curdled black clouds,
Burst wide open, and all night long it rained.
It pitter-pattered on the panes,
And rattling on the slanting roofs.
It churned the dry soil to a pulp,
Overflowed the dusty gutters.
It drove the people from the streets,
And moaned amongst the houses.
'Twas but a fluke, a summer storm
Lightning snaked the sky
Thunder rumbled and crashed
Instilling fear and panic in passers-by.
Soon it abated to a drizzle,
A thin mist shrouded the square.
And as the town clock struck the sixth hour
Ghostly figures ventured forth again.
Yet during all this precipitation
He trudged alone along the streets,
Rain dribbled through his matted hair
And wetted stubble on his dirty face.
It cleansed his external demeanour
From the grime of past lazy days,
It could do nothing to eradicate
The heaviness that filled his inner self.
The air was warm, and strange enough
He felt little discomfort from the rain.
The vault of heavy clouds ascended,
The breeze was gentle and fresh.
He went back to his favourite place,
The bakery shop has not yet opened,
From its cellars hot dry air
Surged up, surrounded by his whole being,
Warming him from the wet chill.
He soaked up the fragrant smell
And yearning for freshly baked bread,
A luxury he could ill afford.
And so he continued on his journey,
Alone, atoning for his past.
Hungry and desolate and chained,
Externally cleansed by the drenching rain
Until the day he'd die.
Categories:
snaked, lost love,
Form:
Free verse
Asphyxiated and found dead
Raped and found dead
Unsure what happened, and found dead
Nepali women found dead
Snake bitten and found dead
Eaten by tigers and found dead
Left in a small dark menstrual hut
And found dead
Nepali women found dead
Shunned and labelled unclean
Ostracized for the wonderful way
God has insured they can have babies
Asphyxiated, raped, snaked, and frozen
And found dead. Someone is not right in the head.
These huts should be torn up and spit out.
Please, people, permanently get these women out!
Categories:
snaked, society,
Form:
Free verse
In the depths of despair I sank fathoms down
so deep suffocation filled lungs with defeat;
in the darkest of hours no light cracked the shell,
no matter how much I would plead and entreat.
The world turned to ice and froze me right out,
snaked into the marrow and writhed in the mind;
I dreamed of a time when the final cut
allow me part company with humankind.
When all seemed so hopeless and curtains would fall
a ray pierced the blackness and shone at my soul;
and gradually, achingly found where I live,
lit up my life and eclipsed the black hole.
A meeting by chance, a random encounter
put back the sun and turned me around;
you never can tell who's a guardian angel,
or likewise the source of salvation be found.
Categories:
snaked, life, sad, time, uplifting,
Form:
Verse
COGNIZANT BUT NOT REPENTANT
Her baptism with fire did not provide her healing
as in dust and grime, sharp memories still arise.
The arch of her wide, blue, eyes showed cognizance
but not repentant for long ago actions of the man who
stifled her youth. She despaired.
Shoulder-length is her crown of hair. She has no money,
she modeled naked to earn her stay, this led her far away.
Beyond her, the world died and recovered but she rose
like a cork upon the tide.
Her ruined innocence birthed a fruit of cruel, curled longing.
Spent now, she's in dreamless state; her heart-crimson lips
and flashing red cheeks have been honeyed with whiskey's taste,
mascara snaked about the pale, spiraling emptiness of her eyes.
Yes, she has been defaced; past ghosts hover and infest,
yet, her posture relaxed as she sat in solitude on the balcony,
noiseless, reminiscing by gone days; haunted by dreams
of might have beens before abuse destroyed her thoughts of truth._
____________________________________________________________________
~Inspired by the painting: Portrait of Carol Nye Rhoades
(Robinson) by Katherine Nash Rhoades 1915~
***for Debbie Guzzi's: Ten Paintings, Ten Poems, Ten Days NOT a Contest,
a wonderful learning experience.. Thanks... =`)
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
January 12, 2015
Categories:
snaked, child, child abuse, feelings,
Form:
Prose Poetry
The morning sun hovers coyly
behind broad shoulders of the John Crow Mountain
before unwrapping petals of fever plant and Venice.
Mama’s countenance was far contrast to one so radiant,
so when the old Leyland bus went shuddering along gravel road
the first beams break through pinewood forest.
The old New Hampshire Red was up last night,
bamboozled by the plump moon,
but all was still in the petite hours ‘fore daybreak.
His first boast was far too late;
Banties have already blown their tops,
and warm rays long ago penetrated rabbit fence.
Leghorns proudly announced fresh eggs.
Beds were unoccupied and unmade.
Voices came, children in euphoria;
oppressors were off to nine to five.
Nightingale sang an encore
before morning forage,
and gaiety commences.
Brown skinned pickneys,
like the color of the Balaclava clay,
with reflections of innards on innocuous visages.
The hoopla lived until the Leyland snaked along treacherous drop
and the sun hastened to avoid mama’s air.
Chores rushed,
and mama voice ruined our names.
Tomorrow, at first light, we will be children again.
Most of us have heard of lands where dogs licked their humans’ faces
and are driven about in carriages in nappies,
while we loathe our predicament
some counterparts wrestle in grown-ups’ arenas;
innocence lost to palm wine and brown-brown,
and blood moves consciences far less than September’s rain.
Will tomorrow’s shoots be allowed to be children,
delightful progenies?
Let the bright sun shine on Columbia, Cambodia, Guatemala, and Sierra Leone.
Categories:
snaked, childhoodold, children, morning, old,
Form:
Lyric
The breeze perfectly snaked up the mountain,
Through bushes, over rocks, towards me.
I leant back, pulling my wing up, it bloated in full,
Then hovered above the trees.
I stood there, both hands working the lines,
Looking out across the empty.
And I casually stepped off the cliff, “Was there enough air?” I thought.
Yes, there was plenty.
The thermal soared me straight up, into the vast,
Below me everything became small.
I flew up so high, I was part of the sky,
My life begged this wing not to stall.
Then, all of a sudden, I popped out of the thermal,
My wing crumpled into a small nothing,
I plummeted in that momentary second, it opened again,
This wing was only bluffing.
Of course I was at the mercy of the air,
As it roared like the ocean and waves.
It took me silently over the cemetery of its victims,
An air cemetery full of its graves.
For hours I surfed, predicting the swell,
Riding breaks and soaring off the crest.
And then I cruised back to the Earth, landing on terra firma,
Feeling heaps, and way less stressed.
Paragliding was my life, for a while,
It was my source of unwind, loosen up, and relax.
What things relax you, how do you chill and compose,
Loosening up to the max?
Categories:
snaked, happiness, uplifting,
Form:
Quatrain
That steamy summer day
At age fourteen and three months
I stood awaiting the kiss
Of the tall, dark, handsome hunk
My stomach was in knots
As terror snaked up my throat
Would he think it was okay?
Would he, with flowery words, emote?
His luscious lips descended
As I closed unbelieving eyes
A thrill rushed through my body
I was weak from feet to thighs
Then, suddenly, his tongue
Darted out and squished around
In a sloppy and slathering mess
My feet never left the ground
When the “kiss” was over
I couldn’t look at him the same
He was a dog; no longer a boy
And, now, I don’t recall his name
Inspired by John Heck's contest, "Egads, My First Kiss?"
Categories:
snaked, funny, love, teen
Form:
Light Verse
Some kids went on wild safari
others sunned in Côte d'Azur
but we stayed home to ‘summer’ on
our driftwood beach with rope and hammers
nails and cheez whiz bread
while morning mist from bull kelp beds
took flight and seagulls thread
thin strings of wind above the boulder
undisturbed and dreaming for
one million one
millennia
until the onslaught on the isthmus—
that startled rock awoken by
symbols snaked and hissing, hands
cold with human want
We built our jetsam vessel then
shoved off in churning tiderip
and paddled hard to reach that stone
bewildered still and bleeding while
Decades tumbled from the sky
into ephemeral dawn
where herons stretch above that shock
of progress bought and sold
and Dungeness
blue Abalone
now tokens on the sand
for every mega-million fortress
walled and stoned and gaping
Categories:
snaked, life
Form:
Personification
Our only source of water,
the spring lay to the west,
downhill from the house.
Its flow gurgled up
to form a creek which snaked
through a field toward the barn.
Cold spring water firmed butter,
and chilled the milk,
kept dry in tin buckets,
dropped underwater daily.
Our old sow would root, nose
under the fence, and head
on a straight path to the spring.
Mother hated that sow.
It took hours for the milky,
muddy water to run clear.
No milk for supper.
We wished for the milk
to curdle in her stomach.
Categories:
snaked, angst, animal, drink, family,
Form:
Free verse
Carried high above the trees the nut slipped from the moral grip of a bird’s beak.
whooish if fell
clunck- pop it hit
and landed between to two ancient bricks
the little nut prayed a little nuts prayer
to the wall that cradled and held him there.
My Savior, my savior
your bells has god’s grace
your walls high and thick
let me stay in this place.
Protect me and keep me
from the fat ground below
from the fallen leaves and the harbinger hoe
I vow to you, please spare me this doom
and content until death
I shall live in this room.
Moved by compassion
he decided OK
where he has fallen
the young nut can stay.
In a short time the nut split in two
his roots snaked the walls
and weakened it glue.
His shoots shot right out of that little hole
and covered the bell who’s praises he tolled.
The nuts twisted roots grew thicker and tore
at each ancient stone from the wall where it bore.
Stricken with grief
the wall bewailed it’s state
and soon fell apart
for it was too late.
Categories:
snaked, children, trust, wisdom,
Form:
ABC
Did you mention 'regrets'?
I have one or two, a few or possibly a million.
Depends on which way the wind is blowing,
and how gracious I'm feeling in the moment
Like, I'll never forgive that guy who butchered
my ideals of love everlasting, that'll last a lifetime
nor, when he lied about my best friend, just
to prove a point about promiscuity, all false
Too many detours to recall, but past grievances
should remain midst poetry's recollections,
not keep anyone awake at night,
although in the brazen light of day, it'll come to me
on occasion, that nasty lawyer he snaked for
our divorce proceedings, nevertheless
I slept with him in our bed, admittedly no regrets
there, and if perchance you're reading,
he was a much better lover than you !
To Regret or Not to Regret - it's fiction....
For contest 'Regret', sponsor Frank Herrera
Categories:
snaked, allegory, anger, angst, conflict,
Form:
Prose