Best Snarls Poems
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking the trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt is the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion for poetry shrivels on its vine.
Withering like a flower, my empty heart
has stripped my soul of its craving to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings.
They thirst, and their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorse and regret.
That mocking voice invaded my aching breast,
when again, it ridiculed me as a fool...
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task.
You should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken, drowning in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only drums in rhythm to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered.
Parched and dying, drying up in a field of grief.
While I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
into an abyss, my fingers charred in a fire.
I can only water the seeds of self doubt
with salty sweat from my furrowed brow
and over fertilize them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds reprieve, a relief.
I've tried to save them all, or was it just
a half-hearted attempt made in vain?
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain.
I'm suffering from loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and praying that I be forgiven.
For the folly, I've only myself to blame,
this pillaged poet.
Categories:
snarls, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
I stay close to the ocean.
Its wild waters surround me,
And the thundering waves
Rant and rave around me.
I see the leviathan,
Screaming at me,
Charging feral,
Like an enraged beast.
It snarls at me.
It howls and yells.
In its deadening roar
In its pouncing gait
In its sweeping rush
In its pounding thud
I hear the wail of a banshee,
Announcing death.
I become so small.
I become so powerless.
A helpless doe,
Before a mighty foe.
At another time
The sea lies quiet like a babe.
Its violent tantrums lulled to sleep.
Its bosom heaving in peaceful slumber.
Its rhythmic beat, its magic, and the charm,
Its depth and beauty all combined.
I see the gulls in the air.
I hear them squeal.
I feel the waves over the sand,
Lapping around my feet.
I listen to their murmur and shout.
I glance at dolphins over the surf.
I watch them dance.
I behold ships over the waters.
I see them glide.
I hear the night air sing.
I feel the spray of water,
And sense its coolness,
I notice seashells,
Half buried under the sand,
I pick one from the strand,
To tie it around my neck,
As an amulet,
With the ceaseless whisper of waves
And the sea’s undying commotion
Shut and encased within!
Categories:
snarls, beauty, irony, sea,
Form:
Free verse
of love of war
the staff of a prophet, seen
fairness not imagine, sings
shouting out, obscenity
recognized, yet
in search of fame, seeking stance
the moment arises, seek
of voice of power, godsend
renown supremacy, yet
prophet not acknowledged, kept
desire of a great life, sought
skill of voice, articulate
hardly ever, cheek
no longer free, famous self
seldom bite snarls dogma, link
of country of faith, kinship
all that’s true, fair play
desired fame acknowledged, pent
the home front, covetousness
war or peace love or hate, just
yelp puppy love, nice
_________________________|
Penned on September 28, 2014!
Categories:
snarls, angst, celebrity, encouraging, freedom,
Form:
Dodoitsu
Resounding echoes awaken the child
demons in the attic beckon unto him
stark fear grips his Vick's laden chest
shivers vibrate rusty springs of down
footsteps creak closer upon loose floorboards
while steamed filled pipes play taps
a somber teddybear snarls
causing the world to be still
foolish nuns, God doesn't want to "get me"
the sting of a ruler splinters a left hand
blood spurts upon faces of laughter
evil little boy too wicked for a mother
affliction runs in the family
Florence became flop because she always fell
polio never whipped her ass
just abused her now and then
she healed with a smile
Even humility has its price
Jimmy Dean wore sunglasses
maybe his eyes were bloodshot
or maybe he was a child of an alcoholic
and they became part of his attire
degenerate eye disease, masturbation
spattering or battering
does it really matter when you can't see
or understand the difference between ADD and ADHD
Psych 101: Crack can be Prozac
Iron gates surround a new residence
protecting the innocent who peer from outside
rehabilitation means refining bad habits
like those on the outside who have mastered them
twelve years of bars and games people play
provide an education unto itself
seclusion can be the deciding factor
between murder or suicide
self righteous judges choose life
recidivism is a revolving door
of vicious cycles with no engines
only propellers called co-dependants
or co-defendants, take your pick
life repeats itself over and over
only the circumstances change
yet the merry-go-round stops
when the flowers are arranged
Why are most tombstones gray
scared, afraid to die
are you saved?
from what, ourselves
you can't hurt me
Bob Shank-Nov. 30th, 2006
Categories:
snarls, introspection, life, sad, education,
Form:
Free verse
The dawn spoke her name like a silken secret
carried carefree by the tradewinds of lust and larceny
imported from the traderoutes of paradise and pandemonium,
sequined with violet venom she venerates the virtue of volition
her love is unlawful, unequalled in unrest, righteous in conquest,
tender in temptation, torrid your surrender, her beauty a will bender,
Queen of Empire Passion, warrior unknown to submission
her kingdom was not inherited, glory and throne ungifted,
the treasures, stables and territories, battles and crown all won,
rich in intellect, endowed with rare resources, affluent in original passion
bejeweled in natural beauty, she bewitches beasts and men alike,
Poets pen her preciously as Woman Total, Priests implore her pardon,
male servants pander to her anger and ardor, satisfaction she commands,
Sisterhood the symbol and soul of her mission,
I was just a man, a wanderer wading through her reign,
from the unsubdued North I came, a curious traveler with ancient name,
my tribe unfamiliar, underestimated, a Chieftain of steady pulse,
tresspassing towards her roots my aim was direct knowledge of her
woman of renown cunning and learning, woman of exotic ability,
seeking teaching and romance, though I would not be her Subject or victim,
this she knew, this she abhorred, a challenge to her dominance,
I agreed to meet her alone in the open morning of war,
in an abeyounce of gliding fire she comes riding out of the sun
regalia of black roses against red tears flying above her shoulder,
our horses begin a battle tromp, breaths heavy with moist mania
she has leopards in her eyes
poinsettias and death's palms painted on thighs,
scalps of exlovers and enemies slung on sadle
we acknowledge one another with ritual yell
I exclaim, Warrior Poetess, she screams Poet Warrior!
dismounting with mutual vigor our combat erupts
cutting my cheek with her blade's lip
kicking me in the ribs
I clinch her collared throat
and heel trip us to the ground
she snarls, I growl,
a glimpse of rescue in eachother's eyes -
J.A.B.
Categories:
snarls, courage, desire, fantasy, gothic,
Form:
Epic
No, I can’t believe it happened again!
Surely folks think I stand out like Big Ben
The Jolly Old Green Giant
Snarls at me, so defiant
Green hair – and I’m not a comedian
It first occurred just before I was wed
Dyed my blonde hair brown; it turned green instead
Now the chlorine in the pool
Made me look like quite a fool
And I’ve no option but to shave my head
Categories:
snarls, funny,
Form:
Limerick
Cattle Drive
Roll over a bit in me swag
Get some bones clear of the ground
Dew is on us swag cover is wet
Dingo is howling around
The cattle are camped in the corner
The frogs are croaking, smile creeps
Old horse has the nose bag on
Oats n the chaff for his keep
Fox has his nose in the camp oven
Cattle dog snarls n he freaks
Fox has blurted and gone now
Cattle dog goes back to sleep
At daylight we are catching the horses
Hobbles come off as they squeak
Saddle and mount a grumpy horse
be unloaded, you’re bloody weak :)
Old horse drops his head again smartly
Pigroots around the flat
Stay with him mate it’s only
oats causing springing like that.
Cattle move on down the Stockroute
15 mile a day cross water n creeks
40 mile to the railhead Darby
The Shielas are waiting so sweet.
Don Johnson
Hey Babe
I know the feeling Im a whiz at computers been using since 1990 .
My little laptop has inbuilt webcam i record from.
I was using a usb type video camera ...which worked well.
Do make an effort to put you on you tube ...
there is lots of crappity crap there so you will be welcomed there ..
i have 190 poems n talking too...just good fun its what i do...love
Don
Categories:
snarls, adventuredog, dog, horse,
Form:
Rhyme
Life, as a pseudonym,
Drags its shadow's shadow, which snarls
Itself around traffic cones and
Streetlamps, tearing at its skin
With deliberate intimacy
To alarm light witnessed
Only through strained peripheral vision.
A lace-stitched veil
Slips through sidewalk cracks,
Unisolated windows,
Cataract smooth eyes.
The flesh of the matter invades
Such as the Red Death
In living color--Vibrant
Cadavers speak the language of Love:
Mortality;
It slides over possessive nouns, sticky
As salivation,
Push and rattle and harbor themselves against
Warm, wet cavities eroded
In the backside of actualities
Sweet Tooth.
Authentic miasma, honest illness.
Any footprints discarded in covers of dust
In which Fear has been recognized
Yield into thoughts by persuasion
Of waves.
Categories:
snarls, allegory, hope, introspection, life,
Form:
Free verse
Lady Di
The princess we loved
At 5ft 10 tall with stunning beauty
This angel stunned the world
With her duty.
A young Diana did marry a Prince Charles
From other Royals she got snarls
An independent woman, we watched grow
With 2 sons William and harry
They filled her with life
They made her glow.
Thing soon turned sour
With an affair he had
This made Dianna
Very mad
She had 2 sisters and 2 brothers
Was talented on the piano
She like dance
Maybe the tango
Beautiful, humble, elegant
The charities she helped
Where to her testament
Diana the most influential person
Of the 20th century
We will forever hold her in
Our hearts and in our memory.
Related to Winston Churchill and 10 U.S Presidents
Towards the end of her life
She lived in torment
Diana developed a love interest
With Major James Hewitt
She looked happy
We knew it
Battling mental health issues, eating disorders
And suicide attempts
Behinds the scenes
Her heart was breaking
Whilst the paparazzi
Was staking
Media did not leave Dianna alone
There was no where she could turn
To be on her own
1997 Diana passed away in a car crash
The world in disbelief
We thought the media
Was speaking trash
It was true
There wasn’t a dry eye
How could this happen
Now her soul is in the sky
The driver of her car
Influenced by alcohol
Took this princess’s life
She was our real-life doll
Mother Teresa gave Diana
Rosary beads that where
Buried with her
Although no longer living
She still holds power
Thousands came to say goodbye
With many tributes
There wasn’t a dry eye.
Diana’s grave on an island
On her family’s lake
RIP Diana
You have no more heartache
Categories:
snarls, celebrity, mental health,
Form:
Prose Poetry
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt, the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion flower shrivels on its vine.
An empty heart has stripped my soul
of its craving need to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings,
their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorseful regret.
That mockery invaded my aching breast,
when it ridiculed me as a fool;
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task,
should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken and lost in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only beats to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered
dying of thirst, drying up in a field of grief,
and I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
and must retire.
I've watered the seeds of my self doubt
with salted sweat from my furrowed brow;
over fertilized them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds a reprieve in relief.
I've tried to save them all,
but half-hearted attempts were all in vain.
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain
and suffering loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and pray that it may be forgiven
for my folly, for I've given it no choice.
I've only myself, this bereft poet, to thank.
Written January 24th, 2021
Judged N/A 2/22/21
Contest Open Poetry !
Categories:
snarls, poetry, sorrow,
Form:
Free verse
In fire are we born,
children of the wind, the rain,
the raging storm.
In dreams do we succumb
to the wane of reason
as it becomes undone.
In thunder rumble, growls, snarls ferocious
with the lightning flash that follows
do we live and die in the soul's mitosis.
In the midnight flight
do we escape the torrent
of the fire burn delight
Categories:
snarls, allegory,
Form:
Blank verse
Charley has taken his class hostage; he is seven.
His classmates are terrified of his out-of-control behaviors.
There is a perpetual glare on his face, he seems angry always.
He snarls and growls, sneers, and prowls around as they try
to do their work. His work is on the floor where he has thrown it.
or it is in the garbage can where he has crumpled or ripped it.
He punched an adult guest in the solar plexus last week in front
of his classmates, shocking them. The adult forgave him, saying it was
no big deal, but some of his peers are more afraid of him now.
In an effort to encourage him to be good, Charley is able to win
prizes for his good behaviors. He has won sixteen prizes
this week for following rules other children have always followed –
a prize for staying in class for ten minutes, a prize for not hitting anyone
for fifteen minutes, a prize for not destroying property for an hour.
We are incredulous that the Prize-Awarders can keep up with Charley’s prizes.
Charley is proud of his multitude of prizes, he flaunts them daily, in front
of the classmates he terrorizes minute by minute. He gets a prize if he does
not hit someone for an hour, and another prize for not breaking a windshield.
Other children in first grade who used to behave beautifully are now breaking
windshields, and punching adults.
No one can figure out why.
Categories:
snarls, anti bullying, bullying, humor,
Form:
Prose Poetry
She lost her brain long ago
Sanity vanished along with the ghost of time
Calloused bones reach from the ground
No sound
Just shallow breath
That breathes
And snarls a nasty smoke that suffocates my lungs
Oh how it used to tease
But now bleeds uncertainty
And that's why I feel so free
A sacrifice to the goddess of slavery
Searching for beauty
A long echo that calls to me
I know its name
It knows my name
We seem to be kind of one in the same
Torment casting its shadow
Pointing fingers
Trying to place the blame
But I've paid my fees
Scuffed up by the blood of my knees
Here to say the things meant to be left in need
Like the rustle of the wind in the trees
Raising the undead
Carried along with the last few waves of smoke
Too many thoughts
Try not to choke
Caught in the back of another's throat
Get my blood pressure up
And I might have a stroke
Where do I go when my spirit is broke
Floating through space time
Nowhere to go but to slowly get lost
Let’s just go ahead and smoke more pot
Sometimes I like the way my brain feels when it rots
It hits the spot
Numbs the
Pain
Pain
Pain
The ticking tock of the clock bring the pressure to my brain
But what really would happen if were to go insane?
Too late
Categories:
snarls, angst, beauty, confidence, freedom,
Form:
Rhyme
From my window, darkness was quickly descending.
Costumed creatures were walking about, pretending
to be goblins and ghosts, expecting me to be scared
and totally freaked out, for which I was not prepared.
I'd been warned about evil spirts on Halloween night,
and vampires rising from coffins to give my neck a bite,
but no one had cautioned me, "Beware the living dead!"
I laughed it off and scoffed at a zombie's decayed head.
Around me creepy crawlers slithered. I felt an eerie chill.
but I was trick-or-treating for candy; my bag I'd yet to fill.
Across the blood red moon, flew witches in pointed hats.
Their dark silhouettes joined by a flock of shrieking bats!
I saw a man dressed as a baby, but he looked like a brute.
He growled at me, so I ran as he chased me in hot pursuit.
I thought I'd be attacked when suddenly there appeared
skeletons whose clicking bones pointed at me and jeered.
With worry I started thinking, Could these things be real?
Something nibbled on my hair. How horrid it made me feel!
I went to a house with a porch light, hoping for Tootsie Rolls,
but screamed when in the open door stood sneering Trolls.
I tried to convince myself that this was just some silly hoax,
by friends trying to make me cower with their wicked jokes.
With a bit of bravado, I rang another doorbell, undaunted,
but fled again when I saw signs that the house was haunted.
How I wished for the power to fly away on a witch's broom
and escape the macabre apparitions on this night of gloom.
Now filled with trepidation and dread, I darn near fainted
wondering if the sweet treats I'd collected were all tainted.
Somehow, I managed to make it home but could not sleep.
Snarls from under my bed gave me goosebumps, skin-deep.
October 22, 2022 ~ Halloween Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Categories:
snarls, halloween,
Form:
Rhyme
my keyboard sometimes sticks and snarls up my story
went to the store and got jiffy lube and what a glory
my fingers slide across the letters typing faster
did a quick hit of the duster called air blaster.
the light on the screen will often blink
I plugged in my generator into the back link
now the screen has 300 watt illumination
and the audio sound has quality combination.
feels like I am sitting in the theater now
there is a lot of keys I haven’t learn what or how
there is a tool box but not like mine in the garage
a menu that has no food listed is a sabotage.
Excel is just another brick in the wall
which has nothing to help me at all
the command prompt has deaf ears
doesn’t follow thru and no changing gears.
Monopoly is easier to learn than a computer
I started too late, I must have a tutor
I’m still trying to figure out about windows
often my sites disappear and fall like dominoes.
I got a security package to protect my skill
but viruses still enter and that’s no thrill
they try to scam me and pretend they’re real
offering me a vacation that is a bogus deal.
they want my personal information to cheat on me
enabling them to use my credit account with forgery
one nice feature about my computer is I can delete
either a message I don’t want or the whole fleet.
So please bear in mind that if you write
I may answer if I can get things just right
this is a keyboard and screen that sits on my lap
but my cat loves to come up and nap.
Often the words have too much space in between
she smacks her tail all over the screen,
I sent the computer back with a note in tack
this is useless with a lap cat
Categories:
snarls, computer,
Form:
Rhyme