Best Sneak(A) Poems
"MARRY ME" -- The Sweethearts Valentine Candy
I write with passion in every line,
A poet bleeding words, in black and white
Elegant, like a fine glass of red wine.
I SIT!
I LAY!
I LOOK INTO YOUR KNIGHTLY EYES!
Pearly paper I unwrap the magazine
I switch the lights to read
Gently I kiss you on the cheek
Tonight my diary reads, LOVE
I walked away, bathing for the night
A beautiful purple Amethyst diary on the nightstand.
The unthinkable; -O' you opened to read
Page 1 - 50 dramatic, and set
You skipped on over to the day we met.
Page 88
Once I was lost in the twilight
Then I magically found a box of invisible light
There you stood like a diamond ring;
Suddenly my heart began to sing
Your love was more than the beauty that spawned from your soul
Fair and cold like winter blues
January stars following my every move
I treasure every moment we spend like my mother’s cameo
I lifted our memories and time framed them like yesterday
A vintage picture, no one can erase or take away.
Page 55
You skipped back and, opened a page that spoke about my broken dreams.
Page 66
Smeared cobalt words in every line (CRYING)
Page 77
Sapphire Glamour of fancy words
Phrased that I finally found my amulet
He will protect me with unspeakable powers.
Page 99
Moonstone & Opal = 4ever
My white shiny Pearl, listen to me whatever
SLAMMING the diary shut!!
A piece of paper fell, and you bent over to pick it up.
Your heart skips ---- (when you read your name)
Dear Diary!
The roads ahead are full of bumps and screams.
I will continue to open every door until I find my dreams.
My sweetest love, soon will come,
May he never dares to change me like the seasons.
My sweetest love, soon will come
Together well enjoy life and respect its reasons.
A sexy man!!
Will come and intrude the glossary of my life!
My sweetest love, soon will come
One day to make me his wife
Today I will write and smile about love
Page 111
I have no shame in asking the man who stops
By to sneak a peek and read my diary once a week
Will You MARRY ME????
At awe by my mothers beautiful mind,
when it came to writing I always felt so blind.
Literature class advised us to write,
for the first time I did not feel bright.
Sneak a poem of my mothers i did,
boy did I feel like a little kid.
Praise my teacher gave me for such a lovely write,
my mind here and there like a kite.
Lucky me open house was here,
the poem posted on the class wall had me at fear.
Suggesting my parents to skip that class,
trying to avoid the coming sass.
She read it and thought to herself that it was idolized,
her eyes got big as she realized.
Quiet she kept as she knew how embarrassed I was,
of course it gave her a buzz.
It was cause of that day we look back,
and my mom gave me some slack.
She later taught me it's as simple as rhyming,
and with the emotions I have priming.
A Magic Adventure of Peter The Pan/AKA Peta The Fwying Pan
Peter was a fine young pan with blue eyes
Like all the other pans his age, except,
Peter could not yet pronounce 'R's'--he tried...
And 'L's'...so hard he tried. He even wept.
School had been especially hard today
Peter had been poked, teased, and made fun of
More this day than any other school day...
And the ride home took so long on the bus.
When he came through the door, his mama knew
"Why the long face? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"
"No ma'am," said Peter, "Just tiwad fwom schoow".
"Some cookies and milk may just be the trick!"
Mama said, as Peter sat down to eat.
By now, everyone was gathered around
To hear of his day--and sneak a treat.
So he told them his story...and they frowned.
"How can someone be so cruel! Makes no sense!
You are the smartest and brightest of pans!"
Said Debbie Dishwasher-- then cycle rinsed.
The rest agreed and came up with a plan.
"Okay! It's agreed!" said Bob the blender.
"You need magic!--THAT--we can render!
Charles Chalice and Gail Goblet--my dear
Bring what you have, for this magic milk shake.
Michael Magic Grill...you go get us some beer
And also get Peter a great big steak!"
Then everyone sang together with cheer:
"A parr-ty! A parr-ty! It's a parr-ty!
We are all...having...a magic--parr-ty!"
Everyone was busy, hust'ling around.
Tams the Golden Toaster was making toast.
Tex Texas Tea Pot hummed a whist'ling sound.
David Dish and Sara Spoon danced the most,
Except for Marlon Mop--he could 'get down'!
Carol Crock Pot was fixing up the Soup.
Russell Rolling Pin had rolled out a crust
For a magic pie with love from the coop.
Joann Juicer made fresh smoothies--a must!
Suddenly...a sound was heard on the stoop...
"Who could that be? It's nearly midnight!"
Said Cyndi Chandlier all bright with light.
Christopher Cutting-board called, "I'll go see!"
Vienna Vaccume said, "Not without me!"
"Wait!" Debbie Dishwasher cried from the sink.
"Let's look at more options. We need to think.
It could be someone in need of a meal...
Or, it's a burglar--come here to steal!"
"Everyone else! Quickly! Hide inside me
Until we find out who that sound might be!"
deborah burch©
5/23/2012
*****end part I...conclusion in part II
Nightgowns on at 9:01
Adrenal induced delerium
Santa’s journey has surly begun
To our beds, we were a scurrying
Closed eyes, at 9:05
But sleep would not come easy
We’d twist and turn, side to side
At least til 5 past 3
Then somewhere before, 3:44
Sleep would come, by chance
Til little sis would creep through the door
Ready to sneak a glance
Prowling the stairs, side by side
And past the grandfather clock
Which, by now, was reading 4:55
Five ticks before each tock
Around the bin and into the den
Stood our sparkling 8 foot tree
Palms were there, to catch our chins
We’d gaze til 5:03
Up the stairs, new teddy bear
Little sister, close behind
Sound asleep, to prepare
For the alarm at 6:59
A tiny, glowing, wing-ed creature flies
to homes around the world in every land
compelled to take each tooth we lose and then,
to sneak a coin to sleepers whilst they sigh
as wispy whistles whoosh from holes inside
and taking the milk teeth we lose as planned
when growing up from baby boy to man.
What does a tiny tooth for fairies buy?
Perhaps a car or wand or just some bread?
Ten molars for to rent a fairy flat?
I do believe in fairies, Come on, clap!
And some say that they eat the teeth instead!
Do they get more if they battle the cat?
Who takes their teeth when they grin with a gap?
Thinking about the good old days
Reminiscing for a little while
Some memories made me happy, some made me sad
Some brought a tear and some brought a smile
And I wondered
Were we the last generation
The last generation
To put lighting bugs in mason jars
To look at tail lights and name the cars
To lie in a field and count the stars
To go trick or treating in the local bars
Then I turned on the radio
To an oldies station that took me back
Listened for an hour or two
Put my mind right on track
And I wondered
Were we the last generation
The last generation
To drink water from a garden hose
To be proud to wear hand me down clothes
To sneak a cigarette at the local park
To play in the street well after dark
Then I fell asleep and dreamed of the past
Seems we had a Utopia but it didn’t last
And I wondered
Were we the last generation
The last generation
To play baseball and share our gear
To walk at night without fear
To have laws written in black and white
To still be friends after a fight
Then I went downstairs to call an old friend
Never wanting the old days to ever end
And I wondered
Were we the last generation
The last generation
To walk each day back and forth from school
To have parties with friends at the community pool
To listen as a bluebird sings
To be happy without material things
To play the game fair and square
To end each day with an evening prayer.
And I wonder
I saw a young lady today who had a tattoo that covered up her arm,
It wrapped it up completely but it only added to her charm.
The tat she had was bold and it caused me to do a double take,
Because on her body was tattooed a coiled and smiling snake.
Its leering head appeared from over the top of her left shoulder,
And it gazed down the front of her shirt at something even bolder.
From the neckline of her tank top was revealed some kind of fruit,
Her bosom was changed into a tempting apple, to hide it now was moot.
Even though I could only see the stem, my imagination filled in the rest,
I tried to not think about her orchard but it put my will power to the test.
A lesson about temptation was being taught to all who came to seek,
I’m sure that it will lead some Adam astray if he should sneak a peek.
Her tattoo was ripe for the picking and it seemed she had a bumper crop.
But just like Sir Isaac Newton’s apple someday hers will also drop.
So let this stand as a warning and be careful which symbol you select,
Remember that the artwork that you choose is the image that you’ll project.
At nineteen nothing is cuter than a pair of angel wings so feathery,
When you’re old they’ll remind you that the end is near on skin that is so leathery.
But she did inspire me to get a tattoo and so to the parlor I did go,
I got the universal recycle symbol on the bottom of my big toe.
So when my time is done and I’ve finished my walk along life’s path,
They’ll attach my toe tag in the morgue and I’ll get one last laugh.
you send r e s o n a t i n g chills down my spine-
thank
God
you
are
MINE…
one kiss on my nape, I fall onto my knees,
o, how I pray this crimson love shan’t cease-
you tickle my waist and I start to tease,
don’t ever stop, my love- I beg you- PLEASE
those resonating goosebumps make me weak,
I start to undress, and you sneak a peek;
I adore your evocative technique,
it’s given me the pleasure I did seek
skin crawling from intimacy with desire,
for you ignite an incandescent fire-
a plethora of touches I require,
you adore me wearing flirty attire
shivers under soft satin sheets do spark,
this romance we embrace I did embark-
for you glance, I blush; dancing in the dark;
love, come whisper that sensual remark
my beloved-
ebullient stardust falls when we entwine,
for God made us His most perfect design;
YOU SEND RESONATING CHILLS DOWN MY SPINE,
all from one touch from a man so divine
and,
my love-
I thank God you are MINE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Date - November 8, 2019
Written: September 26, 2023
Pick-A-Title, Vol 39 Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
“However authentic the feelings of love, the dalliance was only ever meant to be a beautiful fiction” - Esther Perel.
____________________________________________________________
Dot dabbles during dangerous dalliance
As souls are enticed by seductive affiance.
A narrative about forbidden temptation.
Shine smolders sway—a sensuous sensation.
A cynosure silver shimmer under the moon.
Flickers of fantastical fantasy foster flow foon.
Two spirits intertwined in a pointless game.
They are fettered by—an overwhelming tame
A vortex of enthusiasm is sparked at first sight.
They can't defy the diaphanous magnetic excite.
Akin to how moths are lured to a perilous flame.
Prance frolicking on the cusp of a lethal game.
Dalliance, desire, ecstasy, and temptation.
For flirtation as feuds on frame of foundation.
Consider consequences and clashes with zeal.
And yet—the flames are often fanned by feel
In the gloominess, they sneak a sparkling touch.
Nimble hearts are trapped in a harmful slouch.
Bootlegged, beleaguered blaze both breaths.
As they succumb to love's intoxicating depth.
Demure whispers of wariness swirl in the air.
But elixir zeal evolves with each stolen stare.
They cognize the danger—the risk they convey,
Yet they cannot resist the love they display.
Emollient hearts hid, akin to vines in the night.
Igniting an afire that smolders ever so bright
Their bodies entwined—they pranced in the gloom.
Strayed sprightliness that swaddles to assume
Realizing sequels and the agony they trigger
But they cannot outlast this forbidden rigor.
They breathe on the edge—with hearts ablaze.
In a world where forbidden temptation plays
But time is a lousy tutor—it can't be denied.
And soon their dalliance will no longer hide.
The world will decry their ephemeral affair.
And their felicity will be furtive, beyond repair.
An eerie mist spreads across the swampy moors,
At midnight's tolling hour, beware peasant or royal,
Whom travels the hidden roads and lost by ways, lit
From the light of the elliptical moon.
Here underneath illusions dark shroud, cryptic creatures
Revel in the shadows of mortal fear.
Stay upon the well-worn path my friends,
For evil specters, may lurk beneath the thickets wild,
Within the forest depths of undergrowth and evergreen.
Baba Yaga, appears from the vaporous fog,
Behold a withered old hag is she,
Wrapped in filthy torn rags discarded by society,
A wondering spirit of discord, feasting upon,
The souls of the innocent.
Accursed is she this vampiric witch, with the
Poisonous breath of whispering death, and smiling
At the bedsides of her deadened victims!
Lusts changeling of betrayals wounded heart,
A seductive temptress, enticing mankind’s mortal flesh,
With illusions of passions flame, seducing the weak,
Than possessing and consuming them utterly!
She whom blazed the trail for Hansel, and Gretel
Of legends folkloric fame.
Beware no candies sweet, does her house so rests upon,
But nay its skulls and bones remains piled mountain high,
What an alien looking thatched hunt, balancing upon
Giant chicken legs!
Singing in mischievous incantations, this darkened creature
Stirs her caldron pot black, tossing another poundage’s
Flesh and sinew into it just for tastes, good measure, as the
Wicked embers bite, at the chill in the evening air,
Laughing with a sinister cackle, dinner is almost ready,
Come along children of the light, I'm willing to share!
I'd dare not attempt to sneak a peek, inside if I were you.
All you God's faithful, and little children alike,
For in the woodlands wild, a mysterious phantom
Stalks the unseen path by night, and her name is Baba Yaga!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
A young bud, I’m awakened by Bells of Ireland
and a magnificent Morning Glory,
Baby’s Breath and Freesia near my cheek.
Larkspur and Delphinium happily look on
as blissfully I sun myself throughout the morn
surrounded by an ever-present bright array of beauty!
Enchantingly time passes as I take notice of
Lavender’s allure and the grace of Queen of Lace;
the charm of Jonquille, Jasmine, and Gardenia.
Pansy, Tulip, Peony, and Petunia want to play,
swaying gleefully with Buttercup and fellow Gladiola.
Periwinkle seems to wink at me
as I sneak a peek at pretty Primrose in repose.
However, when sweet Violet I spy,
she always shrinks so shyly from my gaze.
I’m cheered by Chrysanthemum and yellow Daffodil.
Marigold and Sunflower never fail to make me smile;
Magnolia and Myrtle nod hello to me
and Forget-me-not reminds me she is there!
Through the whole sweet afternoon,
fair Lilac’s scent permeates the air.
Soon enough Sun bids us all Adieu.
I then see white against the fading light -
Iris, Lily, Narcissus, Limonium and Rose.
Inhaling Orchid’s heady fragrance through the night,
I slumber in tranquility, wondering in dreams. . .
what flower I’ll be blossoming into!
For SandyIvy's "My own little Garden" Poetry Contest
I wake encased in arms so strong
a heart beating beneath my cheek.
I am tempted to sneak a peek,
though feeling right where I belong.
From the night, clothes strewn all along
the room and on every antique.
No time for words, no need to speak
as we made love to one last
song.
He stirs, and greets me with a smile.
Unspoken words from yesterday
floating in the crisp morning air.
They'll stay unspoken for a while,
as we both chase the chill away.
Our bodies and our hearts we bare.
I would like a dream vacation,
Paris is my destination;
For me this would be a delight,
I am ready to book a flight.
I will walk the wide boulevards,
And sneak a peek at nice backyards;
Oh, it would be lovely at night,
I am ready to book a flight.
I would drift on the Seine River,
The Louvre- I would stay ever;
The Eiffel Tower, what a sight,
I am ready to book a flight.
At the Notre-Dame I would pray,
In the boutiques I want to stay;
In an old cemetery- write,
I am ready to book a flight.
And search for my French ancestors,
Unadorned graves with no answers;
Oh, almost there, but just not quite,
I am ready to book a flight.
__________________________
February 4, 2016
Poetry/Verse/Paris, My Destination
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 752-282-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Take A Vacation,
sponsor, Lin Lane
Fifth Place
I will start with using my hand as a guide
And in the end I will open my eyes that I will decide
I consider to do this with one thing in mind
I will close my eyes and will imagine it blind
With no colors or fractionation of the light
Just plain me and a vision with my hand as my sight
My hair is very coarse and some what fine
What I just described is so benign
I twirl my hair and make it bend
And I will say its very clean not oily on the ends
As I press on my forehead I simply feel a distinct part
I notice from hair to skin it is very different from the start
The simple partings from hair not like skin
I am going to feel with my other hand and begin
The smoothness of my skin like years of water eroding a rough rock surface smooth
Not just that my skin is like home to years of stories like scars and attitude
And when I raise my eyebrows the wrinkles it makes is more so for expression
I did not notice it with certain ideas, thoughts, and emotions
I run my hands down to my eyelids I feel movement of my eyes trying to peek
Eyelids that I have, vibrates with some kind of fear, Why?, that I will seek
Just now as I thought about it a sensation ran through my brain
My eyes is the world to me and that is true and not insane
Myself portrait of me is through my touch for now
But to finish it I will have to open my eyes soon and how
I been in a trance full of so many ideas just with my eyes closed
I run my hand on my nose and lips and I smile who could apposed
The feelings in the tip of my fingers rub on my chin and jaw with care
I do notice roughness of unshaved velcro gripping hair
I skip my ears so I will sneak a feel with my fingers I chose
I notice it is like my nose with cartilage, so I don't suppose
I will now open my eyes that I will use a mirror to see myself
My head is oval shape and my neck is like a stump, please help
My skin is very tan and my eyes are brown with my eyes I see
With all the description with my hands, one sure thing is the same and key
It is the description of measurements that is what my hands and eyes can see me
With a smile I am looking into the mirror and I can describe that I am happy
Myself portrait of me is such a way to get to know myself once more
I will never think it was a waste of time or a bore
When nature calls away from home
you need to find a public throne
a place that's clean to spread your cheeks
one that flushes without plumbing leaks
not at an outhouse or a remote latrine
they're so disgusting and very obscene
Time to hurry you're poking cotton
skid mark stains are never forgotten
parking your car at the local K-mart
releasing pressure, cheek sneak a fart
concern turns to fear of what you dread
passing gas has formed a turtle head
As your back side slaps the toilet seat
you realize this job will end incomplete
burning eyes from the methane vapor
on the roll not one square of paper
so every time you cut the cheese
don't forget to clinch and squeeze