Best Sniffling Poems
i lay stilled atop this muddied cold ground
a castaway like autumn's leaves deadened
unable, unwilling to move around
i sit bloodied, like skies of dawn, reddened
i am bathed in november's cold, harsh rain
pummeled by the fate of past's sniffling cries
slowly succumbing beneath weighted pain
i reach out attempting to dry my eyes
perhaps it is the will of fate to die
to wither and crumble atop this ground
to gather where the helpless others lie
to succumb here, unseen, wrinkled and browned
is life's pain something to be remembered
or cast off in the winds of december?
11/21/2020
Categories:
sniffling, autumn, december, november, pain,
Form:
Sonnet
My father had been out of work for way too long.
At night, I often heard him and mom weep
Food was scant, but love was strong.
As was that hunger pain when I lay to sleep.
My little brother was too young to understand.
Still a babe in arms, he brought our only smiles.
I loved to play with him and hold his tiny hand.
It seemed to take away the hurt from life trials.
Then, one-day dad came home all excited.
He was talking so fast, grinning from ear to ear.
He said that our future was well fated.
That we were in for adventure was clear.
It was that new ocean liner, the Titanic.
Dad had been hired for the maiden voyage.
We were going along as his sidekick.
A family destined for American homage.
In just five days we boarded that ship.
Immigrating was a dream come true.
Accommodations would be a hardship.
But it was worth opportunities…new.
Dad worked as a scullion in the restaurant.
We were housed on the lower deck.
It was a very crowded lodgment.
We stayed together until the shipwreck.
Sirens were screeching people screaming.
We could not find dad anywhere.
Was he locked up as a cageling?
Could it be true; was he trapped down there?
Lifeboats were being lowered.
Mom held my brother, crying.
Dad must be somewhere cloistered.
We all feared a dreadful dying.
Someone put me in a lifeboat.
I reached for mom as it descended.
The Titanic was still afloat.
But my family separated.
The water was freezing.
I had forgotten my coat.
People crying, sniffling, and sneezing.
The lifeboat soon became an iceboat.
Within a few hours, death began.
Shivering, I crawled beneath two corpses.
A young girl destined to live without her clan.
Hidden from polar breezes.
That was the last time I saw my mother.
My mind holds the image clearly.
She, calling for dad, was cuddling brother.
Oh, how I loved my family dearly.
When rescuers finally arrived.
I was the only one alive in the lifeboat.
Beneath those bodies, I survived.
Then, I was wrapped in a warm coat.
I never did see America.
I was sent to an orphanage back home.
Life had dealt a great trauma.
Forever had sunken in the ocean's foam.
© April 9, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: My heart will go on and on.... Free Poetry
Sponsor Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver
Categories:
sniffling, angst, business, fear, mom,
Form:
Quatrain
The Tear Collector
Tears they fall, sometimes bless-ed
In their burning
Watered reminders of a hearts capacity
To connect emotions
Soft welling they sting
And find their language of wet lashes
Run their courses
As ancient rivers carve their way
Through stone barriers
Tears collected vanish in vanquished aches
Evaporate to silence
Leaving their mark, their fragrance
Breathed in the molecules dispersed
Cut to the edges of wishes
Images of longing
Hearts slowly breaking in two
Still holds you
Weep for you
I do
Behind the hard choke rasping and sobs
Moans sniffling for a beauty
Both found and lost
Delivered Jesus to red rimmed eyes
That see beyond and into the sanctity of pain
It cried; I; not for myself
But for you, for her, the rest of the world
Broken by innocence
And ignorance
The heaving heavy chest digs its well of sadness
In slow counted beats of blood
Grief for love
With these sickles gouged deeper to the flaws
And spread their knowing further
Into the fathoms of your soul
Tears; the reflections of venerated smiles
Become the augury of responses
Of sight pierces the darkest, fallen pool
Tears; the written messages of sorrow and laughter
Covert their collection of sacrifices
And fall bless-ed humane
The merciful and pitiable denizens
Of a stronger more courageous face than Gods
They beat with the bravery of flesh
More holy; than heavens sacred
Have these tears
For more sure they are in their tactile salt
Are these tears
Have lived
And in your tears a more profound betterment exists
More, much more of life
Stronger
Braver
And more courageous
To face their own existence
Than the pretence of their presence
In God
Categories:
sniffling, life, love
Form:
Free verse
There were special places
where the mind could hide,
way up in the branches
of a tall tree, safe within
a ball of leaves,
halfway to heaven.
Or on a bike aimlessly riding
streets when the hypnotic
hum of tyres and the constant
rhythm broke through
and sent me
into a pleasant trance
as if the body was floating
free of the ground.
Then there were places
where you couldn't hide,
dark and musty hollows
they called holy places
populated with legions
of dead souls sniffling
their sorrows
in the candlelit air.
Dark cubicles carrying
the odor of sin,
the sour breath of absolution
filtering through
a curtained grill.
And all around, images
of pain plastered on walls
pressing a claim
for love under the threat
of everlasting fire
just for refusal.
It all sounds silly now,
the hellish props stacked away
in an unused corner
covered in ash.
Discarded remnants
of an ill informed past.
And yet at times, I am sure,
I can feel something small
still twitch on the end
of a severed nerve.
I call out. But nobody
seems to be there.
Categories:
sniffling, anxiety, childhood, fear, religion,
Form:
Free verse
Our first kiss
was a deathless Mayfly.
Ten years onward, we sit
in a Doctor's waiting room
as sniffling strangers.
She smells of baby-puke.
Sometime later,
she tries to sell me a cellphone
in Radio Shack
(still no recognition).
Sadly Radio Shack,
like long forgotten kisses,
it is now a dead Mayfly.
Categories:
sniffling, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Sestina for a Forgotten Cousin Midget
Kids are midgets
Like gnats, infested around the water
Melons buried in ice
Moms mixing up grape and lime Kool-Aid
Smoke smolders from reddened charcoal
Hot dog buns muffle family reunion noise
From the bath house comes a noise
Like some frozen midget
Who is lost, not smelling the reunion-warm charcoal
Small eyes water
Cousins curl their necks swallowing Kool-Aid
That slips down their throats like ice
The bath house midget shivers, turning to ice
Blue, making a whining noise
He doesn’t beg for Kool-Aid
He was with the other midgets
But didn’t leave the water
Until he thought of barbeque charcoal
Eyes wide, black and warm like charcoal
He doesn’t see the watermelon on ice
Or the purple and green water
Cousin midgets’ fingers play in Kool-Aid with slurping noise
Frightened wet midget
Doesn’t see the hotdogs and Kool-Aid
A parent drops her glass of grape Kool-Aid
Another slips his fork into the charcoal
Runs to the soaked, crying midget
A small cousin sucks on ice
His is the only noise
The sound of slurping tongue and water
The crying one looks at the swimming water
And at the grape and lime Kool-Aid
Picking his nose, a sniffling noise
Hungry for hot dogs over charcoal
And watermelon over ice
Feeling like a forgotten midget
He was in the water when he smelled the picnic charcoal
The others ran for Kool-Aid and melon ice
Reunion noise forgot their cousin midget
Categories:
sniffling, family,
Form:
Sestina
She spots a sniffling hottie by her gate
They learn their flight will be three hours late
After a few rounds at the pub
They board and join the Mile High Club
Then the poor dame sneezed for a whole week straight
*For Gwen's contest :)
Categories:
sniffling, fantasy, romance,
Form:
Limerick
Would you like to go to the coffee shop?
Where the smell of damp fills the nose,
As rain outside starts to shatter like dancing glass,
Leaving darkened stains on dampened clothes.
Would you like to go to the coffee shop?
With frosty hands that puncture from warmth,
Sniffling noses relaxed from fog,
Quavering shivers that slice through coats.
Would you like to go to the coffee shop?
Since roasted aromas fill the box,
Slurping echoes through the empty air,
Creaking vibrating from half broken chairs.
Do you remember that coffee shop?
The one where we first touched our cracked up lips,
You slipped right through my fingertips,
Dropped the cup as you whispered goodbye…
… like our favourite coffee, how bittersweet.
Categories:
sniffling, drink, emotions, heartbreak, leaving,
Form:
Free verse
Their fare in life wasn't fair
poor children play and sing
on pocket bread
they take to swings
others decry with dread
sniffling at their looks
in playground scene
poor children mistook
in being good human beings
still they feel the vibes
the stares of their eyes
they hear of "go away"- the jibes
the status quo sighs
on playground swings
poor children eat their crust
as jays in their heart sing
while looking around life unjust
at night they sleep in slums
scrape garbage for crumbs
move to and fro like bums
and hear sad fate's beat drums
still they wake up at dawn
pause, look at her peeking face
and cry at life withdrawn
the first break of light an euphemism
connie pachecho
3/12/17
Categories:
sniffling, absence, destiny, fate, life,
Form:
Rhyme
On a cold December night,
I run through the full moons light.
I stumble and fall in the snow,
as my fear I try not to show.
I find a place to hide,
sniffling back tears I have cried.
Close my eyes and start to pray,
I want to live another day.
I hear someone creeping near,
I start to panic and fill with fear.
A pain runs through my sight,
my arm the wretched zombie did bite.
I quickly pull and run away,
human is what I want to stay.
My blood starts to boil,
dying I fall onto the soil.
My brain starts to burn,
flesh and blood I start to yearn.
Starving as the hunger starts to rise,
inside my humanity slowly dies.
I get up and slowly walk,
I only moan and cannot talk.
moving at a snails pace,
my friends I want to eat their face.
Their heartbeats I can hear,
on the wind I smell their fear.
Delicious it does taste,
their blood not a drop I'll waste.
I shudder at their screams,
their skin I rip at the seams.
Bones with my teeth I do crack,
their blood on my lips is my snack.
I mindlessly go forth into the night,
searching for meat is my only fight.
So lock your doors and close the shutters,
because into you town I do stutter.
Categories:
sniffling, death
Form:
Heroic Couplet
The Waiting Room
The April weather shifted high to low,
Exposing those early clout casters
To the concluding bite of winter;
Footsteps full of foreboding
Trudge their last legs up the inclined driveway
To the Doctor’s old house.
A hotchpotch of chairs and wooden benches
Cling to the borders of the waiting room
A ballroom of romance for the sick.
In varying degrees of ill-health
A gamut of the townspeople
Chorus a cacophony of coughs
Sniffling and wheezing feverishly,
While the readers’ digest stale stories
From the well-thumbed publications.
Eyes darting around the room
Surveying the afflicted to kill the time
Conjecture at the probable cause and severity;
Childlike comparisons to ones’ own condition.
A new mother fails to stifle a yawn
Spreading contagion to the assembled
Her flushed snoozing baby
Unaware of her blaming chatter.
Life-weary pensioner invited to the inner sanctum
Chilled to the bone, sciatica stricken,
Accepts the decree of the medic
Without question or comment.
His framed degree, long faded,
Enough to stifle her to silence
His stethoscope, as a Priests garb
To her, underpinning his status.
Two codgers still await their summons
More regularly neighbours at the bar
Boisterously chatting across the room
For the oblivious benefit of the throng;
Socialising symptoms best supressed
Public bravado before their private hearing,
Selective honesty, the order of the day.
Quiet couple with obviously hidden issue
Whisper conspiratorially in the half lit room
Embracing the background murmur
And the dimness, aid to their privacy.
Vice-Captain of the junior team,
Fit, and embarrassed at his minor disorder
Conjures up exaggerated “near death” vocabulary
For future reportage to the team
His shame cajoled into the ether
By his twisting of the physicians’ imagined words.
And all the while the waiting room remains
Constant, a silent witness to all ills.
Categories:
sniffling, health, humorous, life,
Form:
Free verse
Why fight over different cultures
Don’t become like sniffling vultures
We live together with mixed races
One world in beautiful places
Black, brown, red, yellow or white
But all we do is argue and fight
Why can’t we live in harmony?
For that’s Gods plan, can’t you see
Many geniuses who lived and died
From various cultures and many tribes
Each discerning and want the best
Many learning, so full of zest
Musical genius like Bob Marley
Comedy hero Christopher Farley
China’s greatest, unique Brue Lee
Rock and roll star Elvis Presley
King of pop Michael Jackson
Magnificent voice of Toni Braxton
Italy’s finest, the ace Madonna
To watch them perform is such an honour
Many more from around the globe
Different skills, from different pros
The list just gets longer and longer
Freely they give their precious Wonga
So if you have talent, and want to be free
Don’t bother about your nationality
Inside were the same and I think your agree
There’s just one more genius waiting to be!
C Copyright 7th August 2013 K.C.Leake
Categories:
sniffling, angel,
Form:
Light Verse
A sojourn took me to a beautiful sandy shore
Dreams abounding that I could be
Like any other child I had read about
To pile up all the sand in my view
And build my multitude of dreams
That I believed would turn into reality
With every passing day
In an open box I placed a wooden board
That I had carried along
I built a cottage and not a castle
For I knew I was no queen
From the jasmine sellers I bought a garland
To demarcate my pristine garden
Two ice cream sticks were the sentinels
Guarding the gate
A few shells, some of which were half broken
Made a passage to the open door
Neither the heat spell nor the burning skin
Deterred me from completing my dream
With the dimming hues of the sunlight
I carefully shut my world in the sandbox
We travelled back home with my eyes focussed
Only on the box lying unstirred in my lap
On reaching home I placed it on my table
Tears streamed down non-stop
To see the wilted jasmine flowers
Crushed under the debris of my home
With swollen eyes I lay in bed
Sniffling every now and then
And it was then that I awakened
To the strong smell of jasmines
Reviving in me to re-build my dreams
Tomorrow I would build a more stable home.......
October 14, 2016
For Anthony Slausen
Categories:
sniffling, dream, emotions, flower, garden,
Form:
Free verse
I hate crying.
Not the puffy faced, sniffling, headache giving kind. That ones bad, but this ones worse.
This is the kind of crying where you can't breathe and you feel sick. Your just sitting there thinking and all of a sudden you feel terrible. Then you notice your shirt is soaked from silent tears streaming down your face.
You feel a whole new level of sadness. A little anger, a little bit of grief, despair, stupidity, and yet some happiness. But you feel awful and you can't stop. Then you get dehydrated yet as soon as you force yourself to drink some water your back to drowning in tears and choking on held in screams.
And that is the worst type of crying. (10/3/13)
Categories:
sniffling, anger, angst, anxiety, blue,
Form:
He stood there with grease up and down his woolen uniform
Tears drenched his solemn pale face
From beneath the bunker he crawled belly first
Corpses of soldiers scattered like red leaves in a Mideast autumn day
But here no wind was blowing
No noise but the tears and sniffling of the young Dutch boy
He came out from where he was hiding
Beneath a German tiger tank
They stood there engaging eyes upon each other
Neither knowing what to expect of the other
The soldier reached deep in his knapsack for a treasure that would bring a momentary smile
Broken in several pieces he sensed, but not melted
A sigh of relief as he attempted to reach out to the little man
Not more than ten years old but forced to deal with the pain of a never ending war
Forced to mature overnight as the bodies of his parents were already carried away
On the backs of wagons
With dirt and grime wedged beneath his war torn hands he reached out
He reached out to touch the little boy’s hand
From behind him he presented a gift as though it was Christmas morn
A single Hershey’s chocolate bar to soften his heart
The boy reached out and took the bar excitedly
Never expecting to find chocolate amongst the ruins of his once beautiful town
Never expecting to even find a friendly face that would be interested in how he felt either
He stood there eating the chocolate bar slowly
Savoring each morsel of kindness
The soldier disappeared into the darkness
The boy stood there contemplating the moment he met this angelic soldier
They would be forever friends in his heart
The little man with his chocolate bar and the soldier
Gwendolen Rix
10-28-14
Categories:
sniffling, angel, childhood, friendship, soldier,
Form:
Free verse