Best Snobs Poems
*People just being people.
These are the kind I want to be around.
How I deplore those putting on airs.
I like the folks whose both feet touch the ground!
Uppity people won’t hang out with lower class folks.
Some society types brag about their good breeding.
For those born with golden spoons in their mouths,
education in REAL life is what they are needing!
Fashionistas and upper class snobs on the hill
seem to think that blue collar’s a sin.
Too many people have hate for their brothers.
*We are all alike beneath the skin!
What matters the most is being yourself.
As they say, “To thy own self be true.”
So this world might at last enjoy full peace,
we must respect those who don’t think like we do!
Sept. 30, 2019 for Richard Lamoureux's Pick A Line Any Line Poetry Contest
*The title and first line are from Richard's poem: Broken People
The other line *is from my poem: A Love Letter to my Friends of India
(see Link in box above for my Love Letter poem)
3 polished oak fans,
Swirling in robotic unison
High maintenance socialites,
Sipping on Merlot fallacies
Lemon yellow coated walls,
Flat,
Like their smiles
Comparisons of dangling Porsche & Bentley keys
A glorified day care center,
Pacifiers included
The muted virtuosos speak softly in hymn dialects.
Courtesy laughter in snob’s octave
Their heads twitching side to side,
Left to right to left
An equilibrium facing assault charges against self
They slow dance to cello dreams
And E minor dividends
Two-step monotone, sway
Against platinum lacquer foundations
…
But, it was then.
These same socialites,
Made of recycled candle wax
And rubberized, hedge-fund confidence,
Began to stare longingly at the party host’s 70 inch plasma TV
Proudly imported from China
“Attention uptight snobs of Mecca!
The city zoo has imploded!
The monkeys revolted!
The zebras were tired of being racially profiled!
Run for your LIV…!”
(SMASH!)
And before the reporter’s frightened inner child could finish’s his clause,
An elephant crashes into the decadent room
Filled with Crisp linen scents of Febreze & judgmental fear
It stares at the socialites,
Laughing heartedly as it playfully stomps away into constellation’s onyx night
As tears waterfall from the snobs’ sobbing eye sockets
As if they just listened to another Celine Dion song
The real newsflash
Metaphors played hooky today
©Drake J. Eszes
Abominable holiday season greeting to the have-nots me and you
Bombshell tabloid sleigh bells got those ear holes ringing
Cut the tax gift wrap ribbon, only good cheers for the wealthy few
Ducky Little Donald beaky wacky-quacky curse caroling
Ebony epithets, Latino canina lobs, Palestinian and Muslim sobs
Freeze the Access Holly Would frame, hear the locker room talk
Get smart, dummies ... Populist Idol adored by Wall Street snobs
Hate not the playa, love the con: Eraserheads don’t need no chalk
Incense of Uranium burning, napalm is pissy incendiary to touch
Jingling cash registers be jiggling twin money-makers below and above
Kiss the ring of the Don, you poor stiffs ... just don’t ask for much
Let not the blue chips, white gems and red jewels make you a begging fool
Make the payments on time, or he break your legs with loan sharky love
No Festivus is complete without the test of strength Labor Party feats
O, deary me, Hercules Putin is cancelling from the main event
Proof is compromising truth, we don’t eat no tainted Trump red meat
Questionable straight partners sexually, fake news getting bent
Risque business dealings, tiptoe thru the financial tulip inquiries
Stake your illegit claim, skim a little off the top ... fattening grifter butt
Take a little less scrutiny, a lot more thievery ... no legal worries
Ultimate year end declaration: Shed that slothful image of a Jabba Hutt
Vacant morality, rampant gluttony ... gotta do what the lust belly says
Wiggle weight-loss room is minimal, doing the right thing is optional
*** expose, another failed marriage on the way ... oh, happy dog days
Young bacon tenders is ripe for old Porky Pig, innocence is so sellable
Zinc adulating is the best White holiday blues lip service Rudy brown-nosers do
Oh the woe, for woe is me,
I said, "I do" to a teacher-to-be!
I tried to marry my best friend,
Now strapped to him, I stand condemned.
I support him with my soulless jobs,
Counting beans with business snobs.
He sacrificed much time, unpaid,
Which I picked up and played the maid.
I followed him to this world's other end
To help his job search better fend.
We put our future plans on hold,
Which shrivel up as I grow old.
Stress puts me in a place of dread
As I lay sleepless in my bed
While horrors dance inside my head:
Will he ever get full-time work?
Where will we be next fall?
Tomorrow, will he get the call?
Will I ever get to meet the children in my dreams?
Will we ever get off this one-bedroom floor?
If only he...
If only...
If only...
And just as I begin to cry,
I stop myself, and ponder why...
Why endure the torture?
Because I love that man of mine
More than my words would dare define.
And why not do the world a favor?
To be the change, we must be braver
Than most who seek the ladder climb
Who care not but for their own time.
Why not contribute to the needed suture?
Why not invest in childrens' future?
He could be someone's liberation
As an educator of a generation.
Hello, Stranger, Hello Friend.
Want some joy that never ends?
Follow me to Happy Town!
Welcome unhappy thief,
stuck up snob,
mischevious
rascal and clown.
Step right up, do not be afraid.
Our happy pool is truly first grade.
The line was small, in spite of our shout.
Too many were leery, so many had doubts.
But the ones who believed stepped up and in line.
There were two of them, so fierce and fine.
We baptized them in the joy pool down from the hill,
We gave them unlimited turns on the glorious slide of thrill.
That was a month ago, but their happy attitudes and opinions are glowing still.
They went skipping and hopping back to their regular day,
their regular job, with their regular pay.
Come here thieves, snobs, stuck ups, racists, and clowns. Arrive your way.
Happy Town guarantees you can have a much better day!
Oh No! Oh No! What has my son done? I hope it’s, not already to late!
He lives at a fraternity house, and surely, you know THAT intense mental state.
March has St. Patrick’s Day, Spring Break, and has, of course, Easter in it, too.
So they decided to have some great fun, yes, a fun filled month to happily ensue.
They invited a Leprechaun, the Easter Bunny, and the king of bongos, a gnome.
Apparently they convinced everyone it’d be more fun, to Simply… Stay… Home.
The whole campus flooded thru that fraternity house, in the party’s that ensued.
And they convinced the Easter Bunny to do jello shots in every color and hue.
He became known as THE BUN, yes, The One who finally, truly could fly…
And the Leprechaun danced till he dropped… to a great bongo serenade, aye.
There was no SIMPLY about this! As the music rocked the frat house, next door.
And girls were seen coming and going, at all hours, even passed out on the floor.
This was the party no one missed… even the frat house with the snobs, were there.
It’s said even some of the President’s security attended, partying there, somewhere.
Before they were done, a plan was sown, as the gnome found it’s yearly, new home.
Yes, it got there, in Washington somehow, on the top of the Real ‘White House’ Dome.
But along the way THE BUN was lost… some where along the never-ending roads.
The Leprechaun called me, our Dragons and Trolls, to help, to search the highroads.
The poor little guy was so pie eyed, when we found him along that crazy way, so…
We fixed him up, we didn’t give up, until we could send him, into that Easter Frey.
You act so proper and proud
Thinking you're better than the rest of us
But up here no snobs are allowed
So there's just one thing left to say
Hey you, get of my cloud!
Your words are a sham
Your comments are rude
You have the manners of a pig
And you look like one too
So there's just one thing left to say
Hey you, get off my cloud!
I had the distinction of being labeled 'Robert' by Mom and Dad.
Somehow that evolved into the moniker I'm known by today,
And the name I prefer, just plain ol' Bob - what more need I say!
I shed the cute name of 'Bobby' when becoming an older lad!
Many chaps through the ages have carried this distinguished name.
Let me list some of the redeeming qualities of us guys,
And I'll leave it to the reader, our attributes to surmise.
Some of us were destined for dismal doom - others to glory and fame!
Bobs tend to "git 'er done" with a minimum of pretension.
Most every Bob is a trusty, reliable and decent sort,
And is just an all-around ordinary good sport.
We like to get lost in the herd thereby attracting less attention!
But, mind you, Bobs when necessary can be rough and tough.
There is nothing flashy or tawdry about us Bobs,
And we detest crude behavior and insufferable snobs!
Furthermore, from nary a soul will we take any guff!
The solid ol' name of 'Bob' means "bright shining fame."
The name 'Bob' is also a palindrome, don't you know,
Easily spelled no matter which way you go,
Something a Clarence, Buford or Wolfgang can't claim!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Entry for CT's "What's In Your Name" Contest
My favorite dining place in town is a place called La Baguette.
'Tis a quaint French café and I haven't found its equal yet.
They serve the most scrumptious French onion soup west of Gay Paree,
And it is slurped by discriminating snobs as well as we bourgeoisie!
They serve other grub such as baguettes and burgundy beef stews,
Escargot, pate, salad maison and an assortment of cheese fondues.
And Monday through Friday they ladle bowls of soup du jour,
But each and every day they serve French onion soup for sure!
Eating French onion soup is a challenge and requires a bit of skill,
Especially, dealing with the stringy cheese in that delectable swill.
The glob of provolone clings like a boa constrictor to my spoon,
And dangles from my noble chin making me look somewhat like a goon!
De mal en pis (just when my dilemma has gone from bad to worse),
Faire bonne mine (to put a good face on matters) I tend to curse.
To save face, next time I'll ask the waiter, "S'il vous plait (if you please),
I'll have a bowl of your French onion soup sans that stringy cheese!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt,USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
My Dogs have the dreaded multiseasonal EPS syndrome “Eat-Poop-Sleep”.
But not my Dragon, so clever, he’s added mischief to this illustrious heap.
He has our Australian Cattle dog herding the penguins up the street.
The Gutter frogs hop along, checking out future gutters for to keep.
The little Closet Trolls are weighing in, to help exercise the lot down the sidewalks!
They’ve even saddled up our cats, so we can add them, too. What an amazing shock!
Our forest friends and even the friendly bear, disturbs his sleep each day, for this walk.
You ought to see the neighbors run when we come on parade, right down the block.
Tho, it might be Hubby’s Basement Trolls who scare them, as we walk the street.
They’re bringing up the rear. Yes, on Pooper scooping patrol. They are so sweet!
And the little Closet Trolls have convinced every squirrel to taunt the dogs…
By running across the street, and yes, up every single tree, to make them, jump and jog!
Dragon has everyone involved as he wears a sign… for his new project and job…
The sign: “Pet Walking for every pet! We Don’t come Cheap, but we’re not snobs!”
Surprisingly, we now, find pets tied up at all the neighborhood doors…
With money in their collars… waiting to join in all the walks, for sure…
We wander down the street, thru the park, and to the ice cream parlor, with its allure.
Wind, rain, snow, and cold… does not stop this glorious prevail, on it’s tour.
For Dragon loves his ice cream…and the others they do, too, those tasty treats, to procure.
I come along to make sure no one is left out… in this quest for ice cream, de jure.
Eat, Poop, Sleep…Well, to this: I say my lovely peeps…
“Piddle Dee Dee… and Piddle De Dum”
Look Out for Dragon’s business… For Here We Come!
The Dog days of winter… are no longer Hum Drum!
Remember: a dream, using a mind… can create something, quite sublime!
Take it away
Right now—see here…look here
Run into the light where one shadow casts an intent, lowly eye
Into the very heart of the storm, the words fall with might
You see a word and take sail as doubt and understanding foretell
A heartfelt message meant to destroy all that behold
Look here!
Crush the thoughts that bind you
The past that releases shards….murders of ravens
Pecking infidelity into your weakened visions
Forcing you to turn the other way and not listen
NOT listen
To the sounds of vibrant declaration driven from the blood of the lost
To the taste of defeat lathered in pride for the slowly dying sun
To the pinch of the skin upon the tethered limbs
Squeezing the wrists holding the ink
Releasing…releasing
The very blood that drives it!
That mind—how burdensome to the mass!
Crawling about for purpose
Searching—the best for last!
Firing squad!
Gone—
Sniveling snobs of insipient tact—obsessed with some artillery pact
Marveling at what sophisticated solidity can do to drive down a life
Move a herd of scared animals across a wasteland desired
Bile like the water source held back for the more important
Sniveling sad, chauvinist snouts tracing the secular age of rot
Eating everything they got
Wishing for what the sad ones hold on to
The only thing that keeps that eye dry
Take it away and words go awry
In chaotic monotony
Barging in matrimony
Forcing the impaired to repair
Kindling a fire already put out by your thoughtless glare
Curse this burdensome mind of the masses!
Curse the unpainted lines that omit from my very lips!
As I read every scourging fire bolt out
All one sees is the words protruding out
From a heart so bitter by bitter alone
Trusting in the meter, the rhyme, the tone!
I left the earth too far to return!
Fresh! Lowly, but fresh!
Immanent in high regard TO THE OPPRESSED
Take it away
Right now—see here…look here
Run into the light where one shadow casts an intent, lowly eye
Into the very heart of the storm, the words fall with might
A burdened firing squad faced a mirror
And shot blindly
Through fear
" If someone is rude, mean or sarcastic
their life options will be very limited. "
Quote by _ poet
Why are some people so mean to sales clerks,
young folks who are trying to make money;
why are some people acting like such jerks,
their rudeness and remarks are not funny.
Why so nasty to staff in coffee shops,
being polite does not cost you a cent;
what makes you think and act like you are tops,
and so important and to staff you vent.
When I was young and had to work these jobs,
would just keep smiling while screaming inside;
I think these people are unhappy snobs,
but, I was hurt and when at home I cried.
When I finished school and was in nursing,
I thought at last I would get some respect;
was wrong for many times I heard cursing,
patient's suffering I would never neglect.
Then, I worked in long term end of life care,
people would visit with an attitude;
not my fault they died I wished to declare,
God bless the people who showed gratitude.
____________________
December 18, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Often, I Cried
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1413-776-18
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bull Size Bull Crap
sponsor, Charles Messina, Judged 01/18/2022
First Place
The modern Knight
The Knight of the realm ,
Was a great man of courage,
Who protected the people,
Got dubbed by the King,
The bravest of brave,
Moralitys brightest,
Loved by the people,
Now the rich mans plaything???
But it became some snobs, crass title,
Given to Kerrs, and curs aint the thing,
Class distinction, from above, call me mister or sir?
The greatest of toads, to serve the toad master,
Brown nose, hum dingers, billy stinkers, I ching,
Gee golly they call me mr or sir?
Right next to the saints,
I’ve risen old thing,
To keep me head down,
I’ll need on me bridle,
A martingale strong,
So me head doesn’t sing…
Don Johnson
THE ONE WHO ALLOWED 12 ATOM BOMBS EXPLODED HERE IN AUSTRALIA GOT KNIGHTED FOR SERVICE TO THE QUEEN:}
ONLY 12 THOUSAND AUSSIES DEAD FROM STRONTIUM 90 IN THE MILK, AND ALL THE LITTLE KIDDIES GOT IT AT SCHOOL TOO IN THE FIFTYS... I REFUSED TO DRINK MILK AINT I LUCKY ???
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHBLBkYiCK4
check it out if you don't believe :{
The blind leading the blind, what is seen is how its heard
the thoughts that make the story are lost behind the words
do you see it as you view it, or take a deeper look
do you read into the narrative or judge the cover of the book
Is the figure cold and dirty, the shell of what he's made
or the unforgiven soul, that is waiting to be saved
does that body clad so poorly hold more than what is shown
or just another mannequin, that has reaped just what was sown
Did you spare a dollar this morning or was your vision blind
or was that lonesome beggar just in the shadows of your mind
you see that youth with his hooded clothes and jeans hung round his waist
could he be a high school scholar or does his style not suit your taste
That girl there, with the pushchair, yes she has a name
does she love the child she carried, or did she play a foolish game
And that solemn face behind the bars,the prisoner to his crime
Or the broken life held captive and the victim of a lie
That woman in the wheelchair, animated by expression
does she really have no hopes and dreams or are you too deaf to listen
that classy car, the modest tie, the briefcase at his side
is there a dark deceitful truth, buried deep beneath his pride
no life ahead with a dead end job, shoveling gruel from a grease filled tray
or the maturing child of a broken home, paying bills 'mum' couldn't pay
two babies need to find new homes, is it proof she couldn't cope
or could she not make the perfect life so instead she gave them hope
So they live on a rough estate, they're deviant thieving 'yobs'
and see their buttoned shirts and ties, they're private school 'snobs'
do you just see flecks of peeling paint, view this canvas as a whole
or define each stroke of the artists brush that reach right to the soul
If opportunity played a fairer game and made judgement realise
then possibility could do its part, allow wisdom to remove disguise
yet with judgement passed and truth unseen, realisation is unable
to protect our children and ourselves 'living under the weight of a label'
Lonely people in a crowd, lonely people all around
People chatting everywhere, sounds of laughter fill the air
Laughter loud throughout the room, loud pulsating empty sound
Inconsequential chatter, idle gossip all can share
Lonely people in a crowd, lonely people all around
Laughter ringing in the air, laughter hiding their despair
Chatter, chatter everywhere, the intellectuals and the snobs
Doctors, lawyers, accountants, sad drunks and gay movie stars
Young girls flirting, men staring, overweight people eating like slobs
Part time hookers , some divorcees and the men with large cars
And yet together their patter it means nothing at all
Their laughter so empty as it drifts down the hall
Desperate lonely people, wandering in and out of bars
Unhappy people grabbing at air, their lives filled with lies
People who won’t comprehend money won’t buy you the stars
People with no real meaning to their dull and hollow lives
People without knowing, giving out sad empty vibes
Lonely people in a crowd, soundless sobs and soundless cries
Chatter, chatter everywhere, as shrill laughter fills the air
I don’t want to be part of that empty shallow sound
Laughter ringing in the air, laughter hiding their despair
I want to be needed with caring people around
I don’t want to hear my empty laughter in the hall
I can’t bear to think that life has no meaning at all.