Best Snoot Poems
dogs are loyal of course they are
but can a dog hold you in his arms
and i admit that they are cute
but what they love is in their snoot
you can take a dog on a walk
but you and that dog will never talk
and dogs will protect you when they can
but your best protection is with a man
buy a dog, feed a dog, chain a dog up
slavery is all it's known even from a pup
give a man your love and maybe he will be
the one thing you wish that that dog could be
open your eye's, let down the guard, call the dogs off
if your not careful an opportunity may be lost
i don't want to remove or replace any thing you love
a little time to be with you was what i was thinking of
maybe you could spare just a couple of minuts
can we have a conversation with no dogs in it
I'm a sea captain!
Don't need a microphone !
I watched you take a back spin
With the skills I've honed
You pre picked your pansy pearl
Thought I didn't know it?
You presented your gargantuan
giggly girl
But didn't expect the Floating Poet
To the fart scoundrel of snoot port
Who saw the need was dire
Had the art counsel of Beaufort
Promise 2nd and 3rd to out of town
liars
(along with money and nice hotel
rooms)
It was a nice thing you did for her
The unethical proposition
She was the winner the judges
concur
But it was a liars competition
these are the last words you'll hear
From me there's no protest
But I'd like to see appear
An honest liars contest
Since it had nothing to do with luck
Let these words forever harass
cause I think you all suck
and you can take this cheap kazoo
you gave me and shove it up
your................
Perky, pesky, pretty-petite;
yippy, yappy, always-in-need-of-a-treat.
Loving, lazy, little-lump;
Cutie, cuddly, see-how-high-I-can-jump?
Spoiled, sneaky, snacky snoot,
Munching on old chips, teething on mum's leather boot,
overly-sweet, oogling oaf,
maybe-just-a-bite-or-perhaps-the-whole-loaf.
Sea Spray (getting my salt on again)
Shake the cobwebs from my mind
hidden places elusive
hard even for me to find
shedding layers, strings unwind
Grow me a red beard
shave my head, shipboard doo
thinking clearly, feeling weird
situations often worse than feared
Making up recipes for camel ball soup
eel meat, pinches of saffron
powdered rhino snoot
For now, no more baby poop
Up another gangway leaving it all behind
one more Captains office, ‘Articles’ signed
taking the watch, changing the clocks
Exactly what am I trying to find
***
Through salt stained window dawn rises
rubs the whitecaps from her eyes
and stretches. . . on forever
***
Eat your citrus get in the loop
prevents scurvy maybe even the whoop
potatoes or yams, one pound a day
And you, yet to get a sloop
He's up in the morning at 7 a.m.
Black coffee and paper. Toast and jam
His hair is perfection. His tie is secure
He's ready to take on the day
From home to the office, a 90 minute trip
Dumbass drivers and cell phone quips
Thoughts for the job that race through his head
To help earn himself better pay
A tiger by nine, he's doing just fine
Then noon brings a lunch that's followed by wine
From one until five he then starts to morph
When it's off to the bar for some more
A couple of shots with a beer back to boot
Three hours later he's got a full snoot
An illegal drive from the bar to his home
Now he can really tie one on
The morning sun shines on the man he should be
The evening brings a change by degree
The evil elixir turns man to a monster
With all sense of sanity gone
Rockman
For the "Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde" contest by Yasmin Khan
7th place winner.
OIL and WATER
Oil and water
Nice feelings escape everyone when they receive hate filled ones and looks can
be so downright misleading to me they hang the head and look DOWN the snoot
at me when they could look AT me and call me friend and the thing is to
remember to get your heart in tune and try again to understand a thing is to begin
to ascertain the wisdom of a true believer the OLD man is WATER the NEW man
is OIL they seldom mix together but run one mile or even more from the distance
to each other.
OLD man is never good at seeing true of others listen as eye relate this odious
tale bearing words of hate the “OH my did ewe see just HOW she looked at me”
the OLD MAN says “ what is SHE looking at me with??? The New man smiles
and tries again “ Oh well did ewe see the WAY she looks at me”? Where is the
place she is looking at me FROM???
She is looking at a man it does not matter what she is looking at me with she is
wrong. Oil and water do not mix.
Looking mighty cute
Dressed in a suit
He was on route
To pick up a loot
Ever so resolute
Arrived at the institute
He thought he heard them call him a cloot
Or maybe it was a galoot
He really wasn’t absolute
These days his hearing is acute
They said he had to wait over by the chute
They had something to compute
Just a problem to troubleshoot
So they had themselves a moot
He thought they meant we don’t give a hoot
Meanwhile after adjusting his boot
He sat and ate both halves of a grapefruit
Then while waiting he played his flute
With his good eye watching things convolute
He too has his moments to be astute
They looked intensely involute
The teller in her jumpsuit was a beaut
The manager a snoot and a brute
He could tell by their salute
They were in cahoot’
Hold’it! Hit the pause or press the mute
His patience growing ever so minute
He could tell there’d been a fraudulent substitute
Persecute Prosecute There’s going to be a lawsuit
Someone’s been tempted by the forbidden fruit
Submitted on December 21, 2018 for contest BUNNY JUMP HONEY LUMP FUNNY CHUMP sponsored by CAREN KRUTSINGER - RANKED 3RD
Originally posted on February 17, 2018
Variations On A Theme...
Ach'n (ache Ken) Existential Struggle...
(NOT by Bellini, Paganini, Rossini...
Eeny Meany Miney Moe - si,
nor the three stooges tee hee hee)
twill never end till...this oft writ trend
of mine will never end,
only when...mortality
ike'n no longer defend!
Thus...once again, (or...as per usual),
this poem iz a boot
ruminations about bout,
who else except this ole coot
at das receiving end damned
lifetime role, and goot
raw end of deal, sans docks side of
moon efficient intervention
(teachers never gave a hoot)
as they appeared oblivious,
how moost all classmates did loot
mine emotional account, viz
cheap trick super tramp ping coot
tees reviled, renounced,
and wreaked havoc as root
of all misfortunate previous
to mine existence,
as iced (sic culled) hood
reaper remained mute
and scythe lent,
while (cue in dolorous)
melody issued from
Mose Arts magic flute,
whereat serpent (also known
in political circles as
Sally Salamander Newt
Gingrich) charmed goaded,
and relentlessly needled
Eve with snake hushed snoot,
thenceforth viper got ramrod
rigid taut as jute
of course this a fallacy as
just smore hove my fruit
fully "FAKE" pre fabric hated
discombobulated trumpeting ill suit
head prevarications – more
offal than glute
tee us expulsion, donned
as invisible faux poetic
apparel clothing with astute
cheeky effects, thus allowing,
enabling, and providing
adapt tub bull usage as zoot suit,
or as space age jumpsuit,
when I travel (with my cute Malamute
outsize prairie dog like fine home
companion) to the outer limits
of the twilight zone,
which groovy farout signals
detected by vodafone
and desperate plea made
to aliens to abduct me
(receiving an affirmative
digital binary tone)
courtesy of publishers,
unlike the negative responses,
predictably forecast, no complex koan
but clear as day -
inducing a slight inward moan,
which figurative slap in face
finding yours figuratively prone,
hence...a recurring well known
fantasy regarding plucking
this chicken (198920) heart lee
moss see rolling stone.
Snobs
Snobs
For Erline
You are looking down your snoot.
Hating me and wanting to shoot.
Me dead from a bullet to the heart.
I am already from being apart.
From you.
Quietly I pry my way back.
Back into the light,
of my day.
I miss you no longer.
Two years is enough.
I do not think you were
even worth that.
Snob
Charles Hice
Copyright ©2006 Charles Hice
The Music Room
By Elton Camp
Mrs. Van Snoot, of the arts is a patron
She’s a stuffy, self-righteous matron
Who wants all, her virtues to see
Of any vices, she is entirely free
In the fundamentalist church, she’s a pillar
Pure living and sobriety are what thrill her
“Liquor’s never passed my lips,” she said
“Before I’d imbibe, I’d far rather be dead.”
Late afternoon and well into the night
In her music room she’s locked up tight
A huge bass fiddle is on display
It serves in a decidedly uncultured way
For its front can be pushed aside
A well-stocked bar it does hide
Mrs. Van Snoot loves wine, whisky, & gin
Completing the rounds, she starts again
Enjoying culture, for her, goes so far
And then she needs to visit her bar
I do not like my state of mind
I'm bitter, querulous, unkind.
I hate my legs, I hate my hands,
I do not yearn for lovelier lands.
I dread the dawn's recurrent light;
I hate to go to bed at night.
I snoot at simple, earnest folk.
I cannot take the gentlest joke.
I find no peace in paint or type.
My world is but a lot of tripe.
I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted.
For what I think, I'd be arrested.
I am not sick, I am not well.
My quondam dreams are shot to hell.
My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;
I do not like me any more.
I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.
I ponder on the narrow house.
I shudder at the thought of men...
I'm due to fall in love again."
Form:
Birth of a new child
Brings joy to the world
A new beginning
A circle of hope
No beginning and no end
You learn to talk
Then told to be quiet
You learn to walk
Only to be pushed about for miles
You learn to use your hands
To its enth degree
But told don’t touch
unless it belongs to thee.
This is how your life progresses
You learn but told not to do
there is one word
that cocks a snoot at us all
It’s used with fear
yet welcomed by some
Death……………
It's a weird feeling just laying there staring at the cealing
trying to figure out whats wrong and whats right
if your lifes passed you by and your just fading into the night
crying enough tears to fill a stream knowing you've given up on your dreams
trying to figure out where you stand because nothing has gone as planned
everythings gone wrong like a shitty cowboy song
all i had was bad luck good thing I didn't have a horse, a dog or a truck
I didn't have the simplest things good living brings
Getting by on lie's and goodbye's because I never measured up to size
So affraid of responsibility made it an impossiblity to have any stability
looking for ways to live in an alternate reality was my speciality
like a free falling sky diver it was time to pull the chute
put away the snoot and look for new persuits
find something new, something good I can do
For once actully follow through
Make preperation get an education build a proper foundation
maybe it can lead to joy and elation
I can get passed the bad weather, get my act together
Quit running from the respondsibilty stuff
Quit running when it gets rough
I know life can get tough
its time to grow up because I've had enough
Form:
mysterious as Lemuel
unlike hundreds of
other rowdy seniors
constituting the nineteen
seventy seven graduating class
of Methacton High School,
this now mooch older non "Warrior"
(alma mater mascot) alumni -
of late more astute,
(yea rather boyish looking edging
into age bracket,
viz ranked as ole coot)
far to late for
me or any brute
to gather rose buds,
fat and/or slim
chance i.e. remote
while I may in my dreams
play Mozart's Magic flute
at this late stage of life,
no harvested crop yield,
nor any sown
healthy product rendered moot
('cept tantamount to rotten
tomatoes and fruit)
all, cuz your truly
did not give a hoot
'bout his future,
later when the
requisite need for loot
would be absolutely necessary,
not necessarily to buy
a fine gold spun suit,
but more so to be financially
(non bombastically, egotistically,
nor inimitably) to toot
my own (baritone)
horn, no any which
ways appearing snoot
tush (more likely absent minded,
versus trying tubby astute),
no matter this myopic googly eyed
non-boastful logophile,
these days (lives duet
tough lee hand to mouth
existence) nearly destitute
his whole pro Lix life,
witnessed, and flaunted
(reed dit as) inked badge,
(regardless getting promoted,
but nearly failing every grade),
and ambivalent toward
dismal poor performance report cards
testament toward tummy
severely lacking ambition,
while analogously forced
to climb hemp fat tick rungs
jute dish shuss academic ladder,
no matter rope burns
squarely didst root
moost unfavorable outcome
to this wimp who mouthed
pop eyed expletive
conveying "oh chute",
whose then palm (olive)
oiled pilot size glute
more accurately boot
found me poor bum promoted
to higher baby boomer chair
despite favorably portentous signs
tubby potential vagrant,
who would lack self reliance,
nor give a hoot
to stitch survivalist parachute.
Yeti in snow, the greatest camouflage
His winter substitute for ghillie suit
Some think him an abominable brute
He means no ill will to their entourage
These beings here that came to sabotage
So fades into the white, all but his snoot
Yeti in snow
He prepares inside ice cold embassage
In case they infiltrate his cave en route
For his plunder of crystal iceberg loot
Hid by a stormed up blizzard clad mirage
Yeti in snow
October 12, 2022
Rousing Rondine Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jeff Kyser