Long Snag Poems
Long Snag Poems. Below are the most popular long Snag by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snag poems by poem length and keyword.
The Rodents’ Bane
Sphynx cats
jinx rats
A Most Unlikely Scenario
Shorthairs
court bears
Cat Catalogers
Shorthairs
sort wares
When Cats Go Formal
Bombay
Prom Day
Tranquil Lost Feline
Calm stray
Bombay
Detain the Cat
Waylay
Bombay
What Gangsta Cats Do
Rag Dolls
Snag Molls
A Cat Oration
Birman
Sermon
The Howling Sensations
*Main Coons
Feign tunes
Wet Mongrel Cat
Soggy
moggy
Sept. 15, 2022
for a Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
*Note: This is name for a strong, large longhaired cat that is also very sweet. Maybe it's only known about in the USA??
The words are swirling today. They are gleeful and happy and kind-feeling.
I am lying in a little stupor after taking a sleeping pill that knocked me out for ten hours.
And I am watching the words whirling and curling and floating ever so gently in a cloud formation,
Not so high that I cannot reach them, for I can. I smile at them, knowing they can be used for fun.
They can cajole,
They can tease,
They can delight,
They can irritate,
They can play,
They can exude serious,
They can teach, torment, and terrify.
Words, glorious words, in the hands of writers, poets, singers, and dreamers.
Wow!
How wonderful, thrilling, and toe-curling!
I stretch my toes, my feet, get a charley horse.
Ow! Ow! Ow!
Jump out of bed, make myself a fat, happy, roast beef sandwich, snag a bag of chips and an ice tea.
Run outside to feed Shark, the cat, who lives out there in a cozy, covered, hot-platted igloo,
And sit down at this typewriter.
Where to start?
How about now!
Their ma & pa were Eastenders
Blah blah..don’t remember the Blitz
Brash Cockney pretenders..same flash apparel
Let's get our mitts on a stash of Aperol spritz
Dimwits just going on benders
Bawdy tawdry mockney skits
Gits getting off their t*ts
Twits showing off their bits
Who fits?..Identikit Brits..pout
All about the clout of gaudy glitz
Silhouettes of stiletto dancers & handbags
Riff raff as naff as an 80’s cornetto
Perms & permatans..sl*gs..fancy dans in glad rags
Rhyming slang falsetto twang libretto
Chancers on a stag..s*ag nip & tuck hags
Nags of WAGS made up to the nines
Brag after cocaine lines did blag
One snag..look like a dag in drag
All from the fashion label stable
No restraint.. cannot refrain
Grandstand the brands fable
Diadora diaspora ..Fila Villa
With a Pierre Cardin Jardin
Taint just like they do in Spain
Sex..success…the way you dress
Prosecco fizz...getting in a tizz
Gilded specs and builded pecs
Greed and that need to impress
Avoid don't feed this schadenfreude hell
That is indeed called Costa Del ESSEX
Tomes of scriptures, too much to know,
Too little time, woes, strife on toe,
Track what lies at the core,
Of crux, crucial from lore,
Swans do as from water milk draw.
______________________
Translation |16.10.2024| scriptures, knowledge, time, woes, essence, milk, water
Poet’s note: Sanskrit has thousands of verses of wisdom called Subhashhitam. Even in ancient time in India it was felt that there was too much to know, too much to read/memorise, time is just not enough, and many a snag in the way. What should then be done? Focus on what is of essence, just as a swan separates milk from water (this is a poetic imagination/metaphor). The transliteration of the Sanskrit verse follows:
Aneka shaastram, bahu veditavyam,
alpah cha kaalah, bahavah cha vighnaah |
Yat saara-bhootam tat upaasitavyam,
hamsah yathaa kshheeram iva ambu madhyaat ||
The bubble lights at Grandma’s house!
The noisy laughter of the cousins.
Sneaking the cookies that have silver candies.
They are decorated in three frosting colors!
Grandma does not do anything half way.
It is the sixties. There is one TV set and it is off.
We are all about telling stories, and laughing as a family.
Everything is funny. Uncle Bill comes in dressed as Santa Claus.
We love him the most; he gives us stuff and we love him more.
We are in pretty dresses with scratchy petticoats and big bows.
Wearing black patent leather shoes and lacy white socks.
It is not even Sunday, but we know someone is taking photographs.
They will be black and white. This is before we knew about color.
There are aunts and uncles coming and going rapidly.
Seventeen cousins, everyone has a baby to hold. A big family.
My grandparents had ten children; so you can imagine.
When we finish here we go to Great-Grandma’s house.
She and her husband had eighteen children, so you can only imagine.
This is easier in the summer time when we have hay racks set up with food.
I snag a cookie there too. Someone offers me fruit cake. Yuck.
It is the only thing I do not like to eat at Christmas time.
Pumped
Reams of paper sit upon my desk accordioned untidily, dimpled where the cat stood or sat too long. The wastepaper basket was full of crumbled balls, reflecting the topography of the Nepali adventure I am trying to re-count. The heavily grained desk of golden oak supports a range of dictionaries and thesaurus’s, any one of which was heavy enough to use as a doorstop in a windstorm. An old Underwood typewriter sits, holding court, in the midst of all this, enamel black, with chrome edged keys and struts which depress at the tap of a fingertip. The radio blares, God Bless the Child Who’s Got His Own…as I formulate the saga of a heroine seeker, lead by two caramel colored Nepali boys, toward the foothills of the Himalayian Mountains.
The spindles holding the black ribbon snag in the clip-like opening which holds them taunt. Adjusting the tape turns my nails blue-black. I brush the hair from my eyes decorating the tip of my nose. Dirty business this writing. I tear another sheet from the rubber roller and crumple it with a sigh. “Damn, irascible machine don’t you have a soul? Give Mama something! Anything” I whine.
Scared by the abruptness of my outburst, and the carriage's leap left, the scared-y-cat is propelled to the floor, sending a half-stack of unsullied paper to ground, covering my patent-leather pumps.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKNtP1zOVHw
Enjoy...while you read..Billy Holiday
They trudged through seasons
dreaming in honey and gold
Some perished in the desert
for the going was very slow.
The holy damned took the shortcut
on a trail called the ragged unknown.
One final hurdle-a great mountain range.
They could smell the gold and honey.
Just a red hawk's song away.
Then the snow came with a galloping gait.
Snowflakes turning into ice wolves
and severed every last vein.
Bogged down in a valley of growling death.
The cattle were slaughtered-the horses were next.
They ate bark off of trees-boiled the souls off their boots.
Even prayers perish when there's not enough faith and food.
Amidst this greatest opaque of hopelessness.
The options were as clear as they were dreadful.
To slowly rot away or filet up the ghosts of the dead.
Faith finally collapsed in that devil's icy blue snag.
Their loyal Indian guides were never heard from again.
To this day, even angels stay away from the souls of Donner's Pass.
Well paint me grateful!
So acclaimed
my gladdened heart
In my modest abode
abundance dwells
and I abound in peace
Content to yield
to the universe's lead
All I ever need
readily resides in me
In this belief
my entire trust I lay
The only snag
an itch I can't reach
brings me down
to my knees in prayer
time and time again
For a healing balm
that calms my qualm
A trusty shoulder
to snuggle under
Gentle when I feel
a wee feeble
Kindness in my
moments of blindness
Patience in my
hour of hesitence
An earthen heart
made to match my own
Together we ground
to the belly of the Earth
as one, to get crowned
two sides to the same coin
An ease to our sync
as we chill and shoot the breeze.
Form:
Mary the dainty fairy queen
Wearing a pale white veil rarely seen
Trailing after her in meadow dale, light and airy
Floated gently to a brownie’s eyes, name of Jerry.
He admired her smile, the daisies on her head.
The colorful quail leading her down his flower bed.
The north wind agreed to a quick intervene.
Lifting her veil, Jerry saw beauty forever unseen.
In her hazel green eyes, a curious gleam.
Approaching the garden from wild forest stream.
Convening his advisors Perry, Terry and Ned.
Jerry asked permission to snag her and wed.
They caught her entourage without a pail
Her unicorn gave out a tiny wail
Orchestrated fully by that fairy queen
Had the first wedding fairy land had ever seen.
Jerry was smitten. His own idea he thought.
But preening fairy queens are not that easily caught.
She kept her marvelous secrets until her daughter’s courting days
Telling her how to entice the marriageable brownie to stay.
A seed falling unto the soil,
Would soon learn its own tirelessly
Effort to wiggle into its foundation.
For, it was tossed to and fro
By the mighty winds and rain
Until, landing into a field prepared.
For something within felt alive
A drop of water had seeped through
With a touch of warmth from the light.
As if a new breath had filled its being
The outer shell was becoming weak
Of this fight coming from within
A little arm one day, finally broke
The outer shell to begin to dig.
Which would bring a source of life
For, the outer shell had busted open.
This seed had died, that the embryo
Might live and raise unto its purpose.
As it started to rise towards the light,
Eagerly awaiting from sunrise to sunset.
Then, a snag was felt from its arm.
What, is this thorn catching on
To slow down its own effort
There would be many more to come
But a little more wisdom and understanding was given each occurrence.
That, it would come to seek and know
The true source that had been guiding.
Growing past the thony patches and thickets,
Into a full bloom of beauty
To become what its purpose
In this life was sown for.