Long Snails Poems
Long Snails Poems. Below are the most popular long Snails by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snails poems by poem length and keyword.
KITE
Graceful buoyant in flight
Me the black-breasted Kite
Broad in structure, yet body light.
Loner am I, love to soar high
Slowly steadily waggling flapping
long narrow angled-back wings
with notched tail to propel
gliding swooping on kinetic dive.
On insects, rodents, reptiles I wish to thrive
mostly alive.
Sometimes snails for a break.
Slow-moving creatures at stake,
cannot escape.
Expert to pick up prey
with wavy-edged mandible beak
at the very opportune moment
directed by my sharp keen eyesight.
Me the black-breasted Kite.
Hey, helmeted heads and masked faces
Just doff your boring accessories
Come step into this secluded place
Which makes your mundane minds go crazy
On watery leaves, these little birds glide
Roistering the plain sailing water ride
There, the perky squirrels hoard fallen fruits
Wandering here and there forgetting their route
Butterflies here amaze us by their divine dance
And sometimes they also give us a great chance
Spins the enigmatic web, the signature spider
Writes on all the edges, the welcome letter
Look down and see the tiniest of tiny snails smile
And in pursuit of wonders, I don't need to go miles
I: Sheep
next door to 19 chimneys
and 'the dark satanic mills'
a flock of sheep is grazing
oblivious in the hills.
II: Other Animals
venezuelan poodle moths
sea pigs, star-nosed moles
mata matas, sugar gliders
shoats and water voles.
aye-ayes, dik-diks, wobbegongs
chicken turtles, loons
shoebills, snipes and yeti crabs
and cozumel raccoons.
pink fairy armadillos
bilbys, 52-hertz whales
the red-lipped batfish, panda ants
and emperor helmet snails.
the pleasing fungus beetles, thrips
hellbenders, great potoos
lilac breasted rollers, bongos
glass frogs, kinkajous.
the rare long-wattled umbrellabirds
chubs and munchkin cats
satanic leaf-tailed geckos, shads
gars, nits and fancy rats.
The Glass Ceiling
“Woe there sister, where do you think you're going?
Turn around, go back, stop, cease, desist!
Nothing for you above my see-through barrier.
Yes, yes, I know you can see them up there.
They are welcome up above.
Why?
Well, because they have an outie and not an innie.
They have their ice cream with nuts and you don't.
They are the plug, not the outlet.
Only snakes and snails and puppydog tails.
Keep out all of the sugar and spice and everything nice.
Blue is better than pink,
Mars vs. Venus…. Bla,bla,bla.
Oh-ho! That's rich!
Don't make me laugh, YOU BONE THIEF! YOU RIB STEALER!
We ALL know you can do the exact same work, as good or better than them.
What's your point?
And don't make it too sharp, huh?…we wouldn't want to crack the glass.
What you need is a good dose of Saint Paul, girlie.
Saul or Paul, sure had some gaul!
Ha! Oh man, I crack myself up!
We'll, not literally because…well.
Now, Sing it with me!
…”anything you can do, I can do better! I can do anything better than you!”
No. wait! nevermind! Forget I said that…
Hey, hey!? what are you doing?!
No! Girls aren't allowed here!
…Stop that singing!
Soprano is my Kryptonite!”
…Walking on, walking on, broken glass…
”
My Esteemed Comrades,
Fellow devotees of the Sacred Process -
It feels as though I've never left,
As though we've always been here
Around a table
Inside a room
No windows No doors
Our collective voice falls on my ears
With all the pleasantry
Of sheet metal being slowly torn apart.
We have moved with all the expedition
Of snails racing across arctic tundra mudflats.
Our work is as relevant
As the growth of our toenails.
Our decisions as meaningful
As Babylonian algebra.
Our goals as clear as anyone's could be,
Before their Thorazine wears off.
This has been as much fun for me
As licking salt with a papercut tongue.
I've grown to love these meetings;
They define my life.
I even dream of them.
They are my answer to the great Koan of the Void.
So when I die,
Fill my emptied veins with coffee black as space.
Call a meeting with Supreme Chair God,
To discuss the agenda of my DNA -
Record the Minutes of my life,
Weigh their worth against the sands of time,
Submit them for Review and Approval
To the Creation Committee
Before the universe implodes and the whole thing starts again -
Establish Rules of Order for the Ritual Dance,
The Alpha and Omega Circle of Proceedure,
For the Beginning of the End of the End of the Beginning
Of the
Next
Eternal
Meeting!
what to do with the silence?
Why count the days that pass?
We are only afraid of our watches,
Our houses protect us from the rain,
Our cars cross the beautiful Arizona,
Our gardens don’t need mirrors
We are only afraid of our watches,
Mangoes nourish jealous poets,
The peasants cultivate the rice fields,
Why count the days that pass?
We are only afraid of our watches,
That of the sun, What does the sun consume?
Six hundred million tons of hydrogen per second.
What to do with silence? Offer it to the desert,
Offer it to the cats, to the roses of the garden,
To the young girls lowering their eyes,
Offer it to the blue sky, to the giant fig trees,
Why count the days that pass?
We are only afraid of our watches,
Why count the days that pass?
Let’s not be afraid of peony fields
We are only afraid of our watches,
What to do with the silence? Offer it to the horses,
To snails, camels, wines,
We would no longer be afraid of our watches.
While Beauty Sleeps
While Beauty sleeps, there are souls upon this earth that have never known her. Many seasons have passed and her eyes are still shut. She is hiding behind pavements of tar and cement. She is drugged from the smell of burning rubber and plastic scents.
Styrofoam has compromised her health. There are souls upon this earth that have never laid eyes upon her. I am here to testify, to tell all who listens, that I am a poet-I came to tell you things that only poets can tell.
There are souls that I ennoble while looking through my eyes, they can see the deep woods, the flowing fountains, New earthlings can now envision the fragrances of a million blossoms bobbing, bobbing to the cricket's nightly song.
I am the architect rebuilding the walls of time... Desperately trying am I, to sing my song before more mortals die; To sing my loving words before more mortals die. There are souls upon this earth. it’s' sad but very true – Humans who know nothing of love and beauty.
We all must live to die or die without ever living. We stumble and sometimes fall; However, we have that something, that lost souls never saw.
We know grace and mercy, we know compassion, love, and respect; We knew mountains and valleys. We also knew blue skies without chemtrails. We knew praying mantis, we knew beetles and snails.
We knew breadfruit; and why dandelions and mushrooms grew. We know where beauty sleeps, so we live to tell the poets tale. We speak of days gone by and gently arouse her beauty as we speak.
I am not an artist of spoken word, neither am I a profit, I am but a poet shaking beauty gently, awakening her from a long, long nap...Reminiscent of when innocents reigned as king.
I do not recite for money nor do I sing for fame. I only report what my heart records, and look forward to another spring. I have danced with the humble, and shared wisdom with noble queens;
My excitement overflowing brings joy to eager ears. Loves fury has entitled me, to shield you from your fears. Myself, yes me, I whisper softly, as not to disturb hate.
God bless you on your journey; I can no longer interfere, nor save you from your fears.
You have what you need to carry on, and I know that you are able.
When love gave birth to folklores and fables...I gave birth to poetry babies.
boys are joy
boys are sons
boys are little men
boys are just boys
the world needs boys
to tempt a young girls heart
to dream of adventures grand
to play the games of youth
to grow into men
little puppies need boys
they are dog's best friend
all the toys need boys
who would break them
angels need boys
so easy to win their wings
songs need boys
so many songs to sing
fathers need boys
their name is in their sons
mothers need boys
their love is never done
fun needs boys
who else can so readily play
night needs boys
to dream of a brand new day
hope needs boys
to see the future new
courage needs boys
to test fate true
sisters need boys
to be big and baby brothers
boys need boys
to worry loving mothers
laughter needs boys
to make God smile
tears need boys
to hide within a scowl
pride needs boys
to boast so loud
shame needs boys
to forgive somehow
mischief needs boys
secrets to uncover
love needs boys
what innocence will discover
chores need boys
to go undone
games need boys
to have fun
time needs boys
to grow into men
men need boys
to be the boy within
snakes snails and puppy dog tails
sons brothers friends
the world needs boys
to keep it young
to keep it fun
boys are boys
A sea of tales:
calms and gales,
sardines and whales –
fishy with scales,
children with pails;
shell-homes of snails;
pirates, and barrels of
ales – a young boy's
imagination...
Incoming wave, flooding
village moats – drenching
all: Save the women!~
cats, dogs, pet rats; then the preachers
and teachers – Save the Popsicle skiffs!
The handkerchief sails on driftwood
tall-ships....
Could it be Columbus
started this way? Perhaps
Captain Hook? Stevenson's
popular book? Anderson,
thinking that a little boy's
finger could save a village,
perhaps point to a better
way – one tiny small hand
with just as small feet. His
royal-seal, a cigar-band –
learning of powerful tides,
beach...and of hourglass-sand –
While releasing the twilight to his bed
from a silent mountain
the leaves of the big trees are falling
the birds wander aimlessly
embrace the clouds as home
floating without wings.
The rain fell weeping on the steadfast corals
watched a stallion busy training
with a swirl of power in his eyes
like tendrils spreading the colors of rain
on his back which was soaked and flowing profusely
without anyone knowing
mama's tears drowned with the rain debris
weaving the history of the wounds of the earth's body
because there is no better season to love him.
When the body is burned by every word that hurts
with hot breath meeting eyes
the source of life opens its lips and flows
all the strands that are shattered
at every moment that greets and spins your shadow
on the circle of the breath of love itself.
With every downpour that cuts off your head and throws it to the ground, as a sign that the eye of life is shrinking back to a small garden—its origin.
To the grove that calls me to understand that every solitude i have ever known is a silence spewed by birds and trimmed lamp wicks—casting shadows on the bare walls and telling stories flavored with the milk of my ancestors, but like an unblown bud that will never hear or know such stories.
Each seed—centuries ago—was a living heart that grew in the black soil of her body and was forgotten among the tense bodies.
As the sun set, they rumbled like snails opening their mouths and spoke of her body's suffering, neighing with their endless pain.
And together we sipped palm wine from different coconut shells, savoring each separate memory, with the ash falling from the sky, entangling her body with roots that gripped the soil tightly.
On this land—I will step again toward rebirth, with the prophecies of the gods touching every probing finger and walking the same path, with my body lying on the grassy shoulder like a broken noose.
Oh; The flowers of the night awake
like eyes without lids
a child's laughter stutters weakly
under the whip of the rainy season
the fire of the eyes dims and goes out
and under the sun that every day
bathes in blood and rises in an empty house
is a sign that—we are not angels.
Atambua-NTT, December 3, 2025