Long Sneak(a) Poems
Long Sneak(a) Poems. Below are the most popular long Sneak(a) by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sneak(a) poems by poem length and keyword.
Stir hot chocolate with a peppermint stick
while watching kids opening gifts from Saint Nick
Ho Ho Ho the laughter and joy
from the excitement of a brand new toy
The dogs sit staring at the oven
for a turkey's roasting that can feed two dozen
Christmas carols we sing and share
filling the day with holiday cheer
Mistletoe hanging near the Christmas tree
sneak a kiss and the angel on top will see
Cookies candies cakes and pies
spike the eggnog for a jolly surprise
Feast of food for a king's table
family and friends eat all their able
Outside a snowball flings in the air
join the battle if you dare
Make snow angels slide on a sled
too much fun to even think of going to bed
Inside we all gather as the candles glow
to hear the glorious story we all know
From the Good Book of that day from afar
when shepherds and wise men were led by a star
The birth of our Savior again is read
in manger they worship baby Jesus asleep in his bed
Merry Christmas to all with cheer and delight
Merry Christmas to all on this Holy Night.
Harsh Mission / San Francisco, CA 2011
Through the harsh white sunlight
the random bits of cast offs tumble and stick
smeared to the pavement and layered upon
upright posts, from pillar to post they roll
on bikes and trikes, on roller blades
and skate boards, down and out,
drunk and oh so sober, they meander
as if on the streets of Paris
in their mock Bistros with their
fake hair, their primal piercings, and their
do me do's just screaming of abuse...
The childlike sibyls and torrid sirens
howl at the fog banked moon
as they stumble on the dole from room
to rented room, or huddle in the bus shelters
waiting to sneak a cheap ride down town.
Bizzaro meets his mate in the masked
denizens of the mission district
breasts starred, caped and on display for all to see
face hidden behind plastic lunacy...
The giggling effervescence of misspent youth
crumbles into a heedless epicurean
mosh pit of aimless wandering
joyous neglect...
It is truly hard to know where the
garbage ends and the art begins.
The watched pot never boils.
The watched clock slows.
The stalked knows,
to watch the suddenly still ones,
that lie moored with anchor bestowed,
just out of reach, wanting, staring, blinking,
in bated breath,
to sneak a furtive peak,
deceptive.
The watcher's silence and stillness disclose
the watcher's deception in plain sight.
The little birdie you hope
will not notice you when you freeze
to take a snap, or secret close-up glance,
is watching you intently.
The watched are watching you,
waiting deceptively on-watch,
as time slows, and
the game of mutual deception,
plays out.
Nightgowns on at 9:01
Adrenal induced delerium
Santa’s journey has surly begun
To our beds, we were a scurrying
Closed eyes, at 9:05
But sleep would not come easy
We’d twist and turn, side to side
At least til 5 past 3
Then somewhere before, 3:44
Sleep would come, by chance
Til little sis would creep through the door
Ready to sneak a glance
Prowling the stairs, side by side
And past the grandfather clock
Which, by now, was reading 4:55
Five ticks before each tock
Around the bin and into the den
Stood our sparkling 8 foot tree
Palms were there, to catch our chins
We’d gaze til 5:03
Up the stairs, new teddy bear
Little sister, close behind
Sound asleep, to prepare
For the alarm at 6:59
When everybody is sleeping
And the night is
dark and silent,
When there is no soul in sight,
Not even a trace of light;
When everyone is
bone weary and helpless,
Lost in their own make-believe
worlds of dreams and fantasies,
Shoving aside all their problems
Forgetting all their cares;
I venture out
into the darkness,
A sack slung over my shoulder,
A lantern in my hand
And sneak a peak
at their troubled souls;
I steal their worries
And I steal their woes,
No one ever knows
No one ever suspects
when stealthily
I whisk their troubles away!
"Soulidified" contest by Verlena S Walker
They're tearing down Saint Ann's
As I shed a nostalgic tear
Part of my childhood gone
Where I spent my sophomore year
It was September of sixty one
Our very first week of class
It was only a short walk from school
To the Church where we attended Mass
Coal region was different then
We smoked on the morning ride
Each town held something special
A sense of purpose, a sense of pride
Saint Ann's dances on a Sunday night
Quarter admission seven to ten
Jesse Belvin "Goodnight My Love"
Hitch a ride home back then
Basketball game downstairs at lunch
Or play horsie against the wall
Sneak a cigarette in the boys room
Passing notes in the hall.
My Place was the local hangout
Jukebox in the back
Sometimes playing match pack football
No one keeping track
Now the stained glass windows are gone
And tears flow like falling rain
Soon they'll raze the building
Only memories will remain
They're tearing down Saint Ann's
Feel a longing in my soul
They're tearing down Saint Ann's
As progress takes its toll.
Lazy, indolent, slothful
O my heavenly muse,
Wake Up!
Light my fuse
Burn me with passion,
My creative mind lay dormant.
You are my keyhole
to this kaleidoscopic world,
to the astral plane;
You are my crystal ball
my Midas touch
my magic wand
my Aladdin lamp
my magic mirror.
Let me sneak a peek
at the workings of the vilest minds
The murky depth of the meanest hearts
The master manipulators
The con artists and the charlatans
The creators of vast array of gods,
the demons and the devil
the myths and the legends…
Wake up, my muse
and set my tethered spirit free.
~01/12/19
~"Slap the muse and turn it loose" contest
Sponsor: John lawless
There are so many things in life that give me so much pleasure,
Family, friends and fishing all of which I treasure.
But having my ice cream fix, ah, I'm the happiest guy on earth.
Never mind that such ecstasy adds to my ever-expanding girth!
My spouse closely monitors the types of foods that I consume,
Concerned that cholesterol will bring about my early doom!
So surreptitiously I sneak about for my ice cream ration,
Fearful of getting caught and causing untold consternation!
I fondly recall as a lad the ice cream socials that we had,
When friends and neighbors got together with my Mom and Dad.
Bringing their favorite ice creams to mix in hand-cranked freezers.
Ah! Such delectable concoctions prepared by those old geezers!
A hot fudge sundae is a treat that I really savor,
Or a thick shake made with real ice cream of any flavor,
And every chance that I get I sneak a luscious banana split.
Am I concerned about those calories? Not one little whit!
Some folks relish sherbet, but I think that is sissy stuff.
They can have my share of that, but of ice cream I can't get enough!
When I cease to function you can etch upon my stone this theme:
"Nothing could make his eyes gleam like a bowl of ice cream!"
Our house is not the biggest house…to some it may even seem small…
but I’m amazed at the amount of memories housed within its walls.
Our home has seen many seeds of love…planted…nurtured…encourage to bloom…
and watched as a host of wonderful memories…found their way into each room.
Our front door…probably the most important part of the house
for, over the years, we’ve learned
it’s where our family enters…exits…and where we, now, wait for their return.
Our hallway just to left once you enter the front door…
is where our children and grandchildren in their stocking feet…once slid across the floor.
Our kitchen…where meals are cooked…it’s where the heart of the house is placed
where we catch up on each other’s lives and, when no-one’s looking…sneak a taste.
Where even when the oven’s off and no-one is standing there…
fragrant memories of cakes and pies and cookies hover in the air.
Our dining room where, at that table our children once got their homework done…
is now where we sit around sharing stories while eating
and where games are lost and won.
Our living room where we tell more stories….where we share our hope, our dreams, our fears
where we sit in the shadow of our Christmas tree and open presents every year.
Our bedrooms where our children slept…
where we hope they learned to be loving, compassionate and kind
where all too quickly we watched them grow and leave their childhood behind….
It seems our home is filled with memories…each one a wonderful surprise…
and if we want to remember…all we have to do is close our eyes.
I imagine the magic in our house…in any home…large or small…
is not only the memories painted in it’s rooms…it’s halls…its welcoming front door…
It’s the fact that in a home already awash in memories….
there is always room for more.
It’s now a bird sanctuary,
and has been for some decades now,
the trail wanders through the forest,
past the rock walls of an old house.
The trail itself was once a road,
I can tell by the two rock walls,
run parallel for a mile,
but there were no cars here at all.
Maybe carriages way back when,
wood farm carts and things of that like,
but if you’re looking for pasture
not a bit of it is in sight.
It is all second-growth forest,
where once the Holsteins grazed and fed,
on this land families carved a life,
generations were born and bred.
The kids must’ve played in that stream,
where the small waterfall cuts through,
small enough to be no danger,
fast enough to amuse the youth.
Men must’ve ridden through these paths,
stretch legs of their quarter horses,
running them on the rare day off,
preparing for the fair’s races.
Did lovers sneak along the walls,
risking all to just sneak a kiss,
I think they called in ‘pitching woo,’
so many different names for this.
It ends in a rocky ridgeline,
looks across the Hudson Valley,
to the fortress of the Catskills,
where they rise up majestically.
The view is half grown in these days,
can’t imagine in the years past,
when all of this was open field
and the vista was far more vast.
Did some man sit here on this rock
at the end of the Civil War,
drinking in this land’s great beauty,
and seeing the horror no more?
Did this farm bring him some solace?
Did quiet fields let him know peace?
Would he even recognize it
if he were here instead of me?
It is strange strolling through the past
when by all the forest it's drowned,
but it’s a bird sanctuary,
and has been for some decades now.