Long Sneers Poems
Long Sneers Poems. Below are the most popular long Sneers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sneers poems by poem length and keyword.
The sparrows and cardinals
squabble -
hedgerow turf wars.
Sudden low evening rain.
Do the trees weep, or does the sky?
Anger seeps into drywalls
fills eyes with a restless acrimony.
Yesterday the sun was a brightness
on the wrists of small boys.
They played out a violent video game,
a shrill virtual savagery;
strife is merrily cast into the consonant air.
Garden blooms seem to badger each other
for a nook of sky.
Tonight I hope the owls keep blinking.
I hope tomorrow,
the Dalai Lama, or a politician
will actually say something wise.
Perhaps, a news anchor
will tire of his daily sneers?
Will owls stop questioning?
Wait! Is this a fresh morning breeze?
Are there hand-washing angels, do they rise
now within us to scatter and flay,
lather all into amity;
dissolve the moth bones, the spiked wings,
of that darkly spawning fray?
Say, Life,
If I die in love,
Will it be enough a cause
To have my soul saved
From your grip?
You fooled me into believing in you
You showed me only the pleasures that you give
Without ever telling me
That they are false and temporal
That accompanying them
Are your thorns
Always here, ready to prick each and every corner
Of my whole being!
The existence you give is false, it moves from its peak
To a state of rot
From which Death swallows it
As if it were a piece of fresh meat
And Death itself, a hungry lion!
The love you pretend to be made up of does not exist
It is meant to adorn your cause
That of allowing you to be as you probably
Feel bored
And need to see us, frail souls, suffer
To feel pleased in your ego!
The materialistic side that makes you up
Is futile!
Souls need it not
Though they realize it not,
Heavily bent on pleasing their needs and their comforts
As ruled they are by these,
Having forgotten the essence of life as it should be!
The pain you blow over us
Sneers at us and invades us
Mocking us with its putrid heart
Each time our tears run down our cheeks
As if they were blood oozing out of our souls!
The lack of morality, the non respect of the pure
The lack of virtue, the non acknowledgement of that which is true
Pray, life,
In all you are more than a burden
And we souls
Are trapped in your midst!
Why, it has been a while since I have been getting bored
I am no more a child, ready to laugh at each of your pretentious jokes
I am a more a teenager, easily duped by that which you tempt me with
I am now wise
And in my wisdom
I rule you as being false, Life!
Yet, your rules stipulate that once we play your games
We are to play till the end
As leaving in the middle will imply disrespecting you!
Pray, Life
Tell me,
If I die in love
Will it be enough a cause
To have my soul saved
From your grip?
28th April 2019
A misconception is the tale
That we should dread October's spell
Weird things happen, but do not fear
It only comes but once a year
Cornstalks, lanterns, pumpkin faces
Cloudy nights, and creepy spaces
Mummies hide by light of day
Ghouls in shadows want to play
Ghosts appear to take a peek
Cats put on their black coat sleek
Spider's weave around the room
A wart-nosed witch has brand new broom
Her sideways glance at mirror cracked
Still sneers her ugly image back
The cauldron cleaned with spit and shine
Prepared to hold a drink of slime
With tasty toads and wormy molds
It boils steamy brew that's bold
Graveyards readied, dark with gloom
Bats in belfries wait for doom
No need to dread the harvest moon
All Hallow's Eve is coming soon
They've all worked hard to be prepared
Join the party, IF YOU DARE!!
Your renegade heart, so darkly pure
Once scarred by light found insecure
Our momentum of romanced waves converged
Drowning all foundations of reserve
But my faint mount failed to keep pace
Across your tangled steeplechase
When every question was a crime
Smug sneers met any need of mine
Callowness furled in fickle curls
How you despised the unrepentant world!
Yet, I thank you for this cruel clarity
For if you are the villain, the hero is me
So I flew on wings shed of regret
With a strength you'd like me to forget
Now, my second-hand heart, though incomplete
Even ragged, tattered and stitched - still beats.
8/05/20
Oh Vanity Thy Name is Metro-Man
At the gym,
admiring his bulging biceps in a giant mirror,
he reaches for his ever-ready smart phone
and stops to make a boastful tweet.
Driving home, sipping his protein drink,
he involuntarily sneers
noticing construction workers on a roof,
their strong bronzed arms glistening in the sun.
He makes a mental note
to stop off at the tanning booth tomorrow.
At the salon, and after his daily massage,
he lies back for his manscape.
Oh, how it hurts, he inwardly groans,
but as he contemplates how the hotties at the pool
will love his baby smooth skin,
a smile lifts the corners of his mouth.
At his sterile home
with its many beautiful toys meant to entertain
the largest and oldest of grown-up boys,
he goes to his social media account
eager to relate how just today
he broke his personal best bench press record
Before bed, he brushes and carefully flosses
and then applies his special lotions.
Looking down at his manhood, he smiles again
until the thought
of pushing papers at the office
flits through his mind:
Oh the drudgery that I must endure
to afford my awesome life!
July 10, 2017 for the Modern Vanity Contest of Lewis Raynes
“Heady heights..bright neon lights..giddy delights
Arsonists torching the Indian empire
Reputations scorching..awash with brilliant whites
Gilded generation ire… spoils soiled in an oily quagmire
Sailing the conquest crest..Kiwi veneration..scaling Test Everest
Perturbed…wondrous walloping to disturbed lolloping..absurdly dire
Otherworldly umami of the Barmy Army tsunami
Marauding sneers trumpet.. foolish career nadirs..retire
Ghoulish gravity..devoured by a glutinous abyss
Bazball belter depravity..sensationally soured bucolic bliss
Hoodwinking..hasten Black caps helter skelter sinking
Downed & drowned in a bottomless basin..stinking
Hilariously or nefariously bombastic
Bellicose blows vicariously fantastic
Lambasted & larruped..willow wizards’ blizzards
Scary..leery…Kiwis dreary..wary..weary
Boisterously babbling record book pleasing Brook..
Febrile lairy timber & turnstile teasing fairy
Frazzled dreams bedazzled by pyrotechnic memes
Peacocking cavorting with shocking ripsnorter slaughter
Lampooned buffoons marooned…as Jaffas deliriously spill.. festooned just like Seville
Bazball booming batting baritones..delicious blooming blossom
Vicious..nailed..pernicious.. flailed like an impaled pesky possum
Stranded in a leaking latrine…Baz branded..reeking of what could have been
Outrageously courageous…ridiculously sublime at the same time
Flat track thuggery fortuitously free from spin skulduggery?
Cosy club snubs…mandarins’ selectorial sins?
It’s coming home..it’s coming..in Welly on the telly..what we have seen
Prodigal Bazball from South D has already well & truly been"
The boy stood weary by the river
his head throbbed with the fever
Out of want and nothing to do
He spied the bag half buried
It seemed as though a boy before
Had left his toys from the days before
he dug it up, a bag of stones
And one by one he amused himself
Catch, ayo skip the river and 5 stones
He even enacted a Game of Thrones
And one by one the river his friend
Amused him with ripples and splashes
At last he trudged away weary and worn
He knew not that he wouldn't see the morn
All he thought was of the joy in his heart
And the little games the ages had left him
The man bragged with his friends and comrade
It's by the river, he cooed and bragged
The finest you could ever see all time
Yeah, but it was the finest
He stood in shock oblivious to sneers
Sneers that metamorphosed from cheers
He hurled curses thunder and fire
He cried and screamed, who did it
Back home the boy's dad wore a face
So gaunt it cut through the racist race
He watched his son the pain so hot
That it would be the last before kickin
The doc tried. he even shed a tear
He was just there to back their fear
And they watched him slip into the night
The old man still cursing who did it
I do bitterly fault your restless digits, slatternly time;
Your agile dial's design I defy with mutinous rhyme.
What's the veiled intent of your lightning procession,
Against this snail-mover's beleaguered progression?
In swearing truth say why your sight-eclipsing wings
Party and feast and conjure merry over littler beings.
What sadistic banquets in spooky nooks yonder,
Turn your lot-dwindling schemes ever so fonder?
It's true your snaring turns I strongly loathe,
With damning sneers and deserving derision.
What's that blot against heaven's sternest troth,
Obliterating dancing suns on her creasing face?
To what main gain do your life-slicing edges fly,
Usurping innocent freedoms of humble breath?
Your mulish cruises along snaky course-ways,
Flare spite-perfected ills to slay slowing health.
With daring tropes I’ll yet trim hours’ blacking crime,
And I’ll chide the deadly glooms of carnivorous time.
A twinkle in her eyes tonight
evokes the thought that they invite,
though I recall, not long ago
my absence seemed more apropos.
The laughs that linger on her lips
bare more than many verbal slips -
the times they pierced me, sad and grim,
lie in the past, though far from dim.
She flayed me once... nay, more than twice,
she flayed me both with flames and ice,
and once again, predictably,
she primes me for catastrophe.
Our friends and foes naively watch
her try to carve a deeper notch,
for even they don't seem to know
the depths to which she'd really go.
Upon my face a pose appears
which hides my thoughts, obscures my sneers,
for now I too have learned the rules
from her - ah, yes, the best of schools.
Because I'm acting somewhat cool,
thus pouring on her fires, fuel,
she burns and yearns and wants me more
than when I was her cuspidor.
She (unbeknownst, I'm not the same)
pursues again her guileful game.
But when her tears descend and swell,
will she be proud she taught me well?
The others leave, I stay behind
(they all know what she has in mind) ,
embrace her in my arms once more,
beguile her through her bedroom door.
She whispers secrets in my ear,
as I once did (she didn't hear);
I listen, flash some mirthless smiles,
my thoughts adrift to desert isles.
The night is passed, her trusting grows;
I leave before the morning glows.
Aroused, she'll seek a waking thrill
but find instead a dollar bill.
Written by Gail DeBole
and included in PS: It's Poetry
A PoetrySoup.com anthology published in 2020
Note: Grendel was the monster in the old English Heroic poem titled Beowolf written by an anonymous Anglo-Saxon poet. John Gardner wrote a related book titled Grendel in the 1970's that told the same story from the monster's point of view. Soon after reading Grendel, I wrote this poem from the point of view of Unferth.
"My God, Grendel! Are you Godless?
You hold heads that drip with hate-deeds!
All your fury 'voids compassion.
Are you spiritless? Don't eat me!
I see eyeballs in your teeth-sneers.
Faded lips you chew with ease.
You are laughing - yet I've cry-tears.
Here's a toothpick. Now let me be!
I, leathery, bony, meatless;
Old gruff meat that breaks your teeth.
Unferth's ready, willing, fearless.
For you, I'll fetch younger meat.
Backed up now, your breathing eats me.
Close as bricks glued back to back.
Grendel, hear me! I will save you!
I will give you what you lack!
Name the fortune that you'd like.
I have charts of riches hid.
Under soil, far from man-sight.
I will give you what you bid.
Or think of mothers. You have one.
They're forsaken without sons.
And my mother's just the same.
For her sorrow, you'll take blame!
Grendel! Grendel! Let me go!
I am old, but I will fight.
Why, you vile, formless, foe!
I will tell you where"...