Long Snipes Poems
Long Snipes Poems. Below are the most popular long Snipes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snipes poems by poem length and keyword.
Snipes are a kind of bird, difficult to spot
because they’re quiet and they hide a lot –
a kind of cross ‘twixt stool pigeon and an owl,
it is a bird that deserves to be called fowl.
Maybe a large rooster with antlers like a moose
some guys say they are more like a wild goose.
How do you catch them? Now that is where you
depend on luck; my friend hit one with his shoe.
Some make a cage from an old cardboard box
but pillowcases work. To really outfox
a large snipe, you may need to bring a rope
to tie him up; if it's real dark, you just hope.
First, you start to hear sounds - like gobblety-gook
and you may start to think that you are a schnook
but hang in there. Sometimes it takes all night
especially if the snipe puts up a fight.
First time I went, along about one o’clock
I smelled what I thought was a rat in a crock
quick as a wink, I caught onto a small snipe.
What a night! but I got it, all in one fell swipe.
When panthers prowl and lions stalk,
the lone wolves howl and parrots talk.
The bee hives hum and wild boars snort;
the grouses drum; the deer cavort.
And as geese cackle, small hares peek.
They see a jackal, squeal and squeak!
Near streams are snipes where hoot owls hoot.
A nightingale pipes sound of flute.
Frogs croak and play as pigeons moan,
and rhinos bray through beetles’ drone.
Snakes hiss, and apes start gibbering;
no beast escapes this daily fling!
In this clatter, swallows twitter,
magpies chatter; every critter
can join in. Hyenas laugh
while in the din, each tall giraffe
begin to bleat. What reverie
of primal beat - this jamboree!
July 2, 2020 for Brian Strand's
Strand Completely New(4)Any Theme Any Form Poetry Contest
It is time to get fresh America,
to be plucked wriggling out of that shining sea,
a fresh baked humanity, moon-beam buckled.
Pass no more pay-day-loans
into the purses of the pawn-shopping poor,
give no witness nor evidence
of city shame, and house crud.
America, you can do this.
I am a being from across the world
I am from the ***-end of times,
my transformation, a promise of our mutual destiny,
rampant & manifest, our fate falters
let us be unbridled from
both the prideful and the lackluster,
un-arrested and unmolested
by the land grubbing snipes
or the false-fronted back slappers.
We are better than this blare of ourselves,
and if not
we can make a wooden wagon wheel
from all our legendary days,
It’s not too late, wipe your ass America,
wipe your dirty face. the dusty empire is crumbling
yet our first day is not yet done.
I am ready, ready to soar out of a hundred landfills,
a prismatic dodo embossed upon a tarnished coin
my downy head newly scrubbed of old-time blood.
London growls under the tread
of diesel driven dreams.
A stork visits,
an attic full of discarded toys.
White mice sleep in pajamas,
made of childish nightmares.
Barges reek still, just as when,
sweat was as common as dirt.
A window in Baker Street,
opens to let pipe smoke out,
it uncoils in the air
like a left-handed genie.
Meat mongers return to their,
gore-soaked cradles
before the dawns leery light.
The city is a fable,
there is fuel oil seeping,
through tunnels and runnels,
where entrenched gutter snipes
lie low and wait.
Denizens' crabwalk
along Regents Street
barking Chinese commands
at oppressed corgis.
Stately towers are pressure washed,
until they shed a dark sunlight
that fractures ferrous raindrops.
Tenements sink under the weight,
of red carpets
until the blood flows
out of them.
London by night,
is a veneer,
a crust
of low expectations.
It’s the land of milk and honey,
you fail to see beneath stars and stripes;
Hard work holds prosperous and free;
The lifestyle seems to come so easy,
lost within stories and stereotypes;
It’s the land of milk and honey;
Just getting by is a catastrophe,
inflation and basic survival snipes;
Hard work holds prosperous and free;
Left coast dreams east coast tyranny,
always seem to be surrounded by hypes;
It’s the land of milk and honey;
Pushing limits is what it was meant to be,
competition gives birth to prototypes;
Hard work holds prosperous and free;
Stay grounded and look carefully,
flooded with media and fancy teletypes;
It’s the land of milk and honey,
hard work holds prosperous and free.
I have been working in the wings since destiny begins; I have been living in the wings to have a glimpse of everything. I am in here and you are out there and still you don’t know what is happing over here, the crock pot is boiling, the stew is simmering and honey is dripping from my lips.
It has been like this for many years and the machine keeps rolling over here. The sound bellows all night and rattles until daylight and work never ceases even when you are having your midnight sleep.
It is the sound of the drills that erode your nerves and the sanding machine that ruins your dream. I am in the heart of it and sometimes it gives me a terrible fit.
I toil day and night to conquer the wormwood that keeps pulling the substance from the dead and hitting me in the back of my head.
I sleep on hard floor and cook with firewood and live like an outcast hiding in the dark.
I don’t wear a crown or walk around in long gown; I am down to earth and every day I whallah in the dirt.
I drink contaminated water from the pipe but my immune system has a strong defense mechanism to ward off the germs and filters anything that loiter around my heart's door.
I have no soap to wash my frock and no boat or place to dock, the sea has opened its guts to catch the gutter snipes before it impregnates the fish with the broken dish.
The temperature is cooling down as the masquerade sets foot into this promiscuous town, the villagers are walking around in shame and the lion’s jaws are locked in the den.
Mr. Interest is crawling on its knees and inflation is walking around with broken limbs oh what a terrible sin.
It’s not going to rise anytime soon; its hands and feet are in a cast so do your thing so that you can get the profit in.
You strike for wages, you strike for everything. Spread out the entire striking request on the floor, walk over it ten times and count to three before you walk through the door. Meet me at five at the restaurant and we will settle the matter over dinner.
You are locked in illusion out there, but we are working out our hearts out over here, the heavens will arrange a meeting with the skies before you fly to remove the danger that is baked into the clouds and send ripples of hope throughout the town.
I am living in the wings.
Aunt Marilda’s house and closet were full of felines of all types.
long-haired, short-haired, tabbies, pumas, and mice-hunting snipes.
we knew what we were inheriting when she passed on a rainy day.
who is going to clean out those animals? Asked persnickety aunt Kay.
there were live ones in addition to the ones on the chairs in the kitchen.
my aunt was irritated about her hoarder sister, she could not stop ’n.
six nieces and one nephew were not eager to stay for the show.
there were three living sisters, and they were all “in the know”.
Gladys took the closet, Stephanie and Yvetee cleaned out her stove.
there surely is not a cat inside that! Said my uncle who hid in an alcove.
they are everywhere! Said a niece who had brought along six live traps.
she had already caught sixteen of them and said “maybe this is a wrap!”
Aunt Marilda’s pots and pants, curtains, and shower stall all had cats.
some sat on their plump oversized bottoms; some were chasing rats.
one cat way up high hissed at everyone who came anywhere near.
cat shoes were found in the closet. Steph yelled “Marilda is here!”
we nieces and nephews were not sure exactly what she meant.
until we began smelling cinnamon, cloves, and peppermint.
popular scents of Aunt Marilda, her spirit must be quite near.
uncle yelled at the cat “Marilda, get your petootsie down here!”
Black cat jumped off the counter as if he had fallen from a nest.
Leaped onto Uncle’s shirt and slid down, tearing up his chest.
It’s Marilda all right! Uncle yelped. She always despised me.
His sisters cackled like witches as they drank their orange tea.
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.
Sean Highdale
Sean and four friends went out one night,
To the cinema, ‘cos his mate had just passed,
His driving test, so they hit upon the height,
Of the speed limit, but the car sadly crashed.
Two were killed, one’s still in a coma, Danny,
Sean suffered a brain injury, bones shattered,
Today he says:”I can go and see him, [Danny],
he can't speak…but I can [kiss him]”, captured.
He was set to play for Liverpool, just his stripes,
But the Speke Boulevard tragedy stopped that,
So now he plays football for Great Britain, snipes,
And made his Para debut at Rio, Brazil to bat.
Everyone is in a rush, and they are getting ready to board the bus, everyone is going somewhere, for something dynamic is moving in the atmosphere. The weather is fine but there is something moving on the line. The pattern you see is running diagonally towards the sea and a giant tree is blocking the path where you should be.
There is a radius stationed in the sun, pushing the energy towards the earth and I stop a while to measure the distance from the earth to the sun but the forces are strong and the journey is long. Time creeps upon the earth with tears dripping from the sky, lamenting a city that will fall like troy and die.
The Trojan War was fought with love and passion burning from above, but the soul of man is baked in the fate of the earth surrounded by the mystery of his birth. You have searched long and hard to unravel the mysteries of men, but destiny takes him to another place and announces his fate. There is nothing that you can see that I haven’t seen, places hidden from the sun, the moon and the star has answered the call and they walked briskly through the hall.
There are places in the atmosphere that are blowing fresh air, but no one has ever been there, there are strange people living there with human and animalistic nature and gutter snipes living among stagnant water. A helicopter can land there, but there are creatures that can cause you to fear.
I longed for a place to go, where lots of fruit trees grow and juicy grapes running on the vine and a vineyard that is divine. There is no secret line there and no negative energy to make you feel unhappy; there are places I have never been, that is waiting to welcome me and show me what I must see and grant me the courage to be.
Check out that unfamiliar spot on the map and look underneath the felt hat; you placed it there with apple vinegar the last time you went there. Places I have never been waiting to cleanse me of my sins. See you there!