Long Snook Poems
Long Snook Poems. Below are the most popular long Snook by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snook poems by poem length and keyword.
'Course as a grim teller of tall tales,
(albeit poetic) reasonable rhyming
quasi roundelay I readily admitted to feign
cuz, stringing words together with
pride and prejudice plus
sense and sensibility, jocularity,
and conformity I dissed deign
(spoiler alert) iamb, trochaic,
dactylic, and anapestic metrical reign
jest your ordinary garden variety
dollar short day late dime a dozen
penniless citizen banker Abel and Cain,
yet mine mean mien blithely, daringly,
fatuously, ludicrously, nauseatingly,
pretentiously playfully urbane
many (if not all readers)
will coon sitter
yours truly harmlessly insane,
whose feeble attempts
to wax and wane
oft times falls flat (splat goes Matt)
as if dropped out plane,
without a parachute
instantly recuperating while lain
supine (winded, but...
none the worse) asthma brain
suffers concussion, confusion, contusion
actually, immediately, and unexpectedly
knocked fluent German speaking ability
within germane guy verständlich?
If ye really comprehend
trademark non Turkish gobbledygook
then explain (using
language of least familiarity),
but best to commence
with eye catching hook
impossible mission
apt lit pupils (mine)
to evade even momentarily
riveting, spellbinding,
and transfixing look
courtesy ingenious way
with word ye snook
cored me and took
wind out my sails.
Nor could I breakaway courtesy automobile,
cuz 2009 Hyundai Sonata
would not start... yea for real,
thus finding me ready to yoke
neck (think gibbet) each heel
dangling as body goes limp
blessedly, finally, happily
ridding me of any/all hangups,
one less goo goo gaga born this way
poker face cards for him to deal.
UNGABLUZUM describes this schlemiel!
I loved you John Wayne!
I wished you were my father
or maybe an older brother
who’d tutor me to be tough
when manners weren’t enough
and toughness was needed
that civility be heeded
and not to brag or complain.
O I loved you John Wayne!
As soon as I was old enough
to earn the price of admission
I saw your films in succession
at the first run houses down
in the big deal part of town
and enshrined each one on a list
taped to my bedside wall
and read about the ones I’d missed.
Shucks, I loved you most of all!
Fort Apache and Red River
took pride of place on the page;
they’d eaten up my weekly wage.
I missed the Yellow Ribbon;
I hoped I’d be forgiven.
At the Rio and the Broad
(in a dicey neighborhood)
I atoned with films you’d done
before I was even born.
Western after Western
and tales of oil and whiskey
and scheming ladies, O so risky!
I hoped I’d be excused
when I compromised my muse
by adding well-built gals
to Duke and all his pals.
Montez, Russell, and Lake
made my hormones quake.
O I loved you, John Wayne.
I could feel your bashful pain
When the pretty lady roped you
and hat in hand you’d bow,
the furrow deepening on your brow,
and utter monosyllables plus “Ma’am,”
no longer a ram, more like a lamb.
O I shared you pain, John Wayne!
And still I loved you John Wayne,
your true grit and donnybrook,
your menacing brow, the look
that said, “Enough, my friend.
“This bull is going to end!”
You swaggered? (not quite it--
as if your boots didn’t quite fit?)
You took him by the horns and shook;
Plomp! Down went the snook!
How I loved you, John Wayne!
And I love you still when again I see
the doughty Duke on my smart TV
as much as Papa’s lone old man,
with fish chewed down to the bone
loved Joltin’ Joe Dimaggio
when the Clipper’s legs began to go
and he was hobbled by his heel.
John Wayne, you were the real deal.
A hot July evening, and nothing had stirred,
the minutes just ticked slowly past,
too hot for much effort, and even the birds
gave up chirping as long shadows cast.
I savoured the moment and reached for my glass,
cold lager to help quench my thirst,
when I saw something black in the bubbles of gas,
close inspection, and I feared the worst.
A fly had snook down while my back had been turned
lost it's footing and fell in the beer,
and now paddled in vain for the side of the glass
but could not make it out of first gear.
Since it spoiled my enjoyment, a spoon for employment
was acquired and from my drink was scooped
the sad fly in some drops, poured it out where it stopped
with no movement, all out it was pooped.
With it's legs in the air (and I know, I've been there)
it finally righted itself, shook a wing, rubbed it's head
but not flying, instead took a gentle walk on my shed shelf.
Oblivious now to the story of how
I'd just graciously saved it's poor life,
I wondered as it slowly wobbled off home-
what on earth did it say to it's wife?
The August's heat wave made streets sizzle,
in the fifties there was no air conditioning;
can we imagine the frustrutating feeling
that made bodies and minds very feeble?
Summer was fun on that noisy Mulberry Street,
no traffic went through it: such a sad downbeat;
how happy were the kids that couldn't help screaming,
getting wet in a large pool of water that was refreshing.
Blame that rascal kid that opened the firehydrant,
nobody went to school and mothers seemed moody;
some vendors were mad, but watching was so groovy...
they weren't nagging and enjoyed the scene with interest.
My books lay on the stoop, splashing water made them slide
nom brought them in giving me a naughty and disapproving look...
even she realized that's another silly excuse for me not to hide,
dipping bread into her delicious gravy while dad sliced the snook.
Copyright ( c ) 20017 by Andrew Crisci
- The Villanelle Of The Look MINDSET MISCONCEPTIONS-
Misconceptions babbling unspoken about the look
Deeply was just so broken and outgoing
Forces could never forget the outcome book
Stories miss read, Mindset was shocked by the rook
He found himself feeling rather flowing
Mindset couldn't stop thinking about the look
Misconceptions was spooked by a notebook
He thought the situation had become rather seagoing
But Mindset could never forget the outlook
tried to distract misconception with a hook
Hook-Line and sinker like a fish time to start thinking a boing
Bells ringing couldn't stop ding-donging about the look
Misconception took action like a snook
The look was becoming too easygoing
Mindset could never forget the outlook
Misconception nosedived like a dreamy overlook
His mindset became dangerously glowing
Misconception couldn't stop thinking about the look
But he could never forget the outcome shook
2/15/23
Written words© by James Edward Lee Sr.2023©
A Villanelle poem type
Let's toot & salute
Folks our bespoke bloke
Having a hoot..
Bearing fruit loot
English cricketing oak
Celestial extra terrestrial Groot
Can't be snooty about tutti fruity
Rooty's booty on lions duty
As an Aussie would quip
You absolute beauty
Humble while records tumble..crumble
Can hear dear old Bumble..no quibble
Told from red rose fold across the Ribble
Saying for me..sold.. Rooty better
Run getter...record setter
Fetter even KP...cricketing gold
In the MCC heaven eleven
Story of forever glory
But never look at me
Only one with a magnificent
Seven on the adored
Boards at Lords
Top of the tree
Despite his fame...just the same
Puts on the gloves
Joy of a boy
Still really clearly dearly
Loves the game
No rebuke..no fluke
For our big grin
Thin White Duke..batting nuke
Believing his pedigree filigree
Web will keep weaving
Nervous laughter
Leaving Indians peeving
Not being cynical.. it's not cyclical...but clinical.
No retrieving the pinnacle.....puns almost biblical
Our glorious grafter...after runs to every rafter
Joe will nurdle...nudge
Scoreboard budge..purring
Dreamy silky creamy
Drives soul stirring
Lamps perverse reverse ramps whirring
By hook or crook
Snook past Cook with
Textbook look & grace
Took fifth place
In the record book race
Will beat all the elite
Breaking Rahul's wall
Shaking Kallis's Palace
Forsaking blunter punter
Ponting..bereft at the
Theft..left..wanting
En song hatching
Catching then snatching
Number one
Dispatching..after so long
Last post gong
Love song of
Dashing don..Sachin
My park to me was not see-saws nor swings
instead, a treasure chest of stranger things.
A marble grave, 1891, well kept
where 'Tiny', estate owner's dog now slept.
The long gone Manor House front Portico
and where the star struck teenage lovers go
holds carvings, some initials, from the past
though in one case someone had left their last.
Script ' E Potts joined navy 1943'
Did such detail writ mean 'remember me'?
So many times I've gazed upon his name
that plea cut deep in stone it's power retains.
His call over the years still engraved there
since boyhood I have offered up a prayer.
The culvert is a concrete tour de force
too tempting for adventurers, of course.
Amphitheatre for screaming, scary,
in heavy rain, tomb for the unwary.
Mill races, lock gates, tunnels, falls and weirs
all testing grounds for our deep darkest fears.
There was no challenge our band could resist
we cocked a snook, and nature raised a fist.
Returning home, triumphant, green with moss,
in trouble, but we didn't give a toss.
The moment was our game and joy the prize,
such treasure blind to all but children's eyes.
Seek us out, the park was where you found us,
Green fields of innocence, it's magic bound us.
Feb 14th 2016
For contest 'The Park', sponsored by Craig Cornish.
What I know about fish
You could fit on this dish
But I thought I would give it a try
So I bought me a pole
Catching fish was my goal
And I thought I could learn on the fly
What's there too know ?
How bad could it go
It's as easy as baiting a hook
You cast in your line, in a hole that you find
loaded with oodles of snook
So I started out early,
A bit feeling surly
For rising before the sun
When I got on the boat
I was wearing my floats
And the others began to make fun
So we trolled out a ways
Through the brown muck and haze
To get to a spot, we all thought
Had plenty of fish, but our inner wish
Was to drink all the beer that we brought
So I've learned, from that day
The real fishermen's way
And I'll never forget it, because
It's not important the size, trophy or prize
We're just out to catch a good buzz
Did the first creature to crawl
out of the proverbial, primal primordial,
onto the sand,
feel like a fish out of water,
out of its depth,
when high and dry on land?
With no wish to carp or cock a snook
I won't leave you in the lurch
but oh my cod take a look
what a plaice to perch
as just for the halibut
putting seahorses out to paddock
is enough to give one
a severely bad haddock
so no red herring I don't flounder around
take a peeled eel flake of baked hake
plus a pinch of pickled pilchard
and an ichthyic sandwich make
but if my words are vitriolic
you may grunt and kiss my bass
as it's all a load of pollock(s)
I like you
did I really say that out loud?
she did not look at me
walking in silence, no eye contact
As we approached her yard she motion with her hand to stop
and she ran into her house slamming the door
being thirteen was awkward
twelve was better, girls were still yucky then
She avoided me, I was over her my first crush
days went by and I was walking home from school
the alley was my shortcut
out of nowhere hands grabbed me
hit me, slapped me, punched me and knock me down
it was Billy sixteen in love with her, she was young for him
He kicked me in the stomach as I lied and spit on me
warned me if I even thought of her
He would kill me, funny I was believing him right then
as he walked away I heard myself saying out loud
You dumb bastard jealous much, you better run
Billy came back and kicked me repeatedly in the stomach
I had nothing to say when he left the second time
too busy puking
Snook into the house, washed up in the bathroom
went into my bedroom, locked the door, shut the window
Locked it too, and lied on my back staring at the ceiling
said the F word just once but long and slow
Made me feel somewhat better, not, alone lyng in my bed
frozen stiff body aching and my heart confused
So this is love
Love sucks!