Long Snooty Poems

Long Snooty Poems. Below are the most popular long Snooty by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snooty poems by poem length and keyword.


I Do Not Know the Secret

I Do Not Know The Secret...,
Asper Art Of Writing Acclaimed Poem...

Not purposeful intent,
when tasking self (Das Scribe)
a nondescript member of
*****sapiens village people tribe
metaphorical spear in hand ready

to unbridal strong arm as vibe
resoundingly resonates, sans
(crackles, snaps, and pops)
optimal instant to expunge bribe
bing fountainhead of creativity
oft times screed or futile diatribe

no matter smug satisfaction appeased
as mental delectation on par with eclair
for taste buds, a reward dare,
I acknowledge mine appealing talent
(undoubtedly a slightly biased opinion)

with fast break for game of Solitaire,
or sink concentration matte tear
real awaiting with bated breath
comments, feedback, input...usually fair
to middling acceptable,

though frequent occasions blare
ring liberal dollop of adulation,
warms hearty cockles of this hermit
comfortably numb in his lair
which decency, humility, modesty...

of mine to avoid trumpeting pomposity
as if yours truly snooty billionaire
keeps in check (ma mate)
cognitive firmae tubby beware
boot up pawn occasion, the errant knight

within me finds ego expanding square
lee out beyond outer limits
of the twilight zone, where
entire cerebral cranium
shatters temple mount scare

ring eureka temporarily
finding me unaware,
viz blinding, deafening, and
obliterating brainstorm spate bare
lee delivering tummy any appreciable,

pronounceable, noticeable... impact
relishing this devil may care
state of being if only...threadbare
tenuous consciousness endured
sustaining oblivious blissfulness

absentmindedness forever delivering cheer
full countenance of mine finding me
unafraid of Virginia Woolf, a bugbear,
and/or he who dons most powerful paw
he can render complex edifice

of democracy to disappear
thus...after shaking wordy playwear
an early plug to vote November 2020
due to here
about nine months and one year.


Premium Member My View On a Poet's Duty

My personal view of MY own poet’s duty
is to write for folk who are not too snooty

Poetry ‘experts’ may look down their nose
at the simple poetry that I compose

When I read a poem I don’t want to wallow
in archaic language that’s hard to swallow

I like lively lines not stuff that’s boring
want to enjoy reading and not start snoring

I don’t often write about sport or politics
But I may write of ‘Ron Dump’s’ latest tricks

I just cannot write a romantic sonnet
as love poems make me want to vomit

I could write about the birds and bees
and pretty flowers and wind in the trees

But many other poets write similar words
so I buck the trend and I write about turds

I guess I’ve developed quite a quirky style
but my overall aim is to make people smile

What’s right for others may not suit me
but we can unite by writing our poetry!

So who am I to say what’s wrong or right
if you get an idea then write, just write!

A Poet’s Duty Poetry Contest 

Sponsor: Beth Evans 

10/07/20
Form: Couplet

Premium Member When is a word not to be heard

In the house of commons, in Canada there's a problem' well
Your Damien; yes' he got wordy, and the speaker.?? He got nerdy.?
A word that denotes mis-truth; apparently not there; in use.?
In that place, it is a no no.' I never thought it would be so?
Controversial and affronting, in the place of egalat'e where
They even praised; that nazi.?? I thought it a misnomer; yet
No chance.? And like some loner, the M P who held to his
Reasons?? got denied access; for a season.' I think he took
One for the people? so i'll shout this from the steeples.' 
His action served even the street, of liberals' he got booted
By the snooty, in the service of true unity, i reason that
Canadians of every type, should value Damien.' If you
See him out  just greet him..In the greatness of the season
Take the chance, shake his hand; denying this dis-reason.'
 
(And the liar.? You know what? My history says.. Forgot! )
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member King Beau

my husband and I love dogs
he was totally against paying big money for one
I did not care; I wanted a golden retriever
so I paid for one

actually, ended up with an English Crème retriever
an almost white golden
he already had a name – Beau
so we kept it

not realizing he comes to any name
my husband calls him Pedro
pal, buddy, friend, boy,
I call him Baby Beau

Baby Beau is king of this family
usurping Buddy who has never cared to be royalty
Buddy used to live under the jurisdiction of Queen Sophie
a persnickety particular snooty black cocker spaniel
Now he is lead around by Beau, and he likes it.
dog

Premium Member Hard To Choose Just One

The wackiest birthday gift. Let me think. Let me see.
Was it the dinosaur bone or the fake monkey’s knee?
It is possibly the canned antelope tongue I got last November,
Then again, what about the blue hyena’s eye that arrived in December?

The caged fluffy St. Bernards were truthfully a giant surprise.
And then there was the time they boxed up a Las Vegas sunrise.
My six daughters are full of terrific ideas, you see.
They were raised crazy and goofy, not at all unlike me.

Alice was talking to me yesterday on my pink Princess phone.
She said, I think the wackiest was the hand-painted Irish trombone.
Then Betty called. “What about the circus elephant? He was fun!
The best part of that gift, was that he made your snooty neighbor run.”

The lacy red forty-six double D bra I got from my Aunt Smuggly Tall?
I was eleven years old, flat as an ironing board, and had no chest at all.
I think my wackiest gift was a green-eyed Cheshire Cat with a twitch.
Lively, and fast, she comes alive in the night, turning on her own switch.
Form: Rhyme


The Cattle Don'T Care

Cowboys don't know ‘bout pentameter beat
when their crooning to the cattle at night
As long as the rhythm is soft and slow
makes no difference if it's sad or light

Don't make no mind if it goes dum-di-dum
or if instead the rhythm is di-dum-di
Cows sure don't care what some snooty dude thinks
is the proper way to write poetry

The herd doesn't know the meaning of words
no use in fancying up what you say
To mean what you say and say what you mean
that has always been the true cowboy's way

There's no need for some expensive degree
just to lull all them cows to sleep at night
‘Cause humming a tune with no words at all
can keep them calm until the morning's light

So don't be afraid to write them a song
with whatever rhythm or rhyme you choose
It's okay if others don't understand
as long as the tune means something to you
Form: Rhyme

The Mosquito Squad

At last, Summertime is finally here. 
It's time to put away our winter gear;
Show some skin and have a little fun
While soaking up the warm summer sun.
But unbeknownst to you and me
Is a treacherous insect far worse than a bee.
The mosquito lurks beneath the shadows,
Waiting to eat people's legs, arms, and toes.
Yes, this critter has dreamt on the very day
That our sexy bodies will be his buffet. 
"This year", he declared without being snooty,
"My targets are the ankles, knees, arms, and booty.
But I cannot do this task alone."
So he calls the Mosquito Squad on the phone. 
The plans were made as the day turns to night.
A fellow mosquito yells, "Out goes the light!"
Then the leader says, "Now we strike!
Attack that juicy butt with all your might!"
As they fly with lightning speed, 
There was one thing that they didn't heed.
It wasn't noxious gas or the Swatter of Doom,
But all the mosquitoes heard was a loud "KABOOM!'
They hit the ground hard with the other dead flies;
For the Invisible Bug Zapper was their demise.
Form: Other

Premium Member Soul Slipper

Elle laissa tomber une de ses pantoufles de verre, que le prince ramassa bien soigneusement. (Perrault’s tale)

SOUL SLIPPER

magnificent her slipper —
slender, arched, flawless,
resplendent of soul (embodied

the right) a drift of gentle snow
fell as the midnight hand stole
a moon-pale foot, forgiven

of its comfy glass —
with a swarovski sparkle,
possibility of forever-after,

if found and delivered
to the lass with platinum hair —
long and luxurious; diamondiferous
cascade of gown - ankle-sweet.

the royal hound buried it...well
he should have, according to
the snooty stepsisters and their
mother, but instead the perfect soul

at the top of the landing, reminder
of Ella’s smile that bewitched
the adorable prince charming.

curious, he coddles the scenic
looking glass of remembrance —
in love with her tootsie reflection.

the royal hound hunts her down,
sniffs out her kissable perfume,
snarls at the frankenstein-family.

a clever mouse knocks over
a lovely bouquet of wildflowers,
sheltered upstairs where nobody 

cares, except the cheese nibblers
well cared for by the classy lass.
released by the princely command,

posed beside the wincing sibs,
she patently slides on hers.

8/28/2020
Contest - Soul Slipper
Sponsor - Kai Neumann

Barry Tone Not My Type of Playa

Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
     recalling how I felt like an ass
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
     (as a heavy metal kid Rocker)

     toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, horny,
     and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down

    (grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
     forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
     by the instrumental
     Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School

     (mud flapping, ornery hearing,
     and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
     music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire

     to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
     blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,

     cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
     to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
     (ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)

with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
     could easily emulate
     facial pucker earning pass

to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
     as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting

     angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
     with rites of harkening
     springtime Renaissance Faire

solar rays golden raiment
     splays rainbow fragments off
     beveled, bellowed, and
     bedecked polished flare

audiological sound waves trick
     saw toothed reflected 
     silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
     epochal feast to hear.

Brian Bilston's Breviloquence


Don't have to be a sleuth

To find ample proof 

 A well worn trampled truth

That to besmirch 

Not be kind

On a pedant’s perch

Scorn and be aloof 

Is quite simply uncouth


Snooty snotty sniffy 

In a jiffy drives me potty

The spiffy getting iffy

You've gotta be pithy

Must be dotty


Semantic severity

Temerity to stifle

Getting a trifle squiffy

Like a lush

Quaffing & scoffing 

A lexicon so plush

Brevity don't mean levity

Just let it gush


It does perplex

Not your cortex to flex

So why try to vex 

With a supercilious hex

Any wannabe thesaurus rex


Let's lobby those

Who got gobby

Chose to be snobby

For you it is a jobby

For most it is just a hobby


So Brian my old fruit

With a lingo bingo to loot

Let folks have a hoot

Without pokes enjoy a toot 

Take the scenic route


Have you heard a word more absurd 

Less elegant…redolent or benevolent 

Than counter “breviloquent” 


So just hush

You should blush

It’s our duty

To be bold

Revel in the 

Another level booty


Feeling flush 

Well what's the rush

No need to be a bore

No one's keeping score

Who doesn’t adore an encore

Cos sometimes with rhymes

More is well… more
Form: Rhyme

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