Snakeskin Poems | Examples

SNAKESKIN

MISTY as the powder of my soul
The demi-god of legend
Haunts like snakeskin 
Wandering my dreams
Igniting my being
Begging for your touch
Smoldering my loneliness

Forever

SNAKESKIN

Misty as the powder of my soul
The demi-god of legend
Haunts like snakeskin
Wandering my dreams
Igniting my being
Begging for your touch
Smoldering my loneliness
Forever

A QUIET WEE HOUR CANDLELIGHT BREAKFAST POEM

SITTING IN A QUIET LAKEFRONT PARK
LOOKING AT PICTURES OF MY MOTHER IN THE DARK
THE ILLUMINATION OF VIVID MEMORIES CREATE A SPARK
A TRUE HISTORICAL MILESTONE EXCURSION LANDMARK 

SHEDDING A RARE TEAR, BUT CALMLY SANE
LOOKING AT PICTURES OF MY DAD AS IT BEGINS TO RAIN
WISHES AND REGRET CAN CAUSE SUCH IMMEASURABLE PAIN
I GET SHEDDING SNAKESKIN HANDS TRYING TO WIPE AWAY EVERY STAIN

DRIVING BACK TO A REALITY LONG SINCE RUSTED 
THINKING ABOUT HAPPIER TIMES WHEN I WAS LESS DISGUSTED
MY LIFE IS BLUE BALLOON WITH AN INGROWN BOIL DOUBLE BUSTED
SO LITTLE REPLY AND REACTION HAS ALL THE FUSS DID

mr cottonmouth

sad and lonely inside, like a hollowed tooth with cyanide 
groaning and bemoaning about the market, the trade, the money in his bank, thats who mr cottonmouth is
a very rich man with a house in his south
who whines and pouts, while others put his fires out

his tongue is long and split, with two little twins that drip
be careful, if you work for him don't trip, don't make him flip 
he'll rip the stage, and try to mend the page
with the same greed that would make your mouth go dry

and like an animal, crass
or a poor child cornered in class
if you ask, why he basks so in the glow of his so called foes
he'll say its me or them, i deserve better than their pen, while he bawls and points, at the street

but if confronted with any form of the truth, it's almost comically as if theres a little cute cat, holding his silvered tongue, straight to the roof

he'll start to mold, his mouth like a snakeskin wallet that can't fold
filled with unpaid bills
but his voice won't go shrill, or squeak, he's adamant you see
that it was "them or me", refusing to believe 
that he has soured all the nuts, giving them an awful bitter smell

Stranger in a Strange Land

"I have been a stranger in a strange land."  Bible, Exodus 2:22

The compass whirrs.
North toward rock, south toward sand.
East toward ice, and west toward river.

Like a game of spin the bottle I take a chance on north,
run my hands over stone and pebble, 
the spine of life a twisting snakeskin, shedding.

The compass whirrs
as words and winds uproot me to the south. Dust ridden, 
arid. Earth sizzles, a roast overdone. My flaking skin 
drenched in sweated drought.

The compass whirrs 
as those years of crinkling sand dune heat melt 
somehow into eastern snow. You don’t understand 
how or why or when those summers became leaves that 
fall, became sleet upon which you slip, recklessly, helplessly, toward time’s

splash. The final plunge pool. 
Now, western waters offer a mirror, 
sometimes murky, sometimes crystal,
and still, the compass whirrs, as you realise

that strange land - your body.
The stranger - you.

Snakeskin

Snakeskin in my garden
About two feet long
Flimsy iridescent 
Not very strong 
Uneven texture
Pearlescent hue
One inch around
What can I do
Looking for it’s owner
Must be bigger now
Reptiles not my favorite 
Wish it was a cow

Radio Chorelyst

Zerrpossa.....Quite lovely wouldn't
you say so Lover?

Lover.....Quite lovely: quite lovely
but what is it?

Zerpossa.....It's the from a layered 
womans suit the long jacket is
beautiful isn't it.

Lover.... Now I'm to find something
to go with that? I'll have to
get a cream colored jacket and pants
to look like we're together. The snakeskin
boa shoes will look great with the 
colors I have in mind.

Zerpossa......The catalogs have what you need.
lique de Notre histoire
Mayard Fenelon is fimed on Kauai Island.
were histoire is Champion!
Placentino Di Loia.....
Contribution to the
Articulation of Performance......

Ode to Texas

There’s not much to love in the land of
72 ounce steaks
Air-conditioned grace droning over
AR-15 soaked Saturdays
Remembering is not the problem these days

Rather it is forgetting that
Children can have new names
If they pick them up with their own hands
The bootstraps have all but worn off 
these snakeskin boots

And I am tired of something I can’t put my mind to yet

But I never thought I would love 
Bird feces soliloquies
Thanksgiving apart from family
Humidity on top of humidity
Or evenings that never turn to nights

So I’ll just hold my own name 
Firmly in soiled hands until I can
Plant it back in the ground 
Where it belongs, beside a cool swift stream
Shaded by a bigleaf maple

My Heart

My Heart 

I am a glass half full 
Sometimes sloshing over the edge 
A temple for fireflies, sand dunes 
Water by nature, that cuts deeply 
Beneath the reeds, flowing fast 
Rapids, sometimes violent 
Rushing past jagged stones 
To still again, gentle ripple 

My heart is like the ocean 
Vast and deep and full of whispers 
Rip currents and gentle foam 
Licking over the stones and sand 
Upon the shore 

My heart is like fire 
A column of flame rising from my breast
That burns down those old thorny bushes 
Making way for new sprouting seeds 

In the morning I’m bleary eyed 
Fumbling for coffee and toast 

In the afternoon, agape with wonder 
At the cirrus clouds above 

In the evening I am still
…or try to be 
Dismissing the stirrings of the day 
Shrugging it off like snakeskin 
Fidgeting, breathing, sometimes tears 
Sometimes laughter 
By the blue TV screen light 

I am a glass half full
.. except when it’s half empty 
But I always, always 
Thirst for more

Folk Guitar

Attired in black and red tonight 
The way you sang was out of sight
Head and shoulders above the rest
Hands down you'll always be the best
The reasons why are clear to me
And to anyone with ears to see
But if they're not here's one that suits
Just s-p-e-c-t-a-c-u-l-a-r in snakeskin boots

Want To Walk With Me

A mole hole?
A vole hole?
A muskrat door?
Or will I find a snakeskin?

I am on a little hunt today
To see what I can find 
The ants are carrying away the crumbs
Tuesday’s crusts, thrown by a child who dislikes it?

I leave the ants to their work
They ignore me also, not caring if they are stepped on
Maybe preferring a sudden end to their constant dull work
Not a single crumb dropped.
They continue marching

Hello Mrs. Snake.
Hello Mr. Mole.
Hello Merry Muskrat
Want to walk with me?
Mr. Snake, please stay inside.
Your mouth terrifies me.
I can feel your fang before you even appear.

The Emptying

Jails-asylums are bleeding out because of naivety.
Now the unhinged mad dogs are working out their kinks.
On the neckbones of society.

Nowhere is safe for your sons and daughters.
Not even pine needle trails, where they seek peace.
two legged copperheads behind trees and under every leaf.
You've passed them before-those wild-eyed things.
Firecracker souls looking for a syringe of gasoline...

They're ambush predators, wrapped in snakeskin.
Mace will do you no good.
No guns allowed in nature preserves.
Just off trail, a thousand shallow graves of the naive.

We Have Our Own Nickname For Her

He calls me names, the teacher said.
Her arms were crossed; her mouth was tight, 
She was mean-face-angry. Furious maybe.
What names? The boss asked her.
Does it matter? I wondered but later I was glad she had.

The teacher yelled out three names
“leave me alone Lucy”, “sound it out Sarah”, and
“Fix it yourself, Yolanda.”
These three names fit her personality better than a snakeskin.
I looked at the brilliant eight-year-old who had one-upped our own nickname for her.
and bit my lips as hard as I could, so my personality did not escape.

The boss’s eyes met mine; I knew we were on the same amused wavelength,
headed toward Uh-oh-land.
Good friends we both looked away but not before
Sound it Out Sarah figured it out.
She saw the look and knew

“Let’s go,” Fix it Yourself Yolanda said to the eight-year-old felon,
A psychoanalyst in the making, 
maybe already there without a degree.

He and “Leave me Alone Lucy” had traveled 
several meters down the hall
before the boss and I clutched each other, 
sobbing with happy laughter.
“Oh, we are going to get it now!” I thought.
Our own nickname for her was “Retaliation Rebecca”.

Chill

snakeskin leaves its mark
a creepy crawly chill
— garage freezer lid

8/18/2018

Trival Interests

Be careful not to lose the letter
attached to the top.
I finished mending the pants
she said, I hope you like them
them, I didn't know that Blue denim
Vest and pants where so heavy, they'll look
nice with those snakeskin shoes you
got for Christmas.
I hope she'll go with you,
I mean if you ask her to the dance
I hope she except, the Lady's at the
church spoke of a Man from somewhere
in Peru, coming to speak at the church, if she'll go 
dancing with you maybe she'll come to hear him
speak.
I think the subject is on some new findings in a Jungle 
research, they dug-up an ancient city and found the ruins
of Pragenti Solti" the gift giver of the Incan Indians.
the translated the scroll of the ancients, and the ladies
in the Dram Augsillany are sponsoring the ordeal.
If she say's yes then maybe just maybe  you can use the 
barn to have a party.

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