Snaky Poems | Examples

Killick

As I hanker for anchor the anchor reveals as a w****r,
a slow-killing killick, seaman of souls,

breathlessly seeping semen like sea foam.
A sea pearl abandoned, adrift, unsure of shore,

unmoored, ropes hauling me back from the edge, the brink,
as I sink into drink, malleable mollusc, spilling lifeblood as ink.

Dropped like an anchor, his charm thirty pieces of silver -
coins tossed into water, a tarnishing glimmer.

Words that once anchored now sea-snaky snares,
sneaky wave snares drifting unseen in smothering depths.

Knife strikes of sea-light,
the knife sliding in between lives,

shucking and shocking and shattering shells.
The gathering gloom of gulls

pecking at entrails, grim pickings of scraps thrown out.
His anchor of words echoing, empty, emptied of empathy.

His weighty cross a stone around the neck,
holding my head under sea-sighs and drowning

dissolving white lilies of sea foam;
receding waves waving a final goodbye.

Summer Sonnet: River-Woman

Awakened! I returned a stream in Spring
to flow and grow on nature’s snowmelt milk.
I came to be of earth and sky (...a fling;),
my sire a winter storm. Like liquid silk 

emerging, I was born; a water-child.
Between two banks I nestled with my dreams
and bloomed a gAnGLy creek ‘til solstice. Wild
I played— not meek but sleek. I crested  s-e-a-m-s,

a juvenile with ~snaky-curves~ and —==>speed.
Mid June rebellion, ripples bared, I’d run
as sweet as rum and swelled with rain, (a)greed;
the gasoline with which my wish was spun…

       by August dusk, a river-woman reigned!
Oh, stars— those  s.t.u.d.s— did r!se [as if ordained].

My Contention - May 9

Planting my flag atop my sonnet’s peak
and outward gazing at the vales below,
I hear the rambling rivers, feel the faux
flow and fumble of their groping technique;

From high on up, I trace the snaky sneak
of weak words—and weaker metaphors,—slow
conclusions, mirroring the so and so…
I am compelled, my judgement thus to speak:

I declare war on free verse poetry!
Ach! scourge on rhyme, blight on rhythm,—I’ll beat
back the long-winded flood of half complete
thoughts. With respect to whom I name my foe,
if here you hear your name,—at least you’ll know: 
In the formless form—I find my enemy!

Broken

*Broken* 


Emotions that breaks a heart
Feelings of deep caring
My desire for someone to talk to 
Loneliness to grieve
My suppressed pain
Oh! This temporal defilement
When my soul becomes merry
The days of happiness is past
The hour of sadness is now
This part hurt to know

This fruit of mine unripe
Taste sour yet enjoyed
Monsieur Lucifer at work
My feet singing tunes
To the lullaby of a foe
For years till date 
My chameleons hid her colours
Come, sit with me friend
Give ears to this fool's grief
My cries are not

This daughter of Eve brewing tales
I need my growth not waned 
Sadness that held up my tears
Aching for changes that sting
Devil's green snaky being
Desiring to have a taste to me
This life I loathe, detest
The days of heart games gone
As eagle flies in the sky
Shall aid my increase to bloom

Follow Me

Follow Me

Come on, join in,
hook onto the end
of the conga line!
Hands on the hips of one ahead
all following along
in a snaky, winding, whooping line
like a centipede jiggly jiving, legs astride!
Three shuffles on the beat, step, step step, 
then a high kick, to one side or the other, 
all in step to the four beats to a bar, Conga dance time.
Who knows where we're headed,
Did the lemmings care?
No No No, What the Hell, Who cares?
It's follow me, follow me, follow me, follow me
on the Conga Line!

Kerosene Queue Worries

Where’s the paid watcher of my Jerry can
And who the hell just bounded it off,
My face now a hotter frying pan,
Never to learn how to absorb a bluff?

Lame excuses I don’t fail a wheel chair 
And their givers try to not spare:
These days’ lies changed like robes
By lips doubly sure no listener probes...
Because kerosene is involved
And its worries not easily solved...
Tales in powder soaked to veil their rashes,
No recalls of Dust to Dust, Ashes to Ashes…

 Should I forget haven woken up at 4:00 AM
For a heart gladdening position in a snaky queue
And the pains taken to phone a Clem 
For my Jerrycan to be preceded by just a few
Stiff-necked, refusing a morning bath
After picking the consequences from Simple Math?

130

I’m not the girl with the Cinderella smile
exposing perfectly straight pearly teeth
so lovely birds swoop down to
perch on my finger and sing
I’m nothing as sweet as Snow White
I’m far too smart to fall for
the old poison apple trick
I’m more likely to be the one
placing a curse on an enemy 
that’s earned my enmity
I’m no raving beauty
my waist a bit wide
my shoulders too broad
my spine slightly snaky
with a tendency to trip
over my own two feet
I’ve often pondered the possibility
that in a past life
Shakespeare’s muse for Sonnet 130
must have been me
yet he found in her something exceedingly rare
a love strong and true beyond compare
Is there someone searching for that
out there?

How the World Got Colorful

Green was the theme, mainly green and blue
then came you
in your floral dance and open mouths,
red insect-eating lips. snaky tongues
big, bold, and subjectively pretty,
objectively fleshy,
lushly, lustful, lapping at life.
The sun adopted the new
grey turned greyer next to you.
Blooming bouncing behemoth begonias
yet uncultivated, all hungry to suck the soil,
burst breeding seeds, pollinate, infiltrate,
dominate, habituate, inflate.
Then when the small ape-like manikins
(proto us),
began to populate
they picked you.

Meander

I meandered up the snaky path 
winding sinuous to summit.
Climbing was an easy course
when the grade ascended 
in baby-steps, on and on, gradual.

Once I started to climb,
the summit was never in view.
Ahead, only the next bend.
A script of twists and turns 
around the slope of scenes
on way to culmination.

Having made it to the lookout
the valley lay spread out before me.
There I saw the river snaking
across its flood plain,
meandering.

No slope to climb.
No need to wind.
Yet the mighty river chose 
the gradual snaky path,
meandering
to realization,
of destination
out of view.

Change

I'm tired of these gothic poems,
Why not write something cheery for Halloween?

Pumpkin seeds and spicy dreams
Orange and red and little Ted
Goes out to play, today, today
Jump in leaves and hang from eaves

Skeletons and docile winds
Autumn love, and turtledove
Snaky rains and growing pains
Rocking boat and rocking crib

Orange, yellow, red, and black
The plump mean woman cease the smack
The child runs free to the neighbor's door
To get their love and treats galore

Change like the falling leaves

Lone Jerk

snaky
                           treacherous creep
                        angry mean nasty bad
                        notoriously unfriended 
                                 lone jerk

No Fear of Snakes

I step gingerly into my yard
Avoiding the leaf piles 
For that is where the snakes hide

The ground is frozen solid.
But they are down there.
In their hidey-hole, waiting.

I have a regular garter snake; I fancy she is a she.
She sits at the top of my concrete steps
Sunning in the spring

I name her Snaky
She does not bother me, and I
Do not use those steps

The snakes respect me
For I have saved many snake babies
From the mouth of my cat.

Shark is his name, and he is a hunter.
He devours almost everything 
So I get the snake babies quickly

Which may be why their mommies and daddies
Leave me alone, even when I bother them
When I am planting; always accidentally.

Fear of snakes? Not me.
I give them the space and respect they deserve
And they give me my space too.
A mutual sharing of “our” yard.

Sneaky, Snaky Limericks

There was a fancy snake from Paris, France
Who had a thing for lacy underpants
  He tried to put some on
  But they only slid down
They were designed for cute, pink elephants


There once was a rattler from Nairobi
Who found himself in Arizona's Gobi
  When he saw a rocket ship
  He thought he'd take a long trip
Aboard spacecraft "Obi wan-Kenobi"

Adieux

After three decades and a kicking more,
I deem it glaring waste and blatant loss
To play sad part of second servile fiddle
In elite cadres agleam with ersatz gloss.

Whatever charged scrolls attuned to pelt
With loaded deterrents deft souls that try,
I now must with age's ever-tightening belt
Stand to trite spites and their swipes defy. 

Despite your puffed plots sick to the brim,
Those smiling streaks quite honed to trim 
Purest dreams spruced by endless hopes;
I must pull down your fog’s fettering ropes. 

Your lusts-spitting spikes I'll at last shame,
And sink them beneath your gloomy mast;
None of your snaky snares again shall trap,
Nor any of your foiling fangs soil this name.

All your trussing tentacles I must bid adieu,
Now that I am at last wholly done with you!

For You Still I'M None

frogs leaping 
a rhythm of heart 
beats me up 

the raining 
tones on your absent 
in courtship 

night jasmine 
with snaky red eyes 
greets illusion 

bright silver 
the moon full love dish 
in tasteless 

for the sun 
ah, for the you one 
still I'm none!


-September 17, 2019 Chattogram

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