Sneering Poems | Examples

A Good Sense Of Humour Blunts The Sharp Blades Of Reality

Good Sense Of Humour Blunts The Sharp Blades Of Reality Poetry
Contest //Sponsored by: Natasha L. Scragg
( 2nd Place )

Written: August 5, 2025


When life threw me a curveball,
I stumbled—then chuckled mid-fall.
Lumped knees, not pride, I wore like bent,
because sneering is something I've seen.

In chemo rooms and vestibules,
I frenzied dry jokes on aseptic walls.
Doctors simpered, nurses would beam—
a punch-line where the fear had been.

When agony thumped hard and sleep grew thin,
I let the silly light writhe in.
A meme, a whirl , a silly song—
made aching days feel less so long.

No, humour incurable or patch,
But it's the ally, not made to part.
It doesn't silence, hurt or truth,
but let me smirk with my aching tooth.

So here's my laugh, though life gushes beneath,
it's how I rise, not how I lament!

The Face In The Mirror

Visage stark and eyes of steel
He shares my thoughts and what I feel
And seems to know more than I’ve known
The face in the mirror sees through me.

He knows my faults, my secret sins
And bears no mercy without or within
Judgement swift cuts to the bone
The face in the mirror weighs me

Dreams and goals, schemes and plans
He shatters with a sneering glance
And his silence is the only tone
The face in the mirror knows me

He measures my worth with soulless stare
And soundlessly he lays me bare
Worthless his lips appear to moan
The face in the mirror shows me

He finds me lacking and less each day
Though why so harsh he will not say
Just a loathing low hushed groan
The face in the mirror wounds me

His disregard so plain and clear
He knows my pain and stokes my fear
His twisted lips set the tone
The face in the mirror grieves me

He arbitrates my very life
Slashes my soul with psychic knife
His cruelty hard as stone
The face in the mirror hates me

No escape and no reprieve
This simulacrum will never leave
His torment won’t let me alone
The face in the mirror is me

god of men

Corrupt heart, depraved mind
A master of time, the weaver of trap
One whose mouth, falsehood emit
Gone from men, man and ghoul part and part

A victor, the slayer of ten men
A wolf in sheep’s clothing
The stopper of the flow of time
Catching his victim, in his well made net

Armed with a sneering dog
He is myth, the god of men
He was here before humans lived
The devil we can see

A menace since he was in diaper
Daily baths in the pool of tears
Constant loop of wretching blows
Till he killed the first, a debt repaid

He swore to fight as long as he live
Till he becomes one, the evil incarnate
Indomitable will, never to de-rail
He became the killer, the liar, the satan

He walks unimpeded to glory
A war dog, feared berserker
Hushed whispers turned raw
The god of men, the breaker of dreams

Bitter With The Sweet

                           bitter

                 acerbic, unpleasant

     sneering, alarming, unwelcoming

acidulent, caustic, saccharine, confection

       tasting, appreciating, fancying

                     pleasing, tasty

                         sweet

Dawning

No greater gift do I have than me.
To give all that I be, weakness and steel,
Handed unafraid, exuberantly tossed,
Into union where none became one.
~~
Innocence dares not question
The mating, as fear slinks away, premonitions abound.
Requited concubine hybrid, happiness,
Relishes its renewed tug-o-war with joy.
~~
To the birth. Beyond life.
Gossamer emotions cancel idiot notions
Categorizing songs as just notations,
Crimson rosebuds as just flora.
~~
Unscheduled, my realm shatters it’s cocoon.
Aromas from nascent recipes
Tease ravishing appetites that crave a tasting
Of essences sneering at mere existence.
~~
Forming a queue, foaming at the prospect,
Of satiating hungers awakening from
Pre-eternal shackled hibernations.
And at first bite…
~~
The soul’s pre-natal starvation
Is erased by eucharistic intimacy
Of the infant us.
“Mornin’, Eve…”
~~~~~~~~~
(dawning)

Demons

Dog, a man's bestfriend.
Hellhounds, they are.
My spirit, you cannot bend.
I will not be your burning star.

Chaos, wicked and sneering.
The physical and the unseen world.
For everything is fearing.
Everything so twisted and whirled. 

3am is their favorite time.
Black magic, pentagrams, and their voodoo dolls.
Trying to get me in prime.
Living in the walls.

As above, so below.
In God you trust.
In the lake of fire, he throw.
You go back to dust.

The sleep until resurrection is eternal death.
They want me 6 feet under in a white gown.
He who takes the human breath.
Heebyjeebys, they wear their frowns upside down.

My Creed

My Creed

 I live - a child -
Wrapped in feast days of divine whimsy
When the world outlines itself
In blue zircon sparkle
A child of the season 
When glittering petals of snowflowers
Rest on barren branches
Casting shadows of bursting light
Into tumult
Where defeated darkness whines
In an ebony gloom,
Cowering
In the amber blush of an evergreen dawn.

Taking a holly branch in my hands
I choose to walk through the shortest days,
Into the longest midnights,
Embracing the fire of the Spirit –
Guardian of precious light
From all consuming blackness –
To stand watch at the apex of midnight bells
To celebrate
Heaving darkness back into its sneering leers
To walk in an eternal festival of the celestial.

I choose to embrace jubilee
Source of golden radiance
To make merry in an eternal gala
And join rejoicing joy
Infecting every fleeting crumb of time
Dancing with triumphant jubilation,
Ambassador to consecrated oblation,
Reaching
Always reaching to receive celebration
From eternity.

leaves of october

turncoats in autumn
the stupendousness of leaves
sprinkle my driveway

golden as topaz
her variegated colors
autumns fine maple

rounded leaves of oak
plotting how to be crimson
sneering at walnut

stagnant fir soldier
retaining her verdent
keeping her counsel

october line up
shows off her gold finery
teasing november

The Upper Crust

Where learned men converse
On college grounds traverse
Those lads debonair and debutantes fair
With diamonds in their purse

By limousine conveyed
Their education's paid
A most common tale of Harvard and Yale
Where seeds of affluence laid

When privileged young voyeurs
Become doctors and lawyers
From arrogant perch they snub and besmirch
Sneering at Tom Sawyers

Under thumb of those knaves
We become but their slaves
Placed in the dust by the cruel upper crust
With no names on our graves

The Sneering and Seething

Caught in the middle of the adult fight.
Leverage is gained or taken depending upon if I look left or right.
The shouting and screaming becomes numb to my mind.
The sneering and seething; why does it have to be every single night?

The detachment of the object of me from their eyes. They don’t seem to see or realise that they’re dimming the light in my eyes. That my young mind can see straight through their hate driven tears and lies. 

The cold feeling in the air though so, so warm it is outside. 
The same words flying through the air amongst the alcohol fuelled foul mouthed cries. 
Blamed because they put me here; here to ruin their lives.

Peers

Who are these peers to whom
I'm supposed to belong to?
Certainly not my soul mates, nor kin.
I fear they're lackey leerers,
peering and sneering,
in unsavory ways.
Smearing my reputation
by claiming I'm in their
in-crowd, all endearing
and revering when I'm not.
I'm a mutineer from 
the peer besmear,
So let's be clear about that!

A Rubbing of Hands

Elsie, Lucy, Olive, this small boy's remarkable old aunts.
Oh, how they rubbed their hands.
But with glee or sorrow? Or even anger?

Elsie had a strict-looking expression - 
when not rubbing her hands.
Lucy wore spectacles that pinched her nose
and, oh, had such a thin smile -
when not rubbing her hands.
Olive seemed serious, often frowning at me -
when not rubbing her hands.

But when they were rubbing their hands
they were ridding those hands of
flour that helped to make a cake or of
flour that helped to make a Yorkshire pudding or of
flour that helped to make joy -
the joy of making that cake or that Yorkshire pudding;
or of spiteful expressions they might wear when sneering
at this small boy, who would have to eat
their cakes or their Yorkshire pudding, or absorb
their sneers - sneers that were also smiles.

We remember our aunts in
the most remarkable ways.
I was a small boy.


(April 2023)
(Elsie appears in two other poems: "Aunty Elsie's Bathroom" and "Coronation for a King")

Change Ifl

When I look into the mirror
And stare at my own reflection
I feel like a stranger sneering at me.
I see the patch of dark around my eyes,
With blotchy skin and wrinkles on my face.

Once I was a bubbly girl, a chatter box, lost in dreams
On fancy's wings, I soared high to touch the skies.
Love vibrated every nerve and sinew.
Now I feel like everything has changed,
Making me wonder how rapid is the flight of time.

Agile were my movements, could walk miles.
Fatigue I never knew, supple limbs never ached.
Then I felt like a triumphant victor.
Now I see the stark change, years have brought,
And wonder how rapid the onset of old age is.

Though my beauty has burnt away,
And my bones have a brittle grate,
Still, I long to make life a sweet labor of love,
And cling to it, waiting for each day,
Looking hopeful on what the next day brings.

Feb.9.2023

~ Placed Second~

I Felt Like Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Charles Messina

I Hate You I Said

I jumped a bit when the hearse was slammed.
My bones were brittle, and I felt quite damned.
My flesh was starting to gray up, it gave a laugh.
My eyes were sinking, and I felt a draft.

She’s not in there, someone assured my kin.
I knew it was true because of the shape I was in.
I had been confused at the onset of death of course.
I was still angry as hell at that run-away horse!

Can I see her one last time? A familiar voice said.
I was horrified. I did not want this guy to see my body dead.
NO! I yelled NO! But did they hear me? Of course not.
They opened it up and he yelled “She has some dry rot!”

I hate you I said. Get out of my face. You are a worm.
I saw him flinch, back up, scream, and finally squirm.
Don’t let anyone else see me this way! I told the undertaker.
But of course, he did not listen, that sneering give me a hand shaker.

How many more times are you going to open this hearse and lid?
Why don’t you just toss me in the street? I asked my Uncle Sid.
They put me in a hearse and whisked me away in the night.
I was relieved when I saw angels and headed straight toward the light.

In the Midst of Winter

In the Midst of Winter

In the midst of sullen snows
 pink cherry blossoms burst open ~
 spring garden introduction

in the midst of frozen icicles
 yellow daffodils spring up ~
  debutants of spring

in the midst of howling storm winds
 white snowdrops vault through frozen soil ~
  coming out party

in the midst of of winter wildness
 golden jasmina scamper up treliss' ~
  debuts in spring society

In the midst of blazing blizzards
 purple crocus stand tall against the cold ~
 lady of the vernal court

In the midst of untamed storms
 rosy tulips make their entrance ~
  starlets on a frozen carpet

In the midst of sneering snowflake showers
 lavender blue glory-of-the-snow enters ~
 presented to spring

In the midst of hoary frost
 purple daphne spreads enticing perfume ~
 escorted by the equinox

In the midst of winter's frenzy
 young floral women arrive
 grace and beauty holding hope.

3-12-22
Contest: Spring Rain or Spring Flowers
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh

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