Sniffling Poems

Crying isn't Anything

Crying isn’t anything. 
Can’t be turned into a paper crane. 
Just unfolding, sliced feelings. 
Without friends around, I can eat a cookie while crying. 
If I had one, it would be chocolate chip. 
An apple could hit my head under this tree. 
But there is no tree either. 
And I could eat that fallen apple if it really did fall. 
It’s like I want something to fall on me, like a frog falling from the sky. 
Crying isn’t anything. 
It isn’t a soft wind blowing steam from a far. 
Sniffling and blowing my nose endlessly.
Just tears making me collapse. 
Dragging my feet but not trying to move at all. 
Just being pulled along by a zombie who is already bored of me. 
Crying isn’t, isn’t anything-
Not real, not sweet, not the taste of the bottom of my shoes…

Crying isn’t anything. 
So don’t try to knock on the door. 
Eat those cookies you were about to leave for me. 
Because crying isn’t anything.

Hurt

My legs hurt from falling to the floor,
My throat hurts from screaming,
My nose hurts from sniffling,
And my soul hurts from dreaming.
My ears hurt from all the noise,
My eyes hurt from crying,
My body hurts from living,
And my mind hurts from trying.
My mouth hurts from yelling,
My heart hurts from beating,
My teeth hurt from clenching,
And my lips hurt from pleading.
My feet hurt from standing,
My back hurts from laying,
My lungs hurt from breathing,
And my knees hurt from praying.
My head hurts from fighting,
And my hand hurts from writing.

2025

2025

I’m, depressed, too, love. You have every right to be fearful. 
A mother’s survival instinct sounding your alarm.
Tell me your horror; Tell me what to do.
Help me find a way to resist or hide 
from the fury of armies of angry followers of hate.
We must find a way to cling to truth 
in the midst of a war on the law
We must endure the oscillation of democracy
As our slavery begins.
Tell me your fears through the sniffling of tears.
Shoulder to shoulder we’ll stand together, 
Raising our voices to demand action.
Standing in line to vote against cowardice
In the face of DOdGEy grasps for kingly power.
Wipe your fear away and in stand in righteous anger.
STAND UP OR KNEEL DOWN.

opinion

EU is a massive spider
Kills initiatives
A headless bureaucracy  
Casts a web 
Of rules and regulation 
Sniffling
Freedom of expression 
Killing Europe 
By strangulation

Darcy

Eyes wide, beady blue. With skin of silk, pink and new. A pea-sized gift, oh how you grew.  

 

You know me, and I know You. 

 

 Dimpled cheeks and Puckered lips, Glossy hair so dark and thick. The littlest chin curved into a dip. 

 

The Lobes of your ears sit neat and dinky, I inhale your scent, so fresh and pure, I watch as you sleep and so peacefully snore. 

 

I know now for sure; that motherhood is what I was made for. Finding my purpose to take care of you, A life fulfilled to my core.  

 

Hello, Daughter whose name is Darcy. 

Welcome to our family, we all will treasure, You will be loved endlessly, such a love without measure. 

 

It will almost be time we head home. Two sisters await and sit excitedly together. Meeting each other for the first time ever is a moment I will cherish and remember forever.  

 

Looking up at your mum, please feel no fear, as the sniffling tears you see and the crying you hear, are simply ones of joy that you are finally here.

seasons of my life

summer birth
lots of crying and whining
wanting a bottle
angry about my allergies
sniffling and snarling

autumn childhood
love for witches, jack-o-lanterns and ghosts
developing fantastical stories about Dracula and Frankenstein
enjoying literature, reading seven books a day
that is all the library will let me have at a time

winter nudges my Achilles’ heel
my asthma is triggered by the cold weather
I live in a climate where I tend to get pneumonia
I have lots of hospital stays, my health is waning

Spring brings me hope
I have retired, my days are all play now
I can do what I want when I want
my cup is full of joy and gratitude for a terrific life.

Strangers

Our first kiss
was a deathless Mayfly.

Ten years onward, we sit
in a Doctor's waiting room
as sniffling strangers.
She smells of baby-puke.

Sometime later,
she tries to sell me a cellphone
in Radio Shack
(still no recognition).

Sadly Radio Shack,
like long forgotten kisses,
it is now a dead Mayfly.

Special Places

There were special places 
where the mind could hide,
way up in the branches 
of a tall tree, safe within
a ball of leaves,
halfway to heaven.
Or on a bike aimlessly riding
streets when the hypnotic 
hum of tyres and the constant
rhythm broke through 
and sent me
into a pleasant trance
as if the body was floating
free of the ground.

Then there were places
where you couldn't hide,
dark and musty hollows
they called holy places
populated with legions
of dead souls sniffling
their sorrows 
in the candlelit air.
Dark cubicles carrying
the odor of sin,
the sour breath of absolution 
filtering through 
a curtained grill.
And all around, images
of pain plastered on walls
pressing a claim 
for love under the threat 
of everlasting fire
just for refusal.

It all sounds silly now,
the hellish props stacked away
in an unused corner
covered in ash.
Discarded remnants
of an ill informed past.
And yet at times, I am sure,
I can feel something small
still twitch on the end 
of a severed nerve.
I call out. But nobody 
seems to be there.

Pitfalls of Spring

Spring is reknowned for its return of things,
allergies from tree pollen and ragweed,
warmer weather, fields of heather that brings
sneezing and sniffling noses, so take heed.

River ice thaws, causing lowlands to flood,
wreaking havoc, worry, and does great harm.
Properties are covered by silt and mud.
Lives are lost. Neighborhoods raise the alarm.

April rains are something I've come to dread.
Although Spring showers nurture every rose,
they create breeding grounds for mosquitoes~
Blood sucking pests buzzing around my head.

Most people look forward to Spring each year
but some don't rejoice in it with good cheer.


February 6, 2023
Spring Is Not All Contest
Sponsor: Michelle Faulkner

Cancelled Plans For An Unplanned Worthy Cause

the way the rain is falling
the perfection of the chill
makes us laugh as we agree to disagree
we cancel our plans for we are both under the weather
we decide to stay under the covers
an idea for hot soup and orange juice pops into my mind
sniffling while smiling, you nod in agreement while lying to yourself for the sake of getting back to wellness
i quickly prepare the soup and add ice to your glass of orange juice
i bring it back to the bedroom as you smile at the early episode of laramie that you found
i quickly join you in the bed and we slurp up the chunky chicken noodle soup and sip on the ice cold orange juice
sniffling, coughing, and sneezing as one, we enjoy the laramie marathon
being under the weather is, at times, a fun thing to be, when you focus on the quality time that you hardly ever think about when working
the stuff we take forgranted is the stuff that lasting relationships are made of
sorry carly, but today we make 'time for the pain' for it is making us feel better without us even knowing it

The Mayfly

Our first kiss was a deathless Mayfly.

Ten years onward, we sit
in a Doctor's waiting room
as sniffling strangers.
She smells of baby-puke.

Sometime later,
she tries to sell me a cellphone
in Radio Shack
(still no recognition).

Sadly Radio Shack,
like long forgotten kisses,
is now a dead Mayfly.

Achoo

an early spring chill
brings on a terrible cold
viruses rampant
pollen in the air is worse
full-time sniffling and sneezing

written April 16, 2022

Sounds of Spring

Spring calls with lilting voices
Breezes blowing through the trees,
Birds sing in chirping choices
Allergies produce a sniffling sneeze.

[syllable count 7-7-7-9 checked by HMS and PS]

written March 18, 2022
for "Lind30R" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke

Scrooge Asks Santa Why

Why do you do it? Scrooge asks Santa.
What? Santa asks.
All that ho ho ho, Christmas cheer, Scrooge says.
Bah humbug I say.

Santa ponders how to reply,
knowing he will not convert Scrooge,
but wanting him to understand.
Why don’t you do a ride along? He invites Scrooge.

Pull an all-nighter?
Jump down chimneys?
You are kidding, right?
You might enjoy it, Santa says.

Scrooge laughs his feet off.
His laughter is a kind of injured howl.
Who has hurt you? Santa asks gently.
Scrooge stops in mid howl and tears begin.

Let’s start with babies, Santa says.
What do you mean?  Scrooge asks, sniffling.
You’ll see.  Santa has a big grin.
He has a great idea in mind.

They start at the nursery school down the lane.
All of the babies need to be held, an elf woman tells them.
She hands them both a crying infant and points to two rocking chairs.
Scrooge is astounded; he has never held a baby!

He and Santa sit, and they begin to rock.
Scrooge’s baby quiets down, her eyes close.
He feels loved, cherished, needed.
I get it now, he tells Santa.

I Am Not Going

I put on my face and look in the mirror at my self. 
Expecting to see something lovely and nice.
There is an enormous pimple which winks like an elf. 
I take a razor blade and give it a slice.

My makeup is ruined, and there is blood on my face.
Mr. Wonderful is on his way. I feel out of place.
I tell my mother I’m not going, the date is ruined now.
I feel fat and ugly and angry; my face clearly says cow.

It’s not so bad, my girlfriend lies, she likes the guy too.
I know she’s pretending to be nice. Her name is Lou.
I kick her out as I stare into the mirror looking for flaws.
My cheeks are all bloated, I look bigger than Claus!

Mascara is running, and there are tissue pieces with blood.
I hear a car stop outside, with a loud angry thud.
“He’s here!” my mother says, getting ready to get rid of me.
I hear her offer my Mr. Charming some cookies and tea.

I am sniffling and sobbing and shaking my bed.
I look like Godzilla, I think in my head.
My sister should go, she is the pretty one anyway.
She eagerly takes me up on this; and I decide to stay.

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