She wonders why it doesn't hurt anymore
The feeling of her skin being cut off
Blood seeping out
Maybe she's used to pain
8 years of snipping pieces away
Hoping soon there would be nothing left
Soon never came
Soon turned into a mosaic carved all over her body nobody would ever buy
Stuck in the back of an empty gallery
Watching the whole world turn to dust
Working quietly in my shop makes me smile
Hearing the soft snipping and quick clacking sounds
I notice my wood is escaping its pile
What if I find there is no more to be found?
Creating such things like small houses and food
To slake the thirst of those miniature souls
Making each piece an original and good
To supply to my customers is my goal
When speaking my mind and I'm not being heard
Is something that niggles the back of my brain
Repeating once fine, then two times but the third
saying it again is really a pain
Why don't you listen to hear the words I say
Instead of thinking about your next event
A demon I must independently slay
For being acknowledged is just what is meant
Stop wasting all my time,
please don’t leave the light on.
There was never a chance.
I’ll deal with that title,
the patsy of romance.
Stop wasting all my time,
I won’t follow bread crumbs.
Snipping the yarn in two,
now you cannot track me.
My mind’s stronger than you.
Stop wasting all my time,
this hourglass is precious.
Make the most of the clock,
that’s what I tell myself.
I’m not bought with sweet talk.
Stop wasting all my time.
I’m content in the dark,
where I can truly breathe.
Any taste of shallow?
Let it remain beneath.
Our hearts romanticize the vagabond.
To walk away from all that brings you down.
It’s true we’re free to get up and be gone.
In search of new horizons to be found.
Always snipping at the ties that bind us
And doing all you would just as you may.
Worries can all just be left behind us.
‘Cause in the morn we simply walk away.
Dodging all responsibilities now.
There’s nothing holds you down or brings you back.
Thinking and just doing as you please now.
All you might need you carry in your pack.
But this, my curse, my cross: to always roam…
Cannot you feel my loss: O! Where is home?
A snipping of scissors
The hum of the trimmer
The hollow sound of an AM radio
Idyll chatter
Kids, grandkids
The weather
A quick trim of thinning hair
Melancholy moments revisited
No appointments necessary
Just walk in
Sit down
Relax
…And wait
The leaves, long gone, each golden child carried
on autumn draft to reach a season's death,
portends bitter squalls will blow the harried
vines with long, cruel winter's icy breath.
Now slumber long beneath the warming banks
upon your tender roots deep in the earth.
All while stillness patrols your sentried ranks,
you strengthen sap to bring a new year's birth.
The spice of burning wood pervades the air
as gentle snipping of the pruning shear
sets free your limbs for summer fruit to bear;
from tender newborn buds, which soon appear.
And so the cycle starts for wondrous vine
to once again turn sunshine into wine.
Sometimes I feel guilty
when I harvest a rose
somewhat vindicated
for vase I hand-painted;
I know they are beautiful
my thought to beautify
the home -- yet kindled in me
sense of a predator -- be it bow
rifle or scissor, even snipping
what I cultivate, as the lamb
I raised became Easter dinner
though the family well fed
I question the honor?
you must take the time to rhyme,
the design is divine and you will find
it aligns with the original minds
of before times when afore lines
were written/signed and mined
for stage binds and weaved vines
intertwined with the twine of dimes
nickels and pennys deepening fines
as greasy grinds gripping wine stines,
snipping lips with widely-eyed shine
sipping moonshine as they dined
behind locked door were blinds
which burglary was a dyne
like a katabatic slope incline.
Children of possibilities navigate the classable realms,
settling upon the measurable.
Amorous piglets, their peachy snouts delve,
rooting through the trash heap of desire.
"In a time beyond now," wheatenly speaks the tale-spinner,
plucking a clover, pale and crowned with stardust,
among the untamed grains sown in the depth of breath.
I crave an eye bathed in Bengal's blaze,
eternity riding a celestial pyre,
Cetus dancing on an ocean canvas,
whose seas flow no fresher than the confessions' wicked drippings.
These realms are places of suspicion,
where pigments of reality and fantasy fasten,
and I am compelled to dwell within my cresset,
guardian of the trimming glimmers.
Snipping the subtle freshness,
a novice to the gallows of Experience,
I gaze through colored glass,
where each tint tells a story of refracted truths.
Some way from the Firth of Forth
A shoal of glittering mackerel
Swirls and sways
Swells with the sea from silver to black
Flashes white and back to silver and grey
A humpback whale
Juddering its leathery jaws together
With a throatful of panicked fish
For a moment it bobs in place
Then sinks down slowly again
To await its next prey
But some fish get away
Dash, dash, dash
Gannets with wingtips a-black
In fizzing copper-green dive bomb
Pinning their wings back
Weaving, spiral bubbles rising
They spear the blank-eyed fish
And paddle away
In the tidal pools by the beach
Where the tiny sea herds crawl
Hermit crabs pick at morsels
Washed up by the tide
Snipping with their pincers
To nibble mackerel tails
They ward off competitors with their giant claws
Crabby-crawl tiny sea herds
Squabble in the pools of the micro-sea
But steal when you can the more beautiful shell
Of a crab that is greater than thee.
I just want to be me, free to exist,
rest knowing everything inside is seen;
The somber parts also need to be kissed,
if it's love then there is no in between;
Really, can't I simply be who I am?
Tired of only being half a vision;
Start to feel better in this skin then bam!
Intrusive thoughts offer no solution;
Snipping at whatever doesn't suit you
little did you know it always grows back;
What's bitter will bleed bona fide and true;
It's a vibe when you linger in the black;
Cutting into me I don't need sutures,
do not conform me with painted scissors.
vaping and smoking huh, i told you not to duh its like you dont care but you always stare at that girl did she get you into this i will be snipping her hair, you are not allowed to smoke and vape but hey i got you some bape clothing if you enjoy that
I bought a pair of garden shears,
The first I’ve ever used.
The shrubs looked much too tall and wild
So I was most enthused.
I have no training, but I thought
Some snipping here and there
Would make things look much neater;
If I messed up, who would care?
I trimmed away dead branches
Then I lopped some from the top.
Some left-side leaves, some right-side twigs;
I watched the cuttings drop.
The shears worked great and I felt proud
So after quite a spell,
I looked to see a job well done
But couldn’t even tell!
Stillness Sutra
Awaking in the morn, listen
Soul presence, within heart glisten
Feeling soma nectar dripping
Bliss suffused, as God does christen
Sans thought, fear and desire stripping
Enthralled by soft bliss beats gripping
Boundaries blur, nodes within stir
Wings of delusion, thus snipping
Our presence, joyous and demure
Lets out a silent, vibrant purr
Melding with the void, overjoyed
Humming bliss pulse, begins to whir
A bliss mist cannot be decoyed
Heart’s no longer by ego toyed
We become here now, the twice born
That that never was, is destroyed
27-February-2022
It’s time to write of unnecessary things,
to imagine alternative endings to journeys not taken.
It’s time to write of bits of string,
one small fake discolored Swiss Army knife,
a lucky pebble that has brought me nothing but its own
preordained boredom.
However, string, knife, and stone
have had nothing good to say about me for years.
I could write of more back-of-the-draw stuff,
or redraw the landscape of my youth
snipping and pasting-in a cast of characters
that never existed,
for it is still true that every tale
needs to be repainted from time to time.
For the time being, I am these hands
wrapped around a muggy mug of coffee,
these thoughts scrimshawed
upon its unwashed rim.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.