my favorite tv shows are competitive singing shows
I recognize almost no songs because I do not sing
It feels strange even to me
but these shows hold me hostage
I am fascinated by the enthusiasm
the competitive banter of the judges
seeing who the winners choose for their coach
My favorites rarely get top prize
Two of them were Adam Lambert and Jesse Blaze Snyder
I thought they both earned the win
These two are my favorites years later
Whether the Indigenous People,
robed in leathers, head dressed in feathers,
who had their own sovereign nations,
wanted it or not,
June 2nd 1924,
U.S. President Calvin Coolidge
condescendingly signed the Snyder Act,
a.k.a., the Indian Citizenship Act, into law,
thereby conferring American citizenship
on American Indians.
He had it backwards,
it was no more than an affront
as, whether the Indigenous People
wanted them or not,
it was American Indians who,
altho' they made no claim to own Mother Earth,
should have conferred American citizenship
on the Paleface People,
who were mere trespassers on tribal territory.
And Woody Guthrie
(1912 – 1967),
another white man,
was not referring
to Native Americans
when he wrote,
'This land is your land.'
Here lies Miss Miriam Alicia Lee Snyder
A well-known neighborhood insider
She fell into a large vat of apple cider
Not covered by her life insurance rider.
Written June 3, 2022
After twilight around that corner
City Lights show an alternative way
Sipping sour whiskey from chipped cups
In low sweaty cellars where frothy cats play
Shades under tilted black beat berry hats
And Charlie's beat sounds out over his steady rap
Snyder slumps iodine in the doorway queue
Waiting for a tired Bird's wings to flap
Onstage another rhythmic rant from Jack
Sets shapely dark stockinged table legs to tap
Smoke haze from unfiltered thin street rolls
As cool closed eyes dig that lonely wail horn blow
All youth Zen style sharing jazz and blues
And I'm thinking
We gotta go and make our own poems Babe
Cause I always want to- anywhere with you
Pictures at an Exhibition
I recently saw the ghosts of beat poet visionaries
staring lonely, from pictures at an exhibition
Ginsburg, Corso, Snyder, Kerouac, and Cassady
the murderer’s row of the desolation angels line-up
smoking cigarettes on dingy New York fire escapes
eyes squinting into the brutal mid-day sun of Tangiers
chanting Buddhist mantras in Golden Gate Park
posed with arms around each other in Mexico City
with the fires of holy imagination burning in their faces
My heroes, the ones that lit my blaze of spirit
and urged me to write with their heat and passion
burdened souls, searching out the mysteries
of rhythm and god hidden inside hip, jazz phrasings
My heart swelled with gratitude
and for a moment, they were friends
ghosts grown much larger than life
urging me to walk in their footsteps…
It seems highly unlikely that Snyder had time to do reshoots after the fan backlash against spoiler-laden trailers. And yet, after virtually giving away the ending of the movie (that Batman and Superman eventually make up and fight Doomsday with Wonder Woman), the film-maker clearly needed a big final plot twist to ensure fans don’t leave the cinema feeling cheated.
That the film pretends to kill off Superman, when we all know Henry Cavill has been cast in both Justice League movies, feels like a really cheap trick. Showing General Zod’s dead body in trailers, by the way, also made it pretty easy to predict that the genetically enhanced monstrosity Doomsday would be based on the dead Kryptonian. OK, the creature also has some DNA taken from a few drops of Lex Luthor’s blood, but really, who cares?
http://copernicusmarketing.com/copernican-news/service/batvsupanfree-batman-v-superman-dawn-justice-online-free-putlocker/
How many times do you ask "why me"
Throughout your daily life?
How many times have you been blind and couldn't see
The happy times instead of stife?
I know those times are very rare
When your life is going well
There are those times when you really care
And you picked yourself up when you fell
Its been so hard to do sometimes
But you did it anyway
You put away those awful crimes
That had you going astray
Your proud to be who you are
And you've changed your ways for the good
Don't turn back now you've come this far
Hang on to it if you could
So keep on keeping on for you
And don't ask "why me" anymore
Forget the things that make you blue
And let others have that chore
Because life is too short to never reach
Beyond the weariness
Be loving, be kind and try to teach
Beyond the dreariness
Tammy Ann Rose Snyder
I Saw You Today
In Loving Memory
Of Tate Snyder.
Doing the things that needed done I went along my way.
I must admit I was unprepared when I saw you today.
Was it something in my memory from an unfamiliar place?
That caused my heart to break in two I saw you in a strangers face.
He had your big bright shining eyes and he had your smile too.
I could not contain my tears today when I saw you.
He looked just like a pirate and the thing I found so weird.
Were the tattoos on his arms and your big bushy beard.
Dressed the way you always dressed a biker plain to see.
But not just any biker he looked like you to me.
You've been gone away from me for all of these past years.
I looked at him and I saw you looking at him through my tears.
I told him I was sorry and that I didn't mean to stare.
My God it looked like you! He even had your hair.
I hated to but I had to leave there was no way I could stay.
With a brand new broken heart because I saw you today.
Edwin C Hofert
Foresight written on 8/26/88 by Tammy Ann Rose Snyder
The blameless Foresight
Of the night
Began to grow forthwith
It crawled and crept
Until I wept
But never revealed it’s myth
I sought the comfort
To cavort
Inside my head so deep
Almost emerging
Then clashing and converging
I finally fell asleep
A warm heart, yet…
It sizzles with anxiety
And melts away emotions
That still linger on.
A sincere heart, yet…
It chokes with evasiveness
And chars every feeling
That flickers with hope
A bleeding heart, yet…
One sleeve is left exposed
And burns with desire
To escape all flames
A singed heart, yet…
It smokes it’s own desire
And reasons with love
That flares without control
Tammy Snyder
rainy season
grief, white hydrangeas
hungry caterpillar
In part, The Haiku Society of America’s definition of a haiku reads, “Usually a haiku in English is written in three unrhymed lines of seventeen or fewer syllables.” Further, Japanese scholar Shigehisa Kuriyama states, “The 5-7-5 pattern by itself does not make a haiku.” (Gurga, p. 1). Contemporary English language haiku have departed radically from the 5-7-5 convention, including the Beat haiku of Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and Gary Snyder, the latter awarded the Masaoka Shiki International Haiku Grand Prize in 2004. The haiku of Robert Spiess are especially experimental.
I recommend two sources for further study of haiku: “Haiku: A Poet’s Guide,” by Lee Gurga, addresses haiku in it’s traditional form; “Haiku Poetics in Twentieth-Century Avant-Garde Poetry,” by Jeffery Johnson discusses haiku as realized by modernist poets.
Speaking personally, it is most important for me to enjoy writing a haiku, correct form or not, and for my haiku to be enjoyed by the reader.
The Brooklyn Cyclones
now represent the borough
of Brooklyn
where I spent my
formative years
Memeories of the long - departed
Dogers
Linger over Keyspan park
like clouds
Duke Snyder, Jackie Robinson,
Sandy Koufax, Carl Furillo and
the rest
are engraved in the borough's heart
The Brooklyn Cyclones
now represent the borough of Brooklyn
I came into this world
during the legendary 1955 World Series
When the Dogers finally triumphed
Let's hope the Cyclones can
follow in theit footsteps
Bringing joy to
Brooklyn aka Kings County
Dedicated to Zilpha Keatley Snyder author of a poem by the same name, I will print
it here.
Dreams go fast and far these days.
They go arrayed in lights or
In the dust of stars.
Dreams, these days, go fast and far.
Dreams are young, these days,
or very old,
They can be black or blue or gold.
They need no special charts,
nor any fuel.
It seems, only one rule applies,
to all our dreams-
They will not fly except in open sky.
A fenced-in dream will die.
From the Random House Book of poetry for children.
Tonight make sweet dreams fly.
Across your vast spinning creation
Slumber at peace, bubbly and rare
Magic becomes builder's sigh.
Building becomes your sation-
Life and dark eyes are fair
Swim on orcas, surf as fins
Split the starfires in embers, hun.
Tomorrow holds your dreams there!
By Doris Culverhouse in dedication to Zilpha Snyder
Beautiful baby
ride wont you ride
don't look back
look up at the sky
don't let them see
those gorgeous blue tears
Baby, you know im always here
Ride baby ride
up on your great steed
watch the willows dance as you gain speed
Don't turn your head
they don't need to see
Let it be a secret between you and me
Beautiful Baby
Let down your golden hair
look up at the sun
let them all stare
Ride to the music
of the wavering trees
ride baby ride
Forever you'll be
Beautiful baby
eyes like green stalks
On your sleeve don't wear your heart
Don't let them see
the scars that they made
Beautiful baby
Like your horse
you must be brave
Beautiful Baby
Ride wont you ride
Don't let them see
Baby look up at the sky
Written For My Best Friend Brooke Taylor Snyder and her horse Snookie
Everything was up to date
Around the year 1998
Two days after valentines day
You can think what you may
A balloon of love hung in the car
Everyone left with a scar
Five shots fired
The detectives were hired
Three children left orphaned
And only one man to blame
Penny was hit one time in the back
And three in the chest, what a shame
Dwayne shot himself once in the chest
He laid there and suffered with a hole in his vest
He laid there in a pile of blood and bled
But not till he put a towel over her head
Everyone gathered to morne a her viewing
Even Alma Snyder from Kentucky flew in
I cried so hard at her grave site
I wish she could have put up a fight
People gathered from near and far
They came in a truck, van, or car
I forgive him but some people dont
i understand why some people won't
She's safe in God's hands now
I don't know why or how
We miss her more then ever
We'll remember her face forever.
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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.