snakano
American
The act of displaying a detailed autobiography was in my interest until I decided that my vibrant life was no more than fluffy fabrications and brilliant boredom. So I decided to make it a little more personable: / / I like expensive cheese, traveling, long walks on the beach and writing poems about people.
One head
Watches over me,
covered in scales of plenty
Like a slimy sea
Licking my own fate
Two heads
Engulf the air and circle the ground
Looking for something not found
A flammable screeching sound
Masks the rush of my heart rate
Three heads
Prevent me from moving on
Like foxes trying to con
Hoping that what I search for is gone.
They deviously begin to mate.
Six heads
Barricade like thick cement
Keeping me in tryin to prevent
Any and all things I present
Then with a promise, I sedate.
One heart
I aim for straight away
Noiselessly I stop and stay
Silencing voices I have let stray
My own victory I now can create.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC
‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the cave
The monster excitedly began to shave.
His home was messed up with rocks everywhere
In hopes that St. Claws would trip anywhere.
He laid some fried bugs upon the end table
As a treat and a greeting and a card with a label.
The monster curled up on his stone cold bed
While brushing his long hair, beginning to shed.
Soon the cave started to rumble and shake
The monster jumped up, fearing an earthquake.
A giant squeezed in with its long white nails
While its sled waited outside and its 9 angry snails.
“Ha, ha, ha!”Roared the giant, “I have something for you!”
And he dropped a large bag, spreading everything askew.
Out came some coal and the monster dropped to his knees
And cried out loud, “I’ve always wanted some of these!”
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
A young girl with shoulder-length brown hair and new white shoes galloped across a newly stained bridge with black polished railing
With no cracks, no moss, no holes, no graffiti and led her to her new old school for the very first day.
The creek beneath her, filled with ducks, algae, the occasional nutria, clear, murky water, and branches, weeds, and grass hanging out over the creek, flirting with it,
And the creek flowed while the girl playfully followed.
The wide grassy hill, abandoned by trees and bushes alike, hid a narrow trough, which entertained the young girl on her journey to the school and came up to her knees and
Sharpened her balance while trying not to fall over.
And her friend, with faded blond hair, with blue, blue eyes, with a soft nose, with faint eye brows, and about 4’9’’, trailed behind her, trying to match her every step.
And he was her close neighbor
And at school—her classmate
And then they came home and he was her playmate and best friend.
And once they were home, her mother made them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
no crust.
Her mother, at home, then school, then teaching
and her motherly tone reassuring the girl that she could do anything she sets her mind to while reminding the girl to do her homework.
Her father, working with cars, then not with cars, then with cars again, who was good with his hands, but maybe not his memory,
Who the girl is alike more than she may think.
The white shoes grew into a white Jeep Cherokee and took the girl to the new new school;
And the long, dark haired, one-eyed boy,
And the preppy, sparkly, life-size Barbie,
And the bulky young man with a fully-grown beard.
Within the vast hallways, the girl spotted her distant neighbor, her classmate, her playmate, her friend With dark blond hair, with blue, blue eyes, with a hard nose, with whiskers on his chin and a stature of 6’8’’.
But only sometimes.
Driving down the long, grey pavement road, with no lines to part the road, the girl passes the bridge,
The bridge which had taken her to the old old school,
The bridge with faded black rails and both moss and graffiti growing on it,
The bridge she had once followed.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
The Grasshopper made the
Ants work through strife
Forcing them to feed him,
While scaring a bug’s life.
Hidden in the large empty locker
Is where you’ll find little kid *****
Trying everyday to conceal himself
From the big school bully.
Fur coats is all she wanted
But puppies she’d carelessly ****
And dogs would cringe
From the voice of Cruella DeVil.
Wizards and witches
All magic the same
Would often speak of him
But not say his name.
Blond hair and blue eyes
Is the only way to go.
Hitler’s the leader
So Aushiwtz you go!
He’ll keep you on the farm
Appearing to work for all
But he’s just like those pigs,
Napoleon and Snowball.
Although a fine nurse
Thought to make good calls,
You, Nurse Ratched,
Are just like them all.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
Have I ever told you, friend,
How much I love your smile?
It just lights up my life,
Making your presence worthwhile.
I also enjoy listening
To all your thrilling sensations,
And ‘specially all your friendly
One-sided conversations.
You’re such a funny friend,
Like your dream about honey,
Where you put some on your toast—
Boy that was funny!
You’re my friend, like
A foot to a shoe
Who’s always so generous
Letting others listen to you.
Oh my dear friend,
I have a story to tell!
But yours is more important,
So I’ll listen to you dwell.
I wrote you this poem
I think it’s a great fit!
Adios, my friend,
I do hope you like it.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
A pink flower sways in the breeze on a calm, cool night.
It stretches out its smooth petals, inviting others to join her.
Soon, a young bee hobbles along and freely accompanies the flower.
She plays with its leaves, caresses its petals and hovers above the flower's stigma.
A sudden gust of warm breath pushes the bee into the flower and is wrapped up soft arms.
The young bee quickly gathers some golden powder, tickling the flower.
Then off the bee flies, waving back and thanking the pink flower,
Which still sways in the breeze of the calm, cool night.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
You shall marry your mother
And ****** the other
Mark my words though
Because I’ve told you so.
You try to deny in disbelief
Though I am not known for mischief
You know more, you threat,
Since I am only a blind prophet
Your ignorance annoys me much
Of your wife’s motherly touch
Yet you act as detective
Trying to get a new perspective
When the criminal is caught
His punishment be to rot.
You’ll be saving the city—
Ha! I laugh out of pity.
Your eyes, craters now,
Clawed out by the truth you’d allow
Now you think you’ll die in bliss
Just ‘cause you showed some nobleness
As your brow glistened
You should have listened
To what I know
Because, well, I told you so.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
Although your friendly demeanor
Helps mask your vexatious vibe,
What's hidden under your trench coat
I can effortlessly describe.
Your ignorance is beautiful
Complimenting your facetiousness,
Which gets people to laugh,
Following you like a princess.
The amiable attitude masks
An ugly judgmental jowl
Which tends to spark
A camouflaged scowl
Your playful features are
No more than soft and cushy wool.
The transparent grin you flaunt about
Is just a bunch of bull.
Now grapple my ideas
Don't throw them out if sight.
Just listen when I say
"You're stupid and I'm right"
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
The monotonous ticking and somber creaks send chills through my skin, making my hair stand as if it was shocked awake. Each step I take, the bare skin touches the cold hard wood, freezing me. A stale taste floats onto my tongue turning it to stone but quickly warms up when a familiar scent surrounds me. The ground turns soft, my toes familiarizing themselves with the cushioned carpet. I reach out in front of me but am lost in a space of emptiness. A wall guides my hope to the side and my fingers fiddle and search for the hidden switch. Heart thumping, my index finger lightly pushes up on the friendly switch, but with a swift movement, I remain lost in darkness.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC