#snail
🐌
Young snail seeks a good hiding place from grabby chefs and waiters. Not picky, but there must absolutely be NO kitchen! No foodies or French enthusiasts need respond. And for goodness sake, please no comments mentioning butter. It's stressful enough without the bad jokes.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 12:37 PM UTC
i was walking along the gardens
of the Eiffel Tower
spreading snails about.
a Frenchman saw me,
i said, "i'm selling escargot."
he yelled at me, something about
Brie De Meaux.
i said, "no cheese sir,
not at all sir,
not i,
just snails."
he was a little slow,
i thought, when he grabbed
at my basket,
"again, not i sir!"
oh! he took it running
"police! police!"
no one heard me;
i don't speak French.
a Frenchwoman asked me
if i was saying
"s'il te plait."
i said, "no, i don't sell plates"
then i saw an Englishman
i said, "i'm saved!"
then he turned to me and said, "no
i only do shaves."
Nov 23, 2025
Nov 23, 2025 at 1:04 AM UTC
Tell me of your delight
The wisp of wind
That catches your hair
Breezy enough to sense
The winds direction
To which you set your sails
Moving through glass water
Unwilling to break
Tell me of your delight
In the shell of a snail
Digging up its squishy life
For just you alone
Thumbing through
In a smile and a jar of joy
Enough to break a mother's heart
With every win and loss
On your way to manhood
Tell me of your delight
As you swing in the air
Legs kicking as branches do
When the air picks you up
No longer weighing you down
All cares wash through
The space of regrets
And deposit themselves
As pebbles on the shore
Where your feet will land
Tell me of your delight
Where the garden snake
Attempts to outwit
Your stride in the grass
As you quietly watch
With patience of a lifetime
That marches ahead in this stillness
That is between the distance
Where now is forever
In your hand you swoop up
A life trying to escape yours
Gleeful are you as you set
The creature free once more
Tell me of your delight
As you see the rays of a day
Shine on every stone
And drop of rain
Washing rivers deleting cares
Surpassing a mother's gloom
Her soup of ingredients
Marinated longer than your
Innocence wants to keep birthing
It will be her death that it takes
To be released and unburdened
So you can breathe again this day
Heart open to drown all sorrows
Brand new as the dew
Jan 28, 2025
Jan 28, 2025 at 10:55 PM UTC
this morning I’ve already done the thing where my brain attacks itself and starts to wish things upon myself that would keep me from having to be a human,
or I start to pine to just be a snail,
a slimy, low to the ground, nothing to do,
snail,
I’d be green and I would take my time, scooting along munching on a leaf as I passed it by,
being spineless may feel weightless, I bet my back wouldn’t hurt,
maybe I would take a nap in the sun and then die and not even know
Jul 16, 2024
Jul 16, 2024 at 5:27 AM UTC
** Xuan Huong English Translations by Michael R. Burch
** Xuan Huong (1772-1882) was a risqué Vietnamese poetess. Her verse, replete with nods, winks, ****** innuendo and a rich eroticism, was shocking to many readers of her day and will probably remain so to some of ours. Huong has been described as "the candid voice of a liberal female in a male-dominated society." Her output has been called "coy, often ***** lyrics." I would add "suggestive to graphic." More information about this provocative poet follows these modern English translations of her poems.
Ốc Nhồi ("The Snail")
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My parents produced a snail,
Night and day it slithers through slimy grass.
If you love me, remove my shell,
But please don't jiggle my little hole!
The Breadfruit or Jackfruit
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My body's like a breadfruit ripening on a tree:
My skin coarse, my pulp thick.
My lord, if you want me, pierce me with your stick,
But please don't squeeze or the sap will sully your fingers!
Bánh trôi nước ("Floating Sweet Dumpling")
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My powdered body is white and round.
Now I bob. Now I sink.
The hand that kneads me may be rough,
But my heart at the center remains untouched.
The Cake That Drifts In Water
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I was born virginal and beautiful,
Yet my life's been full of struggles.
My fate rests entirely in the hands of the elites.
Yet still I shall keep my heart pure.
Ode to a Paper Fan
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
One ring receptive enough for any rod,
Coyly alluring since ancient times…
Your employment is to cool down sweating heroes,
To cover gentlemen’s heads whenever it rains.
Behind the bed-curtain, let’s tenderly ask him:
Panting like a dog in heat, are you satisfied?
***** You!
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
***** the rule that makes you share a man!
You slave like maids but without pay.
Unplanned Pregnancy
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My yielding resulted in this chaos;
Who can understand my anguish? …
However, this love-load I’ll soon be lugging,
Despite the world’s condemnation
(To have child, without a husband)
Is a an exceptional feat!
The Unfortunate Plight of Women
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hey sisters, do you know?
The baby bawls at your breast
While your husband slides onto your stomach.
Both demanding your attention,
Both endlessly tugging.
All must be put in order.
“Hurry up with the flowers!”
Such are the demands of husbands and children.
Hey sisters, do you know?
Questions for the Moon
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How many eons have you been there,
Endlessly transposing from slender to pregnant? …
Why do you orbit, aloof, the loneliness of night,
yet blush — so pale! — when seen by the sun?
Awake, long past midnight, whom do you seek?
Why so enchanted with hills, rivers and dales?
At the Chinese General's Tomb
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I see it there — looming, alone —
the General's tomb, so impressive!
But if I could be reborn, become a man,
with such advantages, couldn't I do better?
Advice to a Lamenting Widow
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why are you wailing, boo-hoo-ing, mourning a man?
Can it sister! Desist! Don't shame yourself!
O my ear sister, I should have warned you:
Don't eat meat, if it makes you ***** blood!
Wasps
by ** Xuan Huong
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Where and why are you wandering, foolish wasps?
Come, your big sister will teach you to compose!
Silly baby wasps suckle from rotting stamens;
***** ewes **** fences when there’s freedom in the gaps.
Lament for Hô Xuân Huong
by Nguyen Emperor Thieu Tri's brother
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here the lake overflows with lotuses;
Allow the flower girls to gather some,
While not trampling Hô Xuân Huong's grave!
For in the Golden Springs beyond,
She still anguishes over lost love.
Her lipstick desiccate, her rouge faded, her tomb unattended,
Xuân Huong is gone…
Most of Huong's poems were written in Nôm script, a complex Vietnamese adaptation of Chinese characters employed from the 15th to 19th centuries. Through her Nôm poems, Huong helped elevate the status of Vietnamese poetry. A century later, she was called "the Queen of Nôm poetry" by Xuan Dieu, one of Vietnam’s greatest poets.
Huong was more than a mere penner of ****** verse; she was an "outspoken proto-feminist: an irreverent wild card bringing a new voice to Vietnamese poetry while marking out a bolder trail for what it means to be a woman."
** Xuan Huong is an improbable figure in Vietnamese literature. Vietnamese historians are virtually unanimous in acclaiming her as the 'most special ' poetry writer who ever lived in Vietnam. … She wrote poetry which, for all its playfulness, may have been the darkest assault upon Confucian ethics ever delivered by a literate scholar of a classical East Asian society. Most modern Vietnamese writers agree that she often went too far, to the point where her contemporaries regarded her as a 'monster ' whose influence should be obliterated. — Alexander Woodside, Vietnam and the Chinese Model
Confucian ethics decreed that a female should obey: first her father, then her husband, then her son after her husband’s death.
Huong was apparently born in the Quynh Luu district of the north-central province of Nghe An. Xuan Huong means "Spring Fragrance," "Spring Essence," or "Scent of Springtime." Her father, a scholar named ** Phi Dien, died young. Her mother remarried, as a concubine. Huong grew up near Thang Long (modern Ha Noi), in a male-dominated society in which polygamy was permitted and men were more privileged than women. Huong may or may not have been a concubine herself. Very little is known with any certainty about her life.
In 1962, Nguyễn Đức Bính admitted, "I don't know anything about the poetess Hồ Xuân Hương and other people don't know any more than I do." And yet legends do take on lives of their own!
Keywords/Tags: ** Xuan Huong, Vietnamese, English translations, snail, grass, shell, hole, breadfruit, jackfruit, tree, skin, hands, sap, stain, dumpling, body, powder, powdered, sink, bob, swim, pond, heart, center, red, nom script, spring fragrance, spring essence, concubine
Dec 11, 2022
Dec 11, 2022 at 8:17 AM UTC
O my F-ing god
how bad can this place be
saving some words, and some lines
it's too hard and no way, EZ
It's just text, and no pic
simple as simple as all can see
free in play, what can I say
how idiotic can this place, be
Eliot, work on the basics
cuz right now, it's all a total fail
saving our thoughts
it's all that we've got
this page as slow
as a snail
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 11:37 PM UTC
hermit crab
never at home
for long
Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 1:09 PM UTC
The snail so slowly climbs a
Mountain, past thickets and brushes and
Branches; climbing the slope up to the
Apex, past the fountain and din of the
Fallen water; inexorably leaving its slimy
Wake behind it; greasy yellow hue of the
Sun reflecting in the spilled oil
Dec 31, 2019
Dec 31, 2019 at 6:39 AM UTC
I'm sorry Mr. snail for stepping on your home
it wasn't intentional I'm just accident prone
in my defence, it was really dark
and you had stopped short on the path
but really that's not an excuse
for gods, green earth is for everyone's use
so please accept this humble poem
as way of apology for destroying your home.
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 3:57 PM UTC
Today I feel like a snail
who took forty years
to cross a road to find
that the other side was
the same. And you don't
want to deal with the rage
of a tired snail.
It is sad to find yours is
such an unglamorous totem.
Tomorrow I will feel
like an old philosopher.
I might even go as far
as to offer advise
(tiresome and languid),
and will talk about my
great and epic drift
through the great gray dessert.
And you will say,
here's a wise man,
without knowing that
everything was a mistake.
That it still is.
I warn you, I can change
expressions, seamlessly.
Remember this, cats can't
smile, they can laugh or
destroy it's world,
with the furious sorrow
and as slowly
as a tired mollusk.
And they will try.
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC
A sprightly snail crawls,
etching a message as it moves;
cryptic conundrum.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC
Little shell how you hold tight a home away
from home, fitting snuggly as you slowly gradually
take upon the world one movement at a time,
never in a hurry to get yourself there.
You draw upon your surroundings, palette of
silver in the travels of here to there.
That little shell you collect yourself within, when
tiredness takes hold. Resting your tired self in bed.
Awoken and on the move you take on your journey,
the trails left yesterday. Behind they are, so forward
you do go with a casual look and off you go.
Little one a journey of a lifetime a garden you walk by.
"Daddy look there is a silver trail,
"That's a snails trail petal,
"It shiny daddy.
**"Its so they don't get lost, like breadcrumbs in
the woods, so they know where they crawled before.**
In the grass a journey still calmly slithers on,
This forest of grass taller than even the shell that
he carries upon his little back. Unseen by those above
but he worries not he just gradually slithers on.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 4:57 AM UTC
Let me tell you what loving you feels like.
Like I'm a snail, like you're salt.
Like I fell into you and now I want to bubble and die.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
*When I'm with you
Time ticks so fast
Like a lightening bolt
When I'm not with you
Time slows down
Like a small snail*
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 12:03 PM UTC
The snail strolls gently
Realigning hoped moments
A slow pace of consequences
****** and placed on tables
Harped to melodic tunes
Summed in upbeat sequences
The crescendo boils to ******
The climb of beats and undertones
All exposed and overlooked
The onlookers astonished
My ribs pinned out in pain
I squeeze to the cracks of normality
Attempting to slowly leap
To see the darkness of winter
To breath the stilled air
Yet, a hope lived, a life seen
We all shall make it to the end
Crawling to cut the finish line
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
*The red Bird who saw
Snail by the muddy floor
flew at the cock's crow*
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 5:22 AM UTC
*Feeling **** unwell
Evicted for losing her shell
Trudged through a hell*
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
*Left Mucus trail
So she could be found by Love
when she moved on*
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC
Lose yaself I lost myself
Passin' notes but class I failed
That's a kno yu ask yaself
Fast or slow a Rabbit-Snail
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC