"nosy" poems
Testaments wrote in language
Of old
Incantations,
Spells,
Elixirs,
To put hair on your chest,
"But accidents can happen"
Never sniff the jar full of mystery
Or you'll nose about it for weeks,
Platting,
Braiding,
Partings,
Upon it, styles just to hide the sight
Its growing from your nose in fact,
Do you like my
Moustache,
As you
Sneeze,
And then the secrets are out,
Mischief with papers of old
Noses shouldn't go
"Where noses shouldn't go"
Incantations,
Spells,
Elixirs,
Are for professionals, not those
"Nosy individuals"
Who should put things
Where they should nose they shouldn't go..
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
there was once a lobster he live in the seavery blue in color blue as blue can beone day while he was walking he came across a potlying on the seabed inside he had a trothe got into the *** as nosy as can benow he was trapped and no way to get freesuddenly he saw friendly passing topewho saw he was stuck and handed him a ropehe tied it to the *** at the bottom of seathen he pulled it hard now lobster he was freethen he thanked the tope for saving him that daythen the little lobster calmly swam away.
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 7:27 AM UTC
You get the know it alls
Their noses stuck rigidly in books like bookmarks
You get the geeks
Gamers with eyes shrunk; shiny braces flashing
You get the quiet ones
Assessing everything going on; owlish blinks
You get the cheeky ones
Hilarious antics all around; always surprising
You get the nosy ones
With obnoxious questions and averting eyes
You get the prissy neat freaks
Panicking religiously over messes; loud moaner
You get the bossy buck tooth's
Spit spraying whilst barking out orders; drone-like
You get the wannabes
*Prepping up as the popular chicks; total **** ups*
And you get me
With total judgement and disdain evident
Making me a **classic ***** ; plastic
With her typical high school stereotypes
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
Providing evidence to myself
I sense boredom
As adventure
But solution to a rusty bolt
Without smeared oil
While unearthing self
Before boredom detects you
In the vicinity
The environs speaks
Actions are no curiosity
To be nosy
While others exist with their dealings
A character brings passe'
To detect
But not evaluate
The boredom
Which leads to nowhere
How can a heart stop pulsating?
Only to have no charge
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 10:48 PM UTC
The rooster swivels on its axis returning
coarse wind into the pyre of mad, mad tongues
raving alongside charred ivory. Lifted by sorry hands
from dying embers’ embrace and eased with foreign pity,
ceremoniously, into a cardboard crate wheeled against
the traffic, stumbling backwards through yellow canvases,
between my family dressed in black, to dress the void (deck),
mourners spitting soda into their cups, as word paddle upstream,
onto a thin futon within four walls stained with unfinished ghosts.
The doctor removes the white shroud like God coaxing pink light
on the first day and wine oozes through elastic veins to the far corners of my skin thin ventricular walls. One crack, in the doors and in my chest, paramedics in white blur in, heel first,
Pan-island couriers on reverse gear to the corner
of a numbered street, where I am delivered like a gladiator
thrown into the arena of nosy gazes, with the urgency of
hens clucking away from premeditated slaughter:
deep Christmas red on the tessellated parking lot.
Clumsy thumbs dialing 599, I moan inwardly
to the concentric circles of strangers retreating, erasing
me from cell-phone cameras. Then like a flip animation I
snap backwards, up 21 floors,
pause for about an hour on the ledge before smashing
backwards, back down, past kids scratching graffiti off the cement
and growing cigarettes in their mouths. The rain ascends and I take
wet cash from the driver while I fidget on the leather and throw up
mediocre coffee into my cup. I dig into my throat and return the bread
to its plastic bag and when the cab stops I fall left out onto another parking lot,
moonwalk up the stairs to where I unwrite my name in the
annals of failure and
shove the Fs of my past back
then
I take the bus instead.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
im with *****
Making millys
acting silly
im playing... our pockets empty and we smoking bleezy
selling acid
minds are gold never plastic
yeah we trappin never nappin
summer 13 ******* thats old news, no clue
nbs and fitted i dont need to boost
plain white t's, no j crew
this me, i never knew, killer kush, ***** im never blue
checkin ******* out, i always disaprove
ridin ***** with our one seaters
pop a heater if ****** being nosy call em peter
5'6 ***** eater wearing beaters never beat her but i beat it, so much head i need a breather
****** is talking puppets watching budget always cautious ***** ****** and they mullets looking stupid
floosy girls loose since theyre dad left theyre missing screws
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
The silver
Birch trees flaunt
Their glitz as I
Stroll through
Deep pearl
And sand
Pebbles
Gorgeous green
Mansions swirl
Around and
Blackbirds pick
Seeds from
The posy bunches
And sparkled
Grass.
I pass a
Pink butterfly house
With large Daisy
Heads protruding from
The diamond fencing.
The next house, a rather
Pretentious 'Cordillera',
Sounds like a disease.
A farm gate shields
4 by 4s and I'm
Now passing the weird
House with the crocodile
And gorilla and
Coloured Cow
And dog statues.
Coming to the
End of the lane
Of silver I pass
'Lane end'
Cottage with its viney
Stature and freshly
Manicured front lawn.
High cube hedges forming
A pathway to the porch.
In The final
Mansion if
Nosy passers
Have a peek you
Can see a
Swimming pool,
Fluffy Towels draped over
The Silver pool chairs.
Flitting to
The end of the
Dappled birches,
Approaches
A wide country green
Covered in bunting
Bathed in buttercups.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
I cannot watch people cry,
I cannot watch them suffer as I know I have suffered,
Begging the world to have mercy on my sanity.
With their tears falling like the
The torrential downpour that nobody wants
Onto the table their head lies upon.
I cannot ignore these salty drops
That stain faces red and puffy
Because I know that rubbing your eyes only makes it worse.
I cannot help but go over, awkward but sincere,
And ask quietly, “Are you alright?”
While hoping that I’m not coming off as nosy and bizarre.
If my comforts are not rejected
I may end the conversation with your tears on my shirt
And your head in the crook of my neck.
My fingers gliding against your hair,
My arms rocking you gently
As a child is rocked by their mother.
I suppose that’s what I am then,
The mother hen worrying for her chicks
As they struggle to survive in a cruel existence.
Most of the time I don’t mind,
I even enjoy comforting my chicks
Because this gives me purpose.
Sometimes, not often,
I have to stop and wonder,
Who will be my mother?
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 8:52 AM UTC
While the sun is sleeping and the morning dj's too,
The radio news anchor is in to work by three
It's not because we're busy, or we're special..no, no , no
It's because the station trusts us, and besides...we have the key!!
We're on the road, at Dunkin' Donuts,
while the day olds are still fresh
We're in before the DJ's
Because we don't live like Phil Lesh
By the time the DJ's wander in
We've read more, than they will say
We've even cued up the morning intro
We know the songs they all will play
We have our room for research
Actually, two newspapers and a phone
We're not quite Walter Cronkite
But, hey...throw us a bone
The life of a radio anchor
Is not one that's all rosy
We do it 'cause we love it
It's not just because we're nosy
We get the freshest donuts, hottest coffee and the key
And did I neglect to mention, first one in gets donuts free?
The DJ's do their concerts, party hard, are full of soul
And twice a week you'll find them, down at Skippy's Pool and Bowl
We're not all like Les Nessman
Although, there is a part of me
That would love to have a station
Like old W K R P
The life of the news anchor
Starts out daily in the dark
We dig around for stories
And make up others for a lark
We are in line for more promotions
We're the one that the boss sees
Did I mention, we get donuts
And that the boss gives us the key?
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
After taking a phone call,
My nosy ears overheard
An incident involving a
Female coworker flirting
With a male coworker.
Rather, she was joking
Around with him
Out of boredom.
He said he had a wife,
And she asked if he would
Allow her to be his mistress.
The man made a complaint
To a supervisor, and she
Was moderately reprimanded.
The one accused did not
Think he would take
It so seriously.
I cannot help but think
He would not have felt
Offended if he found her
Attractive, no matter how
Supposedly devout he is to his wife.
If anything it would have
Flattered his ego,
And if it was vice versa
I believe the same
Principle would apply.
The paradoxical predictability
Of Human subjectivity.
(c) 2015 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
who the **** are you
to become the judge and jury
on a lesbian relationship
on you i unleash my fury
who the **** are you
to tell me my place
did i ever ******* ask you
to sit upon my face
who the **** are you
to sit and criticise
on what gender i let enter
my silken open thighs
who the **** are you
a twisted lonely ******
who gives a **** or a toss
because im no **********
are you just jealous
cos im loved and youre not
you sit upon your golden throne
a stale **** full of rot
who the **** would **** you
with an attitude sick as that
in my humble opinion
youre a nosy ******* ****
so now do one
you low life piece of ****
your dad is ****** in the sack
id rather **** ya mum
Nov 20, 2010
Nov 20, 2010 at 5:34 AM UTC
Imagine life as a panda, what would it be like?
We would eat, sleep and sit
Who knew, we’re so alike?
A sparkly fresh black paint and white, so different, you got to admit
That we’re so calm and we’re so perfectly sweet
Flute, is what we are, it fit
Our personality, so comfy that you will take a seat,
And listen to the music of nature.
However, we have another personality,
A brother that is: nosy and major!
But we are very protective,
We’re like a fluffy warm coat or a big fuzzy boot,
Wrapping around our love, and it’s very affective!
If you ask us, what panda smells like? Perfume or a fruit?
We’d say, we smell just like bamboo,
The smell of nature and our favorites!
And did you know that Oreo is our relative too?
Crunchy; tasty and creamy flavor!
We are different from the other bears
And that’s what made us unique!
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
I am an umbrella, a rain jacket,
For the Cinderella, a stored away packet,
Till the day the skies sputter rain.
I am a tool box, a first aid kit lain
In a dark, webs-infested dusty corner,
Touching no light; seeing no cleaner.
The kitchen accident and toys’ breakdown
Are such welcome picnics to the town.
Could have been a willow, nor am I a pillow
To cry on in times of immense pains in kilo
And to hug out of a heart exploding joy.
But I am a bomb-shelter, a floating life buoy,
A tower of refuge in times of need;
A furrow-deserted land planted no seed,
Awaiting to be useful again in season,
Not Jesus, but bearing a crystal reason
To be also a rock in that weary land.
I am a handkerchief in a man’s hand;
Ironically stuffed useless in the back pocket,
To blow away flu mucus off the nosy socket,
Or wipe the intermittently rare solitary tears
That graces the dry eyes from heartbreak fears.
I am not a flowerbed; I am a mango tree;
Having no admirers save the monkeys, free
To shelter, mate, play and make all merry,
Spring has come with flowers and I draw very
Much attention; the promise of fruits abundance,
Needed, loved, and embraced in a scarce annual chance.
I am an audience for the sad breaking news;
The princess’s Eulogizer in dilemma to possible views,
I am a lawnmower in her abandoned backyard,
A joker of little importance in her game play card.
I am a muzzled ox treading the corn;
A mockery of treasure, glittering scorn,
In her darkest times, the cherished glow-worm;
An apologetic shelter in the times of storm.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 2:59 AM UTC
Cloudy eyes
Broken heart
A sad soul about to fall apart
Telling them how to feel only for them to walk away
Saying no and another message underway
You aren't enough for me
You aren't enough for my no
Nosy and leering eyes
Judging smirks
with loud whispers
thump
ThUmP
THUMP
Banging against your ribs
Calling out only for pain to come
Crumbling pieces blowing away in the wind
Humiliation sinking in
A shaky step towards the street
A stronger one so they meet
Taking off like a plane
Soaring to quieter place
Trembling hands
Blurring sight
Fumbling to get the key right
A hard shove to the sticky door
Brain is sluggish so you fall to the floor
Buried in blankets and memories
only to keep on shivering
The heart feels raw and clawed apart
Piece after piece you build up walls
Only for someone to take a fall
Dragging you down
Destroying the walls
A rejection will always be there but fades to a memory when time helps you become strong
Cloudy eyes
Healing heart
A soul no longer falling apart
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 6:40 PM UTC
I got sleepy flaws
stinky flaws
look the other way flaws
professional flaws
whole body flaws
And I am utterly hopeless
I got sloppy flaws
hoarding flaws
nosy flaws
forgetful flaws
And I got the martyr flaws blues
wild card flaws
petty flaws
know-it-all flaws
And you can't tell me nothing
I see my flaws as they are
as they come
undeniably human
and soulful
and me
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
Although I've studied poetry for thirty years
I try to keep my mouth shut and avoid reputation.
Now who is this nosy gentleman talking about my poetry
Like Yang Ching-chih
Who spoke of Hsiang Ssu everywhere he went.
2k
Oh, we schemes ourselves into pretense.
Presenting to others a certain image.
Not just the ministers, evangelists and host of others.
The church makeup is made of many people.
Many, who stories we barely aware of in truth?
And some testimonies doesn't need to be shared.
This just the nosy way of knowing many personal affairs.
The adultery spouse.
Crooked businessman.
The drug dealers of the street.
Yes, various people we are gonna meet.
The church makeup contains many characters in the seats.
Like the supported choirs that states "Preach preacher, preach."
Or say "Amen" to every single thing.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
There are always some questions that you wish no one would ever ask you,
because you feel
guilt or shame
or just something else altogether that you can’t explain.
That realisation of hidden pain,
Nosy prying tongues with nothing to gain.
What, where, when, why, who?
I heard...Is it true?
You crave privacy,
For people to mind their own,
But it doesn't matter
Mouths will always chatter.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
Hungry, jealous eyes
Search posts and tweets for answers.
Why did he choose her?
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
You shuffle in
from the kitchen
half stooped over
under the cover
of your nightgown.
Dry lips smeared with Vaseline set in a lazy frown.
Stinking of Vicks vapourub
and oxtail soup steaming from your favorite mug.
Eyelids heavy and more than a little dozy.
Hand reaching for a *** of tissue to blow your dribbling nosy.
With the mug in position you slump on the sofa
propped up with pillows, I've no choice but to move over.
Despite the max level of the central heating
I can see you are still shivering.
A fit of coughing erupts, raw and bone rattling.
There's a wheeze to each breath of your laboured breathing.
Moments pass and then comes the first snore
like an animal staking claim to its **** with a roar.
I carefully remove the mug and fallen tissue
Softly I kiss your forehead and whisper, “Get well soon. I love you.”
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
bystander was watchinga blind man cross the streethis guide dog stopping half wayand ****** upon his feetarriving at the pavementno reactive moandipped into his shoppingto give the dog a bonewhat you think you doing?the nosy stranger callswhen i find his headi'll kick him in the *****
Feb 26, 2010
Feb 26, 2010 at 8:47 AM UTC
It's that time of year again,
the time we all know is coming,
and start thinking about the weather changes,
to frosty mornings and amber trees.
After a day of feasting,
avoiding questions from nosy relatives,
the nipping wind sends a chilling reminder,
that the time is almost here.
It's the night before,
everyone's eaten and
we rush off to bed,
but some can't sleep,
and stay up late into the night,
trying to find a hint of what's coming.
Then the next day comes,
where everyone wakes up,
and rushes down.
They shovel down their breakfast,
and check their bags to make sure they have everything,
then it's time for the surprise.
The surprise everyone has been waiting for,
everyone anxiously waiting,
with an eerie silence that hangs like a dense fog,
only broken by the sounds of paper being flipped around.
Some go through it quickly,
while others take their time.
When they finish,
there are shouts of joy and happiness.
And once it's all over,
everyone sleeps and relaxes.
The time has past,
until the end of the next semester.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 2:14 AM UTC
Cat must you always come in
in and out
around and about
then put your cold paws on my skin?
I have always let you win
with your nosy little snout
then with a clout
you tip over the cups in that bin!
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
Now I understand.
Both the insecurities of myself and the natural jealousies;
not of potential love affairs, but of friendships and spoken whispers
that are not for my longing ears to hear.
happiness, for harmony...
but pain, perhaps a nosy desire
to know the happenings and every little secret...
is it a vice or a inevitable wish?
For a best friend and lover to welcome me into their world as well?
This is the pain that will be harbored but never revealed
it is my own infliction to carry
and whispered to self
Every night
Neverending.
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 5:49 PM UTC
"Good morning," says 5:06
This is your gentle reminder to arise
Be forewarned that the sun is waking
On the brink of dawn or disaster
We all have failures to atone for
And this is your gentle reminder that
No matter how many times you climb
Your feet will never stand upon holy ground
"Good afternoon" says 1:15
This is your gentle reminder to venture forth
But this is a place that you have no claim to
So be off like the nosy brat you have become
We all come here to escape someone
And this is your gentle reminder that
The someone who pursues is quick
Running on cylinders that you don't yet possess
"Goodnight" says 11:49
And this is your gentle reminder to evanesce
This is a place that preys upon your weakness
So close your eyes and dissolve into dreamless sleep
We all survive our own mortality
And this is your gentle reminder that
To bring favor upon remaining days
You must release the grasp on the ones before
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 10:12 AM UTC