"snagging" poems
Like drinking water out of mason jars
Like reading through fake plastic glass
Like dressing in your grandparents bolts of fabric
Like holding an unfiltered cigarette
Or even better a wooden pipe…
Smoke swelling in closed mouths
And nostrils blowing in sailboat clouds
Down to the next not- Starbucks
To sit on a velvet couch with
Coral painted nails and a chai in hand...
You all can be like this.
With no workout clothes and
With at least two piercings in your nose
You all are like this soon enough.
Who gave you the idea to pick up the
Ukulele anyway?
Who gave you the idea to shave one quarter
Of your head?
We all did. We all are a
Fleet of individual sameness,
A want to stand out from the
Cookie- cutter looks,
But now we’re all cupcakes
With the same story but with
Different hooks
For hands, snagging the rest
Of us along.
With your identical twin lipstick
And Birkenstock feet.
The lack of shock we absorb
Gets lonely and depressing.
So lets all move to Montreal
And French kiss and knit
And maybe real soon the
Croissants will go stale
And it’ll be cool to live
In Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
*Last night I lay awake, long after you left
And let the sheets on your side grow cold.
Long after the door clicked shut
On the last sliver of hallway light,
I stared at the ceiling, wondering who I am when I'm with you.
I've never felt safe enough to really show myself to somebody.
And there I was with you,
Taking the liberties I always deny myself.
You know
Just how to touch me.
I could have stayed in that place
Where time meant nothing
Where we were a pinwheel of legs and wandering hands
And wandering lips, as well,
Breath snagging in gasps on the jagged edges of lust,
Forever.
It was like drowning in a person.
Amber and slow,
Somehow so calm but so desperate as well.
I've never met someone
Game
For the build-
The hours of little looks and casual touches,
Fingertips here,
And there,
Those moments that make the first kiss a slow, sweet death and rebirth.
It always feels,
With you,
As if time means nothing.
We have all of it.
There's no rush, no hurry,
Because you and me,
We're a sure thing together.
And yet still when you touch me I surrender to you
On instinct,
Full of need
All of a sudden.
You are a dangerous sort, I sometimes think:
You say yes to me.
Everything I need,
That I am not supposed to need,
You offer.
Every permission I have ever denied myself
You grant me.
Maybe that is why when you slide your teeth along my lip
I could cry out from wanting you.
Maybe that is why when I finally did manage to sleep last night
I dreamed every inch of you by candlelight.*
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 11:32 PM UTC
After the storm,
the spider fine tunes its web-
spiraling inward,
plucking at strands
strung lyre-like
between the apple branches.
Shrinking fingers of light
slip from the underbellies
of low slung clouds
that stream by
nearly snagging the tree tops.
The wind fills the web
like a jib stretched out
before the slapping bow of a ship.
Meanwhile, our small planet
hurtles forward, circling
on strands of patient gravity
spun by God knows who or what.
Satisfied with her spinning,
the spider finally
settles into place
at the center of a billowing universe,
waiting for some small
something to come sailing by.
Tom Spencer © 2017
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
It was startling - this pessimistic world,
I opened the window, a storm raged,
attic whipped windy cobwebs,
scurrying spiders slid under debris,
and cracks appeared in her flesh,
where red oozed, yelling its escape,
collar bone protruding, thin layers fading,
wine trickled from blue corners,
knuckles scraped. I heard their drag,
whilst fibres caught up in nails,
burrowing beneath red lacquer,
snagging....scraping their terminus
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
You’re a wolf -
A connotation.
You’re a breed
of imitation.
You’re a guise
among the sheep.
Snagging lambs
while they’re asleep.
Your smile sings
with consonance -
but your howls vibrate
with dissonance.
You’re a liar
with eyes of fire -
The termination
of my desire.
You sparked a change
in my perception.
You were the Alpha
of pure deception.
May 25, 2023
May 25, 2023 at 1:13 PM UTC
Cerberus
The temporary home that I
Occupy is guarded by Cerberus. Three
Pit bulls barking at the gate and jumping
On my chest with sharp claws, but this
idiot wasn't always here.
In early years walked in the evergreen
rain; listening to raindrops click on canvas
of a hood centimeters far from the head, and
when night would come, stare out in to
pinhole nights bargaining with god
on pain and boredom. “I swear if
you would give me a sign, I will do good.”
Then the crickets would laugh, while
The trees hissed their endless secrets, so
There was nothing found that day.
In this trailer, now, the water burns
My skin; bringing roses of blood to
The surface, and leaking
Out of my gums, so each night
I drink the wine to fill my belly
With ideas of T.S. Eliot, or Ginsberg,
But looking like a ******* quack, and
Crying to old songs that used to hold
Different meanings.
My mother lives inside the sea;
A million lost dust specks sinking
To the bottom of the trenches,
Swimming about sea creatures
And fish that glow in the
Endless darkness of the depths.
I thought so many times that I’d
Follower her there through the
River, and if you give me a sign
God, I will, but I keep snagging
Myself on the sage brush outside
The front door, and my legs
Grow heavier. When I go to sleep
Tonight I’ll fall asleep in mind that
My dog is resting in the landfill
On town’s end, and I've thought
That I could grab him there; maggots
Filling up the eye holes. If you give
Me a sign, God, I will. The
Fan flies over head, and the
Computer hums loudly for one second.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
I see the cockroach
caress the counter next to a brewing
*** of coffee, striking a chord of
crystaline sweetness,
that God and Satan could both agree upon.
In the living room,
my best friends are killing each other,
kissing each other,
falling in love,
snagging,
splitting stitches,
chalk outlines,
black mail,
and hopes for a resurrection
swirl and spin with the scent
of perfume
and coffee beans.
My phone lights up with a message
asking for some real advice,
my response is to get a new religion,
and wait for the bombs to fall.
Outside
light pollution fills the sky,
an eerie day that just won't die,
negotiating with eager streetlights,
and all-night diners.
On the corner
of 23rd and Western,
a dancing grinderman,
a homeless woman with a snaggletooth smile,
and their prize of a monkey
are cutting the night with desperation croons,
and delightful foresight.
Just past the construction on the east side of the city,
a one-legged, heathen named James W. Green
is finding solace with
a defeated, overthehill harlot,
going to and fro in a motorized sanctuary,
and grabbing change from her coin-dispensing hips.
I discover a pen embedded in the carpet,
I spend the rest of the evening split
between Midnight Man poetry,
and dictating divine apocrypha,
while once bright-eyed friends of mine
mourn over marriage, self-medication strategies,
and scrape the bottom of the barrel
with their tongues to ensure it's tangible.
Jan 5, 2011
Jan 5, 2011 at 7:42 AM UTC
grit sand conglomerate binds
friction holding - heel steady
tottering
navy lace snags
upon brick dipped in night
save for - street lamps poignantly
establishing form to
lips seeking
to traverse the topography of your structure
tongue craving - salivary essence about mine
my curls remember being dragged
across,
- then –
pressed firmly against the brick
snagging
on vertical groove and red clay
your pelvic bone
ground deep – pressurized
into dust against my own
Serotonin, oxytocin fuse
Blown -
Neural patina – thick
Pompeii to Vesuvius
Diffuse
Carbon filament lattice
Clings - to
ancient couple
cuddling
in ashen grave
Compressed densely
Perchance time will compress this grit
creating friction under sole.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
"No, "No, "No,
I don't wear shoes that's a silly notion
How would I do the laces up?
Trailing like spaghetti I would trip over
More time than walking silly things
"No, "No, "No,
What do I wear wing mittens to keep me
Warm in the cold months, what a silly
Sight I never found a pair odd ones worn
Snagging on trees, my falling out the air.
"No, "No, "No,
I don't use a hankie when I sneeze, last time
I did that I singed my poor nose, if I ever feel
One coming close I put my nostrils in the water
letting it out. Walla I have an instant warm bath.
"Too many questions little one now my turn,
What can I scratch behind an ear yes inwards,
Outwards ,potatoes I some times find if a while
Has past, "Why do you ask?
Am I good at getting thinks out of teeth, brushing
You say? yes a tooth pick I carry around just in case,
Healthy teeth are a must you'll never see me with
Missing teeth I brush morning and night each day.
"Do you have a pet,
I like to walk to, do you have good legs no aches in
The knees, "I would feed you, "What, I would
Feed my pet well chargrilled to perfection every
Meal never without would they be,"cough, you.
This was an interesting talk all because I asked one question?
"Does a dragon wear shoes,
"A dragon doesn't wear shoes,
But enough of this, would you like your steak lightly grilled
Or well done "burnt, he thought was another word.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
It started at the beginning of adulthood
where the wandering into the new house
became a chore. The doorway greeted me
by snagging my woollen jumper.
The motorway was screaming, the battered gate happily hanging from its hinges.
His image first flashed into my sight,
And when I stared through the fogged up windows
I could still figure out his figure.
Loutish, he sauntered past
On a hillside, desolate.
He didn’t move for three hours.
He was most probably entwining the thorns from the bush
into his complex mind. Maybe
the boy with the thorn in his side
Had been brought to life by this mystery animal
With a mass of unkempt mane.
Unruly, unnecessary, untouched.
The notebook on my kitchen table lay untidily
waiting to be roughened up. I picked it up
and cast light over the paper.
I imagined him doing the same
But his art was thunderstorms
And mine merely a drizzle of rain.
I made progress
and the flowers were growing from my fountain pen.
Confidence developing, I invited him inside
And there were still no words from his unfathomable jaw.
A month later, we became one
and I still didn’t know where his intentions were lying.
I’m a girl afraid, does he even have any?
Ink *** after ink ***
I ran even further in this marathon of confusion.
I slowly slid from his dismissive grasp, his matted paws light
I had drawn graffiti over his portrait.
a permanent marker changed beauty into art.
I crept before his wake, into his sleep
And his lyricism lay imbibed in the walls, the desk, the door.
I felt the gale force energy cry inside
Which erupted like a volcano, turning remnants into ashes.
Face down, mane rough, scars bright, fur singed
Interior managed.
In the morning, I lifted his heavy paw away from me
And placed it peacefully beside him.
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
I want to throw off
the cloak of “trying to impress you.”
it’s gotten so
heavy
soaked with my insecurities
and self-loathing,
always snagging
on thorns and skeletons and the
remnants of broken hearts.
I want to shatter
the bottle that held my tears
shed over not being good enough.
Pour my philophobia
into a sea that never dries up.
It’s all salt water anyways.
I want to compose
a cacophony of all the voices that sung
“you’re fake” -- “ugly” -- “worthless” --“unloved” --
into my ears
and then burn the sheet music.
Destruction…
never felt so good.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
Barbed wire memories stretch on,
snagging, catching the flesh and soul.
Filled ditches running parallel,
overflowing with wasted tears.
Pulling close my determination,
onward I trudge to reach my goal.
Not knowing what I'll find out there,
hoping I have nothing to fear.
As I travel down Redemption Road
I see my past reflected now,
in potholes filled with regret.
I hear the sobs of those I hurt,
in the call of the Mocking Bird.
I know my demons chase after me,
they've been there from the onset.
I feel as though I am a lost lamb,
that's fell separated from the herd.
As I travel down Redemption Road
My Spring, Summer and now my Fall years
have led me on past crossroads.
I've climbed some hills, slipped on some paths,
been stubborn when I should yield.
At times I should have chose to run,
so my values would not erode.
Now I find I'm on a new path,
As my faith within me I wield.
As I travel down Redemption Road
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 1:25 PM UTC
**** near me
with perfection talking blues,
caressing crystal drinks,
promising future sneak,
and blanketed romance,
**** near me
with hissing tape violence,
milking the moment,
snagging the attention of the suit
and the tie,
**** near me
blowing every ambition in the room,
plunging into whiskey,
head first and lonely,
**** near me
sha-la-las and oooh-la-las
slither into my forked crypt,
staining my funeral garb,
plastering my cask,
**** near me
brothers looking for to see,
while sister ***** the poison,
I dare her to keep pushing,
**** near me
the kissing and the clowning,
the nightgowning I soon to go a' drowning,
cockroach in the corner,
**** near me
Miranda owes me fifty,
the filthy ******* creature,
draining me of chatter,
**** near me
hustling for the saddest rent,
sleeping with the butcher,
under Martha's tent,
**** near me
the crows collect seed,
the know-hows bashfully reread,
while I **** near wearied, worried;
bleed.
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 12:54 AM UTC
If I close my eyes long enough will you happen to me again?
Not a stranger not a villain just another note to pass on
And on and on
A thousand birds on a wire
One of which has dreams of flying and cannot do it alone
Rather he clean his feathers again and again.
Ruby they came in loving such stars
Diamonds in their mirrors of mine
And eyes
Their bright blinking eyes
Seeing everything for what it is
As it is
There are birds all on a wire
How wonderful is that?
Hear them on their talking stones
Sharing stories of love
The gentlemen and sweethearts and their weddings and their doves
They talked about their dream girl how she left and went away
In the arms of her ghost they knew they couldn’t stay
So alone
So they moved on like everyone else does
I heard them say day by day
They took a chance with a dance
They would swing and they would sway
And in the motion of their feet
They danced off with their eyes
Oh how wonderful they’ll be.
Heavy fever
yeah I’ve got it
Spilled salt
Not my fault.
Terrific winner of skin suffocation
Painted in gold on fire
What a rich man he was
They shot his money toward the sun
Twenty three dollars and sixty seven cents
Rockets are expensive.
Ladies and gentlemen
Don’t let you kids become cannibals.
I have always found this in you
Something I can’t say
It’s when you kiss me every morning
And every night of every day
From the deepest ocean
We did climb the mountain to the sun
And from up high we saw the world
Every part was right for us
I would tumble down
And break my crown
You will come tumbling after
You will come tumbling after
Hanalin the two headed ********* deer
She wants that lion to be so cruel
To twist her next and tie it in a knot
And walk up and down the world in one breath
There are no kings allowed in the garden of eden
The snagging tooth in the lions bite quickly kills snakes
Where in teeth as razor as breath
A serpents birth on vicious bone
Lives nothing more than a worm in the lions throat
Better not tickle that rough tongue.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
Mom shot Jake's cat
with the screen door open,
with dirtied snow covering the
gravel drive. And Jake, bless
his little soul, watched from
the door frame as Dad took
over, snagging the bloodied
mess by the tail and dumping
it in the waiting grave. Mom
told Jake that's the way it is
as she opened the .410's ejection
port and deposited the shell into
her hand. She gave it to him.
A memento. Jake didn't know this
word at the time but years later,
four to be exact, he'd look up
memento for a spelling test,
and think of Dad piling loose dirt,
tiny sticks, and snow on the cat
while he, Jake, stared at the
discharged shotgun shell,
still warm in his hand.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
soft spoken secrets slice through the silence
like coffee-breathed cannonballs
sent shamelessly into the space between
who we are
and who we will be
the smile in your eyes makes it seem
as if you really see me
pinned beneath a perfectly blue egyptian cotton sky
and a lake-shore brown box-spring earth
you stretch yourself thin
thin as eyelash lace across a freckled chest
thin enough to let the sunshine gleam through
through all your light and magic
reflecting pure stardust onto my my blank screened flesh
i've never felt as beautiful
as it is to be tangled up in you
extremities snagging one another
in a devine blend
of feverish feinding
and something far more freeing
i'd trade my unsteady pulse
for every day to begin this way
drenched in poetry
and morning dew
and crazed, excited grinning
how about you toss me a post-card
through our dreaming
one of these evenings
yes
my heart strings are singing
this is the beging of a story
that i quite like
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
I'll wake up earlier than usual and for a split second, I forget what happened 24 hours ago. It seems like a blur, like it didn't happen.
But I know it did.
And I can't change that.
So I'll throw on a checkered shirt and look at myself in the mirror as I put on my key necklace and rings, looking dangerous and ready to ****
I wonder whether or not it's worth it to button up my shirt, but I seem to like the aesthetic of looking like I'm helpless. So I leave the shirt open to seem lazy too.
But I will roll up the sleeves. I'll always roll up the sleeves. Can't risk snagging the cuffs of a good, bad, decently fashionable looking shirt.
Pick out a complimentary hat and go.
Face the day why don't you?
Because I know I'll still end up crying eventually.
And I'd rather have those shirt cuffs in tact to wipe away the pain when I do.
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 11:56 PM UTC
Your fingers ripped across my skin
snagging
breaking in
I expected a thick blue blood
gushing
out mud
but here a blackness lies
crawling
up inside
you might have found a heart
beating
a start
but I felt your surprised gasp
echoing
and vast
when discovering the empty space:
"what a
waste"
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
like 1500 ways to
skin a cat
and being
told you're wrong
for your technique
the rugged edges of your
knife snagging on the
skin like
good intentions
unfolding like
a-bay-of-pigs-invasion
in the heat of the
moment
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 9:29 PM UTC
oh deep
ditches
annals
endless wires
poking
snagging
interest
of the internet,
why must you always ensnare me
i'm trying to write a paper
*********
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC