"snapper" poems
who lit the candles
placed so eloquently
behind purple rock?
that sculpted radiance
and chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs
street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
shuffle their wares
as the front man
and pock face
sing their sullen
holy blues
cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts
a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway
hula hoops
and circle ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy
beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow
a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 11:12 AM UTC
Back in the day,
When I was a little whipper snapper in Leeds,
We would go “chumping”, as we called it, for firewood,
For weeks and weeks.
Everyone built towering infernos,
Ready for November Fifth:
Bonfire Night.
Some made effigies of the “evil” Guy Fawkes,
Leader of the “Gunpowder Plot”
And stood in the street saying
“Penny for the Guy”.
What a night!
Roaring fire on a chill Winter night,
Those flames burning your face.
A World War Three
Of Fireworks:
Rockets, Catherine Wheels and bangers.
Bangers to scare the girls.
Kids painting pictures in the air
With sparklers.
And best of all,
That yummy gingery Parkin cake:
A taste I cannot put
Into words.
Oh and deep dark
Treacle Toffee,
Jacket potatoes,
Roast chestnuts
And Crunchie-like cinder toffee.
It’s many a year since I went to a bonfire.
Politically correct firework displays
Are more the modern thing.
Seems strange to burn the effigy
Of a man who had the sense
To try to blow parliament up –
Especially a Yorkshire Man.
Ha ha.
But then I read that good
Religious reasons are behind
This bonfire Celebration:
Those flames are orange
After all.
Not wishing to create divisions
Anywhere in the world,
It’s still good to see traditions
Being maintained.
Let those fires and fireworks keep rising,
Constantly emerging from the shadows
Of Halloween.
Paul Butters
© PB 27\10\2018.
Written at the request of Stephen Chapman. “Treacle toffee” added later, with “jacket potatoes” and “cinder toffee” added on 31\10\18. "Roast chestnuts" added 18\11.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
Willets cull the seawall
snapper on the grill
rock ***** swoon
in shallow lagoons
long boats pass
under quiet
palm shade
Plovers dance and flutter
handrails frayed and torn
graffiti spots
at lovers rock
frigate-birds fall
from a high
noon sun
Thatched roof on a mud wall
fish flags settle score
anchors arch
in front line march
pillar cracks form
under rust brown scars
Elegant tern and grebe
watchmen fall in cue
children play
on crested waves
whimbrels and notchers
perch above Tentaciones
Striped pelícanos
the bandits of the sea!
merchants grow
in steady flow
siblings jostle
in a tide cooled sand
Heerman gull and boobie
durango smoke in yurt
boiler shrimp
and puffer blimp
castle buckets and scrapers
under a dusk light cheroot
Six pulls on a lead line
painted toes in sand
shearwater run
in a rainbow sun
the portly mexicano
flaunts his tacos
and wares
Rooster house for swordfish
bamboo shoots and sails
broken shells
and ocean swells
rise
on the
perfect
La Ropa bay
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
High up above our war-torn city,
On Snapper hills sit the old lighthouse.
For years in storms, she did her duty
Rain or shine without any kind of excuse.
High above our beautiful sandy shores,
Just like a good mother, she watches
not only over vessels but those
Who lost hopes and suffered all kinds of damages.
The light she flashes has for years,
Served as a perpetual beacon of hope
For those with bad memories and fears,
those traumatized by wars who still can't live and cope.
High above Monrovia, she stands
Watching the resilient people below
Survivors of the deadly Ebola strands
Who once refused to bow their heads low.
High above she sits, beyond the Montserrado basin.
At night her light remains the star of the city,
That has endured moaning and crying,
A city that has seen the good, the bad and the ugly.
The old lighthouse still stands there today,
directing maritime traffic at night
and flashing light over our beloved city
That for years witnessed a ****** and senseless fight.
IB-Poetry©️
2/19/2018
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 10:33 PM UTC
Your origami snapper came along
tucked into my wallet
things like that don't travel well
but I managed
they suffered a lesion to the spine
snappers are apparently weak there
maybe we can work on growing a backbone together
handmade gifts mean the most
less, when it was made in whimsy and flimsy
more, because it gave me false hope
maybe it's a sign
like a uke-playing octopus
maybe friendship is all I need right now
your origami snapper is a great listener
It sits on my desk
Either mocking or pondering, I can’t tell
Snappers are hard to read that way
Maybe if we showed more emotion you’d
notice
but action requires reaction
and somehow the origami rose I made forgot it’s origami thorns
But there could be blood on my hands
From a beautiful friendship I so recklessly slaughter
pulling up roots like weeds
adding wistful thinking to inimitable memories
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
California Kids
I’ll call you up on Saturday
And invite you over.
Take the 101, 110 and 1;
(Sounds like an equation!)
And you’re there.
Just use your GPS..
There’ll be a party at my house,
Daft Punk playing on the Echo.
It’ll be epic, Echoic!
With some vintage’ tunes,
Crankin’ the Beach Boys,
Watching surfers
Shredding out-the-back,
Past prowling sharks in the shallows.
Lets go to the dunes and maybe kiss.
I know that you miss me,
So don’t ask me why
And when you come,
I won’t ask
“What are you doing here?”
We’ll eat fish tacos,
Guacamole, Pico de Gallo
And drink margaritas
While we debate French new wave,
I’ll praise Truffaut while you
Tell me that Scorsese is the man.
When we get drunk enough
I will suggest a walk
Along the iridescent surf.
You should say yes because
I’m safe now that I drive electric,
That I turned vegan
(sorry about the fish)
and wear cruelty-free clothes.
I don’t grill snapper anymore
And take my shoes off inside the door.
Maybe we’ll make it to Tower 28,
Lay down and watch the full moon
Like Jim Morrison did to write.
I’ll tell you I’m glad you’re alive—
I’m no poet, but you know that.
Jun 19, 2023
Jun 19, 2023 at 3:52 PM UTC
He is a wringer
snapper of neck, diseased infested bird.
Dancing ***** strippers
pieces of puked up poultry.
Laugh when the sun is up
during the night you are real
when the clowns come out to tease and ****
haunted by their giggles
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
Timmy the tortoise shell
Lived a tortured hell
When he fell
And cracked his shell
As Timmy tortoise
Had a timid soul
That would spill
From the cracks
And stack in tow
But Timmy was a loner
Quick to ******
Closed the traps
Of deviants and attackers
With his snapper
Even happier
He'd turtle slap ya
But Tim's dapper days
Were done
He was a flapper in the ****
Of an overly populated pond
Technologicalcated and wrong
And it tinied t
Under its beams
Of ruining
Until he
Eventually
Was gone
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
A locking click
the clear is hall
a clocking tick
is hear I all
a rocking drop
the near is fall
a blocking chop
I fear the saw
a pampy crapper
I nose my hold
a campy happer
I clothes my fold
a fighty scrapper
that big is bloke
a lighty snapper
I cig my smoke!
©2011 Lyn
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
He awoke at four that morning with the sunrise.
"Time to go, babe, get ready," he said with a smile,
Thinking I had been asleep, unaware
I lied awake all night, waiting anxiously.
I wondered if he thought it rather strange,
His little girl wanted to deep-sea fish.
He hand-made ham sandwiches with cheddar cheese--
(Because he knows that cheddar is my favorite)--
And then forced me to take some dramamine.
"It keeps you from puking your lunch," he teased.
I didn't fuss at him for giving me the **** pills.
I was ready to catch my first Atlantic shark.
Florida's early mornings aren't that warm,
So he gave me his old jean jacket as we drove south.
The dock was full of average sailor types--
Our captain's name was Anderson, I think.
Anderson looked just like his boat too,
Weathered by the wicked waves of the ocean.
The boat would swerve and I would sway so awkwardly,
Unbalanced like a newborn giraffe.
Dad gripped my shaking shoulders and whooped,
"This one's gonna be a beauty, you can mark my words!"
I snatched, tugged, and reeled violently--!
The beast finally surfaced with the tiniest plash.
She wiggled on the hook, to my mild astonishment,
Slippery, slime-covered, and small in size.
"It's a white snapper!" Anderson boomed.
She was sixteen inches and diamond white,
Glistening in the sun like the greatest treasure.
Dad patted me on the back, chest swollen with pride.
Catching Atlantic sharks didn't matter now.
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC
Cotton is everywhere,
it's on the ground;
in the ditches,
all brown and soggy like
wet hairballs; in the wheel wells,
the rotor tiller;
the SNAPPER'
the squash;
your wife's ********
tingling her constantly;
the speedometer,
the pulled pork,
collards,
mashed potatoes
and most definitely
the gravy;
it's in the eyes,
makes them red
and explosive,
it's in the dark loam
and gloam; the unwashed streetlights,
the blue dark
and even bluer
lampposts in the middle
of fields black as oil;
the pink sun,
white clapboards
and redwood siding
of that burned-out homestead;
the cotton is everywhere;
thrown up by the slaves;
a ceiling made just for
February lovelessness
as I pull on my Marlboro
and crook my arm
like the cornices of a power station.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 10:41 AM UTC
That's it I've had it
Tired of being ignored with a wink on the side
I'm tired of being told what old men should do
Going to start taking life on the flea..or is that the fly
I'm going to hit the streets of the city
And be known as that cool guy that raps
After I add a tad bit more Poligrip
So my dentures can get down with that
I'll get me a ball cap and turn it sideways
My pants already hang down past my crack
I'll even learn the latest catch phrase
Like, Hey dude..what's up wit dat?!
Think I'll even rhinestone my walker
For that little extra bling, bling
They'll say check out that crazy rapper daddy-o
Man that cat can really swing
I'll keep the lyrics clean like I do my diaper
That's why I bring my nursie with me
After all she's a wonderful wiper
Don't worry I pay the extra wiping fee
I'll also get her to hold up the cue cards
Since my memory over the years has waned
No longer to be known as that old white *******
Beating JZ at his own game
I'll get jiggy with it every chance I get
As I fizizzile my way to the top
I'll be bigger than that guy with the candy name
That young whipper snapper will melt in the hands of this rapping GrandPop
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
kiss-hug the red-line intention
to a snapper fish lipstick, you
sick thankless. thankless to the
fact that thankful is relative--
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW, CAN YOU HEAR ME PICK UP PICKUP PICKUUUUP
trucks continue to glide down the
Trans-Canada highway as I wonder
if I've been getting high the right way.
I'm a snitch and I found me. Tell me
where I'm hiding.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 5:22 PM UTC
Why can't it be a time for me to be what ever I want to be?
I want to be a rapper, a hip hop snapper, a rhythm tapper.
Why can't we rhyme all the time for a nickel or a dime, it would be sublime?
I'd rhyme love and hate, end to **** clothes to cape, and fat free to cake.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
Joel is a doorkeeper
for a rusty warehouse
and has a wife
a very angry spouse
and a son
one day his hip was out
two bodies going
on different directions
his blue uniform T shirt
floating in the powdered air
barely walking up and down
he fell
while cleaning the murky water
that flooded the region
of cement factories and grey hills
two weeks without his employers
to even pay for the pain killers
or severance pay and no off time
his face had the expression of a struggling
red snapper
together
we would watch a gossip show
on the TV
while he ate spiced dry beef
boiled eggs and rice
the stories on the TV were mostly about
spouses, children, abandonment and
violence and
girls sleeping with their step dad
a psychologist and the skinny loud mouthed
blond moderator
who acted as the defender of society
completed the act
Joel could not stand up to open the door
a doorkeeper who couldn’t open the door
finally, after two weeks of silent pain
they gave him an assistant
we packed the last China bound container
bellied up with modems
to be refurbished and resold
to a billion internet hungry
Chinese beings
My job was done
two weeks past and I came back
he was not there anymore
but I found him
200 yards away under his shack
a crammed cardboard cluster of homes
he was in bed
lost 40 pounds and was
piped up, draining blood
from the chest
and a bag of ***** attached to the waist
someone was laying next to him
sleeping the afternoon
he smiled at me
missing two front teeth
skinny as a mummy
had three tumours
one trapped between the kidney
and the spine
one more in the stomach and the last one
next to the liver
he was to be taken to the hospital
with a danger of loosing
the kidney and his life
I gave him a kiss on the forehead
and left
It was the same pink sunny day
the same old trick of a life
but something was not right
it never usually is
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
I can no longer wait for spring
When I know the perfume of countless pale orange blossoms
Will fill the air
When heaven will hold white billowing clouds
Over the trees and pastures now full of wildflowers
Purple and yellow and red they grow
Petals all tossed in the cool wind
The lakeweed will gather at the shore
Where the reeds sprout tall and thick
Dragonflies circle the green water
Viceroy butterfly like a leaf
Now the cranes are joyous
Warming their wings in the sun
Walking in the shallows
Searching for mosquitoes on the surface
The Bluebird calls from the treeline
The Cardinal calls from the air
Deer roam through the rows of sugar cane
Quiet in the breeze
Orange groves full of angry cottonmouths
Who coil in the sun
Soft flowing river
Mangrove snapper slips through the water
Warm in the noon time sun
Today we bury you
Underneath the ground
Everything you've seen and been
All that you became
Is lost in an instant
During a final winter rain
Now we give you up
To become part of the earth
Bringing only joy
Leaving only love
We cannot stand here in sorrow
When the orange blossom starts to bud
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 10:37 AM UTC
Alligator Snappers are working the depths of Port Lake
Swimming this pond in the Summer could be a bad mistake ..
Rugged spiny shells and claws like a Florida Panther ...
Determined green eyes at the surface spell nothing but danger !
Never walk the dismal swamps of Georgia alone ,
Snapper's got a jaw that can rip your hide clean to the bone !
Bubbles on the surface are all the warning you'll ever get !
The only thing these monsters understand is a bullet !
If fishing line is snapping and the catfish stop biting , you can rest
assured a Snapper is up to no good lying on the bottom !
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 2:38 PM UTC
Joel is a doorkeeper
for a rusty warehouse
and has a wife
a very angry spouse
and a son
one day his hip was out
two bodies going
on different directions
his blue uniform T shirt
floating in the powdered air
barely walking up and down
he fell
while cleaning the murky water
that flooded the region
of cement factories and grey hills
two weeks without his employers
to even pay for the pain killers
or severance pay and no off time
his face had the expression of a struggling
red snapper
together
we would watch a gossip show
on the TV
while he ate spiced dry beef
boiled eggs and rice
the stories on the TV were mostly about
spouses, children, abandonment and
violence and
girls sleeping with their step dad
a psychologist and the skinny loud mouthed
blond moderator
who acted as the defender of society’s
completed the act
Joel could not stand up to open the door
a doorkeeper who couldn’t open the door
finally, after two weeks of silent pain
they gave him an assistant
we packed the last China bound container
bellied up with modems
to be refurbished and resold
to a billion internet hungry
Chinese beings
my job was done
two weeks past and I came back
he was not there anymore
but I found him
200 yards away under his shack
a crammed cardboard cluster of homes
he was in bed
lost 40 pounds and was
piped up, draining blood
from the chest
and a bag of ***** attached to the waist
someone was laying next to him
sleeping the afternoon
he smiled at me
missing two front teeth
skinny as a mummy
had three tumors
one trapped between the kidney
and the spine
one more in the stomach and the last one
next to the liver
he was to be taken to the hospital
with a danger of loosing
the kidney and his life
I gave him a kiss on the forehead
and left
It was the same pink sunny day
the same old trick of a life
but something was not right
it never usually is
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC
On opening a can of inspiration
I find it's all chunk white words
in spring water .
It comes with a waring not to consume more than one can a month . Something about the mercurial thoughts that can spirit you away .
Jellyfish . . . I dont't think they go good with peanut butter on white bread . I was raised on peanut butter and bread . Without jellyfish . In the summer there were a lot of them in East Bay , Panama City , Florida . We went swimming and fishing so we got stung a lot . Crabbing too .
I used to get these huge acorns and stuff my pockets with them then run down to the pier with my slingshot made out of surgical tube rubber and shoot jellyfish as they floated by . Most were small but some were huge , more than a foot across . Those I would pump a whole pocket of acorns into . Actually through them . My slingshot would shoot an acorn through a galvanized garbage can .
Winter's were bleak . Well not compared to the rest of the world . But the water was too cold to swim in . All the fish migrated away . Birds too . Except for the robins that had migrated from the North to spend winter there . All the white birds had gone . Gulls , cranes you name em .
Winter brought moody storms full of tempestuous emotions and gale force winds . Their overbearing attitude dominated life for days . But eventually everything turns back into Florida . The land that has always been a pushover when it comes to the weather . You name it . It probably has had the most unfavorable weather of any other state . Hurricanes , tornadoes , lightning strikes , on land and people .
Tuna , we used to go off shore tuna fishing on a boat named "Tuna" . We caught Spanish and king mackerel , dolphins (the fish) and cobia which I grew up calling ling . But never any tuna .
Sometimes we would fish on the bottom for red snapper which if eaten fresh caught is the best tasting fish in the world .
Toads ! There used to be toads everywhere just before dark . My little brother and I used to catch them and put them in a cardboard box until dark then release them . One night I heard my mother scream and I ran to see what was up . My little brother was in the bathtub with about fifty toads . I hear there are hardly any toads there now . Same for the fish . I wonder how the jellyfish are doing .
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:51 PM UTC
what a ****** reward...
72 virgins...
and that's the end /
beginning of all of it?
72... virgins?
why not a wrestling
match with
a rabies infested
dog?
why not that?!
72 virgins is boa-ring...
i want a rabies infested
fighting dog...
i need to say something,
prove my point...
lodge my extended palm
of thumb and index
in between its snapper...
seeing if it would
choke...
fake choke...
like regurgitating choke
on my soft purse imposing
its presence on its delicate
take on the chewing charm...
so why would you want a Gucci purse
of
72 virgins akin to the Muslims?!
me?
i want to wrestle a *******
rabies infused dog!
preferably a Rottweiler...
why would i want 72
16 year old piss-pants going
on about boy-bands?!
why?!
wild theory...
pedophiles are...
not exactly into excessive drinking,
or drinking as such,
but... never able to couple both
drinking and smoking...
hence their orientation around
the flesh of the young...
**** the 72 virgins...
give me a dog riddled with rabies!
a Rottweiler,
or a Tosa...
Dobermann...
snap!
bull terrier!
do i really feel like
spending my eternity with
72 virgins?
luckily i spent half an hour
with one...
have them... **** it...
just give me my wrestling match
with the rabies infused dog!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC
In dark and dreary Georgia swampland , in the midnight hour with the light of the Moon as your only friend .. Yellow and red eyes glow in the shadows , cottonmouths and gators slowly cross the waters ...
Bullfrogs sing in the Cattails , Horned Owls screech across the timberlands .. Bobcats scream , sound just like a woman late at night ,
they'll catch you off guard every time , make your beard turn white from fright ..Mosquitos are relentless , the humidity hell , blood ******* leeches , brown bats and rabid foxes .. Wild hogs work the bogs left and right , don't ever get caught by a razorback without a good plan or corner a 'Coon' by accident , kick a Snapper thinking it's just a rock , or pick up a Rattlesnake looking for a walkin' stick .. Rumors of black panthers and 'shine wild men ', Confederate soldier ghost and quicksand .. Always lay a trail from where you started are you'll spend all night in haunted , Georgia swamp country ...
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
good morning
toothpaste mouth water
slug juice armed wrestler
though the thought about water
was a yellow snapper
a formula for not being
in the same room with different people
slug on the keyboard
making trails and
i saw you in bloomington
that's where it was
and holy ****
how did that happen
?
you usued to be a drunk
talking about
how **** was going to hell over there
and now you're a
guy about the age of my uncle
smoking j's out of the ventilation fan
talking about how ***** giong to hell "over there"
and i'm saying yea...it sure is man it sure is
and you're thinking about how
how i talked to you and left you
because that's the way it happens in the movies
and you gave me a free bike tire
and i thought you were quite fun
for someone who
was a drunk and a pharmacist at the same time
but that never worked out because
you lost it all to alcohol you said
and that's some scary **** how
close my city is to that city
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
jeg vil fjerne mine ord fra universet lige så hurtigt som snapchat sletter de forvrængede ansigter mellem venner og to timers forberedte og perfekt iscenesatte flirter
men selv de flotteste blade på min fingerfilodendron og tre gange "om" kan ikke hamle op med idealer og drømme stående i kø uden for min hjerne, og lagringspladsen er ved at være udfyldt med nedadgående vækstmodeller, fluviale landskaber og aztekerriger
krystallerne på mit natbord kan ikke gøre forårsrengøringen for mig, så fej hurtigt mine ord under dørmåtten til der ingen spor er tilbage af det døgnåbne tankespind
jeg snapper dog lige en til gang for kan de 10 sekunder fra eller til gøre den store forskel i et allerede overrandt bæger?
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 3:50 PM UTC
glimmersokkerne i mine adidas superstar
er iscenesat ligesom billedet på instagram
en kreativ finesse til et ellers
identitetsløst antræk
scandiminimalisme forklarer jeg
men du skulle føle på 70'erne
der løber i mine årer og
80'erne i min sjæl
stemninger og billeder
jeg ikke kan sætte ned på papir eller
udødeliggøre mig selv i
ordkvæleri
mit sind vil for evigt være farvet
af iPhonens kølige lys
når den imiterer månen
men jeg finder tryghed i dén
og melankolsk internetdigteri
beretninger fra dagen og natten og teenagefjolleri
men de kan mere end jeg nogensinde vil kunne
istedet river jeg en side ud af en digtsamling
kopierer den hen på mit hipstermøg
snapper, piller og retoucherer
og lægger det på instagram
like.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
"Kom"
“Stil dig”
“Kys mig”
Befalingerne spyttes ud
Knugede knoer bliver hvide om mine håndled der gribes på min ryg
"Buk dig"
“Vrik hofterne”
“Kys mig”
Magten er i spil
Det hivende åndedrag snapper efter vejret og behaget anes
"Vend dig"
“Rør mig”
“Kys mig”
Tilfredsheden udstråles
Smilebåndet begejstrer og kyssene bliver blidere og sødere men ikke nødvendigvis bedre
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC