"snared" poems
That sweet scent wafted in the warm breeze
the moment before we met.
From then on my life was changed
love came with your perfume.
Each of my emotions in hyper drive
until then not alive.
Your perfume was so intoxicating
a doting slave I became.
One direction to achieve your attention
passion drew me under it's spell.
This energy and intensity could not last
one day a shadow was cast!
I became yesterdays man brushed away
when somebody else was snared.
Like me the perfume pulled them within
my heart shattered as I watched.
Another laying prostrate at your feet
no way could I take defeat.
Jealousy never far from the passion of love
not caring when I sighted you.
Unable to control my basic human instincts
attacking forcibly my rival.
Feeling betrayed and the only one hurt
soon my body would hit the dirt!
Standing here a noose around my neck
guilty of deeply loving you!
Even as the trap door beneath me is released
the perfume will linger always.
Never regretting that deep emotional ride
you will be with me inside!
Love and jealousy unceasing like your perfume!
The Foureyed poet.
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 2:53 AM UTC
#
You have brought back these feelings
Resurfaced those fears
Of the fire inside
that had so many tears
A weak flame that was dying
Alive once again
Has now muddied the line
between lover and friend
That's how it goes for me
I don't know about you
The words passing might be
in that moment were true
They kept traveling on
Possibly a comet
As my feelings grow strong
Expectations not met
Once again feel a fool
Even though it's not true
And my heart gave to you
Time again I will do
But this time not the same
It's because you weren't here
Could not reach out and touch
So our bodies weren't shared
Just the words that were said
And the sound of your voice
Resurrect from the dead
Could not stop; Had no choice
Seems like that's how it is
In your lasso I'm snared
All it takes is one tug
And again I will care
Pilot light to a stove
A slight twist and it strikes
You've invaded my heart
Bursting flame will ignite
But if carelessly handled
It's me who gets burned
Walked all over and trampled
Same dolt who won't learn
I have built up the walls
But we're both trapped inside
The tight space is so small
There's nowhere I can hide
Face-to-face with you now
It begins and it ends
I'll get through it somehow
Are we lovers or friends?
#
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 8:56 PM UTC
I was six when I first saw kittens drown.
Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the scraggy wee shits',
Into a bucket; a frail metal sound,
Soft paws scraping like mad. But their tiny din
Was soon ****** They were slung on the snout
Of the pump and the water pumped in.
'Sure, isn't it better for them now?' Dan said.
Like wet gloves they bobbed and shone till he sluiced
Them out on the dunghill, glossy and dead.
Suddenly frightened, for days I sadly hung
Round the yard, watching the three sogged remains
Turn mealy and crisp as old summer dung
Until I forgot them. But the fear came back
When Dan trapped big rats, snared rabbits, shot crows
Or, with a sickening tug, pulled old hens' necks.
Still, living displaces false sentiments
And now, when shrill pups are prodded to drown
I just shrug, 'Bloody pups'. It makes sense:
'Prevention of cruelty' talk cuts ice in town
Where they consider death unnatural
But on well-run farms pests have to be kept down.
3.6k
*Have anthologized every
cerebration of mine,
finding myself snared in
dogmatic mysteries of cosmos.
My cognitive contents are
razing & vitiating,
leaving a brobdingnagian lacuna.
Striving to surmount it but,
incapable of sating the one that
domiciliates within
my èlan vital.*
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
A mask is something I often tried to wear,
never succeeding always ending up snared.
-Snared within my own insansity
I'm somewhat surprised I still grasp my humanity
it seems it's all I have left after all I've finally noticed
it doesn't even matter *my ****** expression*
it doesn't have to be a way to express my emotions.
If I remain neutral, who will really take that into consideration?
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Parachutes billowing,
floating
above the abyss
though we all once knew.
Parachutes colliding,
landing
upon the barren land
that man once had.
They came by the millions
drifting from heaven.
Their reason for being...
a mystery to all.
Parachutes flaunting,
opening
to reveal themselves
so that man might learn.
Parachutes lifeless,
wafting
through cloud speckled skies
when man was glad.
They came by the thousands
dropping from heaven.
Their reason for being
could not be explained.
Parachutes lingering,
meandering
toward their spacklespace
of the damaged sphere...
Parachutes multicolored,
sized and shaped
caught in the crosswinds
and turbulence of man.
They came by the hundreds
crashing from heaven.
Their reason for being
was not understood.
Parachutes traveling,
transporting
the essence of life
for all to perceive.
Parachutes tangled,
snared and collapsed
by pettiness and greed
of those who wanted more.
They came by the dozens,
groping from heaven.
Their reason for being
was a little too late.
Parachutes hanging,
lifeless
not realizing their fate
but expecting the best.
Parachutes sputtering,
idling over the masses..
too blind to see...
too ignorant to know...
They came by the millions
but now there are none.
their reason for being
will never be known-
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 3:36 AM UTC
*More often than is naught I carry the face of the villain.
Snared in this prison waiting for my turn to burn while
your fate is not so different from mine. My clocks still
yield some ticks and tocks yet before I go there stands a
few things you need to know:
They told me that your love was fatal, though failed to
hear the laughter of irony from behind their heads. They
cried tales that you were toxic and I could not save my
lips from curling. They said that your presence in mine
would design the suffering for those around. I was told
that you would leave me up in smoke as if God still
plays with dice. Your middling cigarette spends just the
beginning of their lives packing yet I waged it my
whole life just to spend its remnants with you. Addictive
by nature so let me take my pick of a million other lips
to secure truth that it is you I am addicted to.
I want you to simmer my skin when the world is cold,
I want to cast you brighter than a hundred suns hold,
I want to steal breath from your chest and place it in mine,
I want to make your heart stop like an eight-sided sign,
I want you to move my pistons and ignite my core,
I want you to saturate me as I lay on your shore,
I want to find what it is to go out with a bang,
I want to be that picture that fits in no frame.
I want to get you out of my head but you are
my song on repeat,
my hole that’s too deep,
my nights with no sleep,
my words when I speak.
Yet alas I hail from a pack known as Montague while
you bear the brand of Capulet. They will never render
us free in this life so when my time finally comes to a
burning halt, and my life flashes before my eyes, just
know that you will be the only thing I see in the next.*
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
Am I the only one to think
that a kite is such a sad thing?
Flimsy...frail...
never really free,
forever tied to a string
Yes, it can soar indeed,
so high, with the wind taking it places,
almost making it forget,
just enjoying the wind rushing through,
lighthearted
The wind drops,
then it gets snared
among tree branches maybe,
or perhaps stuck on a roof or elsewhere
with its string all tangled and knotted,
almost impossible to untangle
if made with paper,
it should be lucky to still be intact,
with nary a tear
more often than not,
it gets ditched in the trash,
the price to pay for
its momentary freedom
Sometimes, though
perhaps a rarity these days,
there is that boy who makes
that kite from scratch,
whittles the sticks himself,
painstakingly forming that frame,
creating that kite with love
So when it does get all tangled up,
that boy still tries so hard to fix it,
to make it new...
never minding the cuts
he gets in the process--
That string not meant to tie down
that kite,
but a lifeline to the boy
But like I said,
that must be a rare thing these days...
For I am one to think
that a kite is such a sad thing...
Flimsy...frail...
never really free,
forever tied to a string
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 3:38 AM UTC
Peter built a paper boat
Which he could float about the sea
To hidden spots of lonely coast
Where not a ghost or man would be
He painted words along her bough
That soon would plough and skip and trot
Between the waves that rose and falled
The boat was called 'Forget Me Not'
He bid his wife a fond goodbye
The tide was high when he embarked
He drifted from his tiny cove
While weather drove and seagulls larked
He set his course horizon bound
For solid ground of ****** shore
As darkness came he made a bed
To keep his head above the floor
The voyage took him straight and true
Across the blue, toward the sun
But soon a tongue of lightening spat
And thunder rattled like a gun
The waves encircled hungrily
And angrily about their prey
The tempest heaved with no regret
It blew Forget Me Not away
He found himself all caked in sand
And on a strand of desert beach
Forget Me Not had run aground
But safe and sound from tidal reach
He folded down his paper yacht
And found a spot to build a home
But saved the sail and rudder strings
To forge some wings and daily roam
He glided high and long and wide
Past mountainside and shore to shore
And through the night he forged a blade
And with it made a lumber saw
He felled the trunk and snared the beast
And cooked a feast to celebrate
The rain it sought to disagree
But quick was he to remonstrate
The moonlight waxed and waned apart
And on his heart a longing formed
For home and his beloved bride
For fireside and there be warmed
And so he took the house he'd made
From humid shade of seldom oak
He set the island to his aft
And cried and laughed the words he spoke
They matched the words he'd lately hewn
Beneath the moon in shady spot
He carved into that seldom tree
'Remember me, forget me not'
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
Dear Maggie Grace,
I find you to be a phenomenal poet. I want to recognize, acknowledge, and express my admiration, for all of your marvelous work, you are a beautiful part of this site and I have selected some of my favorite lines from your work. It is all really spectacular, and I have put my interpretations and thoughts below each poetic phrase you wrote:
Drinking my cold chai tea,
Tears falling endlessly.
-Maggie Grace
This is so vivid and genuine. The reality and physicality captured by these lines is fascinating and incredible. The description of the sensory so simply yet brilliantly put. I love your style of poetry. Also, chai tea is amazing. ;P
“Yes, I’m fine,”
And people believe me,
-Maggie Grace
You bring to focus such an achingly relatable topic. To be so indescribably not fine, but to say it anyway and to have people believe you, it is a unique and unpretty type of pain.
Weaving their web of lies,
Their pain they hide.
Don’t say hurtful things,
-Maggie Grace
I love, love LOVE these lines “weaving their web of lies” such magnificent imagery WOW! And the message you convey is such a vital one. To fight against hurtful words.
Save the teenage girl,
she needs her life,
she needs her everything,
stop bullying.
-Maggie Grace
Bullying is such a global, agonizing problem and you have truly snared the essence of the anguish of being bullied. You are an excellent poet.
I like to wander in the snow, and think about things, like you.
-Maggie Grace
You paint a picture with words here, and so many of us can really connect with that sort of feeling, a pensive mood, pondering another soul in this world. The setting you provide is lovely. “To wander in the snow” how delicate and beautiful.
Maggie Grace,
Thank you for blessing Hello Poetry with your presence. I am proud to call you a fellow poet, I could really feel your soul in the poetic pieces you compose and you have a beautiful soul from what I can tell. Keep writing, because you are a credit to the art of writing. :)
Love Ember Evanescent
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
Connected through corruption
Entangled
Snared in the web of The Unknown
Uncertainty's hands
Tightening on our throats
We become shadows
Pigmentation drained
The hope to overcome
Trickling down the gutter
Forever swimming
The raging seas of doubt
Anchored
By memories
We beg to forget
We're both drowning
Swelling tides
Of what could have been
Please, take my hand
We can make it to the other side
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC
Jew harp, Plath hearted, dream seamstress
who sits in the dark.
Who made me live here.
In a small room inside my head, little dictator
and I lit this place with music, just for you
Where all sounds but songs are dead-headed
Just before they bloom.
Totalitarian angel, rage-filled fragile smoke
who censored my tower of Babel.
Who tamed my very rivers of song
to breathe the moon-tones as vapor, until as a sun
you’d rise to scar these rivers, every single one
wherever you find them, with your face.
No matter how they run.
Paranoid animal with an understandable
aversion to caress and kinetic poetry.
Damsel who births her own dragons
like the fertility of hell, again and again.
Life and love belong to the monsters
the monsters you make of them
but all of them I’d befriend.
and I wonder.
I could chew my pen hand off
snared coyote.
I could swallow my tongue
dancing to dead note barks.
I could visually inhale that sun.
Take in all I can.
To get the eyelid ink spots.
The branded silhouettes
busying my eyes as I sleep
each night as I sleep.
Without this allergy to identity
you could turn this world backwards in me.
That hell of a snow-globe you hold
if only you knew what kind of world you controlled.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
The distance is what makes it so hard
To be here, so far away from your side
To be here, as if snared in the lies
That you miss me as I long for times gone by.
To know what I had… To let it all go...
Your smile, your laugh and your touch
To know they are gone, never to return
It tears me asunder, it saps my soul...
The realization is what makes it so hard
To know that you were never mine
I could have had it, but I couldn’t grasp
It slipped my fingers, how could I be that blind?!
The shadows are what make it so hard
To let go of your memory and bury you in the past
I feel it clawing at me, it is screaming so loud
It won´t let me forget and it brings me down under its weight
As I measure this sadness in pounds
My failure streches on for miles
And liters of tears flow from my eyes
If only I could purge these hours from time...
And it is there, as it has been since the first day
The emptiness, the silence, the space
As time ebbs away, and life goes on
Mine came to an end
The moment I let you go.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
My heart is racing violently,
Yet I stay seated silently.
Please not now, anxiety.
I need to remain calm.
I lightly touch my temples,
I can't keep myself from gasping.
I look towards the door,
My eyes begin to sting.
A tear drops past my cheek.
**** this, I need to leave.*
"Don't say such things."
I swear.
These emotions have me snared.
As I stare at the door in tears,
I finally run through it,
Down the hall; and stairs.
They put me through this.
The reason I'm so anxious,
Is simply because of you idiots.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
Synthesis says
hang the liar, birth the
Rabid.
Feign what
he said, she said, we said
Gold.
Martyr in the sack.
Radical, the bone layer
White bride, lucid lace
cool, cool blue in
subdued tones.
Skin is circles, ellipse,
revolution, revelation
creation as submission,
god god god
God.
Cad Gaddeau
We trees, pine broken
and snared, and
Rabid.
Feign what
I said, I said, I said
Dull,
I am
the liar.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
Trapped 'tween
adjectives' objections
succumbed to
long-windedness,
snared 'neath an
expanse of circumlocution,
paraphrasing periphrases
buried under layers
of technicalities,
all in a day's multiformity
working midst the madness
of poetry's sublimity
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
Its all clicking
Like cards in wheel spoke, the whisper of childhood
Broad sun on shouldered back
As I watch
You
With you cheeky smile
Once more bright, rose-framing white walled ivory
The glinting glimmer of glee
In chocolate spun pools
Floating in the renewed plane of dreams
I had always thought brown a rather dull color
A simple thing
Reminiscent of dirt, and the color of bark
Everyone had it
A color I thought so overused
Like God had run out of all the good colors
Brown was what was left
But you
Yes
You
The one whom sprung it seemed
Right of the very air
Pouncing into my life like a cat
Well versed in the hunt
You trapped me
Snared me
When I wasn't aware I was wanting to be caught
And ate up
My heart
Devoured my intellect
And left me craving for more
So I smiled
Seeing you laugh
Watching you get better
Watching you pull yourself out of the muck
The poison that had kept you drugged and away from me
Little Bird was pleased
Wanting to sing high praises to the heavens
And to any of the Gods
That would hear her joy
All of the creators would hear
My lamentations
Feel my world clicking
Like a joint
The setting of a broke limb
The resurrection of my figurative faith
The flow of my psyche'
Is restored
As I set back and watch the hawk finally soar.
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 1:39 AM UTC
You can leave wires alone, hidden away
and they still get tangled, tied up in knots,
twisted around in angry coils, like a pit-full
of leathery snakes. Everything appears to work still fine
and it looks nice and shiny, like it always did.
Dusted off every week. Our visitors admire it,
and family don’t notice it anymore.
It’s part of the furniture, there every day;
useful and pleasurable though it is, in its way,
if it broke, it would be replaced. So why,
though untouched in anyway
are the wires in such a state?
So, moving the furniture, you try
and release them. You try and follow the trail,
from where they used to run straight and true,
to where they now entwine and choke
each other with their tiny knotted fists of flex.
And you think *this is beyond the laws of physics,
That an inanimate object can come alive
With such malevolence.*
You look for explanation, such as
spectral interference or evil black-eyed
midnight fairies with sharp pin-teeth,
who, in glinting moonlight, spin and prance,
Whirling the wires around, as if in some frenzied pagan dance.
Rather, though, (and you know) it’s the small
unseen twists of time that, uncorrected in neglect,
have snared the wires in their own catch net.
However did it come to this? I ask her,
and she looks at me, as if
I shouldn’t be surprised. For so
it happens every time.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC
Dark to dawn, dawn to light, piercing rays combat the night
Dipping moon drawing nigh, floating, trancing, tracing by
Yawning morning beckons still, willing sun against night’s chill
Clash of forces, voice of wills, call to victory ever still
Shades the night, lumens the day - tendrils and spirals to strip away
Entwined in struggle, surging forth, seeking the coruscating flow
Darkness snared, one final blow - finally ending the blight of night
Out of the darkness and into the light, conflict restored - enjoin the fight
Dawn to dusk which can we trust, both sides are found in all of us
Oct 5, 2013
Oct 5, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
A good friend with a basset-hound face is on his feet
The rest of us are weak
as newborn puppies,
from the late hour, the numbing glory in our lungs
But, mostly from laughter.
This young man is a connoisseur of altered states, an apprentice butcher, and one of the chosen few who breath music in and out effortlessly
And he's preaching
Prosthelytizing
Three minutes before,
he had been happily day dreaming
Three feet from the floor
with the boob-tube beaming
happy
simple
moving colors
The man on the set shows us how to stir-fry chicken
Our mouths water, but we're content to sit.
But with the fire coming up that glass pipe
and setting his boiler to churn along feverish
He caught an insight
or it snared him, like a spiderweb across a peaceful hiking path
On his feet
He was beginning to see connections
And had to share them with someone
Now
I'm a limp doll at this point, fully immersed in the body-high
Thoughts are glacial, movement glacial
Oh, my friend.
You're talking to the wrong audience
We can't hope to see it as you do.
But he keeps on keeping on.
And tells us a thing or two.
Cooking
He says
Is like ***
As our laughter dies down to a dull roar, he continues
The speeds and heats and intensities can all vary
to give you countless subtle differences.
But the true constant is care
Loving attention to the finest detail.
His brows furrow, his toes test the fibers of the rug
and he glances back up, and I imagine a podium in front of him.
Or maybe it's like Jazz. He says.
We learn, or glean out, how things are supposed to happen
But in the moment, the twanging instant
Beautiful things will themselves to exist
and they defy all well-laid plans.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Though I shouldn’t engage
I cannot help but to feel
The best parts of me
Encased in your seal
Like a bear snared in a trap
Wrenching in pain alone
I cannot remove myself from her
As her back slowly turns
What I wish will never be
For the times we shared
And eloquent words spoke
Forever embedded in my mind
As alone I begin to choke
As I watch you depart
I slowly burn inside
With the memories that remain
Nothing left to fear
But a hollow disdain
So haunted am I
In some mysterious haze
As I hear her glorious song
Though the taste is different
It never seems to linger for long
As stagnant as I am
I cannot look away
As you slip off to revelry
And violently swept into another’s gaze
So alone I am to sink
Violently into the night
Holding on to the dead carcass
As I seek what was never mine
For what I want to do I don’t
And what I don’t I do
A part of me is carried of in the distance
Left with the stunning memories of you
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
Welcome to the Land of Upside-Down
Where sad faces smile and happy ones frown.
Place your coat on the floor and shoes on the rack,
Enter my home and don’t ever come back.
Stand up on the chair and sit on the table,
Only four legs, but it’s still unstable.
Problems arise from nothing at all
With a chance of answers being very small.
Everything is good when in fact it’s all wrong
And you hide it, pretending to be strong.
Your face tells the truth while your words deceive
Causing more pain than you’d like to believe.
Sitting on that table, your silence tells me everything
Knowing the truth makes your conveyance forever sting.
While you make sense in your confused state-of-mind
Your issues feed on my clarity and become intertwined.
So remain on that shaky table as I leave the room
This lively lying home is now your lowly loathing tomb.
As you knowingly forget your atrocious crimes
Remember in this land I see them a thousand times.
And I will remain here, snared by your ********* traps,
Even when the world passes on, here t’will never collapse.
Welcome to the Land of Upside-Down
Where hope lives in despair as wishful dreams drown.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
i drove into one of those famous tunnels beneath the Chesapeake
under a freighter that lumbered in its foggy distance,
still off about half a mile
i thought the kids might get a kick out of this experience
but they were busy in the rear view mirror,
snared in silent worlds of mini screen devices i bought to see them smile
there's only static on the radio now, like no more bourbon left in the bottle
and you're so quiet
this is my life - the thrumming dented van within a sterile white tile fortress,
ears on verge of popping
i hear humming tires, the thumps of each heart beat
trapped inside, heterodyned
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
.*thank god the English girls were into Pakistani boys... i'm literally off the hook... not that i was expecting to bang one of their hoards of spending outside a male sensibility of earning money... thank god i can double up with not being circumcised.... phew... uninhibited listening sessions to early Madonna, like some Duran Duran fetish... make-over death-metal... bass, man, the bass! the 80s snared the mark... woah woe... oh woah... so is there something to be bothered about? no? wh'aaah don't you use it... wh'ah'ah'ah'ah'ah... this is the part where i pretend to give a **** right? so i basically get to **** an oyster or a chattering clam? which one is which one is where i get reminded that i originate from eastern Europe, whereby eastern, Europe, is around the Urals, knee deep in **** in Russia? Copernican antithesis or something?! oh, don't let me down... i'm trying to get into the groove... you have your commonwealth fetish party, i'm the damaged goods guy... i'm the guy who'd make a great dog-leash companion but a ****** father.... well... don't know about a father, more like a ****** boyfriend... thank **** i'm not the sort to mind myself as: the desired goods; it's like... holiday... for 71 years; give or take; **** if i was the person, deluded, about fulfilling the role of a partner... no... that was never going to work... i'm out... the end... a big NO NO... i'm ******* listening to Duran Duran... if i had a girlfriend, she'd be in her late 40s for fuck's sake!*
not a lot of birch trees in western
europe, eh?
plenty of oak filled forests...
not many pine tree forests?
sure...
east meets west;
back east an oak tree
was... UNESCO...
western Europe...
not so many pines...
are there?
don't lie... i know there
aren't...
and there aren't as many
marshlands...
with marsh reeds....
in western Europe...
the air is variant in terms of
the perfumery...
but sure as ****
a lack of birch treets...
and certainly the oak
overcomes the pine tree
in terms of counted density.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC