"snaring" poems
The stairs slipped away under my feet.
My slippers are soggy.
Hair is hanging like fly paper, instead of flies it's snaring run away raindrops.
Soon to be snowdrops, as is predicted.
Spring snowflakes, spring snowdrops.
Country stops, unprepared.
Nobody cared.
Perhaps they should.
Could be good.
Buckets of grit, let them be spread.
No more pretty pure white ****
Mushy, ***** slippery slush.
*C **************************************************************/
*H **************************************************************/
A**********************************************************/
O******************************************************/
S***************************************************/
(C) LIVVI
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 8:11 AM UTC
Here come Jupiter child,
You can hear the flowers crying as they plead for her to stay a while,
She just collided with and intergalactic asteroid,
But things were only created never destroyed,
In the dark cool tunnels she found some pretty moon shrooms,
sheltering growing seahorses wrapped in loose water droplet cocoons,
Now towards earth you hear her come,
Within the clouds she beats her tribal drums,
The ocean sways and swells to the time of her rhythm and sound,
Reaching deep into the sea forest to whales traveling homebound,
She wears stars framed in turquoise,
Like the kokopelli she gives birth to planets with grace and poise,
Here comes Jupiter child, dread locks wound with comets,
extracts from the universe, she mixes matter-less tonics,
Recipes rooted deep in wizardry,
she borrows knowledge from indians and aztecs to cure all misery,
Her meteor showers made of her salty tears,
Are earth's dream catcher, snaring all nighttime fears.
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 10:01 PM UTC
like thighs
(shes got 'em)
them thick as ******* thighs
all skin and creamy
and the backs o' her knees taste
so good
(like sugar shes got 'em)
and that dark little spider web
o' ink shes got coming up her
shoulders out over her clavicles
shes got her neat little muscles
under it all bunching and loosing
muscles when she's (head down
biting 300 thread count) her hands
don't lie gripping and grabbing
snaring sheets and,
,
,
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 4:02 PM UTC
Lift me up,
let me drift on a tide of rising air.
I am strung below an ******** rush of burning air,
at the mercy of the pilot,
let me ride the sky before I die,
Sprinkle me with pepper dust,
not to make my eyes sore,
but to make me feel alive.
let me feel the sensation of the zephyr cruising past my face.
Enter my vision stage left,
the scene from above looking downwards,
savanna flowing,
rolling out protected and free,
as free as me,
just plain old me,
the lioness in the basket drifts,
she's watching the lioness snaring today's tea.
and so the delicate zebra falls,
as of today, she can run no more.
The lioness in the basket,she sips her tea from an old plastic mug,drifting onward,
regardless.
(C) Livvi
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
spirited ferret
rare, ear hair tipped white
frightened pip carefully snaring
darting pairs flipping
clipped wings, carted
shipped riggings sing
lark songs
darkness brings
wronged Nips
angered and singing
ears ring banging hangers
tearing string Narcs protest
ingesting *** freeing boxes
rocks bling
****** tracks shear hearts
parked rack blesses
black guests
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
I want to be a nice guy,
flower-bringer,
keeper of pens and candy,
love and smiles.
I want to drive without screaming,
to wait without scheming
someone's demise,
to float high above the clouds
without dreaming
of being
somewhere else.
But it's hard, you see,
to speak bureaucratic,
to see through the static,
to laugh and wave as though
life is a turkey day parade.
Because of you.
You, and we and they;
the wrinkles in our characters
that push us away.
The chaos and control,
the IEDs and "low food security,"
how I wish I knew why we
came to this place, this
sticky web we weave,
snaring each other with
our needs.
But little things mean a lot;
the flowers,
the pens and candy,
the open doors and
open lanes on the road ahead,
each gesture a brick,
smashing through those glass walls
we build around ourselves,
until it all comes crashing down.
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 8:12 AM UTC
***Pain and sorrow lace my chest,
I'm sorry that I must do this.
I can't aid you in your heart's quest,
Although I'll always think fondly of our first kiss.
The tears I cry will surely end,
But that doesn't mean that I'll stop caring.
You'll always be my forever-friend;
Though I'm sad to say it's no longer my heart that yours is snaring.
Tonight this poem has been finished,
But it's lines will be forever writ,
And although, like this poem, our lines together are finished,
A brand new stanza has just been fit.***
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
I watch him; beneath veiled stare,
calming his visible quivers; as he
masks desire in slow breaths,
lips tremble beggary evident with
tease
tongue flicks awaiting a scintilla of
moisture; I squirm in anticipation,
he's on his knees, eyes light up with
devourment
ache arises with heat of yearn; tongue
brushes skin; teeth nibble and breath
quickens snaring me within ecstasies
storm
captured within his gaze, one finger
slowly outlines lips as hand travels length
of thigh slowly enticing, hornily inviting as
muskiness enthralls
and...
I become addicted to his slow teasing;
every curve finger lollygags easing them
one at a time in creamy deluge; to mouth
I bring them tasting me
frenzied...
screaming his name as tip of tongue finds
my ache begging for release; lust filled
moans escape, arching against his
throb; rising hips, meeting each ******
piercing...
deeper, letting him in; riding his rhythm;
ignited in his burn, drawn into sweet
ecstasy
surrendering...
in slow motion...
loved profoundly...
watching him sultrily...
hunger no longer veiled...
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
Wolf!
Laid upon his bed,
Awake,
Hark,
Sound of confusion screeching,
Canines bared,
Salivating,
In divine thought of snaring prey,
For he is in sadistic need,
No sadism,
Only burning passion,
In need of resuscitation by nourishment,
Satisfied by the latest lamb who greeted slaughters gate!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
She stands there listening. She sets her snares snaring Knowing she is a love genius. you know where, she never don't.
She has no baby there. She has a child there. There is no need for a phrase like in other words. She loves only one boy.
She's a settled woman.
Men make love to her sensual riches. None of them are in charge of her britches She tells the truth, and forgives She doesn't need to do such things though.
You forget, she is a settled woman.
She's an artisan. Always knew the talent of giving from her father. That man admitted his lies. Even after death I will not just be a user of you, neither.
Nothing she has done has been labor for him
One man. One Man. None brilliant enough to accept her. Even after leaving her with one up front.
Before one. She's a settled woman. And few settlers, are love settlers.
As short as the man closes the window. This settled woman, will stay forevermore.
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 10:48 AM UTC
Clamp trapped
**** tricking
Thighs never closed
On her face
In her hair
In between her toes
Clamp trapped
**** snaring
Legs never shut
Gaze in to her soul less eyes
you'll see a ******* ****
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
And they say we are the mad ones. Rebellious in spirit, and reckless in life. We walk with fire beneath our feet, careless about everything. They say our eyes are blindfolded from reality and we live in a dream. Burdened by their words, we find ourselves following their black ties and white lies. We begin to see with their obscured eyes and hear with their clouded ears. But I say to you, do not fall prey to their snaring teeth. They do not make you, create you, or shape you. We are the pearl of mother earth; a beacon of light bestowed on those in the dark. Tumultuous and free, we are creating a world of color in front of us. Hold the torch up high and set fire ablaze to our trail. Make love your religion and insanity your hymn. Live vicariously through words, poems, music, and the soft whispers of another. Open the books to your lives and begin writing. Do not swallow society’s propaganda or be tamed by their whip. You are spirited, talented, and wild with passion. They will give you a map with lines and arrows. Unabashedly you will throw it away; your compass lies near your heart and will guide you from here. Nestle all fears in your coven. Fear keeps bad company and chases away your dreams. Capture your dreams and bear them upon your chest. They are the scapegoat from reality. Love as if you never have before, for it is the only thing that holds us together. Without it, we are mere beings living in a structured frame. When you wake, hold each day as its own. We are wise, beautiful, and simply wonderful. Sing a tune, laugh continuously, dance circles around strangers, and kiss a friend. Be joyous. But most importantly, be mad.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 4:01 PM UTC
Better to be taciturn
Than babble through a tacky turn
And fail to hear enough to learn
In common conversation
Others may proclaim you shy
Or timid, mousy, terrified
Resist the urge to justify
Your ramble regulation
It doesn’t make you weak or mute
To take a minute to compute
A thought before you contribute
May optimise your speaking
Pause won’t hurt your cause unless
Your words are just a game of chess
To press, suppress, or to impress
Correcting or critiquing
Do you desire a partnership?
A sharing, caring, airing?
Or more of a dictator-grip?
A snaring, scaring, blaring?
Maybe you are silence-scared
Uncomfortable with empty air
And feel it is your job to bare
The sound continuation
Worry not my helpful friend
Your heavy duty at an end
More useful with an ear to lend
Look kind toward the taciturn
You may yet find a lot to learn
With still consideration
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 1:41 AM UTC
have i, or letters, known so well
the knowing of your words when
so thick with verbs you jangle
meticulously raw spent kernels
of your swiftly lustful wings
bursts ripe and halting smoothly
over shoulders fingers' hands
that ***** and flutter.
right, suddenly, against winter,
slowly, you are colours and glowering
ductile arms snaring.
a song of hours lifted from *******
where between lays me and my.
my elbows and my triceps,
electric, you writhing sapling, you
sprig and blood, you are in their togetherness
you are rips flung deep and voluminous
with comely exacting fragrance
you are radiant. a star from heaven shorn
and wafts of gilt implacable violence
May 24, 2011
May 24, 2011 at 9:58 PM UTC
It is only a big fool that marries from a matriarchal family
And a heavy-weight duffer marrying from the matriarchal clan
There is always a poisonous cobra, mamba and adder in the matriarchal
Beauty. Snaring like calypso to thrash the callow ridden odyssey in the lover
As it went for the stooges in Kenya blind to the colubrine station falling in love
With daughters, spinsters, wenches, damsels and brunetes of matriarchal heritage
They were swallowed by the inherent colubrine queen at the bottom of matriarchy
It swallowed them all, lawyers, warriors, merchants, politicians, beggars, billionaires,
Lordships of top-notch corporations, gurus of research, legends of foot-ball, din magnates
Negroes, Asians, Britons, Teutonic, Luos, Mulmbe men, Mijikenda and all that had money,
Their kinsmen and tribes now grieve in a song,
Chanting the song of loss in my mother tongue;
Sialile papa!sialile papa! Sicha esirove!
Sialile yaya!sialile yaya! Sicha esirove!
Wanangali wa wabaseve,Niiye wamulile!
Emenyele buli abira! yakhaba mukisumu!
Ese beve! ese beve! ese beve!ese beve!
By-Alexander Opicho
(From Lodwar, Kenya)
[email protected]
Aug 9, 2019
Aug 9, 2019 at 5:56 AM UTC
death is mean
as mean as it gets
snaring precious souls
in hateful nets
pulling them down
to the realm of the dead
not caring what was
or was not unsaid
destroying human flesh
vicious and cruel
choking all hope
of any renewal
while death feasts on
the flesh of those around you
live now to the fullest
before it pulls you to the ground too.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 7:23 PM UTC
My birds,
a winsome kaleidoscope of colour and sound
I stand within myself in my clearing, a tiny, circular garden
filled simply with encroaching trees and
a circle of pale concrete underfoot
Marred only
with snaring daisies, quiet
allure, and I take the time to romance the colours I behold so dearly
as they swim through my blurred, jarring vision and as I
melt wholly into the river beside me.
My garden is the only good left in this world
especially now that I have left it.
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 11:02 AM UTC
I should have chosen Bermuda
Triangle over making that call
But never could turn away a friend
No matter the trap
Each button of the phone snaring me
Pulling me further into this three-way
Conversation, and I, the unlucky participant
In a love triangle I became enlisted in
When my best friend’s boyfriend
Decided the center more
On his crush for me than his love in her
So the random act of all of us going to a movie
Became a ruse, and I should have never
He should have never
Picked up the phone, once he said yes
I was done for, exiled
Drifting alone on campus
Guilty of his infatuation
I should have chosen Bermuda
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 1:59 AM UTC
You’ll ask how I am
And I’ll say that I’m fine
Then you’ll give that look
Like I’m being snide
If you knew how my anger
was the last to survive
how affection eludes me
as I’m boiling inside
If you peeked at the shadow
snaring my thoughts
and the vortex of voices
pushing sinister plots
If you felt how my stomach
refuses to eat
or heard my mind screaming
to race into the street
If you held my confusion
in the palm of your hand
you’d crumble to pieces
and ask how I stand
If you learned of the stats
in regard to my mind
you’d see that my ******
will likely be mine
So when you ask how I’m doing
And I say that I’m fine,
know I’m vaulting the bar
simply being alive
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 4:18 PM UTC
Smooth sun slides across the cerulean sky
And reaching trees drip gleaming arias
Into wilting snow.
Tears of winter course down channeled trunks
As snaring frost recedes into time
Memory still aglow.
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
Turn on the television,
drive down a major street,
It's everywhere you look;
snaring you into the life of others.
Why should we pick up our pens,
our keyboards,
our cameras,
stating what you think is
and knowing what is false.
Why should we pick up the newspaper?
What good does it do?
When we always turn to gossip,
we're not learning anything new.
Why is this industry
making up stories;
Getting their business' running; yet,
making the lives of others miserable.
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 8:26 PM UTC
it shines through
no, it doesn’t shine
it lurks
from the eerie, dark cobweb covered corners
of my soul
vine like grip, no release, no matter the fight
grappling insecurities in constant motion
rugged claws,
ripping
scratching
snaring
holding captive, release begs of freedom
no avail
forever
forced and bound with no escape and no hope
only fear
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
pry it open
clan of lies libido and lily lunged persuaders
etching wounds ills upon those you itched after
letching tightly in patterns
then blooming out in a ring of your 'brothers'
again tightening
breaths oppress breathing
a clenching jellyfish action
offends the natural teaming in a derangement
a loyalty of cowards each one initiation edgy
paid up members linked in ceremony
a skeleton grid channeling away responsibility
thick distaste of the unsightly and abrasive scent
of your speeching spatters
it's unmother worldly
a clutch of an abusive family thing
that psychology that bonds for life
and spans love in all its distrustful ******
violence
not a truth
to mould in his raspy mouth
this is a reputation
repeated sellings
this is not a truth
this is just repetition
persistently boomed into adjustable history
dying over and again
each hand that takes up the stylus
muster evidence
of our mad insistences
the 'sharing' game
snaring the population bulk
and lording over it with
your repulsating power on display
Apr 23, 2022
Apr 23, 2022 at 12:19 PM UTC
Stood on the corner of an avenue.
The fifth one I believe.
Watching city folk dashing by.
Buying what, I can't conceive.
Wallets are bulging.
Lucky sods.
Eyes of children open wide.
What to buy, they can't decide.
Sidewalk crammed with swarms of buzzers.
Voices echo through the streets.
Parents, children, A.n.others.
Sirens on cars.
Broads outside bars.
Outstanding lookers.
Really just hookers.
Catching eyes.
Put your tongue away.
Looks like you're snaring flies.
Meanwhile in blankets and boxes.
They sit in the rain.
Top of the subway.
Starts over again.
The rich scurry by.
All in a dash.
Avoiding the homeless.
A bit like a rash, I perceive.
Poor sods.
***** blankets.
Soggy sleeves.
On a hiding to nowhere.
Waiting for beating.
The ways of the world.
Happy Mondays,
Tragic Tuesdays,
Wonderful Wednesdays.
Thawing Thursdays.
And the rest of the week.
They're sleeping in gutters.
Labelled as nutters.
Have no bread and buttercups.
All dandelions'.
Shoppers all troll by.
They're just taking the ****
Laughing at street folk.
Forgetting they're rich.
Not necessarily in ways of wealth.
They have health and happiness.
True love and laughter.
They have sons and daughters.
Lucky shoppers.
(c)Livvi
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
I discern that thy doth love, me not.
In showers of flowers, thrown only for love.
Lest my sweet heart, ne'er be forgot.
In peace, I present thee with a single melodious dove.
At thy peak of thine voice,
Where only silence be spoken,
Tongue persuasion sir, tis my choice.
Beg thee kind sir, may my heart not be broken.
Emotion in mind, a crucible of steaming steel.
Darling sweet darling, I bequest thy come hither.
A potion to snare, he that doth not feel.
Precious feelings, conjured, ne'er to wither.
Within mine cauldron, I shall brew
A potion out for snaring you.
(C) LIVVI
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC