"snark" poems
I am the one who wears a scarf around her face , while walking in the dark,
The one who gets affected by your ‘harmless’ words and remarks snark,
But, you won’t recognize me, won’t even stop judging me for saying this, that’s for sure,
So, let me introduce you to myself, hello there, I am your victim, the one who is insecure.
I am just a servant, a worthless one, in your powerful, popular , betraying regime,
Just someone negligible, created by Him to make you laugh, not even worth your ‘precious’ time,
An anonymous personality, you call me a ******* fat *** **** ******* an emotional fool,
I am the one who gets punished without committing a single crime, without breaking any rule.
But, you won’t recognize me, won’t even stop judging me for saying this, that’s for sure,
So, let me introduce you to myself, hello there, I am your victim, the one who is insecure.
You will never treat me as I am , never think of me as a human being,
No matter how hard I try, to ignore you, to befriend you, to you, I will always remain a funny thing.
But, when it will be your turn to offer flowers on my grave, free of scars which will be, as well as pure,
That will be the moment when you will look at others and exclaim, “Oh, what a pity, I knew her, wasn't she the one who was insecure?”
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
The Banker's Fate
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
And the Banker, inspired with a courage so new
It was matter for general remark,
Rushed madly ahead and was lost to their view
In his zeal to discover the Snark.
But while he was seeking with thimbles and care,
A Bandersnatch swiftly drew nigh
And grabbed at the Banker, who shrieked in despair,
For he knew it was useless to fly.
He offered large discount--he offered a cheque
(Drawn "to bearer") for seven-pounds-ten:
But the Bandersnatch merely extended its neck
And grabbed at the Banker again.
Without rest or pause--while those frumious jaws
Went savagely snapping around--
He skipped and he hopped, and he floundered and flopped,
Till fainting he fell to the ground.
The Bandersnatch fled as the others appeared
Led on by that fear-stricken yell:
And the Bellman remarked "It is just as I feared!"
And solemnly tolled on his bell.
He was black in the face, and they scarcely could trace
The least likeness to what he had been:
While so great was the fright that his waistcoat turned white--
A wonderful thing to be seen!
To the horror of all who were present that day,
He uprose in full evening dress,
And with senseless grimaces endeavoured to say
What his tongue could no longer express.
Down he sank in a chair--ran his hands through his hair--
And chanted in mimsiest tones
Words whose utter inanity proved his insanity,
While he rattled a couple of bones.
"Leave him here to his fate--it is getting so late!"
The Bellman exclaimed in a fright.
"We have lost half a day. Any further delay,
And we sha'n't catch a Snark before night!"
2.1k
Dark bat, would I were curious as thou art-
Like a tea-tray twinkling at night,
And lying with eternal wings apart
Til morning when you end your flight,
And spend the day at your raven-like desk
Chanting incantations old and obscure
With lyrics obscene and Kafkaesque
Quoting first Foucault, then Sassure -
No-yet still puzzling, still remarkable
A black beacon amid shades of grey -
Elusive, and in pursuit quite snark-able.
To you I am drawn as a ****** to ****
I’ll be your muse and you’ll be my death.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
Snark, waspy, narcissistic
rude, racist, pessimistic
pretty blonde hair
with her ruby red lipstick
she tastes so sweet but her thoughts are sadistic
I want out,
but I want in,
I can't resist it
Pardon me, Polly
Can I take you off my wish list?
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
TELL TALE TALK
Shark's tooth
draws blood
( even though long dead )
a startled red
against the sharp whiteness
lost in a bric-a-brac
box of shells & things.
"Gotcha!"
grins the dead
shark's set of
choppers.
Baby shark
but a shark nonetheless.
I drip a trail
of red
across the Charity
shop
snap up
a tattered HUNTING OF THE SNARK
a battered
AT SWIM TWO BIRDS.
Here
a broken ballerina
on a jewellery box
( minus her music )
there
( I stop dead )
a used
soul
bruised
badly used
Godless
without guile
my fingertip traces my initials
on its dust
tarnished
without hope
immortal and unnoticed
amongst shark's teeth & shells.
I get
a SNARK & TWO BIRDS
for a pound
a piece.
The shark's grin
for a pound again.
"What do you want
for this old thing?"
I nonchalantly
ask
setting the soul
with great care
within the cage
of teeth
perched atop
the books.
"Being dying
to get rid
of that
for ages."
"It just sits there
staring at me!"
"Scares the life
outta me
to tell you
the truth
even though I don't know
what the hell it is!"
"Give us 42p for it
& we'll call it quits!"
I buy back
the soul
( my soul )
I had given away
with some old shirts and shoes
things I thought
I wouldn't ever be needing
. . .again.
But seeing it
discarded amongst shark's teeth & shells
I thought
twice about it.
Maybe
( perhaps )
I can use
it
for a paperweight.
Or a doorstop.
Sedulous
PRONUNCIATION:
(SEJ-uh-luhs)
MEANING:
adjective: Involving great care, effort, and persistence.
ETYMOLOGY:
From Latin se (without) + dolus (trickery, guile). Ultimately from the Indo-European root del- (to count or recount) that is also the source of tell, tale, talk, Aug 9, 2010
A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
Poetry is the art of saying what you mean but disguising it. -Diane Wakoski, poet (b. 1937) and Dutch taal (speech, language).
USAGE:
"Elizabeth Bishop was sedulous, pernickety, quietly determined; she would work on poems for years."Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell; The Economist (London, UK); Nov 20, 2008.
A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
<strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><strong><p>A beautiful thing is never perfect. -Egyptian proverb</p></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong></strong>
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
Pilcrow, the Blind P,
once said,
"Allow me, ma'am/sir,
for it looks like
you could use a break.
Besides, Hedera is hard
and annoying, so full of herself,
and up to her neck in ivy."
That was a Snark.
But who could tell?
Simply forgot to point it out.
Guess it's better to
leave things unsaid.
In the end
there's only enough
room for the Asterism.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 8:53 PM UTC
He said: "Of all the chat sites in all the internet, she walked into the one I happen to use."
He was drunk when they first spoke.
But she was too enthralled by the fact that he thought she had good taste in music to notice.
It had taken her years to train her ears to appreciate the sound of a bass solo
and learn to distinguish the no name bands worth knowing, from those that were not.
She had an appreciation for clavicles
and wrote too many poems about what love was, wasn't, and should be.
She liked to pretend that she hated cliches, yet her favorite movie was chalk full of them.
She said: "I dig you."
She dug so many things about him.
He had so much worth digging.
His love of the ocean and all things aquatic.
His green-gray eyes.
His general lack of amusement with things of the romantic sort.
He was too sincere to ever use lols
and fancied himself most competitive cooking shows.
And though he'd never driven a car, he had been para-sailing.
She said: "You're my person."
He said" "Make the world your person."
So they continued on in their mutual amusement,
exchanging selfies, sweaters and songs.
They spoke a unique language consisting of
puns
snark
lyrics
and innuendo.
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
The Vanishing
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.
They shuddered to think that the chase might fail,
And the ****** excited at last,
Went bounding along on the tip of its tail,
For the daylight was nearly past.
"There is Thingumbob shouting!" the Bellman said.
"He is shouting like mad, only hark!
He is waving his hands, he is wagging his head,
He has certainly found a Snark!"
They gazed in delight, while the Butcher exclaimed
"He was always a desperate wag!"
They beheld him--their Baker--their hero unnamed--
On the top of a neighbouring crag,
***** and sublime, for one moment of time,
In the next, that wild figure they saw
(As if stung by a spasm) plunge into a chasm,
While they waited and listened in awe.
"It's a Snark!" was the sound that first came to their ears,
And seemed almost too good to be true.
Then followed a torrent of laughter and cheers:
Then the ominous words "It's a Boo--"
Then, silence. Some fancied they heard in the air
A weary and wandering sigh
That sounded like "--jum!" but the others declare
It was only a breeze that went by.
They hunted till darkness came on, but they found
Not a button, or feather, or mark,
By which they could tell that they stood on the ground
Where the Baker had met with the Snark.
In the midst of the word he was trying to say
In the midst of his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away--
For the Snark was a Boojum, you see.
1.5k
My hour on the stage half dun
Gone are days of limerick fun
Gone green dragon flying as Lark
Remembering ex-marine snark
In Hollywood bar, his heart trice
Failed, still caring drove to hospice
There, where days laid he on just one leg
Amputated cries, pain dared beg.
Yet after death lurked a grin,
A lark phone call to next of kin.
Frank doctor blind to ****** pun
Irate, berate to unkind son,
Spoke he with clenched fist did shook,
Asking who laments father cook.
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
The Baker's Tale
They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
They roused him with mustard and cress--
They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
They set him conundrums to guess.
When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
His sad story he offered to tell;
And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
And excitedly tingled his bell.
There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,
Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
As the man they called ** told his story of woe
In an antediluvian tone.
"My father and mother were honest, though poor--"
"Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark--
We have hardly a minute to waste!"
"I skip forty years," said the Baker in tears,
"And proceed without further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
To help you in hunting the Snark.
"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
Remarked, when I bade him farewell--"
"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
As he angrily tingled his bell.
"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
"'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means--you may serve it with greens
And it's handy for striking a light.
"'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care--
You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with smiles and soap--'"
("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")
"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
And never be met with again!"
"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
When I think of my uncle's last words:
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering curds!
"It is this, it is this--" "We have had that before!"
The Bellman indignantly said.
And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.
It is this, it is this that I dread!
"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
In a dreamy delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
And I use it for striking a light:
"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
And the notion I cannot endure!"
1.5k
"Are you deaf, Father William!" the young man said,
"Did you hear what I told you just now?
"Excuse me for shouting! Don't waggle your head
"Like a blundering, sleepy old cow!
"A little maid dwelling in Wallington Town,
"Is my friend, so I beg to remark:
"Do you think she'd be pleased if a book were sent down
"Entitled 'The Hunt of the Snark?'"
"Pack it up in brown paper!" the old man cried,
"And seal it with olive-and-dove.
"I command you to do it!" he added with pride,
"Nor forget, my good fellow to send her beside
"Easter Greetings, and give her my love."
1.4k
I'm sick of this day at sunrise.
And there’s no cigarette to smoke
within a walkings distance
before i sit across another verbally abusive *******
telling me why i write with the insolence of an asshole.
Insomnia that could wake ****** up
has been rallying for his third evening
and my fingers can't lay still.
these hands like tremors
on the faults of my keys,
this **** screen of tectonic hills,
and the snark and bile
that stands upon them,
with humored donations of authority,
of me tryingto describe the world I see.
But still this will not ease my mind to rest
nor will my eyes roll back into the void
where this calamity is formed.
Because there's still some suited family
at the reigns of the nation
where society is in the eyes not of the beholder,
but of the person that tells the most lies.
So I lock my ears with insanity
to drown out the sound
of souls as they scream
at how they've been betrayed.
and they sing chorus' of those
who scores before
tried to sing the same song.
So again, like every day
I'll sit and curse the dawn
because it is unchanged,
it is still another day of sorrow.,,,,,,,,,
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
Ronnie couldn’t talk
And be rhymless at all.
He could barely walk,
I'm pretty sure he'd fall,
Unless he was rhyming.
He said to me, “You see
The thing is with me
It all has to do with timing.
The cadence when I walk
Become words I hear,
The beat when someone talks
Makes a poem in my ear,
Then the rhyming begins
And seems to make good sense.
The words like magic appear
Poetic possibilities immense.”
All of the time I knew him
It seemed to be the truth
He rhymed almost constantly
From his very verbal youth.
He was like a Hallmark card
Sometimes saying pithy things
That fit the moment exactly
And had that ***** ring.
But other times his utterances
Were acerbic and very witty.
When it came to sarcastic tilt
He was the Mayor of Snark City.
Or he could rhyme endearingly
And paint pictures with his words
Saying some of the nicest things
That were ever put into words.
Yes, he was Rhyming Ronnie,
A poem for any current thought.
You couldn’t stump him even once.
At least not that I ever caught.
Ryan was amazing for sure
And some found it rather vexing.
But oh boy in the internet age
It came in handy when texting!
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 4:30 PM UTC
Mom says, “You need a therapist,”
No need mama for trauma.
They can all drink ****
Got no daddy drama.
God placed me under the shower,
So Devil can ***
Forgiven hour,
A judgment beating drum.
Dance violent in my own dark,
Raising spirits of my own.
With demon called snark,
Other angel to pwn.
Souls to bleed and let out all sin,
Come Kingdom Come let it begin…
Aug 26, 2023
Aug 26, 2023 at 9:17 PM UTC
Elbows propped on tabletops,
we roll out our worlds, like a red carpet,
across the surface between us.
Mapping out our weeks
we speak in riddles
only able to be understood by
present company and others with
an acute appreciation for the absurd.
Round 1
We begin by bouncing pleasantries
mingled with snark and
littered with nonsense stories
across the space where our scotch glasses
drain lazily between us.
Round 2
Brings with it a new tone-
we begin to slip into hypotheticals
and start the dangerous
and all too familiar process of
looking over our own shoulders.
The past seems to sneak
into the pauses and reminiscing starts
to seem too surreal to be appealing.
Round 3
And we are forced to keep reluctant company
with the regret that now speckles the tabletop in front of me.
Our eyes retreat from each other
as our mouths start forming
around our greatest inadequacies.
Fear of the future,
we're petrified by the present.
We are forgetting how to be hesitant
as coping mechanics drift and split.
Round 4
**** starts to get real.
You try to be ambivalent.
And I just get angry.
Round 5
I am entertaining the possibility
of weeping publically.
(It's an unfortunate emotional default setting)
Round 6
We find our way back
to the familiar.
Accessing the damage
we joke to save face
while working to wind the loose ends
back together again
to stash them from where they came.
(But nothing ever fits back into its box as easily after its been unpacked)
Each week we try to be
each other's comfort zone
to crawl inside
to rest awhile.
But tonight we're too exhausted
and too self-absorbed
and too similar to get it right.
We'll try again next week,
on the next high-top next Wednesday night.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
I’m the kind of person who will stand up to you if you get in my face.
it has taken me years to get to this point
on a platform where I can voice my opinions freely
I’m careful with my words
though so not
if you cross me,
I will let you know
I’m the kind of person who can run a mile with blood on her knees, ignoring the sting
I’ll get to where I’m going
I will fall a million times and get up every single time
blood has got nothing on me
it’s not a race to the finish line, you know
I’m the kind of person who has double edged sword of sass and snark hidden in a sheath you can’t see
I’m pleasant and kind, always smiling
don’t let this aura deceive you
I can fight a battle with my words, always make it sound like I’m winning
I know when to back down
gracefully
when I lose, I’ll say so
take my pride and leave
I’m the kind of person who will fight for you
I’m a kind person for me.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
No good
Comes from deeds
Gone unpunished
I do my best
You snark my shark
Infested waters
Come cuddle with my menace
Marry our fortunes
Tipple with buds
Then orchids adapt
To environs made men
Advertisement fulfilled
I ask my friend why compete
He answers the mothers must win
Tight ******** fight the bill
Cheap advice: Stop hurting her
Give your daughter everything
My only worry concerns
What will be left for her?
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
Sometimes I can feel the blood boiling under my skin
Sometimes I can feel the slight snark of a grin you give me
Sometimes I can feel the Earth breathe and move and melt away
Sometimes I can feel like I know exactly what to say
Sometimes I can feel like I wanna dance in the street in the pouring rain
Sometimes I can feel like I wanna scream out my lungs until my throat is red with pain
and sometimes, sometimes I feel nothing and empty
and like this world is unreal
sometimes...only sometimes...
I feel.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
Placate nature's dangers,
demons dwelling in the dark;
dismember markings sated
but not caught;
Marry the taken stranger's nectar,
and market snark to desperate
markers carting parted, deepened
larks.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
There's a feeling stronger than to loathe
Especially when your hand is intertwined with his
And he gazes upon the pearls in your hair
Your high brow, your blank stare
And maybe even the cut of your dress,
The lace it holds, the earring that sways as you dance
You know it, the way he looks at you
And if you will deny it, simply keep in mind
How he lets his fingers linger onto yours,
And despite the sharpness of your snark and wit
Maybe you'll catch yourself looking
His high brow, his blank stare
His eyes like pools of honey
And you'll know, there is a feeling stronger than to loathe.
Jan 20, 2022
Jan 20, 2022 at 1:45 AM UTC
My alter ego has pixie short, electrifying purple hair
she is unafraid of being bold
she's got tattoos on her wrists, doc martins on her feet, ebony black talons, and a voice that booms to declare her presence
my alter ego is a sass master and snark shark
she can call you out on your b.s. faster than you can bat an eye
she will swing that bat at your eye, she's not afraid of using her words as defense weapons
but she knows when to stop speaking
one night I was speaking to my alter ego, asking her how in the world did she get to be so brave?
she laughed and said
darling, it's always been in us, you just haven't unsheathed the sword yet
you've been too busy hiding behind the shield, you forgot you know how to wield
you fight with gentleness, not bite
and that's okay
I shrunk further back into my bed, while she, larger than life, thunked me on the head, said you'll get there, kiddo
and suddenly she vanished, with a mischievous glint in her eye, disappeared to cause change.
-
-z.z
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 8:11 PM UTC
Sometimes the sins laugh
frolic chuckle and gasp,
whenever wrath sits there
calm and tranquil, unending care.
when Pride takes precious time,
to look up and face humility,
to remove the thin veil,
to observe another person and care.
when slender lust embraces
for another, soothing the soul
creating safe sanctions - free of sale.
when g r e e d gives to charity,
providing,
safe havens,
when sloth feels the urge
to work, forging iron bars
and even making emotions and life time scars
when gluttony shares his
fries, and full course meal
when envy faces the sins - and says
‘it’s okay that lust is more curvy, I know I’m happy’
This is all a façade of course. envy said it with morose.
gluttony? He had another meal, and another meal right after that.
Mirrors reveal the real corpse. sloth daydreamed the dream.
greed? what else but the space he took?
How can we be something else. lust has lackluster snide, snark and ***
Pride? He has a deeper veil - one that escapes his avail.
Sometimes the sins want to be sinful.
And sometimes wrath wants to be wrathful.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
Thugs and tyrants tempting fate?
Fallen kingdoms threatening war?
Hordes of immigrants at the gate?
Hang this placard on your door:
good intentions cannot fail;
liberal smugness must prevail !
Children ***** while cities burn?
Tortured corpses, sudden blasts?
Armies surge, regroup, return…
your gentle snowflake counsel lasts.
Smug and godless never falters;
smug will save your sons and daughters.
Hilarious, this global village.
Flags of doom unfurled on high…
throats are slit as death-squads pillage;
****** madness stains the sky.
What matters most: you’re open-minded
(smug beholds the world unblinded).
Christian faith? You blow a fuse,
babbling to your New York Times;
crusades with jihads you confuse
apologizing for their crimes.
Hashtag snark will save our day
smug, enlightened, global, gay…
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 6:59 AM UTC
Bread heels have feelings,
and Roombas do, too;
they've noticed your work
and want to thank you.
It might feel silly,
and some may remark
that your efforts are
wasted--but snark, we
have enough of in the
world, so keep your strange,
small displays of good.
Apr 7, 2023
Apr 7, 2023 at 6:56 AM UTC
To the snark
To dark it was
To spark
To misty
To behave
To easy
To set fire
To a Vatican conclave
To easy for others
To choke on scented smoke
To easy for the Snark who was not ashamed
To shout in eager chorus another fool have they named
To wit he laughed and strode away
To Snark…Snark…Snark…Snark…Snark
To be sure this is the noise a Snark makes when he walks away
To be honest if you meet one you will know provided he walks away
To be sure he may stay and try and eat you..........
Aug 23, 2012
Aug 23, 2012 at 1:25 PM UTC