"snazzy" poems
When the baker bakes the baked bakery bakes,
Do they also bake the recipe required?
What's the recipe for a poem?
Does the poet pen the poetical poem poetically to pen their pretty poems?
What temperature do you bake ink-
To make it a bestseller?
How much baking powder do you bake into a page
To perfect its pagey turny pageiness?
What kinda poem crust does a poem become encrusted in?
Should it crumble?
Should it rhyme?
Should it cry a melodrama so dramatic that drama llamas like “that too much drama!”?
Wait,
Where did drama llama come into this?
Who else is in the kitchen cooking this poem pie?
Is the poem pie perfectly pied in its drama crust?
WAIT-
we forgot about the filling…
What do you put in a poetical poem pie?
Should I peach the pied poem?
The peaches plumpy peachy smile?
(i’m not sure how the drama llama feels about that)
Should I fill the peachy pied poem with orange and lemon citrus ?
A little bit of snazz to the snazzy apple pie.
Crap, I forgot the apples as well.
Well now my peachy pied lemony apple-orange poem is too long!
And i still don’t know what temperature to torch these thoughts at!
Well the pied piper pipes in that maybe my peachy pied poem needs some pepper
To pipe the spice to pied poem levels!
But lemony apple-orange peachy pied poems with pepper seems a touch peppery for simple pied poems to be.
But who ever said a poem pied can’t have spice and everything nice WITH lemon and apple and orange and peachy fuzzy smiles?
So,
My peachy peppered pied lemony appley orangy poemy is piping hot to boot.
Now i just need to figure out whos gonna eat the **** thing.
Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC
You said my hat was snazzy
and wonderfully fun, one day
you came to see me and took my black hat
out to play ...
With in the distance of paradise
by the light that lines my vision
I saw you skipping down the path
you had my black hat in hand ...
Hurrying down the road
rising my voice just a touch
'stop my friend,' i yell
'what about my hat' ...
You played and felt my loving hat
calling me teling me you wish I was in it
like the dawns of moonlight
You stood my hat in hand
I really like my hat ..
Debbie Brooks 2014
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
Pocket watch, I tick well.
The streets are lizardly crevices
Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide.
It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac,
A palace of velvet
With windows of mirrors.
There one is safe,
There are no family photographs,
No rings through the nose, no cries.
Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women
Gulp at my bulk
And I, in my snazzy blacks,
Mill a litter of ******* like jellyfish.
To nourish
The cellos of moans I eat eggs --
Eggs and fish, the essentials,
The aphrodisiac squid.
My mouth sags,
The mouth of Christ
When my engine reaches the end of it.
The tattle of my
Gold joints, my way of turning
******* to ripples of silver
Rolls out a carpet, a hush.
And there is no end, no end of it.
I shall never grow old. New oysters
Shriek in the sea and I
Glitter like Fontainebleu
Gratified,
All the fall of water an eye
Over whose pool I tenderly
Lean and see me.
3.7k
A bit of sunshine
A bit of magic will do
Not a big banquet
Not too many people
Maybe a little privacy
Maybe a little "my time"
For midnight,
Be it your soft kisses
My family,Oh dear!
Not fancy cake surprises
And as I sleep in your arms
May I dream a paradise
Not money,nor hard cash
Mornings be like,
A slight nip in the air
Sunrise from my bedroom
Not zillion missed messages
I want the day,at peace
Like a poet's wish
Simple,chaste,crystal clear
Not fake "Happy Birthdays"
I want the day,
Maybe full of good vibes
Among true people,
Among trustworthy friends
Not mere acquaintances.
As I drove past,
The air,
I want to feel it,
Making my hair dance
I wanna face its coldness
The soft stiffness upon my cheeks
Not mere cigarrate puffs
I cherish a memorable picture
Over trillion pout-faced selfies
Well,all for my birthday,
I want to cut,
This citys' madness
Not just chocolate cakes
Take me far away as you can
To rugged mountains,to blue rivers
Fairytale isnt it,
I want it real
Just the scenario in front of my eyes
Searching for you,
I hope to see you by me,the next time
I wanna blow dandelions
Not just burning candles
I wanna run past the barren fields
Dressed up in florals
Not the dark glittery blacks'
Well,all for my birthday.
I wanna live these moments
Tyind to decode this one day
Not snazzy gifts,nor over-the-top clicks
I want my birthday to be like,
I am just 17
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 5:03 AM UTC
If materials are your life then you’ll spend it all on your own
Share it all, give it back, make a tree grow
So what you can’t afford college,
There are children that can’t afford dinner
Don’t pick up the pennies you drop,
Walk right by every homeless man
Saying “he probably just wants another pack of smokes, or a case of beer. what a ******* tweaker”
Never gave the thought that he was **** out of luck
Maybe in highschool his mother died and he started to **** up
But when it comes to you yeah, that’s what it’s all about
Buy the latest purse and the coolest shoes have a snazzy car And fresh tattoo
You might be a doctor but you barely passed
Now a days all you have to do is show up to pass
And if it doesn’t work just shake your ***
Claimed to be a feminist
But you sure gave head
Made a **** good secretary,
and at the end of the day the boss was making your bed.
Paying your bills
Buying your meals
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC
men would always tell me about the
arcs of screaming air splitting through gaia’s hair,
the heads of wheat falling, light shredding, and the sun bowing before
Leah and her scythe
this woman spent all her twenty one years in the fires of idaho
working for her father
preparing food for her brothers before their schooling.
she was made to stay at home,
and there she worked and washed and read and cut and crystallized
business men in windup cars would see her off the highway
her muscles swaying with the wind, treetop hair flogging the setting sun
singing folk songs to herself in a falsetto that sounded like a rocking chair.
these men would stop to chat, but soon realize that this
Leah was burning too much for them.
her heart was different from city folk
and most country folk for that matter.
her ventricles were connected through a series of
crimson twigs and gnarled vines.
it pumped like any other heart,
but it would crack and wheeze anytime she left that farm.
those businessmen expected that she would be enthralledby anything out of town.
but it was the opposite; fancy gadgets bore her and
snazzy suits and autos seemed like pointless little ornaments.
she’d be more impressed by a man who could cut wheat like she could
a man who could shoot life out of the iron earth
and feed his kin with the pickings of his heart.
but she never quite found a man like that.
she stayed there, and let herself bleed into those idaho hills.
the roots of the grain wrapped around her veins
and her lungs breathed for the farm
just as its rainfall pumped her brown blood.
she never grew old that Leah, because she kept her crop so fresh.
every morning she watered and plowed and every while,
with scorching eyes and whipping locks
she’d swing her scythe, and smell the breaking spines of wheat,
and would quietly sing,
like a rocking chair.
Posted by David Clifford Turner at
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 11:19 PM UTC
I have basked in another beauty,
a sharp jasmine needle
that has pricked the corner
of the so-called snazzy ones.
A bright torch
in a dark blue drowned room,
crumbs on a blood napkin
and the one-tone words
drop out our ears
like heptagonal coins out of pockets
or tears,
tears onto pages
in a teenager’s diary.
And then we advance
into October air
where leaves tick and tack
as typewriter keys do
across soggy ground.
Ride, walk
and now a story begins.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
{ “Awareness : He began to decipher the instant that he was living, deciphering as he lived it, prophesying himself in the act of deciphering the last page of the parchments, as if he were looking into a speaking mirror.” -
Gabriel Garcia Marques }
_________________
Mirrors of Mercury
Who is Shams and who Rumi
is like asking who is fork and who
knife when apart they sing not
a single song to nourish blood
with versal love
mercurial reflect
Who is mirror and who reflection
Is that me ? I ask you
watching your slender bones
move in soiled leather boots
wild slow eyes reflecting YES !
when maiden across the room
gives wicked laughs of NO !
mercurial translate
Who is this dissident beret
alongside the chair ?
Is it self ahead on a future road .....
will someone stroke my back
give ear, lip or cheek
urging body to be young in
takkies and snazzy jacket ?
mercurial question goals
Aah ! Poetic Mirrors !
inking reciting assessing
give respite from a million
images of Self as I circle an
unveiled Flow of Fate
fully awake to naked
poet
mercurial observe
catalytic soul
Copyright © Ghairo Daniels | 2017
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 4:59 AM UTC
She always tries to emulate every image that voyaged through her vision
Changing her ****** orientation characterizing it as a snazzy trend
Falsely claiming that she’s bisexual as a cover to fit the scene
Labels herself a natural person at the expense of her sanity
She crafts lacerations in ostentatious areas to gain sympathy
Shoots my point of view to hell then discards me as another victim
To foil her devious scheme to use and bruise the hearts of the innocent
Offers to shave her head not for a cure but an outrageous plea for help
Using people as pillows for her infinite barrage of tear drop artillery
Being the two-face she devil that she is she then grabs her knife
And stabs me in the back while expelling a heartless laugh from her vocals
Revealing a stone, cold soul showing not even the slightest hint of mercy
This lady and the euphoria of love are complete strangers to each other
But I refuse to take the blame for what she inherited from her mother
Attention ***** and nothing more on bended knee across the floor
As I strip her soul down to the core and make her run straight for the door
She doesn’t stand a chance against the rapture of this dreadful beast
For this beast wants to feast upon her delectably succulent meat
Now I have not a clue what realm she lives in
Or what she’s trying to ensue
But the only thing I can say is
P.S. **** You
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 4:39 AM UTC
Dance, my son
Dance in the grass
The pavement is constricting
It leaves you numb to true feeling
So dance in the grass
Dance in the grass
Be snazzy
Be jazzy
Create your own craze
The grass sings to your bare feet
True joy for days
The pavement is for those
Who follow the path
But those who invent their path
Dance in the grass
The pavement walkers will stare
But when you’re dancing you don’t care
A tango
A waltz
A rhythm your own
The grass understands
The pavement can’t atone
Barefoot and fancy free
Dancing in the grass
What a sight to see
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC
She's a purple laffy taffy
Just a tiny bit snazzy
But not in the least bit ******
She's always got a joke
To lighten the mood
And maybe share a Coke
Though sometimes she's a difficult brand to be chewed
she's blunt
And doesn't bother putting up a front
Her wrapper makes you laugh
But her insides are just like a gaff
She's a rock in the cold light of day
But an ocean in the warm breeze of May
She is a mystery
With a long history
She doesn't always feel good enough
Because the other taffys are saying that's she's rough
But she's got her own thing going
Even without the other taffys knowing
So you can keep on throwing rocks
But one day
she's gonna knock off your socks
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
Somebody sleeps in my bed alone.
I watch his lungs rise and fall as he rests.
I can hear his heartbeat tighten as he dreams terrible dreams.
I can see his hands clasp tightly when he thinks of his situation.
His legs move constantly, restless, because his thoughts are the same.
He wakes up every morning and hates.
He opens his eyes to terrible noises, and stares.
Why can't I sleep forever, thinking out loud. I can hear him.
Why can't I awake to her eyes and smile and hips like we dreamed?
He gets up. He touches his clock. It dies. He was statically charged. Again.
The water doesn't help. Or the soap.
His pity attempt to clean his long, tangled hair.
His half-awake thoughts while staring at the white walls.
He's thinking of women. And sleeping. And sleeping with them.
Or rather, he's thinking of her. Sometimes it's his "lover," sometimes it's his regret.
More sleep. Clothes.
A suit today, he wanted compliments.
A briefcase. **** I look snazzy.* He smiles in the mirror.
Your perfect smile is fading. He interjects as if only to sting before leaving.
I watch him trudge out the door only to start freezing. But he's already frozen.
Thoughtlessly driving. No seat-belt.
At least I'll die in my funeral outfit if I do.
He arrives, throwing on a fake smile for the eyes around him.
Music. Mind numbing practice with his golden instrument's sound.
I watch him sit there, stretching his legs, listening with awakened ears.
"Why are you dressed up."
"Because." "Because why?" "Because I am."
Most people would quit there, but there must be a reason.
They keep pressing him. He gets annoyed, but not yet frustrated.
He smiles and answers their questions dishonestly. He always does.
A fake smile for everyone.
*It would be so much easier to live this life,
If I could stop thinking of her. But I can't. And won't.
We spoke. We made new words, but no new promises.
Promises always hurt. Even when they're followed through.*
He opens his phone.
Browsing for that photo of her.
New, in a sense, though it is still old her.
So young. So bold. So sad. So beautiful. Wanted.
Why won't she talk to me. She said we wouldn't do this!
"The oak and the cypress,
Do not grow in each-others' shade."
I know, old man, but when my tree thrives in darkness,
Why can it not find a properly emitting source, especially from her.
She was so close. She was my waking spark. And now she won't even...
The oak and the cypress.
Staring into different corners of the forest.
Still only feet apart.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 10:02 PM UTC
Tap tap go the slim, brown shoes
And a snazzy hat bobbing on his head
Tap tap, some like to lick a girl’s toes,
And some collect stamps of people long dead
‘T is what it is, but I reckon that
There are too many poems about love
And too few about fish
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 12:58 PM UTC
Out on the town
Looking real snazzy.
Hearing the music,
Sounds quite jazzy.
Look over there,
They aren't so choosy.
Bet they buy a drink,
For this old floozie.
Getting all loopy,
Beginning to schmoozie,
Liquored up,
And feeling quite oozie.
Swaying to the music,
Holding on tight,
Hope to stay standing,
But losing the fight.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 5:36 PM UTC
I met the connect by the water
His Jordan's were Grey Cool
He sported the dread locks
Never shook his hand
Nothing but head nods, we kept it classy
The whip was clean but the seats were ashy
Snazzy
Met the connects daughter
By the border as he smoked the Marijuana
He told me his undercover name was Porter
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC
Guided by beer light down moonlit streets
pockets stuffed with stale tobacco and receipts,
pariahs of the night, queens of the teen-age
attacking their youth in a drug fuelled rage
shaking their bodies 'neath schizophrenic lights
a typical night filled with hatred and fights,
the bloodlust was fun, a midnight boogie,
danger both caustic and infectiously groovy
girls all wearing dresses too small for their *****
disk jockeys playing electro-pop to please the masses -
#WAM!#
#BAM!#
#OH YEA, OH MAN!!!#
like raving corsairs they arrived; guitars lean, leather jackets sublime
o'behold the rip-roarin' Raven's Clandestine
["People ARE YOU READY?!"]
they played rock that growled in your ears
snazzy lyrics metaphorical tears,
indulging in passion, *** alcohol and heavy drugs
dismissing dire warnings with cockily executed shrugs
swaggering to blistering tunes in front of the crowds
singing songs 'Psycho-Bitch' and 'Rebel-Tastic' obnoxiously proud,
falling in love on the stage, falling in love in their beds,
adorning their wild hair with tassels and threads
blissfully ignorant they simply didn't care
wanted to do what they want, alas life ain't that fair -
the bassist met a rogue ***** contracted ***
the guitarist lost his sight, carried on playing though he couldn't see,
the drummer lost his cool and battered a fan
found high on ******* for 10 years locked away more than
and the lead singer, with his hip swagger 'n jive,
suffered a massive stroke, upon the stage in a screeching solo he died
*[he hides his sinister within songs
died gazing at scantily-clad chicks in fluorescent thongs]*
promising to be legends they rocked the 1970's ambiguous nation
alas their substance abuse and ****** desires had already cursed them to damnation.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
Out-dated
Understated
Strange clothes and hair
That can make some stare
Or all snazzy
And jazzy
Dressed to stun
For love or for fun
Whoever we are
And whatever we are
Fashion freaks
Cool and chic
Couldn’t care less
Overdressed
The one thing
We can all wear
Is a smile
Because a smile -
Is always in style
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 12:23 PM UTC
I've got this feeling in my bones
it makes my eyes wiggle and it makes my lungs shake -
I've got this nuance inside my body, oh
it makes my voice giggle, oh baby put on the brakes
I said ah, don't shoot -
I said yes, darlin' let's dance to the roof
Oh!
I've got this tingle deep on my insides
the music jives and it makes my **** sway
oh baby let me take you to the vertigo hillside
of brash disillusionment, I'll take you all the way -
I said ah, no don't shoot
I said yes yes darlin' let's dance to the roof
Oh!
I've got this excitement deep in my body
you thrash your hips, you tease and you pray
you beg the God of my fascist inner core
pouting those lips, hoping under the stars I'll take you away
asking questions we know the answers to
what is love, hah who really cares
I've got this snazzy feeling inside I just can't hide, oh
take off those heels and follow me up the stairs!
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 5:04 PM UTC
while soaring the heavenly heights
many hours ago
every major metropolis appeared
about a million miles below
the rarefied atmosphere
ideal composition beckoned angels,
who bustled, hustled, and jostled elbow
(which bedlam, flimflam, and mayhem
intimated Hells Bells)
wing trying (heavens to Betsy) to flag attention,
and snag coveted soundcloud Netherland Award
cap ping bulging port folio,
which hubbub charged crackled, popped,
snapped amidst light emitting diodes
with a snazzy aura, charisma
harp pulling, piping, and chiefly
paying praise (CI years post haste)
to William Henry Perkin
whose credit able karma
(and unwitting) claim to fame didst glow
purple, which jumpstarted incandescent halo
couture culture club, via constant comet inflow
of Plasmodia vaguely resembling microscopic red Jello
illuminating swath of dusky
shutter flying sky sustaining
self contained feedback instagram loop know
wing lee broadcasting mauveine staccato low
to the groundswell of chemists dyeing, Googling,
and gratefully huzzahing insinuating
killing, kindling kissing
malaria goodbye, an outlook
(nee a once in a lifetime moe
mint - je nais sais quoi) win out loud
respectably sedulous honoree, a no
bill sine qua non bit player aniline
(to conclude this short poem) about his oh
penning accidental discovery kickstarting pro
noun est contribution to the fashion industry.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 4:09 PM UTC
You look at me and i'm rambling
and I think to myself "cool your jets."
and I think of love in a way
with words like neat, nifty, and snazzy.
cute and short and unique and older than I am.
and sometimes I think of when I loved you first,
oh, I don't think you'll ever quite get how I loved you first and longer
than you've ever loved me.
I don't even know if you recall
the valentine I never put in your box,
or the many times I tried so hard not to cry in front of you,
but it would have been so easy.
and those years apart,
drifting in and out of being so lonesome and
being in the wrong crowd
I tried so hard to be normal,
to be like everyone else,
but you can't force yourself to love someone
especially when you hate them.
you can only fake it.
and to say I was a liar
would be an understatement.
five years of my life,
I spent faking everything
from smiles to laughs to obedience
to bravery.
and lost within my vulnerability there were friends
that I would gain
and I would lose
at their attempts at "blackmail"
and my attempts at protecting them.
and for a year, there would be people
that would use and destroy
the bits that were left of me.
and upon coming to,
I guess I really never saw
what love was.
I knew how to treat kindly,
and with love.
but I never knew it's face
towards me
until you.
and maybe I'm not the best person
to judge relationships,
but I do know when someone treats
another person wrong.
because it strikes me in all
the most painful places.
and I get uppity and brash
from time to time,
I can only hope
you understand
that it's mostly a defensive measure
against fear.
so I will sit in silence,
and bask in the warmth of your gaze,
if it were to find me
in the blue of the shadows,
and the red of my heart.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
I am wearing my nice warm black jacket
It keeps me warm
It keeps the rain off me
It makes me look satisfied
Like a professional writer or
Something similar
It makes me look grown up
And I feel very snazzy
It shows I like to go out and party
Like to a restaurant to buy a
Nice hot pizza and coke
And I feel like I can live forever
Because the jacket brings back memories of my childhood
Like, I remember back when I lived in Woodberry which is near Newcastle
Where me and my brother both had black jackets and this made us both very cool, in a hip way
Maybe we were imitating fonzie
On happy days
And both me and my brother
Were using our imaginations
To improve fonzie' character
I said we could give fonzie a disguise and put his black jacket on to outsmart burglars
My brother said fonzie doesn't
Have a disguise and I said
If you use your imagination he can
Sent from my iPhone
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 7:15 AM UTC
studious skinny scruffy scribe
Scathing, scolding, screaming,
scorning, searing, sniggering,
sociopathic sarin soaked skewed
squirt, sputtering, squawking, sleepily
staggering, stabbing, swaggering
sweltering sadistic, sarcastic,
savage, systemically systematically
stigmatized, supersized saber sharp
schick shaving, shunned, sabotaged,
scarred, scorched, smote, sanguine,
stippled, speckled schizophrenic
sensibility, spurring, seething,
somewhat stultified, sophisticated,
spellbound spirited scabrous
schlemiel schlemazel, stenciled,
sundered sniveling sanguine storied
snakebitten sojourning ********
skeptical shoddy sophomoric
screwball, subtly sagacious,
stunted, sclerotic, scrappily
shuffling short, Shylock
styled sideburns Semite,
sainted Shasta sipping
shriveled sad sack,
sullenly syncopated, synthesized,
slobbering sybaritic, scruffy
sheepish sketchy scalawag,
Socratically scrutinizing, seizure
stricken, stoically sneezing,
shamed Skidrow skeezer, shifty,
sweaty, sham shaman,
supremely spidery, schmaltzy,
sylan seeking subsidized succor,
self shuttered, sequestered,
sidelined, shiftless, shabby,
semantically snazzy, soldiering,
shrieking, skulking, somber,
stooping, Segway scootering,
schmart spendthrift, Swahili
speaking, straitlaced, streamlined,
spongebobbing, sandal shod
sealegs, squarepants sporting
spectacles, sedate, sensate,
sentient, ship shaped,
shanghaied, salubrious,
slithering, snakish, stuttering,
sluggish, smashface scarred,
sober, solitary, sangfroid
skidamarink singing, Shamokin
speaking scrivener, scuzzy,
spunky, starved, submissively
suicidal, sunburned,
salaried shuffling senescent
snoutish soundcloud shutterflying
snapchatting schnorrer.
Sep 1, 2019
Sep 1, 2019 at 4:32 PM UTC
I love the trees
Mountains filled with snow
Icicles hang off the roof
Snowmen are built
Snazzy lights put everywhere
Yuletide is made gay
Opening presents before the light of day
Unwrapping happiness and love
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 5:18 PM UTC