"sneer" poems
Big **** The Head ********
was the head of all the ********* in the ******** Shed.
What made Big **** so skilled and keen
at dickheadedness was to be seen.
Big **** had a certain ******* flair,
for tugging at everyone's short and curly hair.
He never had an important specialty,
except for being a type-A personality.
His skills were near to nothing great.
He kinda looked like a backward ape,
with a necktie 20 years gone out of style,
and his middle-management bullshitty wiles;
"I'm better than any ******** here!"
He'd proclaim everyday with a prickish sneer.
So they put him on his own cocky shelf,
where he could reign all by himself,
and every ******** ***** or asshole-wanna-be,
would come to the ******** Shed just to see,
what they could achieve if they'd observe instead,
the ways and means of Big **** The Head ********
___________
Dedicated to every single uptight, middle-management, pain in the ****
you have ever had to work with or for.
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 1:07 PM UTC
I saw you one day and never thought a thing
As we grew 3 years, I noticed
My heart decided to thump faster
I smiled shyly at you and you smiled back
So I asked you a question, over a note
You broke my heart...You won't ever know
I cried when you left, clutching your answer in my arms
Sobbing for days, broken inside
Last day of school, you gave me a hug
High school began and I saw you again
My heart betrayed me, no matter how much I trained it not to
You smiled at me, and I grimaced back
I wanted to hate you, and I let you know
You talked to me, asking why?
I can't tell you, I might cry
I keep a straight face, a bravado to cover my feelings
Yet somehow, I wish you could see a ***** through my armor
I have a class with you
I stare at you, hoping you stare back
When you do, I sneer at you and glare
I confuse myself
I have feelings
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
I am assured by my loving mother as a child
I believe her because the beauty in everything flow’rs and flourishes
when you’re young
The world is yours to take, everyone is yours to meet, everything is yours to do;
and I believe her.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
My first friend at school proclaims,
and I believe them.
We’ve tackled ***** training and preschool, now onto the playground and phonics!
We run and run together, taking the world like we’ve
whispered once before;
and I believe them.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
The middle school test scores announce,
and I believe them.
Primary school is in the past and I’m ready for responsibility!
I put on makeup to feel pretty, care about my grades more than the teachers believe and flash my smile to the boys who spit “compliments” at my feet;
and I believe them.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
but.. I don’t believe them anymore.
I’ve gained just enough confidence to smile at everyone in the halls in case they are having a bad day.
Suddenly my youthful euphoric vision is graffitied with hateful words and violence.
I run and constantly chase the innocence of the world,
being surrounded by darkness.
My self esteem has hit an all time low. Why is the world this way?
My friends and I chase what we used to believe and end up in deep holes;
and I don’t believe them anymore.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
And it doesn’t matter.
I have lost all hope of finding that beauty.
My heart is an aching mess of “I love you”’s
But all I hear is “you are meaningless”
Slowly these phrases of deep hate sear into my soul
I hear them every day and every night
You are meaningless
You are not worthy
You could not possibly be good enough
Until I wake up one dismal morning to realize that I have been defined by the ones around me.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
..and enough!
Because even my friends who say I’m worth something turn around and sneer at others like they can’t too be loved.
Because while the world screams “I hate people” I whisper
“but I don’t”.
But that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things
because we’ll find someone who loves us, right?
No.
Our words between just us mean nothing if we spin around and
spit in others’ faces.
And we know we hurt because we’ve been hurt but we don’t stop, none of us stop.
I dream of a world that screams a vulnerable
“I love you”
out into the world instead of a pulsing
“I hate you”
And a world that remembers that we are all worthy of love and not only the kind that makes you blush.
“You are worth more than the marigolds”
The phrase I’ve heard since I was in my mother’s gentle hold
can only mean so much when you think you’re crumpled.
Stashed away until you’re needed
always feeling so defeated
but the truth
not told enough
to our weakened souls
We are all worth more than the marigolds
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:15 PM UTC
Let those who will of friendship sing,
And to its guerdon grateful be,
But I a lyric garland bring
To crown thee, O, mine enemy!
Thanks, endless thanks, to thee I owe
For that my lifelong journey through
Thine honest hate has done for me
What love perchance had failed to do.
I had not scaled such weary heights
But that I held thy scorn in fear,
And never keenest lure might match
The subtle goading of thy sneer.
Thine anger struck from me a fire
That purged all dull content away,
Our mortal strife to me has been
Unflagging spur from day to day.
And thus, while all the world may laud
The gifts of love and loyalty,
I lay my meed of gratitude
Before thy feet, mine enemy!
11k
She's done it! She's free!
But now that "She" is a "He"!
I'm proud of Him. As should be!
For now he smiles in glee!
He's jolly again, grins from ear to ear!
I can't help but shed a tear.
I'll support you always my darling dear.
Even when the bullies sneer.
Bu my Hannah is now a Ryan.
Once a woman, now a man.
You're doing what I can't;
You're restarting your life and its just began.
I'm so proud of you.
But you already knew.
I'll support you through and through,
Even when life becomes anew.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
**Tell no one else, only the wise
For the crowd will sneer at one
I wish to praise what is fully alive,
What longs to flame toward death.
When the calm enfolds the love-nights
That created you, where you have created
A feeling from the Unknown steals over you
While the tranquil candle burns.
You remain no longer caught
In the peneumbral gloom
You are stirred and new, you desire
To soar to higher creativity.
No distance makes you ambivalent.
You come on wings, enchanted
In such hunger for light, you
Become the butterfly burnt to nothing.
So long as you have not lived this:
To die is to become new,
You remain a gloomy guest
On the dark earth.**
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 11:42 PM UTC
Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!
You shall not sneer at me.
Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
I contemplate a joy exquisite
I'm not paying you for your visit.
I did not call you to be told
My malady is a common cold.
By pounding brow and swollen lip;
By fever's hot and scaly grip;
By those two red redundant eyes
That weep like woeful April skies;
By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;
By handkerchief after handkerchief;
This cold you wave away as naught
Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!
Give ear, you scientific fossil!
Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;
The Cold of which researchers dream,
The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.
This honored system humbly holds
The Super-cold to end all colds;
The Cold Crusading for Democracy;
The Führer of the Streptococcracy.
Bacilli swarm within my portals
Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
But bred by scientists wise and hoary
In some Olympic laboratory;
Bacteria as large as mice,
With feet of fire and heads of ice
Who never interrupt for slumber
Their stamping elephantine rumba.
A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
Don Juan was a budding gallant,
And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.
Oh what a derision history holds
For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!
10.9k
A Friday night of imbued strangers
Streets full of all walks of people
Mostly staggered and tipsy
Haggered and narrow minded
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of rejection and temptation
I couldn't give my cash to enter a joint
Thoroughly rejecting a norm construct
Unhumbled and judgmental
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of inspiration and joy
Where I saw a mirror of myself on the streets
Vagabound souls sat begging for a today
Justice and truth prevails
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of me sat on the ground
At the entrance of a busy closed shop
Begging for the homeless soul as people sneer
The abuse and hate ejected
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of broken promises
When all they do is try to have ******
People set traps of unfriendly gesture
The rotten and pompous society
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of me wooing the drunk
Melodious symphony of "change please"
Negativity beakers but we made money baibe
A reflection of minimalism
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
A Friday night of concluded perception
Their souls touched me, they can go back a time
They try but have no strength within
Sour love was the wound that brought them hassle
As they sing the only one anthem of
pumping alcohol inside their veins
It's not a Friday night anymore, the dawn smiles
I have a warm home and access to facilities
They have no options and crack is their hope
Police huddles and societal direct abuse
As they sing a song for strangers to listen
For your smile and talk can be the only hope they got
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
i would **** for you —
you know ,, ?
stain my white dress in red :
for
you .
.
blood dripping down a
knife
i would swear i never
held
.
but
they would end up catching me
of course ,
they always do —
and
the devil would sneer
,
disappointed ,
lace dress tight —
her lips curled in painted pink ,
when everything seems
so
h o t .
.
because
she knows
that
while
i would **** for you,
i
would never,
ever
die.
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 1:25 AM UTC
Love is a thousand women who fail to amount to one,
Peasant seductress with bared shoulders of red dun-colored roads and candle smoke,
Who pours down her wet, ungoverned hair, like a fast-fading storm to dry over Aurelian walls,
In that dark sneer of sultriness over the sentry-like stillness of ramparts and stone,
A wasp in water whose sibilance comes from what the sting makes,
Like the upgathered phalanx of spears in the sand,
Or the sisters of fate who have coiled their hair as sunset snakes,
Her fingertips ***** into me like much-traveled and ancient rain.
Apr 23, 2023
Apr 23, 2023 at 11:03 PM UTC
Why
Do I have to learn this?
Math hates me
Didn't you know?
The triangles glare
The equations stare
The postulates and theorems whisper nasty things
The formulas judge
The polygons sneer
I just want to get out of here
Take me away
Back to English class
The one without the numbers
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
Your first position of power
Feeling you don't get the respect
You think you deserve
I almost pity you
Treating us like dogs
But with a guise of politeness
"Ma'ams" and "pleases" can't hide your contempt
Your patronizing tone washes it all away
Doctors bark at you, you say?
Patients don't respect you?
Poor you, you deserve the world
Right, try being us for a day
Your lying mouth never stops
Complaining, explaining
As if we're completely ignorant
As if we can fix your problems
Your favorite activity
The one at which I roll my eyes
Is telling us how much you hate
The profession YOU chose
Perhaps you're just upset
That all our young minds
Can change our paths
Nothing for us is set in stone
Condescending, you sneer
"I am your boss"
***** you've been here
Less time than I have
What gives you the right
To judge these people?
Sure, they're self-entitled
Demanding and belittling
But have you looked in the mirror lately?
Mar 1, 2011
Mar 1, 2011 at 10:44 AM UTC
she likes to dance in cemeteries naked
warring little but jeweled ***** bells,
ankle bracelets
toe rings
bingles, bangles, piercings,
through ******* and nose
her tongue split
each side wiggling independently
she gives head on a head stone
her blow jobs
like two undulating mouths
her skin inked with
black and blood tattoos that say
*Satan's little ***** *****
double penetrations preferred porfavor
the more buttery big ***** and pastry puffy ******* the better*
she
all purple hair tinged red
and antler horned hat
with silver toe and finger nails
a crazy saint sane
adored by the popes of the lascivious
eyes wide open over a crimson mouth sneer
cherry pout lips
gods gift to ***** and vaginas
a temple of relief exalting
Eros
a **** it bucket list of lust
her heart
cotton candy in flames
****** like a river of smashed potatoes
in cream
she like
phases of a corpse moon
begs to be used after death
like pigment on canvas
smeared red globes and chiaroscuro
she playing dead
living it up
do you know her
she keeps her secret hidden
on her sleeve
while you keep yours
from yourself
*bless me father for I have sinned
and loved every minute of it
yet dare not be happy
for fear of Gods rage*
my soul saved
turned fertile earth to sand
and shrouding vistas of light
till the bed is the bed
of the living dead
so there's nothin left but work and sleep
and dreams of drunken **** madness are buried
under the weight
marked forbidden
black sun curse
hips sway in ashes
a forbidden dance
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 10:42 AM UTC
I like to stare listlessly
At the night sky for long
Durations of time, as if my
Gaze will compel the stars
To align to breathtaking ends.
Alas, they stay put,budge they
Don’t, a sneer streaks my
Face as my pride’s hurt.
And a tear droplet materializes
On the corner of my eye.
Maybe the moon prefers her
Star friends to remain as they’re.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 3:35 AM UTC
Day of mist: day of tarnish
with hands
unserviceable, I wait
for the milk van
the one-eared cat
laps its gray paw
and the coal fire burns
outside, the little hedge leaves are
become quite yellow
a milk-film blurs
the empty bottles on the windowsill
no glory descends
two water drops poise
on the arched green
stem of my neighbor's rose bush
o bent bow of thorns
the cat unsheathes its claws
the world turns
today
today I will not
disenchant my twelve black-gowned examiners
or bunch my fist
in the wind's sneer.
5.4k
1.MY MOTHER WOULD STAND IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR AND PAINT HER LIPS RED FOR A MAN WHO WASNT MY FATHER.
2.MY BEST FRIEND STOLE HER MOTHERS LIPSTICK TO IMPRESS A BOY AT SCHOOL AND THE NEXT DAY SHE CAME INTO CLASS WITH A FAT LIP.
3.THE BEAUTIFUL BOY FROM MY FIRST PERIOD CLASS FRESHMAN YEAR BROKE MY HEART WITH LIPSTICK STAINS CRAWLING UP HIS JAW.
4.THE INSULTS ON THE BATHROOM STALLS WERE WRITTEN IN BLOOD RED LIPSTICK.
5.MY GEOMETRY TEACHER USE TO SNEER AT ME WITH SCARLET LIPSTICK ON HER YELLOW TEETH.
6.THE GIRLS IN MY FAVORITE BOOKS ALWAYS MADE ME CRY. THIER RED LIPS STILL HAUNT ME.
7.WHENEVER I’D TAKE IT OFF MY LIPS WOULD STILL LOOK PINK AS IF YOU’D SPENT HOURS KISSING THEM.
8.WHENEVER I THINK OF RED LIPS I THINK OF THE SCENE IN ****** WHERE HUMBERT IS ******* HIS LITTLE NYMPHET IN A DESPERATE ATTEMPT FOR HER TO STAY AND HER RED LIPSTICK IS SMEARED ON HER MOUTH AS SHE STARES UP GLASSILY AT THE CEILING
8.WHEN YOU FINALLY GOT OFF MY BROKEN BODY THAT NIGHT MY RED LIPSTICK WAS SMEARED ACROSS YOUR CHEEK. YOU PULLED ON YOUR PANTS AND ZIPPED YOURSELF UP . YOU THUMBED THE RED MESS ON YOUR CHEEK AND SMIRKED AT ME AND SAID. “GOD I LOVE THOSE RED LIPS"
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
Nor thou, Habib, nor I are glad,
when rosy limbs and sweat entwine;
But rapture drowns the sense and self,
the wine the drawer of the wine,
And Him that planted first the grape-
o podex, in thy vault there dwells
A charm to make the member mad,
And shake the marrow of the spine.
O member, in thy stubborn strength
a power avails on podex-sense
To boil the blood in breast and brain;
shudder the nreves incarnadine!
From me thou drawest pearly drink -
and in its pourings both are drunk.
The Iman drives forth the drunken man
from out the marble prayer-shrine.
Blue Mushtari strove with red Mirrikh
which should be master of the night-
But where is Mushtari, where Mirrikh
when in the sky the sun doth shine?
Now El Qahar to Hazif gives
the worship unto poets due : -
But songs are nought and Music all;
what poet music may define?
Allah's the atheist! he owns
no Allah. Sneer, thou dullard churl!
The Sufi worships not, but drinks,
being himself the all-divine.
Come, my Habib, the roses blush,
the waters gleam, the bulbul sings -
To pierce thy podex El Quahar's
urgent and and imminent design!
5.2k
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert… Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
5.1k
Oh dear,
There seems to be some deer
Looking at me with a queer sneer
And wiggling their rear.
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
Whose women these are I think I know.
His housefly’s dead on the vignette though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his women pick snowdrops.
My little hornpipe is quite queer
He stops without a farce or sneer
Between the women with their frozen ‘la’s
The commonest everyman of the yawl.
He gives his harlot beldams his shaft
To assure they are his mistresses.
The only other soundtrack's the sweat
Of easy win from downing flagons.
The women are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promenades to keep,
And migraines to go before I sleep,
And migraines to go before I sleep.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
I’ve never understood the pull of the nightlife.
I was always content to hang in my cave and enjoy the homelife.
Every now and then I do wag my tail and purse the trail of the pack,
Always lingering right at the back of the queue.
I follow their scent when they descend into the night,
While they ascend the social status stairway.
From my perch at the bar I watch the social sheep dancing to the beat of popularity:
The girls show off their twirls and brunette curls,
Inviting you into the funhouse down under that never shuts for festivities.
The boys weigh up their options with the biceps on display and perfect quiffs held up by ten tins of hairspray.
Hunting through the flocks of feet trying to find themselves a piece of meat for an all night feast.
When he finally finds his muse he bites her lip and grabs her hair, pulling her in without a care about those who stop and stare.
They kiss for seconds and he whispers in here ear,
“I think we should get outta’ here.”
She giggles grabs his hand and leaves through the exit at the rear.
His friends give him a clap and cheer, whilst his jealous rivals sulk and sneer.
After a few too many drinks I leave through the front, holding my head low to avoid a fight.
Bearing the brunt of another unsuccessful night with no young light to take home and ignite.
I fall on my floor with a case of helicopter head as the room spins in circles and squares in front of my eyes.
My lasting thoughts are of the day ahead; hanging dry and feeling as if I’d rather die.
It's just another day in my nightlife.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
Everyone knows that she's not like others
She's an outcast in this cold broken place
Suppressing her true self til' it smothers
As she walks around here and hides her face
She wants to fit in, be able to gleam
And be a part of every single crowd
But she can't, she holds it in til' she screams
And above her head there's always a shroud
Sadly, she walks through the halls, her head down
Others watching her with a sinful sneer
She turns away and wishes she could drown
All that stops her from coming out is fear
What would they do if she held her head high
She'll never know, she just lets them pass by
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC
“The executioner’s face is always well hidden”
a Bob Dylan lyric
<>
mine own “ex,” in chest encased, silent, with grimacing smile,
happy to be of sir-vice, sent home unhappy, cause his cut,
not quite deep enough
this time,
though nearly succeeded,
but his biz is an-all-or-none inclusive Swifty tour, disillusioned,
he don’t get paid unless he brings my punched ticket to a glorious
sadness conclusion
someone asked (axed in local accent) if I’m nearer my god
having survived despite my best efforts at self destruction,
to which I’m smiling when uttering a “heartfelt prayer” of
Hell No!
cause the channel always been open and either side can initiate when so desired, the gates of love always open,
so wasn’t surprised when playing with my matches,
he went silent, but knew fully well, Mr. G a risk taker,
put his roulette chips on a “basket bet,” (1)
needing a double 00, to collect,
because, shoot, the timing was good…
Me?
ain’t naive enough to hope that a prayerful request
would not be met with a “now you want some intercession?”
and a heavenly sneer, cause we always been perfectly clear,
with each other, ask and you won’t receive, and none of that
what have you done for me lately razzamatazz,
nah, the record impurities gray
and no pencil erasures allowed…
knowing that the executioner will be back’ round someday,
my wounded heart too tempting to pass up twice, and
that’s ok, this old man learned to live with
a not entirely pleasant uncertainty,
*”This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb;
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.”*
but he didn’t play two, having no kazoo!
Sep 5, 2023
Sep 5, 2023 at 12:24 PM UTC
155
The Murmur of a Bee
A Witchcraft—yieldeth me—
If any ask me why—
’Twere easier to die—
Than tell—
The Red upon the Hill
Taketh away my will—
If anybody sneer—
Take care—for God is here—
That’s all.
The Breaking of the Day
Addeth to my Degree—
If any ask me how—
Artist—who drew me so—
Must tell!
4.1k
If I were mild, and I were sweet,
And laid my heart before your feet,
And took my dearest thoughts to you,
And hailed your easy lies as true;
Were I to murmur "Yes," and then
"How true, my dear," and "Yes," again,
And wear my eyes discreetly down,
And tremble whitely at your frown,
And keep my words unquestioning
My love, you'd run like anything!
Should I be frail, and I be mad,
And share my heart with every lad,
But beat my head against the floor
What times you wandered past my door;
Were I to doubt, and I to sneer,
And shriek "Farewell!" and still be here,
And break your joy, and quench your trust--
I should not see you for the dust!
4.2k