"snick" poems
one April dusk the
sallow street-lamps were turning
snowy against a west of robin’s egg blue when
i entered a mad street whose
mouth dripped with slavver of
spring
chased two flights of squirrel-stairs into
a mid-victorian attic which is known as
O ΠΑΡΞΕΝΩΝ
and having ordered
yaoorti from
Nicho’
settled my feet on the
ceiling inhaling six divine inches
of Haremina in
the thick of the snick-
er of cards and smack of back-
gammon boards i was aware of an entirely
***** circle of habitués their
faces like cigarettebutts, chewed
with disdain, led by a Jumpy
***** who played each
card as if it were a thunderbolt red-
hot peeling
off huge slabs of a fuzzy
language with the aid of an exclamatory
tooth-pick
And who may that
be i said exhaling into
eternity as Nicho’ laid
before me bread
more downy than street-lamps
upon an almostclean
plate
“Achilles”
said
Nicho’
“and did you perhaps wish also shishkabob?”
11k
LAST night a January wind was ripping at the shingles
over our house and whistling a wolf song under the
eaves.
I sat in a leather rocker and read to a six-year-old girl
the Browning poem, Childe Roland to the Dark
Tower Came.
And her eyes had the haze of autumn hills and it was
beautiful to her and she could not understand.
A man is crossing. a big prairie, says the poem, and
nothing happens--and he goes on and on--and it's
all lonesome and empty and nobody home.
And he goes on and on--and nothing happens--and he
comes on a horse's skull, dry bones of a dead horse--
and you know more than ever it's all lonesome and
empty and nobody home.
And the man raises a horn to his lips and blows--he
fixes a proud neck and forehead toward the empty
sky and the empty land--and blows one last wonder-
cry.
And as the shuttling automatic memory of man clicks
off its results willy-nilly and inevitable as the snick
of a mouse-trap or the trajectory of a 42-centimetre
projectile,
I flash to the form of a man to his hips in snow drifts
of Manitoba and Minnesota--in the sled derby run
from Winnipeg to Minneapolis.
He is beaten in the race the first day out of Winnipeg--
the lead dog is eaten by four team mates--and the
man goes on and on--running while the other racers
ride, running while the other racers sleep--
Lost in a blizzard twenty-four hours, repeating a circle
of travel hour after hour--fighting the dogs who
dig holes in the snow and whimper for sleep--
pushing on--running and walking five hundred
miles to the end of the race--almost a winner--one
toe frozen, feet blistered and frost-bitten.
And I know why a thousand young men of the North-
west meet him in the finishing miles and yell cheers
--I know why judges of the race call him a winner
and give him a special prize even though he is a
loser.
I know he kept under his shirt and around his thudding
heart amid the blizzards of five hundred miles that
one last wonder-cry of Childe Roland--and I told
the six year old girl about it.
And while the January wind was ripping at the shingles
and whistling a wolf song under the eaves, her eyes
had the haze of autumn hills and it was beautiful
to her and she could not understand.
2.3k
as the Indian pitches
are always spin prepared
few batsmen ever
get well spared
the bowler's turn
of the ball does the trick
there is that out sound
in the bat's snick
Aussie selectors must be
aware of a slow delivery
when they name the team
who'll carry the livery
quicks are a dead loss
on the subcontinent
time and again this
has been so consistent
if we want to win
a test series on Indian soil
we can't let our eleven
be sent there to boil
the wicket has constantly
favored wrists and fingers
so we don't require
fast stinging zingers
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
cavernous mouths howling & snapping
flat wide tongues flapping
razor teeth glint in the moonlight
eyes yellow like the sun
their breath heavy & hot
a scent like dead leaves & musk
claws snick the pavement
they surround us as we fall under their spell
content to be devoured
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
The clock in my room is silent.
It’s only in my head—my head—
That I hear the snick of time passing.
Snick snick snick—
It mocks me, taunts me,
Pulls me deeper into the nightmare.
Time has become my enemy—
I cannot rewind,
I cannot pause,
I cannot fastforward.
I want to return to Then,
Skip the Now—
Pausing would be horrid—
And not even glimpse the Soon.
But snick snick snick goes my clock—
Snick snick snick goes my mind.
The window floats before my eyes
And I am forced to look through it
And witness the Soon
That I’d rather avoid.
Soon Soon Soon—
Oh how it looms!
Rivaled only by Now
While Then cowers in the corner.
I wish to join it.
Snick flinch snick flinch snick flinch.
*Snick snick snick
Snick snick SNICK
SNICK snick SNICK
SNICK SNICK SNICK
SNICK
SNICK
SNICK*
Silence.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
lift and tilt the screaming jig
clip of hair to red spot.
rip cloth
make tip in hit snick hook's
barb it bit flesh on a tug.
bait comes
(stage cloth raises high
applause covers
opening)
old hit picks at scab
grey edge to living pink
irresistible
split is spat wet . it is in
virus will make want
charisma
phantom
orgasma
(cloth in stages parts
curtains
trained spotting)
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 10:22 AM UTC
Tear the layer of this sheath
where he ran through his mitt
her hands strayed and pinched
that it was grazed in too deep
Lift it from my face
he had whispered, shushed my name
in where she touched on and snick
and my innocence was raid
Let it burn to flames
in the branch of hopelessness
I was in agony
to crawl off of my veins
If you ever saw me in green
then it was purple in my range
it was yellow on my smell
but screamed red in the end.
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 8:48 AM UTC
O moon you are my mistress, dark you are my light
Death you bring me solace in the middle of the night
Slit, snick, slash, blades against my wrists
I feel the beginnings of the Devil’s fiery kiss
The flames are awaiting me, the spit is burning high
As my life bleeds out of me I smile, the end is nigh
As I dip into the darkness, get swallowed by the black
I pray that God won’t rescue me because I choose this path
I choose the wrath of Hades, the tortures I’ll endure
Because what I am doing, my love did three nights before
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 8:50 PM UTC
When we had departed
my heart shattered like glass
oh, how the silence
brought on the tears
thinking back on those years
we had making love fun
but that was way before
that darken storm
had taken our love away
oh, how I miss those days
running around on the beach
playing with each others feet
dancing around just to snick a kiss
oh, those days I will always miss
now I am brokenhearted
while the years pass
my heart is still shattered like glass
these old cold hours
made so many rain shows
of true sorrows of what
an ending Love foretold
so many years ago .
Poetic Lilly Judy Emery (c)
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 3:05 AM UTC
CRAZY CANARY YELLOW
(In Memory Of My Mother Ita Dempsey)
Bright skin tight
a crazy canary yellow
jeans
my pride & joy
(my first Versace)
took a lot
of *****
to wear ‘em
but then
I got
‘em!
My mother hated
(with a vengeance) them
(hated to pieces)
them
until one morning early
up with the crow of the ****
I cut them
myself to pieces
“Snick snack! ” sniggered
the scissors
(good for a laugh)
threw the shreds of the threads
up upon the roof
let an hour or so
pass
and then discovering
my own(the devil’s) handiwork
accused her
of the dastardly deed.
Who else(I said)
wanted the jeans dead?
Who hated them
with such a passion
to do such...such
a thing.
Maybe she thought...
“I did it in my(God forgive) sleep.”
“Although I know
I didn’t do it
it’s what I would have wanted done.”
After hours
struggling like a worm
I let her off the hook
confess it was I
that done them
(the jeans) in.
She annoyed at the spoof
that took her in
but delighted at the demise
of those **** things.
The hearty laugh of then
the feeble smile of now
as she(here is this hospital)
tries not to die.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
you're supposed to nourish me
instead, I only despise
that head and gut disagree
sitting behind a plate of lies
she bows her head and cries
I envy you, enjoyer of food
from the ashes she will rise?
my perspective, chronically skewed
everyone, easy to delude
the beast inside growls for help
to change the way her grub is viewed
crimson slashes, a silent yelp
sustenance, quick to be sick
slip into the stall and snick, snick, snick...
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
i happened Free-Zone
not to hunt
for coercion or collision
i came to begin
again, without a diet of another
no one to occupy
just myself tonight to slight
yet in the euthenics
of smokers in their alcoholic snares,
in the hotch potch laughter
of girth-guised relics
i notice you
sang-froid solution
against the shriven wall
your own tempered poison in hand
eyes teaching me
how to thaw my disregard
lips in a cruising smile
specific for my purchase
but i was here to forget
the imbrications of lies
the past life
of being bitten
still notice you noticing me
grant no one contours
contiguous to friendship,
not now
on a night of nursing
nut-hatched hurts
when i'm not searching,
i came to drown in drink
with archives of broken vows
new porcelain hearts break
each crack - a lie
each bruise and tear
cut like each cackling
of frozen, deceptive hosts
whom i allowed
assuage
my time a home
tonight i'm learned
my turn
to snick and sneer
my turn to steer the wheel...
they all want me, here
yet you are there:
smooth warning, cool leaning
against the shriven wall
solid notions of promise
which warrants a platform
and so i found myself
migrating toward self
compromise.
i happened to you, then
in your nascent nape
and in my moment of molten need
i genuflect
in prayer
for more than persuasive phantasms
rather overlapping warmth
over joyed
in the beauty of great duration
over that thing most token
defined by trusting
the truths of this emotion
but not too often spoken:
too early to call it
a thing
but you happened
to open my wings
L
O
V
E
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
With a sharp snick, the flame opens against his thumb;
The cold stone of the pipe, a judge’s mallet
Waits between his lips,
And I imagine sparks
Flying like hot pepper to his throat, and down,
Down to where he speaks, to where he sighs.
His mouth is paper lace on mine.
I breathe in the bittersweet ashes
Like a promise to obey,
And the weight of these wings on the blades of my shoulders
Disappears
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
[Class already in session]
T: And why not “History”?
[Mean emoji response:
ironic disbelief and amusement]
T: Sharon?
[snick] Well, it’s always been our story
T: Tahjik?
[snick] Never OUR story
T: Well, we study differently now
What do you see?
[snick] she’s helping him
[snick] he’s letting her
[snick] he’s hurt
[snick] and she’s still afraid
[snick] he’s still bigoted
[snick] and angry
[snick] this is incredible
T: Let’s now shift to 2067 and
Watch their co-authored bill pass…
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 7:56 PM UTC
SNICK
The blade snaps open,
the serrated jagged metal
and blinding yellow plastic handle
My salvation, my knight in yellow armor.
Metal cold and unforgiving
meeting the innocent flesh
just below my knee,
the back of my calf.
Slow painful cuts
cutting to the beats
of my breaking heart
Blood a pulsing living thing
weeping out of the cuts
running down my leg
Crying the pain I feel inside
Remembering their joyous laughter
turns slow to furious slashing
as tears streak down my face
cutting deeper and deeper
with every touch of the blade
The tears freeze as the pain becomes blinding
Close the blade, tuck it away,
My leg a maze of angry weeping
showing the feelings I feel inside
showing the feelings I'm to afraid to admit out loud.
Take a piece of toliet paper and clean up the mess
Exit the bathroom stall, stand infront of the mirror
Put on my eyeliner, gloss up my lips.
Plaster on a bright smile.
Exit the bathroom all together
Walk to my cubicle, sit at my desk.
Log on to my work station
with that smile still on my face.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
CRAZY CANARY YELLOW
(In Memory Of My Mother Ita Dempsey)
Bright skin tight
a crazy canary yellow
jeans
my pride & joy
(my first Versace)
took a lot
of *****
to wear ‘em
but then
I got
‘em!
My mother hated
(with a vengeance) them
(hated to pieces)
them
until one morning early
up with the crow of the ****
I cut them
myself to pieces
“Snick snack! ” sniggered
the scissors
(good for a laugh)
threw the shreds of the threads
up upon the roof
let an hour or so
pass
and then discovering
my own(the devil’s) handiwork
accused her
of the dastardly deed.
Who else(I said)
wanted the jeans dead?
Who hated them
with such a passion
to do such...such
a thing.
Maybe she thought...
“I did it in my(God forgive) sleep.”
“Although I know
I didn’t do it
it’s what I would have wanted done.”
After hours
struggling like a worm
I let her off the hook
confess it was I
that done them
(the jeans) in.
She annoyed at the spoof
that took her in
but delighted at the demise
of those **** things.
The hearty laugh of then
the feeble smile of now
as she(here is this hospital)
tries not to die.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
Far beyond all the empty promises
I closed the door with the quietest snick
As latch slips into the awaiting catch plate
Far better than we had been able to clique or click
Sunrise waited in patient observance
For my fingers to gently check the connection
As I quietly eased the screen door home
Turning in time to see the sun light my new direction
NO! I was not slipping away on silent footsteps
In cowardly extrusion from responsibility or obligation
I had made it clear that I was going to be leaving
Owing nothing - unrendered in this short lived creation
Where we somehow thought we would find happiness
Were we to live together.. rather than unhappily apart
Distance may make the heart grow fonder ....unless
The sweet nectar of passion - shrivels away as its juices go ****
Two weeks was a lifetime - silent screams and averted glances
Then yesterday as I walked out to burn away my frustration
Finding my smile again, right in the middle of a million paces
So proudly I carried it all the way back with devine inspiration
Only to have it shatter into pieces - like a thin layer of frozen fog
Falling away in an almost audible .. crackeling intrusion
The very second that I stepped into their presence ..and then ..
I knew that this creation was not real enough ....
...to be magic ..... and not faint enough to be an illusion!
I walked away that day
Heavy of heart and weary of spirit
I may not know what love really is .....
But I will know it ....for what it's not - next I come near it !
So I left the keys on the kitchen table and I checked the latch ...
....at least 3 times !
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
This gun I load
now
Explosive bullets
Hollow tips
One at a time
Snick into place
Snick, snick
Chank chank
One is in
the chamber
Poised
Waiting the go signal
Go go go
hissing
through cooled air
a hard line
ending in a cough
A nasty carriage return
A denouement
searing inward
Blood smattered verbs
Moving
In recoil
I laugh
It's a giant ha
DNA pruning DNA
the captain wants
the wave to come
So many things
to be undone
So many things
to be caressed
And itches
galore
The next day
Is poised in the chamber
I am listening
for steps
I know you're
coming for me
Over my shoulder
Glimpses
Smart
the way u fit n
I read you
tho
and your unholy
words
I can smell
burned soul
pierced thru
Oh
this place
Copyright@2018 Dennis Willis
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 9:44 PM UTC
-Light me up?
Light me up!
-LIGHT ME UP TOO!
*snick
*snick
*TZZZZZ
WOOOOOOOO
(did you like that one?)
the iron makes it all turn
this red-ish orange color,
kinda like the blood running
down our arms as we're running
down the streets
as our fireworks
work their magic above us
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC