"snigger" poems
Visiting a friend on his Quarter
Horse farm, the day sunny and warm.
We walked out to his brood mare
pasture, the ladies were running,
awaiting and sunning, anticipation
in the air and their nervous behavior.
Noble his name, consistency his game,
a reliable aging stallion, sire to many
fine sons and daughters, years of proven
pairings, came halter led and prancing.
He had their scent and his spirit awakened,
the three ladies believed to be in season began
to snigger and whinny, their excitement growing
as the stallion entered their grassy domain,
the dance was about to commence.
The handler led the big fella' forward,
both sides began their quizzical inspections.
one young filly more aggressively willing
than the others. Noble excitedly returned
her heightened interest.
Within a few minutes Noble began to rear up,
he knew his job, his august appendage extended,
trying several times to mount his mate intended,
adrenaline pumping his back legs began to shake,
on his fourth failed attempt the eager proven
suitor fell to the ground, rolled over, paused for
a moment and struggled to stand on unsteady legs.
Appearing even somewhat embarrassed.
The mare moved aside, kicked her hind legs in
the stallion's direction, whinnied loudly and
ran away. Rejected the old stallion stood looking
perplexed, failure was something unknown to him.
His spirit was willing but his aging body was weak.
The old stud slowly returned to the barn, his head
hung low, no longer prancing.
For every time and being there is a season, aging
is part of the cycle, like this stallion, we all reach
this moment of understanding. Sometimes gracefully,
most times with stunned disbelief.
From Noble to nothing in one afternoon.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
She was ugly.
A snake of a girl- beady
blue eyes and
blood-red toenails.
The small snigger creeping
up through her perfectly
kept teeth as she spat
at the garbage
of the street: the creatures
she couldn’t see
through her beady
blue eyes.
Her mama would dress her
up in yellow ribbons and green bows.
“Why honey,
you make a sweet little
dandelion,”.
She liked to be
a dandelion, but secretly
she dreamed of being
a marigold:
Lips parted to the sun,
seeds planted
in the rich soil of her own
blackness.
She wanted to be a marigold.
But she was just
a dandelion,
stepping on petals and
weeding out whatever
she longed to be.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
I call you forward to witness thee,
The nightmare, crimson reality,
Red soaked sheets,
A story of once an innocence, now is gone,
Torn away from my flesh,
I ask you this, where is my choice in all of this,
I have had snatched what is mine, robbed, I seek justice but there is no answer.
My cries, cries fall on silent ears,
Through the years, my cries are also now silen-ced,
I have become a story to myself,
When I now tell of my tragedy, I don't cry
Nor do I give that bitter, characteristic laugh,
I look hollow and stare hollow and feel hollow.
… People think that I’m shallow.
I am fine with that,
When has it ever been my choice?
I cry and scream and no- one helps, and passers-by snigger as they go.
...’’She got what she deserved, she had asked for it, what, dressed like that!’’
‘’She should thank her stars, that someone wants her anyway!’’
After all, **** is a kind of... love.’
That’s part of the irony…
I don't feel that loved.
- Felinely, Aisha.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
Saddle up
Gurl!
It's time
to hit the trail,
as quietly & gently
I spank the pony-
tail,
&
know,
it's how
I love you, baby..
You'll see me riding like the wind,
spurred on by our time & trials ~ that no-one got to win.
We were always mining Fools Gold & giggle indulging every sin!
Our
Poke(h)er
hands
stayed empty
&
the music's...
long since died.
Your sweet songs done,
gone & left me
(sobs)
tumbleweed rolls by
Once
we prospected forever
in this inky ol' ghost town
marking spots with X's before
a WANTED sign was found
and
One Moonshine
still
ain't big en'f 'f both of us
to get our quills thirst drowned
(hic-
cup)
"Look West,
and to the horizon,
see the stage at the edge of town?"
My last performance, PRIVATE, snigger to all the wide-eyed boys around
Ace-high, on a barebacked filly, play gallerying all my skills
I'll slap my thigh
&
Yee-haw !
riding for them there hills
~Saddled up in the softest leather
Chin up!Deep Breath!Chest out!
Corseted
& brimming,
encased in
perfume scented lace
~Bat my eyelids for the masses~
I'll find another place.
And
then you can
cut a swell down Main Street,
(remember the brothels to your right)
keep your low slung loaded though, for it's no place to start a fight
cos just outside that swing (ing) door,
the coffin maker winks at such a cheerful sight,
stood grimacing in his top hat,
grasping 13 nails
tight.
&
I'm sure
you'll measure up
darling
blowing rubied kisses
as
I bid
mine own
true-love's heart
goodnight.
***HiHO Silver,
away..........!***
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
As the sun rose
The darkness slithered abroad
Aspiration claims it’s lawful residence within,
Jouissance comes out to entertain
Snigger echoed in the sweet gust
As the cyclone whispered
You are free , free of burdens carried
Far too long
Free from sadness that startled your soul
Grasp now the light I sent your way
feel it from within
shine bright like the stars
from this day on
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
Days are not smooth!
Start with the news of conflict
accident, enmity, extortion,
inflation and starvation!
Clogs everything at night
with music of friendship and snigger
in the platform of virtual union!
But it is full with the misfortune of
physical aloofness and cloaked darkness!
Napping on
With a belief
to get light at dawn !
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
Curious bright light, like insect burn close to the core,
no one knows why we do this. Perhaps, it’s instinct,
how funny, an insect’s instinct that we share,
funny from a distance, but in experience – complete cosmic significance.
Nothing is more important, you are what I revolve around,
constantly fly close to the attractive warmth, oh – warmth,
no one can remove emotion, fire, burning ****** desire,
teenager’s fantasy, obscene embarrassment that makes us young,
with imaginative and over expressed feelings towards light,
Why do we fly so close to dangerous sun?
It can harm us, so, what must we do but dream,
raise expectations, deny faults, dream of ideal outcome,
outsiders watch; they snigger, laugh and even pretend we don’t exist,
they don’t understand the stupid phases, constant rambling,
internal beating up, bleeding from our organs within our soft skin,
they can’t see us from the inside, only from our youthful frame,
more important that life, this is our life, memories will be shattered,
make the little things last, they say, we don’t listen.
We’ll live forever, time is irrelevant, merely a trick of society,
as time is the destroyer of passion, and pure ecstasy,
so fly forever. Towards the bright LSD steam that emits electrical glow,
fly forever. Finding different ways of explaining its attractive aura,
sensual smells and touches arouse us, grasping for more,
so close, you push further, we are virgins finding ourselves,
exploring our bodies, yours and mine, all is new and exciting,
explosion of overriding passion, spilling around our hips,
naked with awkward embrace.
We are so close to the fire; dangerous and beautiful fire,
as close as I can be, to true desire,
thrusting and propelling, spinning uncontrollably,
mind is hazy and drunk,
feeling so right, feeling so good, feeling so,
description goes on, until hit the glass, border between pain,
though, the collision stings, it does not ****
like fence, impossible to cross, it protects but denies,
fly away.
The cycle continues, until we wise up,
learn to avoid the light, grow legs and walk,
no more flying, no soaring and freedom,
you walk away, leaving it behind,
but as you turn, glance behind your tired shoulder,
the fire still burns it’s eternal glow, trapped in restricting glass.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 4:25 AM UTC
she has prized credentials
where grovelling is concerned
and many a brownie point
without merit she's earned
******* up to management
is something she's good at
her activity is as undistinguished
as a gross gutter rat
she crawls all over the high ups
like an uncontrollable rash
her sycophantic behavior
causes our teeth to disdainfully gnash
to observe her inching
up the head honcho's ***
makes us all snigger
at her sniveling farce
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
ᚠ Φ
F
Θ ᚦ
no explanations
exist within a geometry outside
the circle, only architecture, sole,
yet the sole geometry of architecture
is an encircling, a lifting,
and had i wrote my poetry
in the comfort of rising beyond Marx
is socio-political schematic i would,
but i rather talk to scaffolders than to poets,
i'd rip my heart through enough thin
veil to prove it so that i shared an entombing of lips
wholly bodied with one! i rather!
care for this ******* Parisian princess
in your divorce as best you can...
i kept a cat for seven years before my neighbour
decided it was time to ***** affection
to an animal neither tilling for ably feeding
to instead choose his daughter as my wife:
i rejected feeling no compass of conversation...
the cat died, i went into the graveyard and dug
a gravestone out and buried my cat in
the moonlight: don't ever come across me and my pet!
you killed half the intelligence that was me!
**** you! humanity engaging with humanity
it plagiarises as itself an ownership to suit puppet
strings like it might tailoring,
POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POST COLONIAL NATIONS SEEK NEW *******
TO CRAFT THE LOST COTTON BUDS INTO
GRANULE CEMENT SET! POLAND ******
EUROPE! POLAND ****** EUROPE!
POLAND ****** EUROPE! POLAND ****** EUROPE!
MAMA RUSSIA! PAPA PRUSSIA! HOSANNA! HOSANNA!
LAUREL LEAFS AS I SAT ON THEM! THE CROWN
OF KING TU-154...
ROMANIA DONKEY DON QUIXOTE!
WHOOP WHOOP! WHOOP WHOOP GREK IZLAND
CORFU! then the postman comes with my jealousy
as within reach of hope to attain old age...
(snigger)... i hope i don't... i want million
dollar baby's truth to wake me.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 8:04 PM UTC
Stop right now and NUT IT OUT
Which way you wish to go,
Do you want the wealth and stressful strain
Or blithely flick and throw?
Do you preen yourself with smiling pride
Owning shining chattels new,
Whilst shallow OTHERS OGLE
With those envious eyes on you?
Or do you seek the clean four winds
Untrammelled by concern,
With sleeping bag, a crescent moon
Whilst crackling bonfires burn?
Have you thought to chuck it all
The car, the house, the boat
And cause your superficial friends
To snigger, leer and gloat?
To simply live in HUMBLE CIRCUMSTANCE
To wake without a plan,
To greet the day with unconcern
And breathe a new, fresh man.
Is the courage there to TAKE THE CHANGE,
Can you make the first big move,
Or does convention stay your hand
To stray from comfort’s groove?
Have you thought about what others think,
Reactions from the crowd,
The clamorous cacophony
Of objection rendered loud?
“Absolutely NOT, my dear”
Pygmalion my ****
To throw it all away, Silly,
Simply would... betray your Class!
“It’s all so rudimentary
This thing of living rough”
“Reminds me of the great apes,
And other basic stuff!”
There’s loads of reasons why YOU CAN’T,
The mortgage at the bank,
Insurance is essential
And while we’re being frank...
There’s the tennis club subscription
And the afternoons I’d miss
Sipping lattes with the ladies
..though, the gossip’s SO remiss.
Perhaps we’ll put it off for now
Another day perchance,
When devilment and joi le vivre
EFFUSE another prance.
When the dream of having freedom
With the cold wind in my hair,
Will drive me to release
The inner WILDNESS hidden there.
Marshalg
Victoria ParkTunnel
4 March 2011
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC
sometimes i have nothing to write about,
my father & mother worry why i love loneliness
and spend all my time alone,
they have good concern to worry... insert snigger...
i down a bottle of whiskey,
stir and stirrup it with some coca cola with a blunt knife -
lick the knife - and remind myself of what blood tastes like.
it truly does it does it does... truly...
accidental stitches undone and blood oozing
are pretty much the same for the palette as a knife...
call it what you want the Fe in haemoglobin is on the knife,
maybe it's the negative on the knife that makes the positive
of iron in 2+ (electron usurper!) of it in haemoglobin so potent to match-up.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
It's a travesty to tolerate
The ugly mores of men,
When everyone's allowance
Condones release for them.
Where everywhere provision
Is made for man to shove,
And woe betide the meek
Who don the feathers of a dove
The world applauds the forceful,
Rewards are rich for he
Who tramples over daisies
And holds aloft the key.
Who forces his attentions
And speculates the win,
Despite the devastation wrought
In winning it for him.
It's a travesty to tolerate
This bovine charge of man
When all can be achieved
With an accommodating plan,
When compromise and levity
See consideration's way
Where success can be attained
With out bloodletting on the day.
I hear the snort of your derision,
Feel the snigger in your smile,
See the curl of lip descending
With your slit eyes of defile.
For this portraiture is global
The fighting man is King
And he who deviates
Is left bereft and vanquishing.
Sadness is the matador
Who casts his scarlet cloth,
To be shredded and impaled
By a maddened bullock's wrath.
To be tossed aside, asunder
Like a lifeless ragged doll,
Like mankind's brute tomorrow
When the final drums do roll.
Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
29 November 2009
Nov 28, 2009
Nov 28, 2009 at 7:17 PM UTC
My favorite language is sarcasm
Have you ever noticed how subtly it can be used?
And how much less of an idiot you feel when you can say that you've given a little snigger at a snide comment
It keeps you in the loop
It lacks the grace and elegance of Spanish or French
But for all it's supposed pushing people away from other people
I've just found that it brings a select group of the jaded
Into being the best of friends
You can't ask a girl for her hand
Or tell her you love her
With such a tone as a sarcastic jibe
It doesn't do to tell someone
How beautiful they are
If they question your meaning
And still I love the musical sound of isolating the idiots from the cynically inclined
Because it brought me closer to you
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Excited fingertips
Tapping high notes
Just outside my door.
Their parallel delirium
dithered unshackled in the air.
“How could it be so funny?”
So many long years together
to snigger at the joke.
Such an extensive lifetime;
he still manages to makes her laugh.
Caught vague and ******
I am the troll sullen in my cave.
Decrepit
The cave-dwelling brute,
scowling lone amid her haven.
Their cackles won’t stop
And my retreat is just a shelter
That that keeps out all the rest.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 5:04 AM UTC
It was a tall and white door with the **** at the level of my heart. I knocked discreetly to enter in audience at the cross spider tamer. A fat and redhead man chewing his whiskers minutely. I was wet because of emotion and warm like a freshly hatched chicken. The man spoke with a shrill snigger because it is known that death is not as serious as life. You just swallow a knot in your throat from the corner of the star still left for you. As if you drink hot milk after chickenpox. Sometimes only the sun remains for you and you die in winter. Other times you shake off the stars and the moon from your hair like an autumn willow. You get so annoyed that your eyes roll in their orbits until the spiders stop jolting on your photograph upside down.
It was a perfectly ordinary day. Except for the fact that they sold more tickets at the county fair carousel. Nobody is perfect. Not even those who predict the weather.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 9:22 AM UTC
I fell in love with your eyes
Those cool emeralds that seared my
Skin
Left me a trust
That melted my fragile heart
In time I know you'll hurt me
In time our betrayal will close us
Down
A place of despair
That even the devil himself would shy
A snigger
But for now
I still live in hope that
You
Love me
And
My emerald blue
Eyes
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
My heart is a squishy stone
I toss out
across this green-gray gloss
mosquitoes skim
but the odds were always slim
it would skip with any vim given
its mix of bulges
and irregular beats
Let’s not mention that
surprising lack of heft
currently keeping it afloat
There it lies not quite flat
a maroon lily pad
I’ll lay piddling wagers
some nomadic creature
can make a home
Maybe the crawdad whose squeak
nothing like a fog-horn warns,
“Frog dress is on the marsh”
I swear I can hear
her bull groaning,
“The slippery *****
can’t stay clothed”
Newly hitched
this bogged-down daddy’s got
a passel of polliwogs to feed
and he needs
the lean of her tender
slimy legs for support
The crickets and I
might inwardly snigger
but from such
small giggles bred
is the manly laugh of strife
and that’s when
my heart slinks slowly back
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 8:38 AM UTC
*it's a dead, obviously, working from per se, i only used prae to be near per, i could have used foris, or even ante, but given the dictionary and the necrosis of the Latin tongue per se as in: per - by rather than in - and se - himself rather than itself, you can imagine the complications of coining a phrase for the antidote of in-itself, i.e. outside-itself.*
revision of Enya: **** away **** away,
against the wind against the wind;
mash up... brrrrapt big up big up east end
Loud Don... bonkers bunch...
now that is random,
i wanted to make a serious point,
and i will (insert snigger)... eventually.
what i wanted to communicate was the revenge of
von Kleist against Kant...
Kant is the enemy of poetry we're led to believe,
i can imagine, only Heidegger took Holderlin seriously
and lectured on his poetry,
von Kleist committed suicide out of despair
having read Kant's critique...
but what i want to do:
to take each poetic technique out of poetry, and
then use each technique to describe it's origin...
so for example metaphor... given that poetry is
ensō (one smooth stroke) - ever watched the t.v.
series Wolf Hall? it's about the dealings of Thomas
Cromwell, all matters of intrigue, Henry the VIII,
and Anne Boleyn... so the metaphor describing
poetry... at the end of Wolf Hall
Anne Boleyn is about to be decapitated, because
she ****** like Catherine the Great (although i'm
sure the myth about the horse by polish / lithuanian
conspirators isn't true... or applicable to Anne)
and that offended the king...
so on the scaffold, there's the swordsman (using a sword
was a clean affair, axes were brutal, imagine hacking
at stump of wood, or like Longinus Podbipięta,
who with a Teutonic sword cut three Turk
heads in one go, so Longinus Podbipięta vouched
to a lady his chastity that he'd bed her if he also
cut three Ottoman heads in one go ref. Sienkiewicz
with fire and sword - the sword
that cut ****** Mary's head was, blunt)...
so there's this scene in Wolf Hall, ah man, the swordsman
is classy, Thomas Cromwell asks him, 'will it be a clean
death?', 'only if she doesn't move',
so on the scaffold, he takes his shoes off, speaks into her right
ear as if she's expecting the swing to come from there
and then with great stealth moves in the other
direction and cuts her head off from the left...
so i guess poetry is a metaphor of that, an ensō,
an evolution from haiku: one smooth stroke and you're done:
nothing airy fairy, like you need to sigh...
no... you need to drop the anchor:
poetry prae se, as described by metaphor.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
via damaged left into ordaining right -
mandarin pictographs -
or akin to English
acronyms with missing prepositions,
conjunctions and other shrapnel bits...
they write u.s.a. but say
united states.. of.. america...
writing acronyms in english
is like writing mandarin,
all the little words are missing...
and the little words should be missing too,
but what false celebrity gives
is what false citizenship gets...
you write english in acronym you're basically writing
chinese... there's a billion of them...
i don't know why you'e prone to ***** and
puff and snigger (imitation of a donkey's
sneeze, no bother)... i know this isn't
1 billion Mongolians... but maybe this isn't
a time to choke the joke with some
Levis jeans Americana and a dusted-over-twice
cow-dung-covered baby blue eyes farmer?
why are farmers the joke in Europe
and heroes in America? ah... the lasso.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC
. wolfmother's
song love train?
oomph!
proper 'ard on!
oomph!
and a wet snare...
and your typical
army slick
waiting for
the girlie girlie
boys
at the Edinburgh's
Royal Mile zenith
worth of the tattoo!
**** me!
walking down Cow Gate?
dreams are made of this,
**** it...
who needs dreaming?
i have 3 years worth
of Edinburgh
in pocket...
and i'm not giving out
spare change.
of all the ethnic tribes
on these cursed isles?
the ones i became loved up
the most?
the Scots...
shame about the English
swans up north...
not so shy with you know who,
right?
shame, really...
all the love we could have made...
the Irish, bearable...
if the Welsh didn't speak Cymru,
i couldn't tell them apart from
the English...
**** sake's a scene from
scent of a woman
beginning with Al...
and ending with Paccino -
yes, there's an extra C
in that name... otherwise?
it's Allie Pakino;
or the alternative to
a cappuccino -
or a kappa puck-in-oh;
right now english doesn't
belong the natives...
it's not a language i'm to
subscribe to, as a tool for
integration...
right now?
it's a ******* toy!
(insert snigger and breaking
laughter):
choo! ha ha! choo choo!
ha ha ha ha!
choo! chow mein!
ha ha!
choo choo, choo choo train!
******** the size
of bloated elephant
craniums!
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
When you found yourself
As you were unable to sneeze
to make the germs away from your chest
or even unable to sneer about facing unwanted situations
As you were unable to listen chirping of birds
As you were unable to tickle
Unable to fiddle
Unable to chuckle
Unable to snigger
Unable to heehaw
Unable to twitter a greeting
in the circle of deserving ones
And unable to work for them
Then there is no use of running blood in coronary veins
No use of being called alive person
No use of wandering about in own recognition
No use of prayers ……………… No use of prayers
You were alone ……………….. You were alone
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
The divinity of fashion
and the sin of giving up,
require me to brush my hair
when I’ve just got up.
Then I add the rouge and pearls
by at least the stroke of nine,
for standards must be reached, and kept,
this day, and for all time.
As great Aunt Ella lauded
from her vantage point on high
a gal’s apparent loveliness
ain’t decreed by you or I.
If one feels thus as lovely
as is seen in one’s minds eye
then who are we to criticise,
snigger, ***** or sigh?
Lovely is as lovely does
blow a kiss to your reflection
thou is truly lovely
in cosmeticised perfection.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
i swear that when i start
laughing with a snigger
using my nose too much
i start snorkelling and
end up drowning;
i knew i should have used
the hebrew definite article ha
and kept what's being laughed at
as definitely unfathomable:
and via the indefinite
article (ah) almost indefinitely laughed at,
i.e. ha ha ha ha ha (ha ha ha ha ha)... ah... huh?!
any more? that's the thing, i don't know...
i'm sipping whiskey and cola and it's
starting to taste like vanilla ice-cream
because of the ice-cubes.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 11:08 PM UTC
*"Avant nous,
D'autres amants ont dit : "Je t'aime."
Comme nous...
Avant nous,
D'autres ont souffert, ont trahi même"*
Edith Piaf
---
You presented the evidence
Cards filled the table
Jack, King, Queen
You even threw
The Joker.
I laughed at your attempts
To pacify a self you so
Resolutely dismissed until
You realised I'd actually
Gone.
Profanities crossed
Across the desk separating us
And you owned your side
Dispersing blood on
Your hands.
I sat still with a snigger
A stare in my eye so wild
You feared my retort
A riposte shedding your
Ego.
My final offering
Twisting the knife
Plundered into my back
Before this poker game
Even began.
I remained silent
As you screeched
My own voodoo doll
With pleasure I watched your
Pain.
© Sia Jane
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 7:48 PM UTC