"sniggered" poems
In the German town of Shtuping
Something clearly was amiss:
Town name signs were disappearing,
The good townsfolk were nonplussed!
“For years tourists have sniggered
At our name when driving by
As its Yiddish for activity
A girl does with a guy”.
Some people want to keep the name
That makes the tourists come.
Others are ashamed to say
That Shtuping’s where they’re from.
When the townsfolk vote to change the name
It will cost a pretty penny
To change the signs from "Shtuping"
To the new: "Notgettingany".
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
He gave a picture exhibition,
Hiring a little empty shop.
Above its window: FREE ADMISSION
Cajoled the passers-by to stop;
Just to admire - no need to purchase,
Although his price might have been low:
But no proud artist ever urges
Potential buyers at his show.
Of course he badly needed money,
But more he needed moral aid.
Some people thought his pictures funny,
Too ultra-modern, I'm afraid.
His painting was experimental,
Which no poor artist can afford-
That is, if he would pay the rental
And guarantee his roof and board.
And so some came and saw and sniggered,
And some a puzzled brow would crease;
And some objected: "Well, I'm jiggered!"
What price Picasso and Matisse?
The artist sensitively quivered,
And stifled many a bitter sigh,
But day by day his hopes were shivered
For no one ever sought to buy.
And then he had a brilliant notion:
Half of his daubs he labeled: SOLD.
And lo! he viewed with queer emotion
A public keen and far from cold.
Then (strange it is beyond the telling),
He saw the people round him press:
His paintings went - they still are selling...
Well, nothing succeeds like success.
1.4k
I finally tracked him down: the person within me who could live without you
So I made him a cup of tea and he began to prattle
About the demonic conductor of my symphonic heartbeats,
And the chthonic tranquility you once deposited into my life stream.
He sniggered at how, even now, I still attempt to draw from that diluted reservoir
In an attempt to discover anything more glorious that a utopian delusion,
An unwarranted euphoria derived from what someone might call the “good times”-
If I gave you the benefit of the doubt and admitted there really was a time your love wasn’t fictitious.
But, I digress
Because I wish you the best
Even if the good times discarded are times I should regret
There was a time when you uncovered my covert capacity for unexpurgated bliss-
The likes of which I had dismissed
As myth or at the very least unrealistic to attain.
Even if all of the solace I find in our memories is disingenuous,
I still thank you for way you fooled me.
And that’s why I screamed at him.
After the nightcap, I chased him out of the house for even flirting with the idea of his own existence.
For I have not the fortitude to meet with him for more than just a few moments.
Right now, I choose to cherish our memories until I forget that I love you,
Until the day I’ll be ready to unite with my harbinger of recovery.
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 2:18 PM UTC
My thoughts were upon one moment
When above my head a lonely moth
Did fly. I walked in a line a zig zag
But he still did follow above my
Brow little wings did flutter about.
I stopped for a moment to my amazement
Where there was but one now two did
Drift within the air. Hello little ones I did
Ask what does bring you upon this hour
Floating above my head over my hair.
I walked a while pretending that the
Flickers were imagination not really there.
But where two once were now three glided,
Fluttered above I felt the cooling air.
Why follow me wee ones why do you care.
Little ones who fly with me, I ponder in
Thought yet you effortlessly spiral above
My figure. Can I ask why you do this, could
You cease this. Would you possibly reconsider
As interrupting my remarkable endeavour.
But on I walked where so few had once been
More did collect above my feature, I shooed
Them my arms did wave above my head.
People walking past looked and sniggered,
Great now I look crazy as you do flutter.
I carried on my thoughts still bright, even
Though these above my head you think
It would dim get gradually dimmer. But
A light had gone off and would not flicker.
Then I realised what had caused this action
The thought so bright it was a metaphorical
Light upon my feature. So bright the idea
Did they see, so hovering on the gleam.
I sat upon a bench and out came paper and
Pen, my thoughts now concentrated from
Thought to matter. With that the little
Reflection now emptied scribbled on paper.
Where many had floated above all now
Were dispensing as the light had slowly
Grows significantly dimmer. But one did
Stay it saw potential of brighter, bigger.
So if a moth on a dark night decides to
Hover and you just had a thought.
Realize that these little ones can see
The light and the ideas that flicker.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
Cross my path with silver,
cackled the aged crone,
She sniggered,
and the girlie,
she just walked past,
Grinning, saying confidentially,
"What you know you silly old hag",
The hag she shouted in her face,
Girlie,"I can bless you,
or equally, can curse you",
The years did pass,
The crone, kept girl's sarcasm in her heart,
The girl she wanted an honest child,
for she had grown older,
somewhat bolder,
And she tried to conceive,
a baby of love,
a gift from above,
she had lots of expensive investigations,
but she just couldn't fall,
The crone she passed in the hallway,
Smiled all knowingly,
she whispered at the sweet chick,
"if you'd crossed my palm with silver, all those years ago,
you would have had a baby,
But you will never know,
She sat and she thought, and she smiled to herself,
For she never believed in that gypsy's curse.
Two years have passed since that day,
her bonny baby, she doth play,
realised the gypsy curse was *******
(C) Livvi
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 2:12 PM UTC
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked him in the park.
"I do" he replied as they built a castle out of sticks.
They were both pretty young, and hadn't a clue.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked him on her way to school.
"I think you're nice" he replied as they climbed over the gate.
They were both just kids, and didn't have a clue.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked him on the way to calculus class.
"I think you're pretty...
ugly,
fat and
slutty" he replied as his friends sniggered.
They were both growing up.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked the ***** mirror in the girl's bathroom that same day.
"I think you're pretty worthless" her reflection replied as she short herself in the head.
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 5:48 AM UTC
The big kid stood
by the garden shed
with others kids and you
the horticultural teacher
was down by the beds
with some other kids
whom he was showing
how to dig
and the big kid said
I had her
back there
up in those woods
at the end
of the playing field
the other kids
moved in closer
to get a better grip
on the tale told
you stood on
the perimeter
of the crowd
one eye
on the big kid
the other on the teacher
bent over a kid
showing him how
to hold a *****
and you know what?
the big kid said
she was some goer
the other kids
looked at him
then at each other
some plump kid
with spots laughed
you looked over
towards the woods
by the playing field
a quaint woodland
over by the fence
and near the road
and you know
what it’s like? Huh?
the big kid said
the kids nodded
you noticed
their eyes large
and their tongues
at the corner
of mouths
it was like slipping
into a warm bed
the big kid said
on a cold night
the teacher made
his way towards
you and the kids
by the shed
the big kid
made gestures
with his hand
and the boys sniggered
half catching on
to the gesture’s tale
the big kid’s hands
went into pockets
out of sight
the other kids
moved towards
the teacher’s
calling voice
you followed
unwillingly
having little choice.
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 3:12 PM UTC
He always thought
hers was a peasant's body
not as a critique
but by something
about the simplicity
of the way she walked
or stood or the way
she lay on the double bed
one hand resting
on her naked abdomen
her brown haired head
on a pillow at rest
the way one leg
was raised
one flat down
on the bed
the small area
of ***** hairs
he was by the window
of his bedroom
looking at the garden below
then up along the road
the afternoon sun
settling on the trees
aren't you coming
back to bed?
she said
still not satiated ?
he said smiling
sensing his pecker move
not of you
she said
or of Percy
if he's willing
he sniggered
at her nickname
for his pecker
the green bus went by
along the road
good God
he said
that's her bus
whose?
she said
my mother's bus
she’ll be here
in a few minutes
she lay there
open mouthed
uncertain of what
to say or do
you'll have to get up
and we'll go
before she wonders
what we were doing
up here
he said
she moved from the bed
as if in a daze
her nakedness complete
her ******* bobbing
her hands searching
around for her clothes
he moved faster
hurrying his dressing
taking quick glimpses
through the window
his mother was not
in view
he took a glance
at his lover
semi dressed
hair in a mess
her naked buttocks
disappearing
into cloth
he loved that final glimpse
of nakedness
that final sight
of bare flesh
his mother was in sight
along the road
quick
he said
downstairs
and she grabbed
her stockings
and shoes
and followed him
down the stairs
two at a time
her bare feet
sensing the cold floor
through the kitchen
and out the back door
along the brick pathway
he closed the door
and locked
and put the key
back under the mat
and speedily
followed his lover
into the woods
the ground prickling
beneath his feet
and she smiling
out of breath
hiding behind
the old shed
putting on her stockings
and he wondering
how it may have been
if his mother
had caught them
making love
and their nakedness seen.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
The way
Miss Manners
sat
on the school desk
when the teacher
was out
of the room
or before
he came in
hands on each side
of her thighs
flat
on the desk top
her white socks
hugging her carves
and black shoes
toe touching
and the knees rubbing
each on each
and Boxy said
nudging you
giving her
the eye
wouldn’t mind being
her bicycle seat
and the sunlight
lit up her hair
angel like
sitting there you thought
the hands small
palms down
the fingers
slightly spread
the nails
pinkie white
unchewed
and Boxy whispered
bet she’s *******
his breath
easing out
sweetness
of bubblegum
wouldn’t mind
kissing her ***
he sniggered
there was
where the sunlight
caught her profile
that contrast
of light and shade
the nose
the lips
slight spread
and where
the sun lit her
a halo shone
around her
****** head.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
Woolgar peered
through the wire mesh
at the girl’s playground
can see that girl you like
down there
he said
you walked
to the wire mesh
and stared through
see her?
he said
no can’t see her
there over by
that fat girl
with the blue
ribboned hair
you stared harder
they keep moving about
you said
she’s there
he said
poking his finger
through mesh
her with the dark hair
you peered
at where his finger poked
Jane was by the fence
playing jump rope
with two other girls
yes I see her now
you said
what’s she like?
Woolgar said
like?
you said
what do you mean like?
Woolgar sniggered
and gazed stupidly
through the mesh
you know
does she kiss
and such
and what’s it like?
that’s for me to know
and you to guess
you said
some say
girl’s lips
are like peaches
Woolgar said
or that they kiss
all wet and warm
you watched Jane
move the rope
around and around
with some other girl
while one other
jump high and laughed
does she have *******
Woolgar asked
peering like
some peeping Tom
or is she flat as board?
Or don’t you know?
he asked
looking round at you
his eyes brown
and round
and aping dung
what’s it to you Woolgar?
you still ****
your mother’s dugs
or so I’ve heard
you said
seeing Jane
play skip rope
once again
you leave my mother
out of this
he said
rubbing his fingers
going red
walking off
muttering
and moaning
turning round
and *********
you turned
to gaze at Jane
once more
but the skipping girls
had gone away
to some other place
to skip and play.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
And then there was evening.
The edge of our estate, a wire fence.
We ducked under it, Cole's fat neck scraped,
he squealed.
Older boys sniggered.
Once buildings grew here,
it now sprouted vegetation.
We picked our way through.
Here we built the world: a haven of ***** mattresses and wooden boards
holding shaped rocks and bones found somewhere,
that hint of death.
Cain was bigger than the rest.
He liked fire,
pushed at the mattresses, unsettling dust.
He picked up a stick and beat down the walls,
eyes filled with that blaze.
Suddenly sticks flew,
we thrashed with fury and rage and everything,
at our creation.
Soon our jigsaw walls were waste upon the ground.
Then there was light.
Cain's father, passed out, drunk,
missed the silver lighter his son produced.
Roaring flame which singed our nostril hairs,
smelling bonfire for a week after.
Cain's eyes saw everything.
We stood, in his image,
chests heaving, we looked at what was done.
I was scolded when I returned home late with sooty skin,
and went to bed
with tear tracks on red scrubbed cheeks.
And there was morning.
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 12:28 PM UTC
Carmody said
what did you get
your old man
for his birthday?
well
you said
my sister and I
saved up
what money we could
siphoned off
some of our pocket money
took back
the empty beer bottles
to the off licence
did extra chores
for our mother
and went bought him
some cigarettes
and gave them to him
what did he say?
Carmody asked
said he didn’t smoke
that kind
said they made
his throat sore
that was what he said?
yes and my sister
was upset of course
and went off
to her room to cry
but I just said
but it’s the thought
that counts
and we just thought
you’d smoke the cigarettes
look ok thanks
for the thought
the old man said
and took the packet
and stuffed them
in his pocket
and read
the birthday card
we’d both written him
and put it on the table
and said
how much did you get
on the empty bottles?
so I told him
and he said
they were my bottles
I ought to
have had the money
for them kid
you have
I told him
In the form
of the cigarettes
what did he say
about that?
Carmody asked
he just stared
and took the cigarettes
out and opened them up
and lit one
and inhaled
and coughed
and I thought
good job too
and walked away
and Carmody
nodded his head
and sniggered
and you went off
with him to kick
around the ball
in the playground
at school
and said nothing
much more at all.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 5:51 AM UTC
Milka waited by the gate
of the farmhouse
for him to arrive
her brothers waited also
for he was their friend first
even if she had
drawn in him
with her emotional tide
I showed him how
to drive a car
one said
and I showed him
how to ride a motorcycle
said the other
in a field
Milka said
just in a ******
farm field
they sniggered
what have you shown him?
the oldest brother asked
yes what fine skills
have you taught him?
the other said laughing
wouldn't you like to know
she said stormily
folding her arms
and avoiding their stares
they guffawed
in the background
then proceeded
to practice their judo
until he arrived
she turned
and glimpsed them
now and then
but all she wanted
was for him to arrive
just a quick word
and maybe kiss
before her brothers
collared him
for the judo practice
the last time he came
and practiced
he had them both down
on the ground in minutes
and she stood
and clapped and cheered
what had she shown him?
that was between
she and him
not for her snooping
brothers to know
she looked up
the narrow road
that led to the farmhouse
but he wasn't in sight
just a car
then a tractor
slowly moving along
whose driver waved
(and she embarrassed
waved back)
one of her brothers
was on the ground
the other stood triumphantly
hands in the air
she looked away
she caught
the summery air
the sight of birds
in flight
but not him
and she'd put on
her new jeans
and top( too tight
her mother said)
with a flowery pattern
then he was coming
over the hill
riding his bike
and the ******
of excitement
ran through her being
and she stood expectantly
by the gate
trying to appear casual
unconcerned
and he dismounted his bike
and came over
his Elvis style quiff
his jeans and shirt
and despite herself
she stood there on tiptoes
her body tingling
and he smiled
and shyly kissed
her cheek
and touched her hand
then walked to her brothers
and they came at him
with their judo moves
and taunts and laughter
and she stood there
watching
sensing the kiss
on her cheek
burn into her skin
and light a fire
of passion within
waiting and watching
feeling his touch
on her hand
(not to be washed off)
and she rubbed
her finger along
where he had laid
his touch
and inwardly
she mused
and thought
o God
o too much.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 2:33 AM UTC
He first notice Elaine
as she waited
for the school bus
standing there
in the pouring rain
with her younger sister
and other kids
from the village
he noticed
how drowned she looked
her spectacles so wet
she couldn’t see out
her dark hair
hanging limp
about her face
and she looked down
not up
as she climbed
aboard the bus
making her way
down the aisle
of the bus
like some female Crucified
and sat in the seat
by the window
and peered out
her sister sat
next to her
equally as wet
yet unperturbed
laughing at another
who jested
at her state
but Elaine's
was a separate state
a lesser one's fate
knowing other eyes
gazed and sniggered
and whispered
into their hands
but not John
he saw her through
his own eyes
pushed away
the sneers
and sighs
and sniggering japes
and saw a deeper soul
within peering out
through the window glass
that showed
the falling rain
he looked away
taking note of her hair
and eyes
and glasses smeared
and how she pushed
her wet hands
between the caresses
of her knees
and dampened skirt
how by the look
of her face
revealed
her inner hurt
and as the bus
moved off and on
the radio blaring
some Mike Sarne song
the voices of children
competing for the space
and John half listening
to Trevor talk
some such of fishing
with a friend
at pond or river
he did not discern
or Trevor’s sister
across the aisle
chatting of some dress
her mother bought
not the fashion
she complained
but John held close
the image of the girl
who sat behind
across the aisle
whose dampened
state of dress
and soul
had moved his mind
and touched his heart
but said nothing
to either Trevor
with talk of fish
and rod
or Monica's dress
or clothes whatever
it had been
unfashionable or such
as undesired
he looked out
at the passing scene
as the bus raced by
thinking of Elaine
sitting a little way
behind
wiping the raindrops
from glasses
so she could see
and not be
half blind.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
The nun, plump, robed in a black
and white habit, walked across
the front of the class of girls.
Fay sat half way down on the left
next to the girl Millicent Sullivan
(whose aunt was a nun in Ireland).
"Immaculate Conception," the nun
said," what does it mean and to
whom does it refer?" The girls
stared at the nun whose two chins
wobbled as she spoke. Millicent
didn't raise her hand even though
she knew the answers, but put on
her innocent gaze. "Some of you
girls must know the answers,"
the nun said moodily. Fay raised
her hand and heads turned to look
at her. "Well, Fay?" She felt herself
blush and lowered her hand from
view. "It means one conceived
without blemish or sin," she said
in a soft voice. The nun stood up
to her full five foot frame. "And
what does conceived mean in this
context?" A few girls sniggered,
others gazed at Fay. The classroom
seemed to shrink to a white glow
containing just her and the nun.
"Not sure, Sister Luke," she said.
The nun gazed around the room.
"I am sure one of you girls know
the answer to this," Sister Luke said.
The girls just stared at the nun.
Millicent raised her hand and said:
"It means when the man's stuff
meets the woman's egg." Some
girls blushed, others looked puzzled.
"You have the idea. Now to whom
was it applied?" Sister Luke asked
staring at other girls. "The ****** Mary?"
A thin girl at the back of class replied doubtfully. Fay knew it was, but said
nothing more. The nun went on to
elaborate details. Fay was puzzled
by the man's stuff and egg. She
wondered if Benny knew. She would
ask him after school when she met
him on the way home. He knew
about things like battles and wars
and once kept a goldfish in a glass
bowl until he lost it down the sink.
He might know, she mused, she
didn't know otherwise what to think.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 4:15 PM UTC
Sutcliffe, O’Brien and you
Used to wander about the
Bombsites after school, the
Keep Out signs ignored,
The catapults in the back
Pockets to hit at cans or
Bottles or windows if there
Were any left in the empty
Shell houses of the bombed
Out homes. Dad said there
Could be unexploded bombs
Here, Sutcliffe said, his blue
Eyes and blonde hair catching
The day’s afternoon light, his
Grey flannel trousers and blue
Blazer stained with food and
Dust. O’Brien lit a crafty ***
And passed to you to take a drag.
You coughed and passed it back,
Clambering the bricks to broken
Stairs to a higher landing where
You thought ghosts might hang
In danky rooms or smelly attics
Where light shone through the
Broken tiles. O’Brien ******
Against a wall, the cigarette
Hanging from his lower lip.
Sutcliffe sniffed the air and
Scratched his **** and you
Standing on the creaky stair
Pondered who stood or lived
Here before the bomb dropped
From the threatening sky and
They wondering if they’d live
Or die. Bet this was the bedroom,
O’Brien said, and he and she
Laid out here having ******
When the bomb went off.
Sutcliffe sniggered, taking
O’Brien’s cigarette for a quick
Puff and handing to you with
Dampened end. What a way
To die though, Sutcliffe said,
Him not knowing the ins and
Outs of *** or death by bombs
Or what’d be left after bombs
Dropped. Probably some old
**** who lived alone, O’Brien
Conceded, staring at the sky
Through the hole in ceiling,
Without much concern and
Little feeling. You reflected
On his words and the stink
Of **** and damp and empty
Shell, the echo of yesteryears,
The ghosting wanderings at
Night and cold captured fears.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
You meant it as a mere joke
Something I should laugh at
But those words stuck
And I felt a putrid, vile taste in my mouth
As you said it
I thought it was a night of love
I was wrong
I was so wrong
For you chuckled
And laughed at it
And you sniggered
And said ever so hauntingly...
"It was the night you lost your innocence."
And you continued to laugh
As my heart sank
And my pure heart was
Drenched
In black oil
Staining my heart
Never to be pure again.
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
The cavern was huge and brimmed with echoes
and painted with shadows by unseen flickering flames.
"AH! Sir, you've arrived"
(He put his hand over my head to shield
it from the jagged rock edges that
constituted an opening into the cavern)
"Welcome to 'Love' "- he pointed to a little sign on a chain
"Im Cupid"
(Cupid is not a small chrub after all, believe me!)
"I'll be your host tonight and for the forseable future"
(He sniggered a coda - 'well yours anyway...')
"I'll show you your table, where you'll find your beloved already seated."
She got up as we approached and offered me her dainty digits
(Cupid whispered to me)
It was Madison Johnson whom I'd met a the wake I'd just come from
"Isn't she just the most beautiful thing you ever saw
- and she thinks you're the bees knees. ....enjoy"
(he left us, I think, I can't recall; too busy looking into HER eyes)
"So... that Cupid guy....huh?" I stammered as I began to swim in her gaze
"AH! Sir, you've arrived."
(I saw him switch the sign, Cupid, turned it deftly as some new guy arrived)
(He shielded the head of old Mr Bruce at whose wake I had been an hour ago)
"Welcome to 'Hell' !!"
"I'm Old Nick/Bellezebub/Betelgeuse, yadda, yadda, whatevs.
- Now, get. ******* in. there!"
('Cupid' kicked poor Mr Bruce with his ... hoof,
the leathery point of .."his tail" shimmered in the flames).
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
My blood is not red anymore
It is not even rufous
It is achromatic
I’ve seen it go to a watery grave
with moonshine
It drowned
for a foolish fluid
one so dimwitted
it forgot the word “No”
could be spoken
to bring their negligent ears
into *******
(And not me)
My blood rushed out
In it’s gloom
I wanted to emulate it
and exit my body
just as they entered
What a theft
What a “five-finger discount”
Literally
It was a perfect portrait
A gun kissing the crown of my head
and my indifference
towards the money in the cash register
that I called my soul-case
If I’d even had any left
My lips moldered shut
They don’t like parting anymore
Two buds charred sorely
as a pen
that speaks only in black ink
I searched every crevice of that washroom
for a noose
I found my reflection
and thought that close enough
So there I hovered
hung up on my mirror image
suspended by two claws
honed with dejection
My eyes slammed taut
My pulse ******* bones in my face
and gnawing itself
with prowling fluorescents
I grazed the scuffs on my thighs
I hadn’t put there
for once
Then I remembered the nausea
snarled up in their cheeks
Their words like spiders
I don’t know where they’ve gone
and I don’t want to
“Is it that time of the month?’
said the shorter, more truculent boy
and he sniggered
I stood submerged
in hard edged a laugh
that liked to wrench my ears
and make rounds
on nights hot and heavy
with languor
and perhaps,
had I not been so small
or weak of muscle
had I worn a different dress
or forgotten to coat my lashes
had I sipped on tea
instead of *****
I could’ve flagrantly pushed them away
Darted not with my eyes,
but my legs
I could’ve screamed “Get off me you scumbags!”
until my throat shriveled up
into a dried cranberry
But I didn’t
Instead I’m screaming
on a piece of paper
Because the worst that happens here
is a paper cut.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Hey time,
C’mon, it’s you.
‘Wanna bring you to a standstill
To get in touch with them.
Nicked and pilfered you are
Ended up missin’ too much of them,
A sting in my wits,
Conveyed my recall.
I sniggered and cackled,
As they beamed and grinned
Gulped nil yet bushed,
I’m kinda ******** now.**
How wintry the weather is,
For Christmas is roughly near
Today, I’ll close these eyes
Calling upon for their wellbeings.
(12/14/11 @Xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 2:33 AM UTC
On a whim one day we took the car
And drove for miles and miles, quite far
To visit a place, a sanctuary
For cats and dogs and all things hairy
All three of us without a plan
Had never been best friend as man only can
We had no clue when disembarking of all the curs
Alone there skulking and marking
The couple who had come on holiday
Decided to stay when confronted by strays
And in their house they were inundated
With bowls and beds and little bodies mutilated
In one cage a ball of fur hid and retreated
Into the shadows and disappeared
I failed to notice this little hound
Instead shed tears for all around
With anxious steps from Helena and Remy
We were led to a cage much bigger and roomy
Where inside seemed to hide a huge Bear
Who smiled and sniggered and appeared not to care
This one we took out for a walk
But before that we asked who could not talk
And from the cage the most pitiful thing
With one broken leg and fear heartbreaking
We bundled them both out that day
And bathed and fed and loved them forever
And still today
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 6:48 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
She had to lie she couldn't
tell the truth,It was to embarrassing
but he laughed as soon
people would guess, and
just for a second visualise
what happened to you. With
that she did blush and her eye
watered more.
He giggled every time he
saw, he couldn't help it, even
though she told him it was
really sore. That eye was blood
red, she had washed it out but
her eyes just watered more.
She had to go out but she wasn't
very sure, then some friends
popped over, do you think
they'll guess, he sniggered as
he opened the door.
Hi how are you as they came
through the door, as her friend
looked on sheepishly O MY
GOD they said in unison, he shot
in your eye, it was ****** soar.
The lads burst in to laughter
and the ladies they did scorn,
well you asked us to pull out
and it did the long shot 50 points
for the eye, and then every one
laughed as the girls grabbed there
eyes, which were still *** shot soar.
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 5:20 AM UTC
I'll tell you a story
Of Two men
Who were best friends
One who had a predisposition to feeling nothing
The other who had a predisposition to sadness, suffering, and helping the people whom he loved
Their names were pity and melancholy
Respectively
One day pity said:"I want to be sad Mel. I want to feel sad. I wonder what being sad feels like?"
"Rather terrible I'd assume Pit." replied Melancholy
"Well I guess I'll never know." Said Pity and with that the two friends went their seperate ways
Melancholy was conflicted because he wanted to give Pity everything. Including sadness.
So he sat down and started planning. He thought of sadness and raindrops and death and tears and scars and pain and cruelty and anger and many sad things about the human race.
He drew things. Things that created tears in his eyes. Things that caused the void in his chest to deepen.
Then he was ready
He gathered all of his pencils and pictures and paints and brushes and palettes
And he set out to paint the streets with sorrow
He painted raindrops on the walls
And death on the floor
And cruelty on the lampposts
And suffering on the windows
He painted and painted
He painted a man's tears raining down from the walls
To drown the men on the floor
As the demons sniggered in delight from their lampposts
And their victims of torture hung fromm the windows
Melancholy painted.
He turned the river of tears into a river of blood
And when he ran out of red paint
He slit his wrists and used his own blood
Pouring his life into his sadness
Pouring his life into his river
And then it was finished
His masterpiece of sadness was complete
"Maybe Pit will feel sadness." he thought as he lay in the wet paint and blood with a small smile on his face
Pity walked around the corner and saw the tears and the demons and the corpses and he was scared
He followed the ominous river and at the end he found an extremely well painted corpse
It looked just like his friend Melancholy
He picked up the painting and as he watched the life abandon his sad friend's eyes he felt it
The pit
The void growing in his chest
Painful as if it were an acid that burnt up into his throat
As he watched the life abandon melancholy's life he cried
Because his friend was dead
And he was sad
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
There’s no sympathy for single mothers
she said.
He sniggered.
Social services:
what do you expect?
I left me ‘usband when ‘e beat me up.
They’d ‘ave been ‘appier to spend
the public funds
on a grave.
No gravestone.
Just a plot to mark the spot
and two tiny tots
clutching a bunch of weeds from the
roadside.
And no place to put ‘em.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 5:25 AM UTC