"sniggers" poems
Applied rouge on the cheeks
Tied a glittering necklace round the neck
Putting heavy makeup,
Over the stubble on her shaven chin,
She looked into the mirror
Through its cracks, saw a million bits of her/him
Those images sneering at each other
She felt trapped in a wrong body,
With its contours n’ longings mismatched
“Where do I belong”?
“Where do I fit”?
These questions plague her incessant
A rough stone with sharp edges
Too hard to be chipped down
Cast aside by the mason
That can never go into the making of a Cathedral
She walks around in haze
Life seems a twisted maze
Each time she tries to claw her way
She sees only walls that hems her in
Before her lingers the stygian mist
Phantoms of darkness surround her
The winds of change swiftly blow
Seasons come and go
But she is tied down in her chains
An anomaly of creation
A curse and a taboo
Swallowing stigma and abuse
Each day waking up with a start
Knowing that she is neither a woman nor a man
But a non binary... an accursed TRANSGENDER
Inviting snide looks
And sniggers from onlookers
People call her a ******
One divided between the selves
A hapless denizen of an inhospitable world
Disowned even by parents
Though flawed and far from perfect
She is human, one of a kind
And needs to be seen through the eyes of God!
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
Its been one of those weeks
so I don't know what to write
but thankfully its **** day
the weekend is in sight
Monday was well just Monday
which by now I should expect
but I must admit I wasn't ready
for just what happened next
When I woke up Tuesday morning
I had overslept of course
and the milk was more like yoghurt
which just made a bad day worse
By the time I finally got to work
I'd a ladder in my hose
and allergies were in full swing
you'd swear I'd Rudolph's nose
Of course the coffee *** was empty
and the printer it had jammed
and by now it's almost lunchtime
so there's no one to lend a hand
So I worked through lunch to catch up
and somehow make amends
but then my PC up and died
which drives me round the bends
When everyone came back from lunch
I could hear all of their sniggers
Until someone finally told me
I'd my skirt tucked in my knickers
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 8:12 PM UTC
Sausages and chips,
sauces and dips
thoughts of them
has me licking my lips
then I remember the hips
So I’m going to back away
as I remember what my granny used to say
makes me smile as I remember her sniggers
“little pickers,bigger knickers”
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 7:58 AM UTC
Ingrid sports a black eye;
she looks like a panda.
She said she walked
into a door;
she doesn't lie
convincingly.
I know her old man;
I passed him
on the stairs of the flats;
his beady eyes
drinking me in,
giving me the cold glare,
the cold shoulder.
We walk through the Square,
off to the shops.
What happened to your eye?
I ask again,
studying the black
and slightly green;
walking beside her,
passing the milkman
and his horse drawn cart,
the horse wearing
a nosebag of food,
ignoring us.
I walked into
the bedroom door,
she says,
knowing I don't
believe her,
looking sheepish,
knowing
I guess the truth.
What have you got
to get at the shops?
I ask.
She shows me a list
on a scrap of paper,
pencil scribbled,
in her small right hand
a handful of coins.
I passed your old man
on the stairs yesterday,
I tell her,
gave him my
Wyatt Earp stare,
I say, he didn't care.
I note her hair
is unbrushed,
her green patterned dress
unwashed.
We cross Rockingham Street
into Harper Road.
I talked too much,
Dad said,
she confesses,
he said I yak and yak.
We pass the paper shop
and go on
to the grocer shop.
I say,
if I had your old man
in the sights
of my six-shooter gun
I'd fire a cap
up his ***
she sniggers;
people stare at us
as we pass.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
Better than you;
always considered myself superior
--a delusion I nurtured
with vicious remarks
and cold sniggers;
within the remotest of land,
full of dust,
you learned to bloom
with your youthful flowers
growing larger
than me
and yourself.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
“See herself..?”
‘Who..?’
“Herself.. there”
‘An’ about her?’
“..Cheating on himself..”
‘Sure she.. that one..’
“Fur coat.. no knickers..”
They scuttle out daily wagging their vicious tales,
Through dullness that dampens their every afternoon,
Ignored by their own; an’ threadbare reflection,
******* each spun yarn an’ sheet out to dry,
Stained with every listless memory an’ lonely evening,
Gossip-hungry, they covet the community swill,
Chomping through the random, unopposed untruths,
‘..husband slayer, heartless siren.. tis’ a mortal sin..’
They make no bones of any acquaintance of herself,
With monstrous-eyed chronicles of salacious green,
Such falsehood is kind to the envious an’ bias ears,
Which tolerate any brazen line to a choir of lewd hymns,
They harmonise each lustful lie; the prime accuser,
Conducts a murky symphony of ***** laundry aired live,
The jury silent, mocking whispered an’ ears into the wind,
As the accused sullen-faced an’ solitary suddenly appears.
Herself stands idly ignorant to the satirical sniggers,
The trial by jealously ends, they turn two faces an’ leave,
No fur, no knickers, no time to wish away the pain,
Curtains drawn, truth quartered - the washing hung
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 11:16 AM UTC
Burly bleak plumes roll out aloft corn
Where the dragon fell post spin and ditch
A wretched hulk of ruin splintered and worn
Amongst endless blanch green fields which
Arc with a gust and apart where he treads,
Dragging his silk cape afar from flame
Clueless and concussed to a near house he heads
With a tattered scarf that constricts yet ***** about his mane
Black fists of cloud had boomed around him as they soared
His beast spat metal fire whilst the pale sky turned dull
The zipping ballet of warfare smiled throughout as motors roared
Gnashing its teeth and making forgotten martyrs of them all
Shuddering not from demise rather conflict as a whole
He is as content with death as he is to survive
Just not burn the world and condemn his soul
A horror; men of rule seem keen to keep alive
An agrarian self-dines rancorous and crocked
Half sat, improperly perched from where he was shot
Monsters had come for him once before this day
They took his spouse and his daughter and then took them away
He can hear but does not hark to the battle aloft
It is now like the rain and the trees in a gust
But to the boom and the shake he stands with a cough
And as he cites the invader he sees he must do what he must
The grower limps out with a Chassepot in his arms
As the airman’s hands reach up and he falls to his knees
With beads on his brow the man pleads with met palms
The crofter sees naught but a Prussian blue monster disease
The pilot knows his death, ‘Ich bin nicht sicher, wo ich will gehen?”
The old Frenchman just sniggers as he thinks never again
With the rifle’s slug now spent and the horror sent back to his hell
The farmer mumbles to himself, ‘je dois me chercher une pelle,”
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
CLOSE SHAVE
Always her fascination
with me
shaving.
This her early morning ritual
observing each action
as if it were
holy.
I hide my face
in foam.
“Santa Claus! Santa Claus! ”
she chants
winces with delight
as the razor
(she gulps)
goes over my bump
without slicing it off.
The shaving uncovers the me she knows.
“Soft…soft! ”
“Mr. Daddy Soft Soft! ”
she gurgles
in a lather of laughter.
“Me now…now me! ”
she pleads with me.
I take the brush
coat her reflection with foam.
I shave her
with the tip of my little finger.
Her reflection sniggers &
she sniggers too.
Later, in the early evening
she appears
bearded in fresh cream.
She shaves herself
with a lollipop stick.
“Me... Daddy now...see! ”
I cha cha cha her
on the tips of my toes
as she clings to my
fingertips
dancing around
the living room.
One delighted
half shaved little girl.
One delighted
soft soft Mr. Daddy.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
It was the eve of my birth and within that
moment of creation I was a fallen as the echo
of my cries were thrown into the industrial
******* bin behind the old take-away.
My teen years were so lewd and contrived,
I thought I had friends, but I was like the
******* I was at birth they used me a threw
me away and again I was alone.
It was upon my tenth birthday that I had
lingered in this abyss long enough, I decided
on that day that I would greet those as I was
greeted to return those favours ten fold ,
My step-dad he was my first gift to my suffering
I introduced him to that pain as I quenched his
sight or lack of with a scuffed spoon rims shaper
than a blade I said words as he screamed.
"I will scoop singular or two, depends on your taste,
Son, please listen to me, he spoke in quivering stuttered
vocals. But I thought it delightful in laughable sniggers.
See how I saw the world, feel the occasions that converted
my emotions to what I'm debilitated to this moment now.
I scooped them out like a ice cream, I thought in this
moment of Mint choc chip, and pineapple sorbet.
Mmm the taste that was seeping from lips. But that
was the blood validating itself on my skin.
All I heard was his voice crying and it made me
regurgitate what I had consumed. It was on the
floor not tasting as it went down like victory.
I just plunged the spoon into his throat...
I didn't want to taste his life, I just wanted to
watch it seep on his white chocolate shirt. It was
like strawberry sorbet with a bitter taste as I licked
a echo of it of my hand "why did I tast it at all??
I had ended so many stains on my life, took their
eyes to show them how I felt. If I had kept them
looking like pickled eggs in a jar. Thinking if they
could still see each others moments in each others sight.
I took their eyes, so each could see how it felt for what
they put me through. I had no guilt, I just consumed
everything they saw and laid it to rest. I wasn't killing
I was just releasing their guilt and consuming it all.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
Completion of the trial marks the end,
for better? For worse?
An onslaught of a pleasurable suffering begins -
An all-consuming disease which attacks the body
and festers and manifests within the very soul like the Plague,
tearing it apart, piece by piece, mercilessy, and willingly so.
There is none worse an ailment or life-crippling disease
that has so thrived off the human heart.
Its only enemy is Time, which, itself,
an ally of the soul, mind and state of being is not.
Tribulation after tribulation is hurled against the soul,
Destroying the walls of defence before they are even constructed
while Life sniggers mockingly,
preparing for the next blow,
enjoying its cruel, torturous game.
Flickers of hope are ignited only to be smothered
and suffocated by giant waves of abusive torment,
and Fate, the Natural Terrorist,
simply smiles
and it all begins
again.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 4:13 PM UTC
**you spoke in mocking whispers laughed in taunting sniggers
you thought i never heard your snide remarks i heard them i
heard them all and i realised with thrills of horror that i who
relentlessly strived to go unnoticed was the hottest topic of
gossip you scrutinised me and every ****** action of mine
you broke me down
and crushed my spirit and trampled all over it and when you
were bored my pain became your amusement
you took my silence to be a mysterious ailment you made
assumptions you drew conclusions based on rumours you thought
you knew all about me you don't know anything about me don't
you dare assume you know me or what goes on within me or why
i am the way that i am.**
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 7:33 AM UTC
I'm lazy
I'm tired
Bed is here
Bed is good
Invites me in,
Thank you bed,
Lets me stay,
Thank you bed.
Drunken Duvet
Locks me in,
Poetic Pillow
Shuts my eyes,
Memory Mattress
Holds me still,
Makes me sleep.
Morning's come,
Alarms frustrated
Disrupts the peace
Bed's not fazed.
Pillow whispers;
Turn it off
Five more minutes
Duvet Calls
I oblige.
Bed's so kind.
Mattress shakes
I'm awake
God look
The time!
Duvet laughs
Pillow sniggers
**** you bed
You made me late
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 10:19 AM UTC
She walks down the corridor
back straight, immaculate.
Heels tapping a regular rhythm
heart beating a tattoo of nerves.
nerves
She can hear the wishers of spite
whispering, sneering, delivering splinters
of withering, scathing remarks at her back
behind masks of smiles and false friendship.
friendship
She hasn't been aboard a ship of friends
in quite a while.
Transistors in her head have picked up the
whispers, the predictors have spoken.
spoken
"She only got the promotion on her back"
"Like she has the qualities for the role"
"Well she does have qualities for a roll!"
"She does like rolling on her back!"
back
Back home, she sits at the mirror in her room
shivers whilst remembering the sniggers and
whispers. The slingers of whispers and dirt
have hurt too deep this time.
time
Time has passed, and the only dirt thrown
Is the handful by her sister, on top of the box
her sibling lies in, lies in because of lies.
She espies the work colleagues, watching and grins.
grins
Grins because it's not often you see the twin
of a suicide victim.
The victim of evil whispers, furthermore
she starts work in a week, with these weak whisperers.
Killers
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
Semisynthetic illumination faded over the land.
The dunes sighed;
women and children (wide-eyed)
emerged from humble homes,
hands in the air, guns in their backs.
Still on hands and knees, as if in prayer,
Ahmed’s body slumped forward,
his beard and robes leaving tracks in the sand.
Hand-rolled cigarettes glowed over Mona Lisa soldier-sniggers;
village men,
lined up like sheep near the fence
were being stripped of their clothes—
they shivered in the face of death.
Fadwa’s back door creaked open;
two soldiers, high on poppies’ finest,
tiptoed through desert darkness, fingers on triggers.
Billy the Kid wasn’t named ‘Billy the Kid’ for no reason,
“kicks like a mule”,
so Uncle Mohammad had said;
The first soldier was winded,
the second not quite so lucky.
Fadwa picked up the man’s rifle,
popped the winded soldier in the face.
Billy and Fadwa took the brunt of the bullets; the rest fled.
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 3:40 AM UTC
Father knew **** about Vietnam,
Says Bill, other than what he heard
On the radio or the newspapers or
All that other spiel from red necks
Or dumb heads, he knew nothing
About the real war or the reasons
Behind the death fields. Bill inhales
On his cigarette and takes in the
Young feller undressed and laid
Out on the bed with his thin arms
Behind his head, his ***** hanging
Limp like something dead. He watches
As the youngster looks up at the ceiling,
A cigarette held between red lips, his
Pale blue eyes like ponds of shallow
Water. We pulled out of Vietnam quicker
Than a ***** drops her draws in the end,
Although we in the know knew it’d come
To that even before the politician could
Pull up their pants and put on the public
Faces. The youngster sniggers, pulls on
His smoke, some private joke, Bill considers,
The shallowness of youth, remembering
Young soldiers in Vietnam and elsewhere
In later years blown up or out or dead or
****** in the head. The youngster gazes
At Bill wondering if this guy was some secret
Government agent who could **** as good
As he could **** whether it was all just talk
Or whether the guy could walk the deadly
Walk. Bill smiles, the innocence of youth,
He muses, stubbing his cigarette **** into
An ashtray, remembering the young kid
Whose throat he slit in Mexico some years
Back as he sat and **** some double cross,
Some dark deceit, Agency orders, job done,
Neat and clean, unknown, unloved, unseen.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
The trick is to deeply inhale,
Loosen your inhibitions and let go,
You don't know if you'll be saved
Or you'll fall, still-
Let go,
What's the point of everything, really?
Of polite smiles and sniggers behind backs-
Of storms within and silent exteriors-
Of days of drudgery and painful nights-
Of worldly desires that forever grow in height?
The only sensible thing in the world
Is the nonsensical, the vague, the free state of
Nothingness
That you were born in, you don't remember but
That was the most serene, most quiet,
Most happy you ever were,
Retreat to that innocence, what stops you?
Goals? There's no end to them anyway.
People? They'll walk out anyway.
Comfort? It won't last anyway.
Leave it all before it leaves you,
Surrender yourself into
The all-enveloping arms
Of the endless blue skies,
Breathe in freedom and jump
Even though you don't have wings,
Even though gravity appears menacing,
And even though no one taught you how to-
The moment you'll let go,
Life will catch you,
Embrace you, cradle you, lift you high-
And trust me, dear reader,
Then you'll fly,
Even though no one taught you how to,
You'll fly...
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 3:31 PM UTC
She is a cup of coffee
The way she glides across the classroom to her seat
The way her hair bounces like the foam on top
She is smooth and beautiful
I love the idea of her and her smell
And her rich completion
The way her dark skin feels and the way she talks
She is a cup of coffee
She seems nice on the outside
But after one task
She is bitter, and gives you a good kick
She talks behind their backs and sniggers
She cackles an evil laugh
But in the end
She is the cup of coffee I will never have
The cup of coffee I regret not having
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
Sheila was in such a mood
such an over the top mood
that the teacher
thought her
well not to put
too fine point on it
slightly under
the influence
although there was
no smell on her breath
or aroma
about her person
there was the excitement
of character
that buzz in the air
about her
that the teacher
(Miss Hubb)
kept a deeper eye
on her during
the double maths
seeing how
the girl sat
how she turned
her head
how the hair
flickered
as she moved
how the girl
held the pen
as if it were a spear
to spike or ****
and not to scribe
or note
Sheila!
she called out
to the girl
who suddenly
as if woken
from a deep dream
sat up stiffly
and said
yes Miss?
What is wrong
with you girl?
Ants in your pants?
Guffaws from other pupils
sniggers from others
Sheila blushed
no Miss
nothing Miss
she replied
but the image
of the boy John
was there brightening up
her day set her alight
like an inner flame
set off a fizz and buzz
within her
then sit still girl
others are trying
to focus on the maths
(hardly any)
yes Miss
Sheila replied
and the fizz and buzz
quietly and slowly
died.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 3:16 AM UTC
Oh I wish I could win the Lottery
And own a home of my own
Where I no longer need Social Security
Or feel always in need of a loan.
Oh I wish I'd no need to count pennies
And that Christmas came every day
That 'Housing Benefit' were ***** words
And bills - a delight to pay!
Yet I may not have two brass farthings
My bank account won't reach double figures
At least I walk around with a smile
My personal wealth brings on the sniggers.
Oh I might never be Rockerfeller
As my bank account continually drains
There's rarely a glimmer of sunshine
It never pours, but constantly rains.
I can't confess to NOT being happy
And I'm wealthier than I appear
I've still got all my marbles,
Fish and chips, telly and beer!
So I'll continue to draw Social Security
Until the right position can be found
But I won't ditch my dreams or my wishes
So each week, I'll still pay my pound!!!
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Misfit
The four of them wore business mine from a second-hand shop
I joined them,
we went to a high-class restaurant, it was full, but there were side rooms
I lost my friends
ended up sitting by a table amongst people who thought I was a waiter.
I dressed for tennis the wrong time out of place,
quickly left followed to exit by derisive sniggers
Outside I changed into jeans and blue shirt just like
Seafarers on a movie does and could, from the top of the hill,
saw my ship leaving the pier; ran down till I tasted blood, too late,
she was gone forever
Because my nerdy needs to be accepted
Bought a suit walked back up to the restaurant, the guests were outside
playing tennis, some swam in the pool,
they still thought I was the waiter and ordered drinks.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC
Nuala introduces Una to Brian
as he enters the lounge,
Nuala and Una stand apart,
gaze at him.
Brian smiles awkwardly
and says,
so you're the Una
who Nuala 's been
rushing off to see?
Una looks at him,
tries to gauge
his thoughts and reactions,
yes, I am she,
Una says smiling,
trying to make it seem
a casual thing,
a mere friendship.
He turns to Nuala
and says,
we lost,
2 goals down,
fecking ref
had his eyes shut
most of the time,
couldn't find his ****
if his eyes were wide open
and both hands searching.
Una sniggers,
takes in Nuala's features,
the anxiety she sees there.
But did you enjoy it
apart from that?
Nuala says,
wanting to move on
and settle him down
and Una away
before words slip up
and reveal things.
A few lilies,
that's all,
and a talk with the boys,
Brian says,
eyeing Una,
taking in her
short pink dress,
the nice thighs,
hair.
Been friends long?
he asks Una.
School friends,
Nuala says,
way back,
just found her
in recent months.
Is that so,
Brian says,
don't recall you
from school.
Even your *** brain
can't recall all the girls
from school,
Nuala says
sitting on the sofa
beside Una.
Guess not,
Brian says,
sitting in
his favourite armchair,
his eyes searching Una's,
lowering his gaze
to her thighs again.
O,
Joe's wife's
pregnant again,
that's her fourth
in four years,
he must spend
most of his time
between her thighs,
Brian says,
eyeing Nuala.
Coffee or tea, Una?
Nuala says,
ignoring Brian's words
and news.
No, I must be going,
got a date tonight,
Una says,
pretending,
winking at Nuala
so Brian can't see.
Who's the lucking buck?
Brian says,
grinning,
eyes large.
Just a friend,
Una says,
rising from the sofa.
Jammy ******
Brian says,
eyeing her
as she turns to go,
taking in her behind.
Good to meet you,
Una says to him.
They shake hands
and she follows Nuala
along the passage,
away from Brian
who turns on the TV,
cracks open
a can of beer.
Sorry about him,
Nuala says in a low voice.
Una shrugs her shoulders,
no problem.
They stare at each other,
then kiss on the lips,
holding briefly.
See you soon?
Nuala asks,
releasing Una
reluctantly.
Una nods,
smiles and goes
out the door and away.
Nuala closes the door,
turns back towards
the lounge,
passing the bedroom,
where she imagined
she and Una could
have been making love,
before Brian returned,
and as she thinks that,
she inwardly hots up
like a thing burned.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
.sometimes you... just have to listen certain songs, for the giggles, and the Mutley sniggers to boot; you just have to; there are all kinds outlet down all kinds of avenues; life, has to, look, this, way; me expressing the following: a large number of people do know how to drive a car, but have no idea how to ride a horse... watch them... they'll be a-trying to confuse riding a great Dane... or an Irish wolfhound... did you know, that... wolves have no knowledge of barking? they howl, they growl, they snarl... but wolves do not bark! yappy-yappy... little domesticated dogs bark... but what do large domesticated canines do? bite.
well...
i don't have a driving
license for a car...
but i know how
to ride a horse...
ensuring i know
how to make
a horse turn left,
or turn right,
or gallop...
how's that?
**** the driving license...
i can, ride, a...
horse!
boom... erotica
shaggy: mr. fart-tastic!
****
this self-deprecating
humor is hitting
the zenith point...
while the English-speaking
crowd are hitting
the: ridiculing the other
nadir.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 8:43 PM UTC
The cold clammy fingers of night
creak slowly across the floorboards
as I stare at the flickering fireplace
my heart begins to up pace to race
The flooding feelings that all is not safe
brings panic to my terrorised mind in haste
I feel hands on my shoulders
yet I cannot look around
for I am frozen in fear
as I know death is here
He plays with my hair
twilling it round his bony fingers
then leans down to whisper in icy breath
did you really think you could escape me
did you really, he sniggers
say goodbye to the light
Say hello to forever night
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
MR. DADDY SOFT-SOFT
Always her fascination
with me
shaving.
This her early morning ritual
observing each action
as if it were
holy.
I hide my face
in foam.
“Santa Claus! Santa Claus! ”
she chants
winces with delight
as the razor
(she gulps)
goes over my bump
without slicing it off.
The shaving uncovers the me she knows.
“Soft…soft! ”
“Mr. Daddy Soft Soft! ”
she gurgles
in a lather of laughter.
“Me now…now me! ”
she pleads with me.
I take the brush
coat her reflection with foam.
I shave her
with the tip of my little finger.
Her reflection sniggers &
she sniggers too.
Later, in the early evening
she appears
bearded in fresh cream.
She shaves herself
with a lollipop stick.
“Me... Daddy now...see! ”
I cha cha cha her
on the tips of my toes
as she clings to my
fingertips
dancing around
the living room.
One delighted
half shaved little girl.
One delighted
soft soft Mr. Daddy.
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 3:35 AM UTC