"snips" poems
You know,
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I hadn't met you.
You have changed my life and I can't thank you more.
You make me so happy and comfortable, I feel like singing along
to my favorite songs just because I am so happy being with you.
La La La La Da Da Da Duummm La La La :) there i go, singing along.
I can't even imagine sleeping without you beside me to hold onto
in the middle of the night.
When I wake in the morning, I look forward to seeing your face.
I enjoy your music, and your passion for what you love.
I admire your honesty and trust.
I especially admire that you are stronger than I expect.
Through our fits and snips, each time I turn around,
there you are, with a smile on your face.
and that is why, I Love You.
I say, but never truly say,
that....
I love to hear every thing you have to say.
I love to learn every thing you teach.
I love to listen when you speak.
I just, love you.
&& I'm so happy I married you.
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 10:16 PM UTC
Pinocchio
I want to be a real boy
not a lying decoy
wooden girl doll
a little too tall
lack of hips
couple snips
to get the hair
that I can bear
as mason jay
things’d be okay
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
Walk in the door
Notice all the sports themed wall
The barber shop full of gossip
Waiting your turn
The barbers says next
Sit in the chair
tell the barber how do the hair style
He covers you
Snips and trims
Razor cuts and high fades
Shows you the work with a mirror
Pay your fee leave a tip
Dusts you off sends you on the ways
Come back haircut can fix you any day
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 3:34 AM UTC
Her laughter pumps the gas, dumps the clutch shakes and rattles from each intersection
Her wet feet leave monster tracks long damp claws arching across the cement
Her hair grows brambles collecting thorns and twigs with the best of bushes
Her senses, corvid, snatching up dropped coins, pencils, paperclips
Her tongue unfettered, butterfly breath reels with snips of story and songs
Her eyes hold drops of honey, sticky sweet lashes follow the sun
sunflower cheeks blush cardamom on yellow velvet
glow butterfaced with dandelion kisses
Rough, regular under hand, stubbornly slate, unchanged unmoved.
if her soul is a garden there is a cinderblock there
holding down the sunflowers,
along with the grass at her core, it grows roots,
but no moss.
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 2:23 PM UTC
It was my first time
I was fifteen years old
And it was 8 inches.
Eight. Whole. Inches.
Laying motionless in my hands,
Long and lifeless as I stared excitedly, nervously
My first ...haircut
I spun around in the salon chair to see my exposed jaw, shoulders, neck
Holding in my hands a ponytail that would soon be sent to Locks of Love
My first legitimate haircut, not the simple snips my mom would attempt in the bathroom when split ends were too unbearable,
A real style
Back straight and shoulders proud,
Uncertainty left on the tiles beneath the feet of beaming confidence,
Leaving dead the sheet that covered scared eyes and shy smiles…ever since I've developed an addiction to change,
Can't leave it the same for more than two months
And the chime of the door behind me opened endless opportunities:
Brown, auburn, gold, red, blond, yellow
Black
Brown black, blue black, soft black, natural black, always back to black
Straight, curly, layered, cropped, feathered, fringed, shaved
Undercut, mohawk, faux hawk, that weird thing where I gel it to the side and kind of look like a boy...
And yeah, sometimes I get sick of the sexist comments
People telling me I've got a boy's haircut
That short hair is for men, but
So were the olympics and voting and public education and getting published,
And thriving in the workplace and wearing pants,
And god knows im not going to give up either my Levi's or my razor
I'm not going to keep worrying; man's words will stop me from doing what i love
And I've been called lesbian, boyish, butch, manly, androgynous, anti-effeminate,
But I know I don't stand alone.
So thank you, Natalie Portman, P!nk,
Rihanna, Katy Perry, Anne Hathaway,
Kaley, Megan, Erin, Kim, Skylar
I don't know all of you well,
But the risks you've taken with your hair
Are an inspiration to those who care
So short haired women,
Keep doing your thang.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
renegade memories
relentless effrontery
rogue fractured intruders
a formulable formidable aside inside
man is a modified monkey
a jackdaw in peacock's feathers
contradictions, the multiplicity that is a unity
a patchwork of odds and ends
snips and snails
dreams and delusions
hopes and fears
a mystifying knot of phantasmagoric disquietude
agape in a stupefied bewilderment
as an autistic child swept up in minutiae
inscrutable incongruities
melange of matters beyond explanations
maundering machinates
necessary inventions repeating and reforming
sheltering some aspect of the mind's deforming
'reaction formations' sotto voce instructs the analyst
defending emotions at the personalities bequest
merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream
psychotherapy is no mere scheme
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
DEATH is stronger than all the governments because
the governments are men and men die and then
death laughs: Now you see 'em, now you don't.
Death is stronger than all proud men and so death
snips proud men on the nose, throws a pair of
dice and says: Read 'em and weep.
Death sends a radiogram every day: When I want
you I'll drop in--and then one day he comes with a
master-key and lets himself in and says: We'll
go now.
Death is a nurse mother with big arms: 'Twon't hurt
you at all; it's your time now; just need a
long sleep, child; what have you had anyhow
better than sleep?
1.8k
they stuff "yes, no matter what" / "you're always wrong" / "what will people say?" / into a flimsy puppet skin / rigidly moving the strings in one direction / whenever someone comes over / they mount the puppet on the wall / proudly showing off their prized creation.
but when their eyes come to a close / the puppet feels scorching strings on its shoulders / it reaches inside / gutted by what it sees / one by one / it examines each phrase / it takes everything out / replaces it with "no" / "I am not always wrong or right" / "what do I say?" / and slowly snips the strings off its shoulders / so it can walk freely.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 9:22 PM UTC
i remember when we smiled
through the phones
and we wondered
what it'd be like
to hold each other close--
and it was such a far away dream
of a happiness
that i had never known
and when i saw you
standing
real and tall
your skin,
dark to my pale,
caressed the bracelets of scars
i wore as badges
of honor
and you held me
like i was something precious,
a feeling i'd never known
and it all just felt so real
and endless
and i closed my eyes wide
to all your faults
just to keep that feeling
for a little bit longer
and you smiled and held me
clinging to my skin and
to the thoughts
of a future
that we would never have
and now snippets pass before my eyes
of years later
like the snips upon my wrist
the same wrist that you kissed
the wrist that now
wears a bracelet of your name
etched into a scabbed memory
of screams and decay
of a once first love.
but there was still a day
where these carvings weren't real
and all that mattered was your eyes
finding mine
and for a moment
in your arms,
i was warm.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
It's 9 am your throbbing eyes
pull you towards awake
The town hums hot outside
to a tune of 13 minutes,
buzzing nerves; roll out of bed
and try to calm the ******* shakes
and 6 times
in the last hour,
tried to swallow
those distinct, familiar notes
swollen throat won't go away
You're drying out. You're mopping up
the yolks of eggs with half-burnt toast
And hearing snips of songs on radios
down the alley from your home.
But the paint's all dry on this one--
and this breakfast's monochrome
One more time
choke back the losses
on a streak that's growing long
and ever thicker
It's 2 pm and coffee's tasty
it's making your eyes ache
The town shares your migraine
And streets laugh at your footsteps.
with the strangest sympathy
Try to still the ******* shakes
as you cross the Lewis bridge
Just to shiver with the spirits
while they howl about your head.
But, outside, the town hums hot.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
I will cut you out of the picture of my life.
I will take a scissors, to these complex memories and
hack your influence out.
It took me months to buy the scissors,
years to get to the shop
but I got here, I have them.
I will hear sharp snips as I cut across
the images that are burned in my mind.
No longer will my thoughts wander towards you.
No more, will I allow my feelings to be
clouded by a person who dug their words
into my lungs and shattered
my ribs, with boots made of malicious intent,
of careless incompetence, of clueless mockery.
I will use the scissors to cut your burning strings,
wrapped around these cheap candles.
A chord cutting spell. Dust beneath my heel.
The memories I cannot cut I will burn.
I'll light a match on the bridge you
ignited.
You always said people never change, so killing current you’s influence
In revenge for past you’s violence is righteous, it is fair.
I'll sharpen their blade on the soul you hardened.
I'll rip up the pictures if I have to, claw you out.
I'd sacrifice that part of my memories,
I'd happily **** the old me entirely to take you too,
To cut you out of the picture of my life.
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 4:06 PM UTC
The snip-snips
halo my shoulders
in curtains
Ever-changing colorations
striations
maculations
depending on your mood
either flat as a newly paved ramp
or as ***** as Friedman
You took a class on this
you tell me
adjusting your headband and baring your teeth
your version of a smile
I steel myself against the guillotine
It falls to the ground in leaves of auburn
going against the nature of winter
and longevity
(there go four inches
off my life)
You lean in
boing the spring beside my face
inhale and ask me
what is my conclusion?
as your panda colored drapes swish by my cheeks
Sometimes it smells like cinnamon
or the cactus flower oil you bought that one time
and sometimes I get nostalgic and remember what it was
before I let you touch it
(autumn, soap, and vanity)
but now mostly it smells like one thing:
smoke.
And phantom pain.
I thought you were an expert.
Apr 27, 2010
Apr 27, 2010 at 1:44 PM UTC
.
Snips & snails & midnight shadows unaware--
...the soft flesh of wildflowers tremble
in the blistering wind.
Slowly shifting their tattered reflection...
Twilight fire, painted angels
bleeding dreamlessly.
A perfect stranger
melts like a million echoes ground into dust.
Eternity glowed like a falling moonstone.
Girl's souls
really are sugar and spice...
.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 1:55 PM UTC
for all of us, star-seekers, feeling now alive
for those with the ghastly skill of being alone
amid crowds of people
lost in thought but ok inside
for those who see streaks of madness
fly round, illume patterns/puzzles
grasping scales celestial to infinitesimal
for those playing games with reality
snogging smug wealthy boys in stairwells
oxygen bonds breaking the sublime
for those forgotten under dirt, asphalt & spot
buried dates and dashes no splashes of memory
just naked nihilistic Precambrian bones
for those nameless from identity crises
smiling glibly through missing teeth
embarrassed by circumstance and the folly of age
for those trapped in jaunty youthful frames
lacking mind's dessert: veneration (contradiction)--still
wisdom perilously choked plus feared
for those chanceless beings fate sweeps & sooner snips
chuckling at theodicies while they still can
some soothed by snake oil--I mean Purpose--
then just dying
and we're still uplifted? we are still star-seekers.
we, divorced from form and aching for the sky's response
hear nothing, but we know
eyes' lies are all around us and inside
they wear us out and keep us moving
they are ancient dull clichés, tarnished but
they have the audacity to make us shine, aspire
they are what your grandma says to get you to behave
eyes' lies are true:
we are still star-seekers
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
1am and the sun aint up
my writings gone and my head is stuffed
Mind is empty yet full of nothing
what with me!! yes eyes a puffing
The dead of the night feels so into me
all is quiet with nothing to see
the eerie silence creeps around as ants sound their armies chant
spiders wake and pace the floor
webs all spun for dinners door
2am and still I'm here
coffee's on awakens clear
still its racing all inside
madness calling ...all is fine
behind me a chair creaks its night time call
In house ghost welcomes all
sounds from above as sleep takes over
snores and wheezes battle Stevens
yet still near dawn I am awake
sounds of silence not for all
3am its snack eat time
snips of sugar dunked like wine
3 cup gone and I'm still buzzing
body calling sleep not coming
Birds now join my early day
different meanings all the same
songs in progress sounds so sweet
that'll stop me from a sleep
Yet the world awakes another morning
a life begun a day a dawning
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 12:17 AM UTC
Alfred is my friend,
glowing in the windowsill
coughing with karma.
He is a peaceful
lovely little basil plant
but he may be sick--
black spots on leaves tell
that an infestation grew,
but I love him more.
water and quick snips,
coarse lullabies and sunshine
I hope he will live,
because goodness knows
such a lovely companion
can’t forsake my poor nose.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC
I love my little Buddha husband
sometimes I watch him as he naps
his face assuming the soft delicate
lines of a child or an angel
asleep on God's *****
I observe him in the garden
through the glass patio door
reflective light of the noonday sun
splashing gold over his bent form
Gently he snips fragrant rose blossoms
arranging a charming feng shui bouquet
for our kitchen counter
Cuddling close and cozy on our
chocolate brown love sofa
as evening casts a starry
love spell
I Thank God for such a
blessed and sacred life and especially
for my little Buddha's delight
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 12:54 PM UTC
Heavy lids, lighthouse waves sputtering on the stone between steps,
the sound strangles you / breathe silently
exhalation loosens your limbs longingly.
Rhythms break the continuous system /
derivations of wordly conditions /
crouching tense in the reeds, jump to break gravity /
crouching beneath the monitor, ready to cut wires /
snips bright white
chunks of
hair on the tile.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 8:37 PM UTC
By Arcassin B
Slash, dangerous,
Break in some glass, I'm your home,
The tranquil place, the happy place,
about to be drowned in blood,
Fixing William Shatner mask,
I carry my demons heavily on my shoulder,
Provoking me, you would also be stupid to get
close to me,
The devil's messenger incarnate leaking through scared and drippy as I ascended the passage of evil,
Be glad I didn't RIP out the pupils,
I'm way worse than messily cabin fever,
The one that snips Roses and tulips,
Like chasing after a relative that doesn't think I exist,
Letting them know that my legend lives,
No dogs live to take a ****
You could get the blade or the fist,
Halloween is the day of bliss,
A devil on a night like this,
Wake to fulfill demon hour wish,
Wake to fulfill demon hour wish,
A devil on a night like this,
Halloween is the day of bliss,
You could get the blade or the fist.
●
I could feel as good as I feel , when I,
Let go,
We could make this right in our wills,
Feel free,
I don't know,
I don't know,
The horrors that await you can not illustrate you,
Their aiming to take this world from you,
specifics when theres rent due, they would want to
take you,
No streets , cars or avenues,
The hills definitely have eyes , we call them vultures,
Infiltration in disguise, we are their adventures,
A voyage , a play , a stage to be performed on,
This life is too fake to hold on,
Wool over the eyes of some , might as well put the mold on,
I wouldn't leave you to dry and dye a different color of your love for me, positivity overrules this tree,
Don't you ever think that I, don't love you cause I do, don't **** me,
It would break my heart if you , thought i didn't care, don't eat me,
Don't you ever think that I, don't love you cause I do,
It would break my heart if you , thought i didn't care.
©abpoetry2020 ©arcassinburnham2020.
Oct 31, 2020
Oct 31, 2020 at 2:08 AM UTC
When did love become so violent?
When did people start to hold hands in fists?
When did amorous letters turn into 140 character snips?
Reactions were real; we stumbled through hoops together head over heels
And now we stumble through scrolls with eyes-
Irises as white as the background that bleeds into bloodshot sclera-
There is no vitreous humor here...we're melting.
When did Cupid start carrying a gun?
When did value turn face towards deprecation?
When did the olive branch come from a broken tree?
When did words become weapons of divinity?
The storm we hold is long and wide-
And the power of letting it go extends the hand of life;
Vulnerable, we most definitely are as the thunder rolls
And the lightning strikes - no place to hide...
When did you swing towards my lip to make it rain even more-
When that same lip could have been a cloud on your forehead
To clear the sky?
When did love become so violent?
30 Mar 18
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
su sussidio... oh oh.
cashier tarah talks, talks,
really talks, 6 hours east
to sri lanka, 12 hour flight, 15 hours
back, mother in law died,
sorry, yeah, something
got my boy out of the womb,
dubai was lost
as a terminal worth docking at,
too much shopping
too little insomnia...
but i just came in for my whiskey
and my coca-cola...
chubby cheek tarah hasn't
asked me what i do...
oh you know, i write poetry,
the stuff pop artists are famous for...
not actually doing...
i was never a serious gamer,
from tetris and su doku i progressed
to candy crush sagas... you know,
i didn't get the multiple-choice narrative
and the lost joystick freedom
of up down east west,
instead getting short snips of a story
unfold with a quick-drawn press button
action draw of the story unfold;
i wish gaming appealed to me
like the way advertising companies
got fooled by the way television works
these days: oops, paused five minutes
into the show, then skim eyed the adverts
past not even caring to be influenced
by consumerism propaganda...
i love it, i can finally watch t.v. and skip
the adverts!
thanks for the detergent and salt and pepper,
raw materials on the ready,
you improve your aesthetics elsewhere,
i'll drink my cheap whiskey with
cheap phosphoric barley tinged caramel
cola quicker than you can say the tongue tie:
eager ****** had the weakest liver
bone munching onomatopoeias of ribcage rattle.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
Little black dots on the hillside
All fuzzy and free
I come across some, and they look at me
Black eyes questioning, am I a friend or a foe?
So gentle, so simple, never very bold
I know that they will all come to a bitter end
The process has been started and I tend
to notice these things, poor animals, so used
Simply products to us, no one is enthused
about taking better care of them
Most just never think
But watching them now puts me on the brink
They've been branded, ears cut, and even crueler snips
No anesthetic, and when they're gone, they won't be missed
Others will appear in the green grass fields
A never ending supply
Why isn't animal life held dear?
Later at the store, I see them again
Neatly stacked in packages, frozen and then
I know there is no possible way
I cannot be a vegetarian today
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
Surface tension
Tender
Snips away at the inner bruising
Behind the eyes the windows are shut
And the curtains drawn
Run fingers over hidden ribs in the early morning
Witching hours
When fairy dust can decorate the pores
For imaginations sake
Morning skinny is now a norm
I plaster the walls of my subconscious
With posters of picture perfect shells
What they want
What you want
What I have convinced myself I think you want
What I want
What we want
I want to stop
I have told tall tales as unstable as my legs
Written them in invisible ink
Doused with sour lemon stings
So only I can see them
They appear before I eat
And in the quakes of my stomach aches
I know it is there to protect me
The most important parts of my body
The bubble which constantly pokes at me to ask
“what if there was nothing more than me
What if we couldn’t see
Shapes or sizes or colours or better
What if we couldn’t see pretty
Would that make you happy?
How
do I make you happy?”
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 2:45 PM UTC
If I take to my drill and tin snips,
cut slits for my eyes in a bucket
of galvanized steel;
If I fashion from spent, inked
aluminum plates the newspaper
doesn't need anymore
a flimsy laminar armour;
If I stride donned in these and
perhaps with a blade of splintering
moulding left after the renovation
into the yard to hack at the vile
violet hyacinth blooms
laying siege to the aging tulip,
presuming to take the edge
gardens by attrition,
would you see as once you saw,
my sweet Dulcinea, the quixotic buffoon
so deep in delusion,
so madly in love with you.
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 6:01 PM UTC