Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jade Sep 2018
VI. I, Ophelia
___________________

­{The Drowning}

It was her--
Flower Child.
Weeping Woman.
Crazed Ophelia--
who taught me that the
drowning is in the letting go
and not in the doing.

Ophelia did not flee to the riverside
with the intention of
drowning herself, no--
it was merely a promise of bouquets--
daisies, violet, rosemary,  rue--
of wild, velveteen petals nestled softly
against tear-stained cheekbones;
pine needles--
ticklish--
beneath raw feet
(do you recall how The Little Mermaid
danced upon knives
in the name of true love?);
and the train of her nightgown
a focal point for dewy leaves
and frayed bird feathers.

For it was flying she thought of
as she climbed the scarred willow
and cradled herself atop its highest bough,
severed blossoms in hand,
legs dangling precariously over
blustering currents.

But
when the bough
b r o k e ,
the cradle did   f
                              a
                               ­   l
                                      l,
and down came
mad girl
cradle and all.

But you must understand--
the dismemberment of the
willow's flailing limbs
was not her doing;
when the rapids dragged her down
to the belly of the murky river bed,
she merely gave no struggle
as death lapped at her ribs--
she merely submitted,
allowed the snivelling maw of the river
to swallow her whole.

Now,
I think it suiting
that I ponder the demise of the
Flower Child
(wilted in her ruin);
Weeping Woman
(tears reunited
with the eye of
the water lily);
Crazed Ophelia
(forgotten)
and all she has taught me
of drowning
as I let myself
fall asleep in the bathtub
at three o clock in the morning,
all the while a little drunk
and so very sad.
(You'd might have even thought
I wanted to drown myself. )
__________________
{Th­e Resurrection}

Doused in the pallid wash
of blue stage light,
and the clamour
of imaginary tides
growling in my ears,
I metamorphosize into
Hamlet's Ophelia
and all the other Ophelias
who came before me--
mad.
broken.
lost.
women.

Women who were never
capable of quieting
the sea trembling
in their veins;
the barbaric deluge festering
within their souls;
the siren songs
musing to the cavernous twists
of their hearts,
piercing through artery
with stalagmite precision.

These women succumbed,  
not to the water,
but to the burden of their own
desire.
love.
heartbreak.

None of them survived.

Except for me,
of course.

And, I must admit,
it took my
writing this poem
to finally understand
why that is--
why--
how--
I have managed
to stay alive,
despite dreaming of that
same siren song
that lured my foremothers
to their destructions.

See,
alone,
Ophelia could not weather  
the tempest seething over her.

But I different--
I am not alone.

Because I carry with me the spirits
of all the Ophelias
who came before me,
the fragments of their beings
melding together to create
a brilliant gossamer of hope.

And that is why,
together,
we can breathe underwater.
____________________
{­Blackout}

Ophelia Bows,
her performance immortalized
through the remembrance
of a standing ovation.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer for optimal experience)
Wild Myths Nov 2014
The heart of the shade,
The snivelling, fading essence that I would love.
My insides gradually become cavernous
A warped ringing fills me, like a cracked bell.

I hear the chants of brushing skin
But I am so silent.
Allowing their bodies to reverberate aloud,
Soundlessly,
Endlessly.
Julie Grenness Mar 2017
Is this soliloquy fun?
Of good men, I'd like to meet just one,
Isn't snivelling fun?
There's a comedic part of this,
Inner whinese is a lovely chick,
How do oldies get proactive?
Soliloquy of an old woman,
To whom do you reach a hand?
You got the best of men,
I got the worst of men....
This is a soliloquy of one,
Isn't snivelling fun?
Feedback welcome.
Francie Lynch Mar 2014
I don't have pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.
I'll stay away from Yellowstone.
If one's asthmatic in the Eifel region
You don't pronounce the "P."
This won't **** me.

I don't have COPD.
Everyone coughs in blue smoke.
My throaty itch won't **** me.
I won't constrict and choke.

I don't have an infectious disease,
Despite my personality.
I run for shelter in acid rain.
I drink water with ice cubes,
And spray my green out back.
As much as I hate to, I avoid rusty nails.
*** is safe... and at a distance.
Despite being repeatedly told to,
I never eat ****.
The great imitator
Is a snivelling mime.
If I'm bitten, I recognize the marks.
The erupting of the ring of fire won't **** me,
but perhaps I was precocious
To drop the "P" in
Pneumonoultramicroscopicscilicovolcanoconiosis.

I haven't succumb to animal flues,
I stay clear from the bars.
I donate to the SPCA,
Bet on ponies or the odds of SARS.

I don't have meningitis.
I like lights and loud music.
If I get the night sweats,
I turn down my electric blanket.

I haven't the minor or greater pox,
I spurn comparisons.

According to the scoop and scope,
I ascend and descent C free.
But the time spent on Referrals
Might be the death of me.

I don't have botulism.
My smile still concaves down.
Curling convex above it,
A condescending frown.

I'm not a *****.
I feel every poke and like.
My digits number twenty...
Twenty one.
My glasses are smudge free.
If anything I see too well.

Alcoholism can't **** me.
Alcohol can.

I haven't cardio entropy,
But I'd be remiss
To dismiss
The wise counsel Oz gave me:
"Hearts can never be made practical until they can be made unbreakable."
So true.
So true!

Anyway, none of the above will get me.

But, I do have what you have.
The young and grown.
The able and ill.
A hand.
A sweeping hand.
A second hand
Setting those infectious nonogerms
Like diamonds
In my Time-x.
Paul Hardwick Nov 2013
Today the germs came around
now do not get me wrong
I love my grand children
but today the germs came around
there snivelling noses
and coughs
just dose not help us old people
when the germs come over for tea
just know I will catch something see
NO NO KIDS
I love you really.
Jade Oct 2023
Sometimes,
I get so angry, I want
to tear open my skin.

Who needs anger management
when you can give yourself
a bloodletting instead?

I want to annotate my wrists
with the names of every person
who ever hurt me--
part the Red Sea with steel.

And I'm pretty sure a phlebotomy
is the closest I'll ever get to a lobotomy
(or an exorcism).

My trauma (my fury) is a toddler
throwing a tantrum in the middle
of the dairy aisle in the supermarket.

I pluck this child--
feral and snivelling--
from my veins and throw
her over my shoulder.

I don't know where her screaming ends
and where mine begins.

Sometimes, I think all she really wants
is a hug.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
the grovelling pig...
and the snivelling dog...

the snorkelig tabloid &
taboo of...
anything beside
the born blue: whale...

an arsenal of ****-joy words...
a much bigger
"assumption" of...
raj-stan spices...
to compete with
the 20th century arsenal
of the manhattan
project of h'america...

     and whatever the soviet
sly of empire-building
came to pass: and pass it did...

no one is celebrating...
how... pacified...
the disintegration of the soviet
"empire" took a postcard
turn in the events of history...

when the roman empire
disintegrated...
             no one is going
to go forward and bless:
how the russians played poker:
and... folded?

              to leverage in the oligarchs...
the... eternal flames of parody blues...
of avarice and that story of
yachts: tripping on...

greed is beside the l.c.d. "tripping"
chess pieces avarice...
the "insomnia" tactics of:
happy boys... shooting rich-boy
bullets at... all the more happy:
rich boy targets...

a french riviera target nuance: dulce...
deux...
       excesses of letters...
comes the grafitti with a tow
of toe-tied batman:
only val kilmer will do...

       yes... i grew up on "serious"
cinema... "serious":
i.e. "curious"... i.e. bored...
existential feats of bergman?
the magician?

    a film that would never allow
me a want to subscribe to...
reading into...
what's beside... pop culture propaganda...
not under the umbrella of the soviets...
or the historical nazis:
or...

          this time compass of:
a withstanding inconvenience of
hiatus... and hubris...
        scandinavian origins story...
                
      the red sq.... promenade... delight...
in... to fashion a hugo: who boss:
boss of who? via: hugo's who's hugo: who?
this advent of claiming...
riddles from the 20th century...
all clear: calibre...

   prior to 1945... exciting years...
and of that...
as if... waking up... from a family affair...
king edward VII:
       Bertie 12/20
                             give 'im a "sigh"
of relief... let's make that... a reasoned
fraction...
              mr. cig ar ah-rette'tsar...
                 herr 12/24...
                              herr halbzeit...
                world war I borrows...
19th century and... the insightful delight...
of the ruling elite and "******" affairs...
after 1945...

  so many years... of having to...
have... one's humor... dislodged from...
a coronation:
the republicans...
contra: the libertarians...
blah blah...

               because...
by no means... the russians were...
ploy:
Bertie the... and Tsar Nicholas...
didn't resemble clones...
               herr halbzeit... who the **** was he?
it's not so much a conspiracy theory...
it's... everyman's fiction...

  who's going to bother time well
spent: in the advent of requiring said
events to have happened...

             ****** was an ugly surname...
and how he... confiscated...
how he... rode to events like a Khan...
and usurped... nay!
hijacked! the aritocratic houses!
and they... fell... head: oh look!
no heels!
                   look!

   kopf-uber-ferse!

they're english! the fwench wish
they weren't cousins...
but the house of ßaß!
it was all a family affair!
                
                       the affair was so minded:
that poor h'america was involved...
and... how... the freed people from
the trigonometry of tyranny under
king george III... escaped...
then had to... choke cousins...
and fake cousins...
and bride themselves to...
the fire-bombing of Drezden...
etc.                         and more...              etc.

people with tattoos...
yes... those who don't mind history...
history and their amnesia project...
i have... skin clean from...
auschwitz imposed...
or that glorified ink-itch of modern times...
i have history:
my mind is tattooed...
loser loser: and a winner of what?
a tax on a car?
a road tax? a car i also own an
m.o.t.
                  i've learned to ride horses!
give me a horse!
**** your traffic car sterility:
i'm in love with the double-decker bus!
from london through to honk-*******-kong!

the 20th century can't just
become some... amnesia deposit...
history is a fake: i was supposedly...
only... "dreaming"...
          through to the Weimar Republic...
but i'm not invested in...
culminations...
in... old scores and schools of thinking:
taxing the dead... etc.

                i drink when i truly enjoy writing...
and... imagine... that i do:
imagine writing for a newspaper...
writing as a chore...
that has to be necessarily...
an artifact of sobriety and...
journalistic integrity... mmmpphhhghh...
sorry...
   journalistic integrity?
apart from a war or... ***** dealings
when all the culprits have had
their feet washed by a:
jesus christ look-alike...
    a... idi amin... retired in saudi arabia?

one could say... since i was born
at the end of "it": that i was... have been...
hijacked by the 20th century...
to write... a parody... epitaph...
someone has exacted me...
to write... an exit... wording...

perhaps because... there's still that
20th century immediacy...
all the other centuries... could...
not celebrate...
they could march on... into...
a dream-esque satirical state of progress...
perhaps they did dream...
while we're struck by the insomnia
invented by the 20th century...
well... the 19th...

when Prometheus...
            Frankenstein: fire! bad! ugh!
when Prometheus...
               when Promotheus...
St. Peter would love to entertain
the thriced acknowledged...
thus: no denial...
      Michael Faraday...
   or that lightbulb men-struosity...
     Edison...

   to clone a sheep...
        the perfected beijing-valkyrie
of the genetically perfect:
zero acne... blah blah...
               but a clone: clone?
   trouble that...
if not soul: then autonomy...
clone to pet?
ah... clone to pet... ah... ha ha! ah ha ha!
a clone to pet!
answers: the clone's self-determining
autonomy: alias: S.D.A.
        eh... it's missing a letter...
let's just keep it as "soul" for the minors...

ah ha ha: giggles oh my! the furore from
pandemonium!
the idea so lodged in the inferno...
the last time anyone heard just
laughter... was when...
****** was first... "investigated"...
in-ves-ti-ga-ted... gay-ted...
see: missing letters... somewhat...

and yes... there is... the closest approximate
of... flying lizards...
of... turtles out-living...
   beside what could be...
contrived... exoskeleton mush of muscles
and brains...
magpies...
of all the birds... magpies...
the closest akin... lizard folk...
to descend from "angels"...

   magpies are like... the cinema
depicted... velociraptors...
   magpies are the modern velociraptors...
the crows can croak their odin *******
off all they want...
the woodland pigeons do their...
whatever striptease echo coo... coo...

magpies... for me... magpies are...
the heirs of the velociraptor...
proof?! ah ha ha! proof?!
what proof is there that...
an asteroid... hit the earth...
and wiped out the dinosaurs?!
i haven't seen any "proof"...
  i've just heard... an undeniable fiction....
supported by science...
so here's mine!
the magpie descended from the velociraptor!
have you even... heard the magpie...
the variation of its communications
vocab?
it's prehistoric! compared to other birds!
even in the words of humans:
they are... conflated with:
gypsy-mythology:
that they... seek silver...
anything shiny...

           intelligence is a curse...
what proof is there that a meteor wiped
out the dinosaurs?!
what's history like in the hands
of man...
with active negation:
i.e. "the holocaust didn't happen"...
let's write our own:
play dough history...

the magpie is a direct descendent of
the velociraptor...
somehow the d.n.a. survived the meteor crash...
the turtle is still here...
the birds: still are...
the jelly-brain pickle of the great t-rex:
the serpent is still wriggling away...
but i ask: what proof:
what greast... undiscovered crater?!
the Mariana trench?
there's? big squid **** and all range
of car-boot sale *******?!
there?

                 a statue of shiva too:
snorkeling... to boot?!
    i've been alone and "lonely" enough...
of all the common birds...
the magpies... the magpies...
the "teutons" of the skies...
the velociraptors...
                  you've heard the seagulls...
you've heard the crows...
you've entertained the sparrows...
the woodland pigeons...
the robins remained mute...
the kestrels remained mute...
the magpies were the most vocal...
and when vocal... at most: in variation...

velociraptors...

yes... this is "history"... it's "history"...
with journalism and... "journalism"....
              last time i heard...
a louis XIV made it into the t.v. with...
a sidekick show of Versailles...
eh... Phillip II Augustus...
    "perhaps"... just "perhaps"...
           the lion in winter... who the ****
ever happens to remember a historical
excavation fetish from 1968?!
it was only a ******* cameo!

not for the actor... the capetian!
Damian Murphy Jun 2015
When men tell women they have the flu
That they have never felt so bad
The universal response, alas it’s true
Is for women to go stark raving mad!

Men with the flu are not taken seriously
By members of the opposite ***
Their illness the subject of great levity
Despite the debilitating effects!

Men are often told to simply stop whining,
(Like women never complain themselves)
Though it’s obvious their health is declining
They are just told to “get over your selves”

They tell us to grow up, be a man
suggest we need to grow a pair
“I work when I’m sick and so you can”
We are informed with a deathly stare.

We are told to man up, to stop snivelling,
They question whether we are men or mice
“Try giving birth if you want to know about suffering”
A phrase thrown at us more than once or twice.

They are always convinced it is just a cold
Though our temperature may be sky high
They are often adamant and will not be told
Though we feel like we’re going to die

Though sneezing and coughing like never before
Though our whole bodies are obviously aching
Sweating and shivering, every muscle sore
Yet they seem convinced that we are faking  

We are accused of being overly demanding!
They tell us not to be such a Mummys boy!
And though we might expect a little understanding
Most times they cannot even bother to try!

You would not think it was too much to ask
But it most certainly seems to be
though we are incapable of the simplest task
we can not get one ounce of sympathy

They accuse us of expecting a full time nurse
Though all we need is some loving care
But all the arguing just makes us worse
They never see they are being quite unfair

It seems that they really could not care less
they could not be bothered even trying
we feel bad enough but all this added stress
only makes us feel we’d be better off dying!

They accuse us of making a song and dance
Of making a mountain out of a mole hill
And really us men do not stand a chance
Unless we can prove beyond doubt we are ill.

Thank God for researchers at Stanford University
all men will forever be in their debt
They took the issue of men’s health very seriously
And studied the subject in depth.

They published their findings in 2013
Confirming the existence of the “Man Flu”
The research and conclusions are there to be seen
Facts with which no woman can argue.

It outlines facts you might not have known
Which may make you feel much better at once
It seems it’s men’s high levels of testosterone
That seriously weaken the immune response.

It is only because you are a real man,
because you actually have a pair
that you feel sicker than any woman ever can
it’s a scientific fact, so there!

So next time we get sick hopefully
Women might just believe that it’s true
Perhaps we may be taken more seriously
just in case we have the dreaded “Man Flu”!

The bad news alas, is that there is no cure
Though they are doing the best they can
So if your man gets the flu, ladies be sure
To be more patient,take great care of your man!
Julie Grenness Oct 2016
How shall I survive this thought train?
I did not get to the Paris Fashion Show again,
Now  I can't compete with Kim Kardashian,
A big blow to my self-esteem,
Not worthy of fashion, I am deemed,
No couture in Paris for me,
I'm not exactly snivelling, you see,
Is there any other news on TV?
So, did not go to Paris Fashion again
Don't even want to compete with Kim Kardashian!!!!
How do I survive this thought train?
Feedback welcome.
Michael Parish Oct 2013
Reckless habbits destroy the dying chance for children.
Worthless yells wont be heard.
Because we shutndown our compassion.
Over eight hundread thousand mortgages,
Double the car payments,
Tripple tuition,
And end homeland security.
We shut down.
I **** you not we had to do it.
I can scream
I can say spending went to far.
But I wont get recalled
because my aid was furloughed.
Im a ***** an orange *****.
Ill kiss vetrens.
Ill find ways to  open
the gates I closed.
Im captain of this ship.
And I will fix anything that
Leaks with red tape.
Wait till october.
Because ill show you
who the teorist really are.
I want equality for every
minimum wage worker
in kentucky.  I need your vote for
2016.  My name Is independemce.
Im the ******* who couldnt
represent a bad ****.  Ill blame obama,
Ill fake my death before ever realizing
Ideals make ****** outcomes.
Your family will raise their family.
While my family pinches grapes off
of trees everyone else sweated for.
Ill promise people wine.  But im really
just a sour cup of juice.  Im your snivelling congressman.
And I had nothing to do with incompliance.
Im just trying to make a point.  And I still get paid even
when we pretend.
Susan O'Reilly Feb 2014
Pathetic vision

snivelling boy my new toy

happily got bound
Julie Grenness Aug 2016
Is there a humour therapist in the house?
Sitting here, chortling, do not grouse,
If you abuse crumpets, men,
You undermine your own best interests, do you ken?
Then you don't get crumpet, men,
Or is men a rude word,
You're reaping what you earn,
You want a cup of tea from me?
Chortle, the magic word is please!
You would not believe this ham,
Feeding the world this spam,
You want fresh vegetables?
Frozen food, not dementiable,
You can get another better than me,
So what's wrong with you, prithee?
Yes, the catering staff is on a sitdown strike,
You'd best find yourself a loving wife,
Chortle, shut up snivelling, you grouse,
Is there a humour therapist in the house?
Feedback welcome.
Helen Murray Feb 2014
Western women have their rights.
For goodness sake don’t set your sights
On marriage to this sumptuous goose.
She’ll have your kids, and then vamoose,
She’ll leave you very high and dry,
With no-one there to see you sigh,
Your kids are gone and if you want
To see them you must never flaunt
Your rights before her stony face,
But pay full well, or your disgrace
Will plague the daily paper run
While she disports out in the sun.
Indeed you’ll pay for all her joys,
Your house is hers to sell with poise
And re-establish somewhere else,
While you must foot the bill or else.

This is the feminist home ground.
You want to go another round?
She’ll run your nose in all the dirt
So when you finally lose your shirt
With filling lawyers’ purse profound,
And get up, snivelling, from the ground,
You’ll find your company’s hers as well.
You know you’ve landed merry hell.

So if you marry yet again
(when finally recovered,) then
Look somewhere east but never west.
They’ve failed relationship, you’ve guessed.
Feminist rights seem to have destroyed many a reasonable marriage and many a not unreasonable man.
Julie Grenness Jul 2016
Once together, now apart,
Harden your heart,
To me, don't come snivelling back,
I don't cut your terms of endearment any slack,
Let's not reunite,
I still sleep with a light,
Once together, now apart,
Nothing colder than an ex-wife's heart!!!!
Feedback welcome, all in the ashtray.
Anonymous Apr 2014
"You can't hold the torrent,
Of salty water,
Captive.

You can't keep it all,
Locked up,
Inside.

You can't stop the hidden,
Tides from,
Rising.

So let go,
Just cry."

)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

You are weak and snivelling
A child just past its cradling
Cry all you wish
And I bet it won't change ****.

But I hear that voice
Never before disturbed
Asking for consideration
From gods never heard.

If I were a god
I'd be embarrassed
To have neglected such sweetness
If I were a god
I'd lie with the mud-crushed cretins.

But I am no god
And I cry
At all the lost chances
At all the children's lies.
Kids carry the brunt of the forebear's remorse.
Who am I to love the ones that love me,

Horrid ******* run wild for pleasure,

Sick men take turns to **** each other,

Morals outlines of no different measure.



***** boy's look at friends *****,

The bible reviles this greek fun,

They mock me and others for nature,

I am at a loss for a new sattirical pun.



Be safe when knowing I care little of you,

Your opinions are safe within me,

Change your mind, I don't think so,

A warrior for christ you'll always be.



Hear my message you snivelling ingrate,

A tender and powerful one at last today,

You hold no stance in these current times,

For I will always and forever be GAY.
brandon nagley Sep 2015
i.

Long agone
Whence mine snivelling;
Mine heart throbbed, tis the world was a stab by Satan's ****.

ii.

Amiss was I
Seeking in all the wrong places;
As they sayest, when it's we who don't seeketh, good cometh.

iii.

Foolish I was, to search and gander
I kneweth amour was real, where was it sleeping;
In a house, under the sea, in celestial safekeeping's?

iv.

Though I hadst a vision long ago, of what mine Reyna wouldst
Looketh like, tan-sand skin, a holy creature, no sin, dark sensual eyes; dusk hair of silk midnight, goddess frame, lip's of flame's.

v.

Her laugh untamed, she's wild and free, Asiatic doll of jaw-dropping string's, she's wrapped in tropical tree's, she bringeth me to mine knee's, as I'm her hari, she's mine queen, an her soul;

The brightest star in all of the heavenly father's universe........

©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley/mine-angel dedication
Julie Grenness Mar 2017
Here, this a noble book!
400 pages of total sook,
Let's turn the page and have a look,
Why the team did lose,
Didn't the supporters boo,
It's published by OUP,
Snivelling galore, read  and see,
"We was robbed!", we all got that,
"Did not pull the flag out of the hat!"
"We was too slow and small!"
We got that, is that all?
"No, the umpires are maggots and cheats!"
Got that! "Gee, the team played weak!"
Got that, any excuse for you,
"Our team are bunch of tools!"
Got that, "They had no skills!"
Got that, "They're a pack of dills!"
Any excuse, now blame the coach again,
"Another year of footy down the drain!"
You're supposed to be good losers, eh,
Any excuse for you, that's the way!
Feedback welcome.
Marshal Gebbie Apr 2016
Portraiture of previous lives lie beneath my feet
And forward spans a future that I know must stay discreet
For I’ve learnt through harsh experience to take care for what I quest
That *** of gold at rainbows end I’ve found…a mixed bequest.
As mythical to contemplate as money grown on trees
In truth the carnage gaining it has near brought me to my knees.
Millions brought security, offshore banking locked within
But also brought suspicion born relationships, now languishing.
The billions are a burden and a loneliness is born
For new friendships are hollow and old ones now forlorn,
The parasites surrounding you, all bicker to compete
And empathy flows out the door where values are replete.
Vicissitudes grow day by day, it’s harder to relate
As underlings smile woodenly knowing deep within, they hate.
A disconnect is now complete the burdened weight too much
But worse befalls regression, just impossible to touch.
For what is now, is meant to be… from here I wear the Crown
And woe betides that snivelling sod who tries to take me down.

M.
16 April 2016
Auckland city
Imaginings of what befalls...the other side?
M.
Lexander J Jul 2015
As a kid he was odd,
a collector of scraps and small animal bones
a snivelling creature of the night,
he'd scurry about and hang around people's homes,

the wind would caress his hair as the dawning sun shone
on his tatty corduroy trousers and shirt,
like any other normal boy, he'd catch freaky insects
and make gross pies out of wet dirt

but that beaming toothless smile
suppressed a sadness so intense it twisted itself into pain;
from slimy cocoons latched onto his stomach
flew out wicker-work butterflies of fear and disdain

for, every night he would lie awake,
shivering in cold sweat
paralysed in terror, too scared to scream
as the thing of nightmares drawled beneath his bed

with a CRUNCH and a sickening SNAP,
it would feast upon his collection of dry animal bones
then slink off into the darkness
to raid all the other neighbouring homes

alas it was only a matter of time
'til his parents stumbled across the source of his dread -
the apothecary of horror descending upon their helpless souls
draining their bodies dry and leaving them for dead

turning to face the boy for the first time
blood dribbling down its lumpy chin
it's eyes burning, luminescent and yellow,
as maggots and ticks burrowed in its skin

"Why do you not turn away child, succumb to your fear and face thee?"
The Vampyre rasped, it's voice high with amusement
"Who could dare stare into my eyes and not scream?"

and the boy's answer was simple
so simple it took the creature by complete surprise;
"Why should I fear you, when I don't fear death itself?"
And with this the boy gestured towards the first light of sunrise,

and as the Vampyre swooped in
to take his last breath
he smiled, embraced the decrepit creature
welcoming the chilling kiss of Death.

AJ
Julie Grenness Oct 2019
Being positive is my thing,
But I do have an evil twin,
I imagine some weird things,
Like being a gastric surgeon,
Give laryngospasms for these durgeons,
I don't think they'll ever be men,
Ah, it's no use snivelling, you ken?
Hope they get chicks better than me,
Else, who is going to cook your tea?
You must stop being such sooks,
Get off buns, and learn how to cook!
Feedback welcome.
Oskar Erikson Feb 2019
i never could write in the sunshine, yet i had to.
and sometimes, the sky opens these memories
long, long locked away.
The parting of clouds, like that of eyes, of dreams.

of being 6 and crying tears of joy,
of being 12 and just crying,
the bite of bark against forearms,
the froth of a first beer,
and fires of first love,
and aches of growth,
seeing mirrors that never had a little boy smiling,
seeing horizons that never had an end.

sometimes, i think, the sky is like a mirror
reaching out across time.
and i think i could now dance carefree
with the snivelling younger me.

with all of that self-love,
seeing his future would be enough.
Vraj thakkar Oct 2019
It was the place i loved being lost,
Everything there seemed pleasant , may it be thunder or frost.
How can i forget the words her tongue sketched on mine?
In her eyes i could see my love , i thought our relationship was divine,
But now whenever I think about her , i curse myself to be so unkind,
I wish i could correct my mistakes but unfortunately , time doesn't rewind.

With every thunder in the sky , it seemed , god took pleasure in taking a photo of ours,
We used to pray for each other with every shooting star ,
With her my every year passed like it was just an hour ,
If she was a disease , she left me with deep scars.

She was my source of gratification in the toughest time ,
My poems could never have been so beautiful without her rhyme,
She was the only protagonist of my every story,
Without her my words never possesed any glory.

I remember how we used to trod in the vale,
Two dopes debating sermons though none
of us used to fail.
Had you seen her in a garden, it would seem she is the only flower blooming,
Her breath smelled like the scent of peonies , whose longing has now made me stifling.

Nowadays i take care that no one hears me snivelling ,
I dont want them to see an exurbent guy grieving.
I try my best not to whimper seeing her smiling photo on instagram,
Last scene of my life , i always dream off is my head on her arm.
Julie Grenness Feb 2017
Let's look at language today,
The future is now, this is the way,
B4 I met U,  I was gr8, m8!
Shut up snivelling, I manage gr8, m8!!!!!!
Feedback welcome.
Julian Delia Feb 2019
A silence, saliently insisting on its one day of reign,
Reminding you to reflect before you act,
To think beyond what you could gain.

We look back at our ancestors,
Recalcitrant in the face of the British, the French;
We praise their heroics, remember them in feasts,
Yet still, we are divided, brawling like beasts.

Against the oppressor, we stood united;
A colonised nation, struggling for identity.
Master-less we finally became, celebrating independence;
Yet now, we have subverted to sadist deference.

Men in sharp suits and their slimy, convincing faces;
They like to think they hold all the aces,
That they can and will divide and conquer all of the planet’s open spaces.
They tell us what to think, what to feel, what to do, what to vote,
They’ll tell you when to swim or when to sink,
When to squeal and how to heal,
What is true when you don’t have a clue,
And what to quote when you want to sound profound.
They are snivelling, Rolex-wielding, aftershave-wearing ******* with an arrogant bearing,
And they have no issues with asking you about why the *******’re glaring.

So, I suppose, today there's not much choice;
There is a snarling wolf on one hand,
And an angry bear on the other.
When your choice is that bad,
Why should you even bother?

'By any means necessary', Malcolm X would say.
There seems to be no solution,
Excepting a call for armed revolution.
Anarchists and troublemakers, unite;
Time to take down the state,
Like cutting the line to a kite.
So I found this old, forgotten rant of a poem as I'm reviewing my folders, and I decided to give it a face lift, tighten up a few sloppy verses and upload it again. This was written right before the June 2017 election in Malta.
Sin Dec 2019
Did the shadows hide tonight
Afraid of the ***** night
At the hand of fate
Holding the blade
So tight

Hounds of hell wait to see
If it will strike with ease
Sweeping through the silent air
Looking for skin so fair

Beeded sweat gathers now
Upon a carefree brow
For ****** is of the hour
From Satan's little helper

Come taste the pain oh it's good
Let no man say it should
Never hurt or go away
When dark hearts come to play

So farewell you snivelling *****
There's no one here to stitch
The wounds that I'll inflict
With my darkest heart
Yenson Jun 2022
Hear the sonorous whimpers of faded dragons
groaning the last breath gasps of fallen might
and from extinct inglorious days
hear now the bitter last hurrays' of the ******
in acrimony they wail like a coeliac new born
tis the dampened pained roars of wounded beasts
tis the infused grumblings of cantankerous old codgers
tis the frustrated drivels of angst ridden underachievers
tis the mad morbid utterances of daggle of caged psychopaths
tis the snivelling moronic backchats of a hackle of prized cowards
tis pent-up furies and irate emotional disparages of unsatisfied wives
tis the hot latent lamentations of morose taciturn misery-guts
tis the narcissistic forage of the despoiled academician
whose diseased beast within syringed narco-fixes
in the noises of  hallowed codswallops
tis the dumb mutterings of idiots
tis the inane jabbering runts
tis the anodyne venting
of ghouls and ghosts
the wailing noises
of cultists coerced
and chained in
rebellious
hope
Yenson Feb 2019
It's my space, it's my space
get out, go away
they are everywhere
they're taking my toys
they're playing with my toys
they take everything from us
and it's our ****** space

I can't talk to them
they beat me up
some carry knives
am scared of them all
they can fight
and they beat us up at school
my father is scared to
mum too
they are everywhere
brown, yellow
all colours
and it's our ****** space

but they take it from us
like it's their own
I am really scared of them
so I always try to be nice
but all the time I am scared
they do all we do
and do it better
its our ****** space

BUT...there's one we got

not like all the others
and stays alone
so we tie up quickly
and we all gang up
ha, we got brave now
Yippee...revenge is sweet
let's all go kicking and battering
it's our space, it's our space
Yes, let's take it all out
on this one
it's just one
its our ****** space

BUT...oh ..oh....oh
even ****** one is still too much
we're trying
but.....oh...jipes,
we are just ****** cowards
let's face it, we're snivelling cowards
and it's our space
its our ****** space

MUMMY...sob...sob

Stop crying and fretting little men
there's enough room for you all....
Yenson Jun 2022
To faff and **** and sneak and snort
To jive and jib and shove and slime
To drone and discredit and simmer with envy
To parade inadequacy and promote idiocies
To be blinded and witless and rage in inferiority
To be snivelling cowards and trailer trash bullies
To be weak gutless retards in deluded role-change campaign
All swamped twitching and burping in vermillion pond life
reflecting the haze of their dystopian stalking canals

— The End —