"snoozing" poems
Snow falling
the bear snoozing
sunflowers stalling
A Sunflower blooming
The Sun is blinding
Sunflowers blooming
Mating calls for fighting
a sunflower glooming
Perennials rebloom
as a sunflower tries to
Sunflowers rebloom
a sunflower dies too
The snowflakes fall
a Sunflower grows tall
sunflowers wilt
the dens are built
Snow falling
The bear snoozing
sunflowers stalling
A Sunflower glooming
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
Friend one:
Reads "Rotten Tomatoes"
Always early, parks in a handicap zone
Friend two:
quietly disapproves
knows Friend one walked her dog a mile earlier
Friend one:
moves her car
digs out two waters, chocolate
and back pillow
buys peace and tickets
Friend two:
catches sneeze with *** of tissue
aggravated exchange:
about walking too fast ahead.
“Are you not my friend? Walk with me!”
Buys popcorn
Friend one:
wants seats on the end
for handy bathroom runs
Friend two:
does not want “the blow by blow” of reasons
just not in rafters
sneezes, and says so
trips
spills popcorn on the stairs
Friend one:
Sets up “camp”
Friend two:
holds crap
Friend one:
Settles in, builds her "nest"
opens water bottles
arranges back pillow
half-a-million napkins
“Want your jacket?”
Friend two:
holds popcorn, helps Friend one with jacket
Friend one:
pushes button for her seat back
seat sounds like a ****
Friend two:
says so, both laugh like fools
Friend two sneezes loudly, rubs her eyes
loses self in movie
Friend one:
starts to snore quietly
Friend two:
nudges her
Friend one:
(Who is never really snoozing)
runs out to restroom
misses best part of movie
Comes back,
“What happened?”
What happened?”
Friend two:
aggravated
hushes her
takes allergy pill
Friend one:
weeping at the end, watches all the credits
starts her review
apologizing to the kids of theater-cleaning-crew
popcorn, napkins, tissues everywhere
Friend two:
Sneezes yet again
Friend one:
Knows all the stars--
of friendship
being how she is one :)
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
You are too old for your looks, dear gentleman
Dear gentleman, you are much too spry
You jump like a wallaby, dear gentleman
And you run much faster than I
When I am snoozing, dear gentleman
You wake me up,
Because you’re hungry for food
Dear gentleman, I was sleeping
I find this, at times, very rude
Dear gentleman, you don’t go outdoors very much
You always stay inside
Watching the birds taunting you
This really must hurt your pride
When I leave the house, dear gentleman
You stay standing guard
Dear gentleman, I must praise you
For this job must be very hard
Dear gentleman, you don’t speak English
You speak some foreign tongue
I cannot understand you, dear gentleman
I can’t decode the songs you’ve sung
Dear gentleman, I must thank you
For you a such a good friend
You and I, dear gentleman
What a pleasant blend!
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 6:04 PM UTC
Superman ain't super anymore.
He snorted all the kryptonite
and spilled some on the floor.
His cape is in the lost and found
somewhere on the underground
Superman ain't super anymore.
The Man of Steel's heart, colder now than steel
Lois slapped him on the chops
for trying to cop a feel.
Front page of the Daily Planet
Lois wouldn't let him have it
The Man of Steel's heart colder than before.
The problems of the world knock on the door
Superman has fallen down
he's sleeping in the hall.
Crying between fits of snoozing
wishing he could stop the boozing
The problems of the world knock on the door.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
There is just no sleeping tonight
I am trying but the twirling of my head
won't let everything be alright.
So I sit, gaze straight instead.
No, there is just no rest in sight.
The coffee *** is waiting ready
for the dawning of early morning light,
but I keep my gaze steady.
If there will be snoozing against minds might
tomorrow will come in glory
to greet me without a fight
and I will continue on
to the following verse of this story.
Verse 2...Still no sleep
Magnitude of mighty morals
must mind minutes on laurels.
Lay lying in lighted luck lamenting.
Love lives lively less forgetting.
Find favor of Father's future.
Fair in fun filled creature.
Crawl in crevasse created.
Can of cold cards played.
Pain of posture posed poignantly.
Part in pretty petals painted loosely.
Learn of leaning lantern low.
Lid open liturgy's lighted meadow!
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 8:15 PM UTC
I met a girl once, she had french fries for hair and she was pretty legendary. I’ve been trying to explain her in words for a few days now.
But I don’t know how to write that kind of poem, that explains that it’s the smallest things about her I find the most amazing.
Like when she laughs, and her whole body becomes a wind chime, both in sound and sway
Like her walk, how it seems like her ankles are two old sagacious birds that know some secrets about the ground that no one else does, so it seems like she’s almost flying.
How she has basquiat fingers for hips, and every time she moves it’s pure art.
How do I explain that every time she speaks, her lips become two ex-lovers that still have a thing for each other, constantly touching and stopping.
If I could, I would capture her smile in the ink of a pen. I would write sonnets and ballads about the arch in her back. I would write nursery rhymes about each line in her palm, let me read your future. Are you kissing me in it?
I guess sometimes words fail even the best of poets.
Sometimes,dreams don’t do reality justice.
For those that will never hear the wind chimes in her laugh, that will never see the feathers on her ankles.
The best I can say is that she’s pretty legendary.
When the sun starts snoozing its alarm too often, when autumn leaves are corpses under white caskets and the memories of her are nothing but distant car horns. I’d always remember french fries.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC
Henceforth all ducks shall be shackled
entwined in martyrdom
half-shaven and fully aroused
baked and shaked and rattled and rolled
like bunnies, their reproduction
obviously
blantantly
even Freud would scratch his beard
too blatant the ***
obviously there must be another underlying problem
loving alcohol means you need ****
*** obsession means you need
love? Condoms?
Loch Ness Monster came over for tea
drank the imaginary brew
spat boiled liquid onto a canvas and sold it as art
"yes, yes, what does it mean?"
What does it mean?
It means that you think too much and don't feel
and don't think enough too caught up
like me
not perfect just only
and only is all one can do
can be accounted for
one, two, three
fall in-between the divisions of derivatives
damask dames like snoozing penguins
which is
black, white and dread all over
none too sure or very glassy
not too much of anything
just, just.
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 9:43 PM UTC
Snoozing the alarm clocks hit the highest record today, congratulations.
We got out of bed after the sixth one went off, then continued to lay in bed until the seventh one blared through.
We opened the blinds at two in the afternoon.
We went downstairs and didn't eat until 4pm, congratulations it's practically dinner time.
Our anxious hands spilt the coffee we carried into the living room because we only got five hours of sleep.
We spent the whole evening completing six chores because we had no energy to get up from the floor.
Our night consisted of us hiding away in our bedroom until insomnia washed over us and rocked us harshly to sleep yet another night.
Congratulations.
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
I'm snoozing my best in the morning
Along about sun up,
When I hear someone a-callin'
Wake up, it's time to get up,
I lay there stretching and yawning
So nice to stay in bed,
I see the Sun is shining
Over the back woodshed,
Crawling from under the covers
Cheeks so nice and cool,
When the Sun gets over the chickenhouse
It's time to go to school,
Then sometimes
After I am up out of bed,
The moon comes over
The same woodshed,
If I'm still
And quiet as a mouse,
I'm asleep before it reaches
The old tinhouse.
August 2, 1963
2.8k
I've slowly fallen, like Satan, from the graces
swapped paces and places, to capture different faces
but the wanderlust on my breath is strong, taste this
It's hard to bond when half the time I'm gone
black hair, curves, four leafed clover thong,
afternoons snoozing and browsing Netflix
flashes of my life till I'm on to the next bit
I can't get no respite, I just might break my next flight
for this chick, hopeless romantic, can't stand it
but lately I've been ghost on this whole scene
mind stolen like my future is a bandit
who's mind set is all about the greed
a fiend for the green presidents that sink further into my dreams
calling my name, telling me it's worth the pain to gain
have pockets on swoll with no shame to get a foothold in the game
thousands would be pocket change but the man in the mirror
doesn't look so set, half ****** dressed for bed
wishing he could disappear for a bit, maybe never come back
the king of disappearing, yeah he likes the sound of that.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 3:51 AM UTC
The Empire State Building is a giant middle finger
Concrete is broken, NYPD, taxis racing, red light green light
I enter the hand of the city through it's capillaries breaking mad concrete
Warm gusts of **** grime, and transportation swallow me
The city feeds off dreams and hope which we personally, willingly give up
We all somehow learn to accept this fate
The passerby no longer human but broken mirror
The hand inundates my eyes from breezes of tomorrow
The spacy apartment, and the affluent career and the acquantanceship
Of the handful of New Yorkers that run the hand: all questionable plans today
It's as if the hand's grasp, although sharp and brick, would venerate your intellect, guaranteed
If that's the case, I see wizards of wisdom everyday snoozing on concrete and cardboard and plastic
Bearded, black with dirt and skin, threads ripped by a world inferrior than the one in thier minds
Empire "Middle Finger" State of intellect, scrapping billion dollar clouds
Sardine can subways, escalators, elevators, high on crack **** speed of sound
The cash nerve system meltsdown into golden chips to feed the pigeons
Glass and steel craft spaces for modernity to be sold like a Washington Heights *****
You can feel the growth of the hand at the end of your intestines
It's a warm, uncomfortable vibration revealed in your ********
Foreign tongues buzz through the air, through your hair for 19.95
New York needs a haircut, some profound discipline so we wake up from this bizzare life of welcomed pain
You once charmed me with hopes of culture, open minds, connections, real connections, love and laughter
Yet, Today I am hungry in Murray hill
I am cold in Chelsea
I am broken in Union Square
I ***** in SoHo
I have fallen in the East River
And I bleed on financial monoliths
Someone have mercy on my wills
It is an intention trying to be fulfilled
But failed when it became self-aware
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 11:44 PM UTC
as your mama there are days I wake up and think to myself
"there is no way I can do this today
I'm tired
I'm anxious
I'm feeling kind of low"
but all it takes is a look into your little room
where you lay cozy and asleep
one tiny arm wrapped around a stuffed animal
snoozing with those little breaths
so soft sometimes I still go in and check to make sure you're breathing
to remind me all that I am working so hard for
YOU
and your tiny hands around my neck
that smile that melts my heart
and that little giggle that is so sweet I melt
I remember how you need me
depend on me
and
I close your door so the light doesn't get in
and I go get ready for work
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
Won't you keep me dizzy so that I stop spinning
Out of all control when I'm alone
And won't you keep me busy so that I stop snoozing
All the day away when I'm at home
Sing to me, Sera
We're calling you back home
Prozie, Addie, all of our old friends.
Sing to me, Sera
Please don't leave me alone
I want to look at my life through your lens.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
You will not believe this:
The uniform peeping out of the cupboard
Giving way for the cockroach to tread past the wardrobe.
The drapes shut on one side and undone on another,
For which even the squirrel on the window-sill sat in wonder!
The wet towel on top of the chair
And the filthy clothes smelling the air.
The books lying at all angles of the table,
Liable to tumble on a shake!
Glasses of water near the crib-
Half poured and some lingering for the next kick!
The timetable stuck on the wall,
Amid its spare glue inviting the obnoxious dust.
The calendar showing the last year
Besides the pen stand stuffed with unusable markers.
The school bag flung over the bed
Coupled with its stuff swarming past its outlet.
The carpet twisted tall,
Before the door slammed against the wall.
And a girl snoozing in the bed
With a book on her face-
Her finger pressing the snooze button in relentless pace,
And her feet kept over the computer maze!
You tell it is me-
A room encompassing horrid stuff during Read more →exams—
Yeah! It seemed familiar!!!
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
When I was younger:
I shuffled along,
to no urgent song,
didn't march through my day strong. When young and strong are the best time for planned convictions.
There's no acting lazy, or slowing down to the crazy, unless you want to live ungracefully in this hard unforgiving world.
When I was younger:
I lacked logic cause I didn't make clear my premise,
like a man with no plan, a sap with no map. I wandered tither and yonder like a ghoal without a goal, a ghost least of most, no future to ponder.
When I was younger:
I bogged down in metaphorical feces cause I didn't watch where I was wading, forsaking and debating, planning is for suckers, futures are for chuckers.
When I was younger:
I did nil and stood still while the city raced around me, progress to astound thee, forgetting the earth constantly rotates 260 miles an hour- waiting for no one.
When I was younger:
Like the Dodo bird I forgot to grow wings, was eatin by rats and things, became extinct and unlinked to a place run on business, consumerism and cash. On the rocks I was dashed.
When I was younger:
I became he who loses, with a broken compass and excuses, laying laggardly leaderless, with the snoozing and the boozing, and sold my initiative for a bag of grass.
That's when I was younger:
I'm older than that now. But I still remember. It's hard being younger!!
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
She noticed the basking shark was wounded,
weeping vaginal blood.
The tall man in a fedora whispered as he passed.
Whipped by exploratory waves, she blushed.
The horizon was a hazy green line dipped in red.
She had been there since morning
searching for love,
and found it
from a six-pack merman offering solace
as he rode on the silvery
back of a ray.
As he approached, the sun at his back,
she moaned and threw out her arms
like a supplicant.
Complete at last, the sand grasping at
her shoeless feet, she sank
towards the earth’s distant core
using her arms as uncertain ballast.
She awoke with a shiver
brushed away the sand
and headed back home.
The shark had turned belly-up,
scavenged by seagulls.
Another day-dream enjoyed in the
empty hours between lunch and dinner
between her third cup of tea
and fourth cigarette,
her children snoozing in
the back bedroom. Half-slumbering
in a town barked at by bothersome seagulls
where an unencumbered sun
set on a postcard shoreline.
Planning the rows of petunias to be
planted by the hedge,
making shopping lists,
writing novels, never to be published,
staring out of her windows at the sea
she waited for her husband’s return,
tedious evenings of T.V.
and coition under the brightly coloured duvet.
The waves that overwhelmed her, flooding her senses,
were her own. The man
in the fedora had made her smile.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
I have this disorder
Well, it's more of a sort of complex
I'm better yet broken no- destroyed
Closer to empty no- a void
Whatever it is, I can feel it's coldness
It's what the oldest thing I hold is;
It's what best story I've ever told is;
Its what the weight of this load is;
It's what the fork in my road is
Decaying, snoozing, heavy and confusing
But don't mind me if this sounds outrageous
I promise I'm far from contagious
So can you tell me what your name is?
And then just cause wondering,
Could you write your number right under it?
I tell you these things, show you my snakes
While I stand at my flood gates
And hope that your lust makes
The trusts break because I cant stand
How long this rust takes
Now it's your turn to learn
How much time of mine you can burn.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 2:21 AM UTC
He was an old cowboy, and he never liked to hear that cowboys were a dying breed. Those were fighting words, indeed, so don't ever tell him that. Yes, a cowboy, through and through, and he hoped he'd die in the open, big sky of Montana, right by his old horse, Dusty. Falling in love with the outdoors, he grew up working on his uncle's ranch and was hooked from the very start. Now Ride 'Em Rick had breathed his last and finally met his Maker. He was ready, for sure, and died with his boots on, just like he hoped would happen. It wasn’t out in the open, but as he was snoozing on his recliner and he never woke up.
When most of his children were arguing about things they shouldn't be, Jet took charge to see to a proper burial. He refused to be among the squabbling siblings.
You never visited him!
Oh, yeah! The only reason you came over was to get more money out of him!
I loved Pop! You never loved the man!
*You're just like him! Pigheaded! Impossible to tell you a ****** thing!*
He's not just your dad, so don't act so high and mighty!
And so how would Pop have wanted to be buried? He was a hard man to know—even after seventy-seven years on this earth. Well, Jet knew his father was a proud man, and a lover of all things cowboy. It would be nothing fancy—he’d be done up in his good flannel shirt and jeans, and of course with his boots on, and his cowboy hat slightly tucked under his cold, hard fingers. A lasso would be a nice touch, and some of the old, cowboy tunes during the service would be perfect. Surely, if Rick was going to die with his boots on, they’d stay with him to the very end. So that was how it all would be.
And so Ride 'Em Rick looked regal in his humble garb. Stony in life, so he was in death. Mostly, the old man kept his distance, and that seemed normal to Jet. But now standing with his two boys, one on each side of him, Jet hoped he would have been a more hands-on father to his sons. With the help of his wife, Carly, he was surely keeping on course. The siblings were still at odds, but there were plenty of tears and hugs going around to keep the peace and to make a good gathering. And so it was a fitting farewell to man who felt most at home on the trails and in the saddle, buried with his boots on.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
Ol' Mr Rilash
the authority on panache
and once chef of Ben-Ash,
had neglected to trim his tash.
It itched and made him scratch;
Unhappy on upper lip.
A plan, a plan it hatched.
...then one time in the kitchen
on a snoozing Mr Rilash.
His tash did something brazen,
or silly or quite brash.
It pulled away and dashed
crawling through plates of mash
and hopping over paprikash
it made it to the window ledge
via the crockery left stashed.
Was it brave or was it rash,
the escaping captive tash.
Leaping and waiting for the splash,
It saw it's trajectory down below;
and landed squarely in the trash.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 4:09 PM UTC
the farmgirl with the green flecks in her anime eyes
is snoozing in her van. it's afternoon and she's lost her ruby slippers. she knows not where.
she charms the water fleas with her clean teeth.
she gropes through the ampules of her ample ***** where her heart is like a fox and hound.
in a glass forest. the otherwise, warm porridge is the cruel gruel of her next poem.
she gnaws on the nape of her next unborn. the naked rube of her snipe hunt
on a night with no moon.
she doesn't mind either.
her kites fly, un-flummoxed in the effulgent. unchained in the Quixote of our windmills. distilled
by charcoal fences. a net of screens, nimbly deployed across the hinterlands
of our possibilities.
now " who could that be ? "
agnes is calling and i know she just wants her computer fixed.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
Sandwiched in blankets.
Snoozing to the morning news.
Run! Another tardy pass.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
The corner street awaits with pride
Raise the palm and wave me hello
As the eyes melt reveal your heart
The smile is the manipulating trap
A stance you gaze magnifies my life
Stay in the zone oozing not snoozing
Disengaged in bases of sinking shells
Float on the wavy stretchy topography
Claim my proponent inside the rigid iris
The splash of the canvas sprays attraction
Alternate the kaleidoscope fluid flashes
A slash, smashing my scepticism cynism
Untitled spiking depths and radiant flames
Erode past the sizzling chargrilled grins
It's in my eyes, my very soul sits and shines
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
Today i feel like time wins
We never had row, no we didn't
But now she refrains from walking slowly
Coz when she did i was wasted,
Snoozing her out every time she tweeted
And I never knew when she flew out of that door
And flew and kept on flying
Until that day when i got up
And i was like
What the hell is that grey thing on my head!
When her voice grew louder
From within the cuckoo
The cuckoo in the clock
I was a boy when papa got her home
Now i am old and grey
But she is still yellow and pretty
And tweets every single day
Waiting for and bowing to none
And she never loses
For she has got eternity
And what have I got?
A packet of black dye.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 11:54 AM UTC