"snuffles" poems
It's dark outside except for the pale glow of a fingernail moon sailing through the starry sea of night.
The wind has tucked itself to sleep with the birds, weary of bustling about and playing with my hair.
The whippet snuffles his way along the rabbit trails, delighted with this late night walk, white tail wagging in the air.
I wander down by the edge of the swamp, grass all soft and dewy 'neath my feet and spy the pallid uoow reflected upside down,
between the reeds along the creek.
The constant, shrilling chorus of frogs and crickets drills my ears yet I find it strangely soothing - a well known voice across the years.
I turn to walk back, whistling the dog and notice in the low fields, the usual ethereal fog begin to form.
I look up at the dark shape of the house and see light from my
kitchen window painting squares upon the lawn.
Amphibean bodies seek the brightness, bellies pressed against the glass and if you warm them with your finger on the other side, they move.
My man and I bet kisses on whose frog would move the most - one of those silly games you play when you're in love.
As I close the door behind me, grabbing logs to feed the fire, the dog flops down upon the hearthrug letting warmth dry swampy mire.
I make cocoa in my blue mug then pull down the kitchen blind - cutting off the froggy light source - abruptly silencing the choir.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 8:42 AM UTC
IN-FLU-ENZA
IN-FLEW-ENZA!!
This was not my today's agenda,
Hankies for snuffles my addenda,
Here I rest, moribunda,
Wintry weather down under,
Suppose it is not so bad,
Bed rest to be had,
Not in the rat race,
Cosy bed today my place,
Definitely not my today's agenda,
IN-FLU-ENZA!!!!
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
The light is slowly fading from the sky.
There is the steady hum of cars passing by.
The birds are tuning up for their evening symphony,
And as a plane flys by it takes the lead.
A dog snuffles around the corner looking for something to eat,
Or perhaps a bunny to chase then she looks at me.
A beautiful evening no rain autumn is coming in.
Another day is done again with evening creeping in.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
The narcissistic urge flips eggs now.
Our ex-veteran father-figure gets a hamster, calls it Snuffles.
The thing you don’t know until the end of the script of the Tarantino-twist is that our protagonist sits
rocking back and forth in
a barren room inside a strait-jacket.
Meanwhile, our enemy shouts
something along the lines of:
"grab a spoon
I hope they don’t wash their hands"
The stones fallen off their strings,
gunshots hotwire themselves away from
a dubstep kind of drilling, the pipe dream
of an intimate email relationship.
Shout again,
"I hope you never feel those clammy hands.
Blaarghh"
Your diner eggs stink
I chucked up
In the kitchen bin.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 12:43 PM UTC
Between ten and eleven-thirty p.m. this Cornish
village, for the most part gets itself quietly ready
to find comfort in bed.
No exception tonight, beneath cold arc of moon
time takes command as cats are put out, doors
latched and no dog barks.
Mist is rising under fading depths of navy-blue
sky as neighbours pull blinds and hiding behind
upstairs curtains undress.
Clothes are being thrown about, noses get blown,
teeth cleaned, backs scratched and toilets flushed
before baring days' secrets.
Outbursts of *** meet with collapse as confession
of headache becomes forgotten in gasps of gossip
that start giggling sessions.
Suppers crumbing clean sheets vye with a shared
cigarette between couples who, tho' sleep-heavy,
drowsily mumble goodnight.
Peace tumbles around snuffles and snores before
stirring ceases as this small backwater stumbles
toward a new morning.
Men, women and offspring down toys with tools
as dreams take over while strength refuels weary
bones for more readiness.
For a few hours their world of normality flies to
another dimension then with sunrise legs stretch
and yawning faces distort.
Because betwixt six and seven thirty a.m. this little
community will rise and give inner-thanks before
morning battles start again.
Nobody knows what tears are shed behind blinds
that nightly challenge good folks' efforts in trying
to make the most of their life.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
He is very low to the ground
He snuffles and sniffles and waddles around
He makes his home in a tree
What on earth could this creature be?
He has spikes and stickers and quills galore
There's a hint if you didn't know before
If you really stop and search your mind
You'll realize he's a porcupine
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC
And Death entered her room at nightfall,
To fetch a beloved soul.
"Why are you crying, child?" Death asked the child.
"Mr. Snuffles won't wake up! I keep shaking him, yet he won't wake up!"
The child responded, cradling the small black cat in her arms.
"He has passed away, child. I'm here to take him to a place where he shall finally rest."
Death explained to the crying child.
"Where will you take him, mister? Why must you take him away?"
The child cried louder, seeming more desperate to keep her beloved cat to herself.
"It's time that Mr. Snuffles must go on and get rebirthed to his next life."
"With his short life in this world, he has already fulfilled his purpose, and that is to look after you as long as his little body allows."
Death further added.
"But you can't take him away, mister, not yet! I am still not grown, and I am still afraid to be alone in the dark!"
The child hugged her beloved cat tighter.
"There is light in the darkness, my child, and there is solace in being alone."
"Even if you wish to keep him longer, his body couldn't sustain his soul anymore. Another life awaits him at the other end."
Death squatted in front of the child, gently prying the cat from her.
"Why must you hold on to something that can no longer be there for you?"
Death asked yet another question.
"Because I still haven't made Mr. Snuffles happy! I haven't loved him enough yet. He can't go yet, please, mister!"
The child pleaded.
"Isn't it ironic that only in death humans find empathy, only in death your kind desperately asked for life when so many of you waste it away?"
Death thought to himself, seeming to wonder the irony of human emotions.
"Child, in this world, there's not a thing that remains permanent. Everything will eventually fade away, as well as the grief you are feeling in your little heart. One must know when to let go in order for the deceased and the living to move forward."
Death told the child softly.
"There will be comfort in grieving, there will be love with hatred, and most importantly, there will be life after death."
Death patted the child's head as he stood up, now cradling the black furball in his arms.
"Remember, child, death is not a curse nor is it a blessing. One must embrace this process in order to value the significance of life. Without death, life will be meaningless."
"Go forth, child, cry, grieve, be angry, yet remember that you must go forward in order to continue the existence of your beloved cat in your memories."
Death said as parting before he faded into the darkness of the night.
The child, stunned, collapsed on her bed, clutching Mr. Snuffles' collar near to her heaving chest.
- N.V. 🥀
Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 1:39 PM UTC
They thought she'd be Sassy,
You'll read she's no Lassie;
So they chose an Isle,
For kin and kith,
Meaning more than breadth and width;
Henceforth she's called Skye.
She's a dimunitive terrier,
She'll not be a harrier;
She'd fall down the holes
Chasing rabbits and voles,
And never be heard of again.
Too quiet for a guard dog,
In the pack, she's no lead dog;
If she tried herding sheep,
They'd bleat in their sleep,
And the sheep would lay down
For the wolves.
She's no sledder like Buck,
She can't carry a duck,
And certainly no fighter like Fang.
She's no Rin Tin Tin,
Can't run fast like him,
And she's not sleek like Roy Rogers' Bullet.
She won't find a body
Buried under the snow,
And she won't win blue ribbons
At any dog show.
But I'm convinced
By her snuffles
She's well worth the trouuble,
I'll take her out hunting
In the woods
For my truffles.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
Nightfall's halting progress
Nightingale alights on lush gorse
Faint glint of lamplight on beak
From shed door left ajar
Within, the gentle thrum of lathing
The soft mirth of shared labour
Hushed air atingle
Twilight stutters
& fades
A hedgehog snuffles
May 1, 2021
May 1, 2021 at 8:05 PM UTC
and tonight it is
the elder, mother god
of which i speak....
she snores and snuffles
in the lazyboy chair
slumped awkward
and sombulant,
akin to a ragdoll,
carelessly,
tossed aside,
after a day's hard play.
and it is in the cracks
and crinkles, both large and minute that craze and track
accross her well worn,
well loved face
that i see,
the god-dust...
lingering.
and as i gently,
place a woolen wrap
over her tired old body.
i take a moment...
to give thanks and
worship,
her hard earned diety.
and the mothergod...
slumbers, snoringly on.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
There is a sense;
A fruity sense,
He snuffles it in
with a childish cry,
forgetting the memory
he does try.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
The little girl runs to her mother,
“Mommy, mommy!”
Wails and wails.
“What’s wrong sweetie?”
“I lost Mr. Snuffles.”
Searching to and fro,
Time and time again,
Nothing is found.
“Don’t worry sweetie, we’ll get another.”
The comfort is futile.
Emotions downcast,
She strays away.
The images
Are vivid in her mind.
The serenity
Found in a simple plaything.
The joy
Found in a loyal friend.
The walls are transcending to grey.
The hallways stretch on for miles.
Her room is desolate and defeated.
Children posters shrivel up and fall.
Toys are melting into the ground.
Staring off into the horizon of her window
Trees are blowing ashes in the wind.
The night sky falls down upon her.
She makes a slight turn and sees it,
A slight nudge of hope
Shining from corner of her bed.
Energy is surged into overdrive.
As she rushes forward
A single bird takes flight
Depicting a reason of happiness.
Squeezing little hands
Between bed and wall
A piece of her heart
Is found again.
She clutches it to the center of her chest.
A vow to never let go.
Blurring light is beginning to shine.
Color is returning to the eyes
Of a young girl.
Trees are sprouting from the ground
Again.
All sorrow is forgotten.
Sep 30, 2011
Sep 30, 2011 at 7:25 PM UTC
When I awake
Early on a winter’s morning
I creep about my house
Straining to soften the creak of the floorboards
Determined not to wake the others
My dazed heads snuffles
As I potter from toilet to bathroom
Bathroom to kitchen
And then
I am taken by surprise
As I catch a glimpse
Of pink, purple, orange, blue and grey,
The golden outline of the new sun's edge
Through my window
And I stand there
Still
In my dressing gown and slippers
A silent witness
Heart swelling with joy
At this precious moment
When I am alone
With this unique sunrise
I, alone
Claim this beauty
As my own
This is my time
My precious alone time
When I am most me
Wondering like 'the mole'
At the impossible beauty of it all
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
xdgfcgnv
is gibberish poetic?
do these snuffles make me interesting ?
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
She has her head on the stuffed bear on the bed.
It is a cushion or a prop for her curly crop head.
She snuffles she snorts, on guard and in bed.
She may be game, and she may not have grace.
The blanket she lies on is the softest place.
Oh she falls so heavily into that dreamy space.
Oh to dream,
Take me, with you I will run too, we will catch those
rabbits and jump those fences landing on our toes,
side by each, with the other, and who knows?
I may wake and know you well, You...
You may wake and know me better, I will...
I will know, what it is to have you as a best friend.
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
The red eyes matched the flags,
draped over the windows, the fences the doors,
The sniffles and snuffles,
of all those supporters,
the ones in Rio,
and all of their daughters,
the fellas in front rooms,
the girls in the pubs,
all giving their best shots at having a blub,
feeling let down at England's loss,
A storm in a teacup,
a flood of tears,
no more chances for England for another four years.
(C) Livvi
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
In the forest, there’s few things I find more to please
Than to walk woodland trails, strewn with fallen leaves.
But by their rustling underfoot, they sing a sad lullaby
Which serves to remind, that autumn, in the short by and by,
Brings closure to our delights, now summer’s passed.
Though it too, as do most things in Life, will not last.
My walk under branches, when bared of all leaf cover
Allows an observant eye to search for and discover
Abandoned nests of last spring’s long flown brood,
Or a squirrel in his lofty drey. This agile and shrewd
Forest dweller, is ever prepared to take instant flight
Should an untoward move of mine, cause him fright!
Moments later a ruffed grouse takes off in panicked flight
Though its presence was sensed, I’d glimpsed no sight
Of this woodland denizen. At home within the forest scene
It haunts the undergrowth but often goes, sight unseen!
Next a snake, sunning, poised alert, quickly slithers away
Having sensed intruders were abroad and coming his way.
Unexpectedly from overhead, staccato sounds startle me,
As a busy downy woodpecker, intrudes upon my reverie.
Whilst a roving shrew, in never ending search for tasty prey,
Snuffles through the leaves: pounces, then scampers away
Replete with a fat slug delicacy for its brood of young.
Though its actions benefit man, they frequently go unsung.
The leafy paths of forest floor are bustling alive this day
With various sights and sounds. When time allows, it’s my way
To fill hours that all too swiftly pass. But reality encroaches
Upon my walk. I hasten my step, for darkness approaches,
So with one last lingering look, I take my leave and steal away
Determined to visit these arboreal woods again, another day.
Rhymer.
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 7:08 PM UTC
I was working all night
my body wanted to go on sleep mode
but I had to resist
soon later I get a call
I answer it and say the same thing I say every single day
“911 what’s your emergency?”
for a couple of minutes, I heard nothing
just static noise coming from the phone
I asked again hoping I get an answer
then I hear small snuffles
as if someone was crying
it was the sound of a woman on the call
“Ma’am is everything okay?” I asked
silence is all I received back
soon later I heard mumbling
“I’m tired….” she mumbles
I can still hear her snuffing
I continue to do what I am informed to do
“Is something wrong?” I asked
she stopped her snuffing and mumbling
“I don’t know anymore…. I think there is something wrong with me...” she said
I started to type on my keyboard
“do you need an ambulance or the police to come to your aid” I replied typing away in my keyboard
“I don't know... but I think I know what I need to do...” she said
I started to hear the sound of footsteps from the call
then the sound of the water was echoing through the phone line
“Ma’am where are you right now” I asked in a serious tone
“I’m at my favorite bridge... but don’t worry I’ll be in another place far better than this bridge” she said in a drained tone
I start putting the pieces together quickly
I send a ambulance and police officers on the way to her location
“ma’am whatever you're doing please resist, help is on the way” I replied with an anxious tone
sweat was running down my face
my heart was pumping in milliseconds
but all I heard was static on the other line
she then replied
“I don’t know if I need help at this point, I’m in a nightmare and I can’t wake up”
I look around the office I was in
no one was on the same shift as me
I was alone
time was ticking for me
but she thinks her time is up
with a heavy heart I said
“Is it okay if you can stay on the line with me”
she said “sure I guess…”
we stayed on the line for a while
for that time period I decided to stop acting like my profession
I start acting like her guide in beginning
then became her friend in the end
throughout our talk she told me everything
about her life, struggles, and her deep thoughts that dwell within
some of them I can relate too
we talk about our opinions about the meaning of life and death
until later I heard the sound of police sirens coming from the call
“well, I guess it’s no use to jump huh, you know I liked our talk, it’s nice to know someone out there who cares” she said softly
I got informed that they removed her out of the bridge safety and took her somewhere safe
the phone line went off after that
I look at the time
its midnight still
before I could even take a sigh of relief
I get another call
I answer and say the same thing I say every single day
“911 what’s your emergency?”
Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 2:57 PM UTC
If even smells cold
a bit like ice cream smells
on a sunny day.
Winter should be
a place far away and
we
shouldn't have to put
up with this.
Jack Frost says it in
Icicles
and it's written on the
window panes
well
he can kiss my crystal *****
Inside the tube it smells of
desperation and Cologne
no one speaking German
though.
Not much to do except get
through this day
so I go on my way
as usual.
She's rubbing her hands
I don't think it's in glee
and he looks colder than me
and older by far.
Plenty of snuffles and sniffs
it still whiffs of cologne
and no Germans
perhaps they're at home
where I should be
( my home and not a home in cologne)
And the tube's slow today
I'm wondering
if the driver's forgotten the way.
nothing's easy when you're in the dark.
Almost there at
Soho Square
where a warming glow
from a house that I know
greets me.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC