Quotes about snail, page 10
Blood Of River
Saw him in half, like a frog and snail,
Running with passion and living underwater.
My buds attach to the clarity and potion
Of this barren odorous bog of congealed
Blood, that finances are read at this hour
For their future and beyond.
Much concrete chasms encase strong dances,
The weapons of the bold and polite.
The woes'd rain down hard to scatter
In the blood-like muddy puddle,
Wearing me thin, as the abdomen encloses
The fodder, to express a sickness.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Edging My Way Up To Success
there is no instant success
you are not born successful
i am proud to say
i edge myself slowly
towards the platform
of success
the road was rough
the weather was not good
i did not have a carriage
and a horse
to make thing easier
for me
i was like a snail not
hoping for that gift of
speed from a rabbit
i learned from the
turtle somehow
reached the finishing line
much to their
surprise
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Emotions Walk
Sorrow took the bus
to town and met
Happy at the square
but Happy was too busy
so Sorrow went on
vacation with Solitude
who though a bit crazy
was quite a listener, dude
Sorrow decided to change
his name and so became
Relieved, Relieved ran
a marathon with Happy
hare, and Sorrow the
tortoise like snail, Relieved
was not in the perpetual
competition between the
Tortoise and the Hare
and reflected the scenery
better to the spectators there
poem by Ludvig Von Himmelstein
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The Gun You're Pointing
the gun you're pointing
is not your manhood,
it's your fear....
of the risk of
giving more than the
ground that you stand on....
fear of the angry storms
of your need facing
the limits of your desire...
of the smallness of your soul
in the unexplored night...
your hunger shrinking
into the shell of a snail...
the loss of your identity,
your shaking hand....
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Naked Snake
Tree wound
Earth ground
Hissing and biting
Its own tongue
Its own tail
Changing its skin
Sky flung
House burdened snail
In the traces of the wet curse left
Wrapped in red lace lobster cleft
Creeping the bottom of the original fall
Poisonous curves wound within all
A bit of poison turns into a bit of the cure
Wound within a knot of circles of the sin
Reaching high above the realms of the pure
Curable disease of its own medicine
Bitter taste poisoned blood shivering in mud
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Be of heart, not smart
If you return soon, you must better not come.
Don’t hurt my heart with mind elsewhere.
Come you must, forgetting the watch,
Come you must, leaving the schedules.
If talk nonsense, you must better not talk.
If say good-bye, you must better not say.
What is the use of hair-do,
Eye lines, cream, lipsticks, nail polish,
Tingling bangles, swinging eardrops,
Screeching frills?
Come you must as a snail, if not a rabbit.
Be true to your heart, don’t be smart.
29.08.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Names Written In Blood
hard nosed old half drunk men,
missing fingers, teeth, and hope.
50 years of working for somebody else,
somebody else's money, somebody else's dreams.
a warm fire, a cook pot half full,
a woman bent on loving,
patient enough to stay.
and the snail trails of children,
grown and gone....
echoes in the living room,
echoes on the porch.
old woman buried,
echoes in the bed....
hard lined old faces,
eyes vacant as distance...
lips bruised with silence,
names written in blood!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Over new; greens seas drip-fed
The poet is a lonely … (snail)
With elongated eyes espy.
Following a spiritual brail…
Questioning: what's a wry?
What; lucidity nears him by.
A non-apologetic; dreamer…
To him its do-or-die
With a silver trailing "stigma"
Over the high seas did Bligh.
Oh mutiny; he's not a rhymer…
{With a pirate, treasure scroll...}
With a bounty on his head:
His mutiny is that his soul—
And others might—never be fed.
By following him on… faith!
Over new; green seas drip-fed.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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replaying mozart's serenade #3 in G
middle age sits on a bench
at the park
just watching people pass by-
a fat lady with a pink purse as small as as a snail
a thin man looking like he's dying of tuberculosis
a little boy being held tight by his mom smiling at me
two lovers as sweet as sugar and walking too close like a glued pair of slippers
middle age sits alone and laughs loud like he's winning
this lonely game of optical illusion
this trajectory projection
middle age inside this cell of himself
looking for an opening
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Teasing......
the snail loves the
veins of the hands
they are the maps
to its licking pleasures
it feels blood
palpitating to its mouth
sacrifice beauteous
not consumed just felt
the hard house
is always the wall
that keeps it from the
hazards of the winds
from the minding of the
the leaves
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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