The Snarky, Elitist Poet Thread

[UnderYourSpell]

A whimper as lips to my ear
she says you will like this eventually,
fingers tease caress and enter.
Those lips that promise passion
trailing, seeking a nipple
biting drawing that soft cry again
as body betrays
opens and screams for new horizons.

 

[champagne1982]

Would I flog the life out of a dead horse
when there are metaphors waiting to be mixed?
Shaken, not stirred,
the kitten purred
and all Bond wanted was more
Pussy Galore
has a camel toe
right up where her body suits go.
Zip!
Gimme summa dat, baby!
Don't say maybe
Perhaps it's not to late and can be fixed.
The dead horse is in a coma, of course.

 

[champagne1982]

Post a poem here and a Snarky, Elitist Poet will comment on it for you.
Only humor and good fun here.

Snarky ... nah. Elitist ... sometimes. Poets ... yes. Poetry ... maybe.

Alphabet Suess

There once was a bowl of alphabet soup
That hung out and posted in a poetry group
Their words were at once both meaningful and punny
They even were quippish and sometimes, quite funny.

The creatures that were close to the alphabet soup
Lived far from crass realities of the durty storeez group
Their weather was always warmish and sunny
A haven from sub-poems and thoughts about money.

A citizen of the darker side the forum,
Made a visit to the high-minded quorum,
And said, "Now look here!"
His mouth tied in a sneer,
"You're literary codswollop.
"I'll be rude to you and call you, Trollop.
"If I so wish,
"I'll even jump in this dish.
"This hot, yummy scoop,
"of alphabet soup."

The poets leapt high.
They jumped through the hoop
Held high aloft
By the alphabet soup
And said, "Hey now! That's not what we're all about.
"Your message is garbled. Please, sir, Don't shout.

"We understand that you think we're as naughty
"As you, nasty boy, who thinks Sis is a hotty.
"We've got news for you, you silly brother,
"We're all even worse, 'cos we wanna fuck mother!"

Thus, did this battle of wits rage for days.
The poets were trapped in an incestuous haze.
And the bowl of alphabet soup, you inquire?
Well, the letters were all trampled, into the mire.

Alas! What was left to nourish the muse
When her worshippers sought to demean and confuse?
They'd forgot what it was that bound them tight
They were mistaken about, what it was, they should fight.

It's not your ideals and dogma we battle
Not even trite comment and idle prattle.
Our enemy has always been right over here
Our enemy is ignorance and yes, we should fear
The grip that it holds tight 'round our throats
Squishing our voice, turning men into goats.

Bleating our cries into the dark night,
Tear off the blinders and see the bright light
Of knowledge as it waits over there in the dish
Of alphabet soup. There's more, if you wish.

 

[champagne1982]

I have posted two poems in a row that haven't elicited any comment from any Sn(arky)E(litist)P(oet)s aka SnEPs. I guess they're too deep for mere mortal understanding. I thought as much.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I gave up after one and I guess I'm not snarky (or elitist) enough to take anyones poems apart!

 

[normal jean]

I gave up after one and I guess I'm not snarky (or elitist) enough to take anyones poems apart!

neither am I, Annie. I suffer from a profound sense of guilt and shame at just the thought of being mean to a poem someone has worked so hard on.

Heh, I said hard on in a non sexual context. now I wonder, should it be hard upon?


oh well...

 

[champagne1982]

How exclusionary of you both ! Who said I worked hard? I am so wonderful that poetry falls out of my fingertips onto the keyboard. <meh!> I don't need mean or cruel (I can do that myself )

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Oh alright in your first poem I have no idea what you are waffling on about but I was too polite to say so!
Have a banana

 

[normal jean]

How exclusionary of you both ! Who said I worked hard? I am so wonderful that poetry falls out of my fingertips onto the keyboard. <meh!> I don't need mean or cruel (I can do that myself )

dernit, Champ, you're good even when you're being silly!

and a tidbit from my dear departed Daddy--

_ many a truth is said in jest_


he couldn't take it but sure could dish it out, he ruined my sense humor years ago

 

[champagne1982]

I like to dance with my nanners UYS and J, you're still a wit even though your sense of humour's dead... 's to yas both