Lonely is the life
Of an anxious mind.
I take my clock out
To unwind
At the stroke
Of midnight.
It’s been forever
Since my first crush
And her girlfriends
New to S&M
Melted in my mouth
And in my hand
At the stroke
Of midnight.
Author: Charles B. Snoad
Robert Frost
One way
In a poem
He didn’t
Write
To think
About death:
Wherever he is
Or isn’t now
Robert Frost
Can’t say
I’m alive
Because
He’s dead.
Another way
In a poem
He didn’t
Write
To think
About death:
Wherever he is
Or isn’t now
Robert Frost
Can’t say
“I’m alive.”
Because
He’s dead.
Birthday Boy
From head to toe
I cover my shame
In baby oil
Close my eyes
And make a wish.
I haven’t been this hard
On myself
Since my first crush held me
In the palm
Of her hand
Closed her eyes
And made a fist.
In Her Infinite Wisdom
Forgiveness,
In her infinite wisdom,
Sighs.
I tell myself:
“This is a moment of suffering.
Suffering is a part of life.”
God’s shadow responds:
“I, too, am suffering.
Suffering is a part of my life.”
We admit
We are powerless
Over time.
I cradle
God’s shadow
In mine.
Forgiveness,
In her infinite wisdom,
Sighs.
Trivial Pursuit Of Happiness Hurts
I once knew a person
Named Ophelia
She worked for United Airlines
She was a stewardess
Or a flight attendant
She was many different
People at the same time
Ophelia get me to a nunnery
I’m an unruly poet
Writing nonsense like:
“naked and afraid
up all night
weep all day
Big Brother said
Kilroy was here
watching Big Brother
man versus food
man versus nature
man versus man
god versus god
good versus evil
poet versus poet
verse chorus verse”
To be or not to be Ophelia
A stewardess or a flight attendant
There’s no question
Our trivial pursuit of happiness hurts
Trivial Pursuit Of Happiness
Thesis Antithesis Synthesis
Id Ego Superego
Client Therapist Transference
Cash Credit Debit
People Places Things
They’re Their There
Mind Body Soul
Underactive Thyroid
Overactive Superego
Netflix Hulu Prime
Facebook Twitter Pony Express
Myspace Napster AOL
Anti-Poems Made Of Non-Sense
Like This One Called
Trivial Pursuit Of Happiness
Thesis Antithesis Synthroid
My Reflection Is The Shadow
Of My Not-So-Super Superego
How’s It Hanging?
Little To Left?
Too Far Right?
Low Testosterone
High Blood Pressure
Intensive Care Unit
Rock Paper Scissors
Duck Duck Goose
Skin Tag You’re It
Naked And Afraid
Up All Night
Weep All Day
Big Brother Said
Kilroy Was Here
Watching Big Brother
Man Versus Food
Man Versus Nature
Man Versus Man
God Versus God
Good Versus Evil
Spy Versus Spy
Where Do You
See Your Selfie
In Five Years?
Great News
Your Windows 10
Machine Meets
The Requirements
For A Free Upgrade
To Windows 11
Nothing’s Gonna
Change My World
Across The Metaverse
When You Fall Asleep
You’re LYING Down
Not LAYING Down
Let’s Eat Our Feelings
Bacon Lettuce Tomato
Sloppy G.I. Joe
Uh-Oh SpaghettiOs
Leggo My Superego
Alfred E. Neuman
Ate Too Much
Chuck E. Cheese
What, Me Worry?
Ode To Reese Witherspoon
Billy Corgan spoke in class
Today he said is the greatest day
I’ve ever flown an airplane
High with Eddie Vedder
Over Wrigley Field
But don’t call me
Shirley Temple of the Dog
During the in-flight movie
Monsters vs. Aliens starring
Reese Witherspoon
Dr. Seuss put Paul Newman’s
Fig Newtons all in one
Basket of deplorables
Next to the incredible edible
Fabergé green eggs and silent
Ham radio of the lambs
So let’s go Jodie Foster lock him up
Tomorrow on The Morning Show
Starring Reese Witherspoon
The Incredible Hulk Hogan’s Heroes
Celebrated Halloween on Good Friday
The thirteenth day of Christmas
When the Grinch lost his marbles
Playing Hungry Hungry Psychos
With Hannibal Lecter
And the Hogan family minus
Valerie and Jamie Harper Lee Curtis
And the star of Legally Blonde 2
And Legally Blonde 3
Reese Witherspoon
Dr. Phil Donahue told Maury Povich
I’m not the father of pop psychology
I’m Ryan Phillippe and I know
What you did last summer in the Ozarks
You laundered the color of money
And killed a mockingbird
Named Marty Byrde
Thanks to your cruel intentions
The Kids Have Swine Flu
Cat Stevens was up Schitt’s Creek
Without a paddle after crashing
Eugene Levy’s Chevy
But I said hold on to the night
Because sweet American
Apple pie dreams are made
Of jumbo Dodger Dogs like this
One with red hot chili peppers
Sergeant Pepper told Petula Clark
It’s getting better all the time
Since you’ve been mine
Things will be great
When you’re on Downton Abbey
Say goodbye Norma Jean
Here’s a candle to blow out
Under the bridge downtown
I gave my life away
Billy Joel Armstrong
Sang us a Green Day song
Elton John’s the piano man
I’m Maggie Smith
Little Orphan Annie Lennox
Read a book to Richard Marx
While Daddy Warbucks sang
“Imagine” in the dark
With a little help from my friends
At Central Perk the day
John Lennon died
It’s been sure nice talking
To you but it’s time to put
Little boy blue and the man
In the moon to bed you see
My new job’s a hassle
And the kids have swine flu
But it’s been sure nice
Talking to you Don McLean
Bye-bye Don McLean bye-bye
Lambeau Field
“The idea is to reach the unknown
by the derangement of all the senses.”
—Arthur Rimbaud
“The principle is to exaggerate:
that is how to destroy reality.”
—Jean Baudrillard
“The goal is to score more
points than your opponent.”
—Vince Lombardi
Pursuit Of Happiness
pursuit of happiness
kids marriage debt
white picket fence
work from home
work from work
work work work
feel like shit
make your bed
lie in it
scratch my back
you do you
go fund me
price is right
come on down
spayed or neutered
adam and eve
jack and jill
adam and steve
spin the bottle
all the way
just the tip
rock paper scissors
duck duck goose
tag you’re it
feel like shit
stay in bed
grind your teeth
give me guns
give me liberty
give me death
stop drop roll
lather rinse repeat
stop drop roll
lather rinse repeat
stop drop roll
lather rinse repeat
give me guns
give me liberty
give me death
Laugh Out Loud
digitized and downsized
we are the binary selves
some switches on
some switches off
we’re smart shoppers
cyberbullies
all God’s children
of divorce
the cement truck
of concrete reality
Amazon primed
to bury us in debt
“depressive syndrome characterized by
pervasive loss of interest
in almost all activities
or appetite disturbance with change in weight
or decreased energy
or feelings of guilt or worthlessness”
now I lay me down to sleep
God is great
pledge allegiance to the flag
God is good
if I die before I wake
post a notice
on my blog
in your own words
lingering between two worlds
neither here nor there
some switches on
some switches off
we twitter while driving
under the influence of text
“manic syndrome characterized by
hyperactivity or pressure of speech
or flight of ideas or inflated self-esteem
or decreased need for sleep
or easy distractibility or delusions
or paranoid thinking”
I tell myself
not to panic
in front of
the children
the lord is my shepherd
beautiful for spacious skies
the lord is my shepherd
the bombs bursting in air
the lord is my Big Brother
the lord is the name of my father
trolls are laughing
laugh out loud
the sky is crawling
underground
laugh out loud
laugh out loud
drones falling
in a forest
make no sound
laugh out loud
laugh out loud
dance like
nobody’s
watching
in the clouds
laugh out
loud laugh
out loud
I Wrote A New Book
My sixth book, Sensitive Soul, is available on Amazon.
Here’s the Amazon description:
In his newest book of poems, Sensitive Soul, Charles B. Snoad continues to heal from depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. Recurring themes include self-doubt, self-acceptance, God, forgiveness, silence, the moon, the sky, and bodies of water. The speakers in these poems don’t always know who they are or where they’re going, but their voices emanate from the same source: a trauma survivor, in love with words, embracing the power of his sensitive soul.
The Door To Infinity
The door to infinity open-
ended.
I must be going for a walk, a brisk walk,
among the ruins of a city built by sons
who worked hard but nevertheless failed
to forgive their fathers.
A city where
my father’s life
remains still.
Open.
End it.
The Hole Story
I’m OK
with feeling
down today
I woke up
on the wrong side
of my head
with a lump
in my throat
and a limp in my leg
tender is the nightmare
said my father
who never slept
standing up
like a stumbling block
when my father was a kid
a tomboy who chased
him on the playground
said in his mother’s voice:
“the best part of you
is still
running down
your old man’s leg”
or maybe the best
part of me to honor
his memory made
this hole story up
No-Man
Call me No-Man
I will teach you
The meaning of strife
Watch me sink
Or swim
In the belly of a wail
Just a stone’s throw
From a sandcastle
Bucket in the sky
Row your boat
Asunder watch me
Spit or swallow
My pride
Tie forget-me knots
To a paradox before
Graduate schools of fish
Watch me sink
Or swim in the deep
End of knowledge
It’s not the size
Of the No-Man
On an island
It’s the emotion
Of the ocean
Under the weather
Leaves Of Crabgrass
Walt Whitman told
His old self-publisher:
“Fiction grows
On trees—
Poetry’s for
The words.”
Walt Whitman wrote
In future tense:
“O Charlie!
My Chaplin!
A silent picture’s
Worth a thousand blurbs.”
Forty-Seven Lines
The dreamer
Wide awake
Within me
Tells a figure
Of speech:
“The dreamer
Wide awake
Within me
Is a figure
Of speech.”
The dreamer
Wide awake
Within me
Is a figure
Of speech
In a poem where
The answer
To the question
“Who am I?”
Is in question.
Here you’ll find
Four stanzas
Five lines each
No wait now
It’s five stanzas
Five lines each
No wait now
It’s six stanzas
Five lines each
Thirty lines in all.
Why limit myself
To thirty lines
When so many words
Dance like angels
On the tip of my tongue
I’m rambling here
In stanza number eight
Which you guessed it
Contains five lines
I’ll stop at line forty-five.
I promise.
Believe me.
This is it.
Stanza nine.
Line forty-five.
Isn’t silence
Divine?
Sensitive Subject
I want to love
a brave woman
a smart woman
a playful woman
I want to embrace
the universe
of joy and sorrow
alive and well
within the soul
of a single woman
but my body is afraid
of being
hurt again
after years of writing
about suffering
and surviving trauma
my body remains
a sensitive subject
My Happy Place
it’s where the sidewalk ends
prematurely
like my youth
it’s where I lost
my marbles
it’s where I sleep
like a baby
sawing wood
my happy place
remains so vast
you can’t find it
like a needle
in a knapsack
this is the best stanza
I wrote last night
in my happy place:
“tie forget-me knots
to a paradox before
graduate schools of fish
watch me sink
or swim in the deep
end of knowledge”
it’s an exclusive club
my happy place—
no pricks allowed
except the dick I think with
Chronic Pleasure
grief derails
my train
of thought
my shadow
sees a light
at the end
of the tunnel
being sad
makes me
happy
and I know it
clap my hands
wouldn’t it be nice
to feel
chronic pleasure
I asked a doctor
of philosophy
dumbstruck
and down
on bad luck
she smiled
as if to say
go fuck yourself
Charles B. Snoad 