Related quotes: That's the snag!.

That's the snag!.

Russian proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes

Snag It From The Root

Snap and snag it from the root.
Use every resource you have got.
Clip and snip,
To replant.
If that's what you have to do!

Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
From Sunrise until Sunset comes.

Snag it back and get it from the root.
You can snap it back from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!

Snap,
And snag it from the root.
You can snap it back from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!

You can snag it from the root!
Snap,
And snag it from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Chess in the Luxembourg Gardens Paris

the volunteering kings and queens
enrobe behind a chequered screen

a bishop's caught in traffic
just outside the gate
and knights whose pennons snag the branches of the trees
where hunched-backs on fold-up chairs
crouching ill at ease

pawns not up for yet another fight
dispersed to benches
in the fading winter light

poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Hell In A Handbag

You have everything planned
and you are all set to go,
then something unexpected happens
and everything you planned
goes to hell in a handbag.

You can guarantee
that all best laid plans
will hit a snag somewhere
and when it does, everything
goes to hell in a handbag.

Planning in the outdoors,
you have to rely on the weather.
A sunny day is preferred,
but just let the rain set in
and it all goes to hell in a handbag.

8 March 2011

poem by David Harris
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He is Everywhere

He goes out of the school for a quick fag
and comes back to the class to tell a gag.
His tail around the powers he doesn't wag
and to snag the awards he carries no bag.

The officers often choose the weak to nag
but about his talents his students would brag.
Dares to scare him even an immoral hag
for the average results by this poor dag.

Some vandals too question him and rag,
into the mire, him they try to drag.
To fight for the good pay, he doesn't lag.
He welcomes the learned, his teaching to slag.

Seeking solace to mind, he sits calm on a crag.
But in the classroom, he is always a wag.

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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ONE THING...by Talile Ali

I THOUGHT I WAS IN LOVE
WITH A FRIEND OF MINE
SHE HAS SO MANY QUALITIES
THAT I THOUGHT WERE FINE

BUT THERE WAS JUST THIS ONE THING
I COULD NOT COMPREHEND
HOW SHE'D FALL IN THE ARMS
OF THE STUPIDEST OF MEN

I KID YOU NOT, BUDDY
SOME REAL DUNCES, THAT'S A FACT
TREAT HER JUST LIKE REAL DIRT
SHE KEEP'S COMING BACK

I HAD THOUGHT 'SHE AIN'T NO DUMMY'
THAT'S WHY THIS STUFF'S INSANE
SHE EVEN FEEDS THE SNAG-A-TOOTH HALF-WIT
AND POT AND BOOZE FOR HIS WANG

DOESN'T REALLY MATTER
SO LONG AS THEY ARE DUMB?
WITNESSING THIS NIGHTMARE
ONLY HAS ME GOING NUMB

I PRAY ONE THAT ONE DAY
SHE SEE'S HOW SHE'S BEEN WELL PLAYED
HOW SHE'S BEEN SO UNDONE
IN THIS QUEST FOR BEING LAID

PLEASE,
LITTLE BROTHERS,
I CAN SEE,
THAT MY POINT HAS BEEN MADE

poem by Talile Ali
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Alunan 4

To a Poet Caught in the Will of the Sea

... tell nothing
in the flush of your fear
speak no word that the sea may hear

trust to it no name call no one
enemy or friend utter not one sigh
to snag on a reef

or curl round the coral keep
furl song in your throat tales of fire
laughter and ice cram in your

brimful eyes confess nothing
in the crest of your fear
lock up your tongue

that when it chill fingers
reach deep to pluck out your heart
make no sound not one prayer

vault your voice
telling the wind nothing nothing
to the very end nothing...

posted by merlie alunan @ 12: 42 AM

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Coke and Ana Cristina

Red and White
Red and Whire
Coca-Cola what a beautiful sight
White and red
White and red
With out my Coke i'd rather be dead
In a bottle or in a can
For a Coke i'd rather stand
Some say it kills the inside
others say the out
BUT I SAY in or out i'd rather die happy with out a doubt
Coke and Ana what a lovely pair
If you snag her Coke you had Better Beware
Ana and Coke what a lovely match
Ana's nice but Coke's the real catch
Ana with her Coke will not Pout
If you ask her why she will Shout
Cause I LOVE COCA_COLA TILL THE DAY I DIE
AND I LOVE IT MORE THAN SUN, EARTH, OR SKY!
the threat she left me with this summer was:
If they try to take my Coke away
I will snatch it back and say
I got reflexes like a cat
Ree-awr

poem by Katharine Angelina Matias
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Take A Bow!

When you're feeling way above 'par',
And your golf ball is travelling far,
With a 'birdie' to give you a start,
Golfing is an art.

When an 'eagle' soars high in the sky,
As within a deep 'bunker' you try,
To extricate neatly your ball,
Golfing is the call.

When your 'club' just doesn't impel
Your first 'shot' to go very well,
You can't always 'iron' out the fault,
Golfing is difficult.

Now the 'swing' that keeps the ball rolling,
Will need some careful controlling, .
But then down the 'fairway' it flies,
Golfing is exercise.

When you 'angle' your ball at the 'flag',
And you suddenly encounter a snag,
Once the ball goes straight in the 'hole',
Golfing is your goal.

If you're 'putting' well, out on the green,
And your 'stroke' is one worth being seen,
Then go on my friend, take a bow,
Golfing is a WOW!

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Grand-Père

And so when he reached my bed
The General made a stand:
"My brave young fellow," he said,
"I would shake your hand."

So I lifted my arm, the right,
With never a hand at all;
Only a stump, a sight
Fit to appal.

"Well, well. Now that's too bad!
That's sorrowful luck," he said;
"But there! You give me, my lad,
The left instead."

So from under the blanket's rim
I raised and showed him the other,
A snag as ugly and grim
As its ugly brother.

He looked at each jagged wrist;
He looked, but he did not speak;
And then he bent down and kissed
Me on either cheek.

You wonder now I don't mind
I hadn't a hand to offer. . . .
They tell me (you know I'm blind)
'Twas Grand-Père Joffre.

poem by Robert William Service
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The Sheets

We used to meet
on this corner
in the same wind.
It fought us up the hill
to your house,
blew us in the door.
The elevator rose
on guests of stale air
fed on ancient dinners.
Your room smelled
of roach spray and roses.

In those days
we went to bed with Marvell.
The wind ruffled sheets and pages,
spoke to us through walls.
For hours I used to lie
with my ear to your bare chest,
listening for the sea.

Now the wind is tearing
the building down.
The sheets are rising.

They billow through the air like sails.

White with your semen
holding invisible prints
of the people we were,
the people we might have been,
they said across the country
disguised as clouds.

Momentarily they snag
on the Rocky Mountains,
then rise
shredded into streamers.

Now they are bannering westward
over California
where your existence
is rumored.

poem by Erica Jong
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Gaia’s Plan

Please, don’t sweep the leaves away –
Their essence gives to life’s decay.

Never hack the flowers down –
Their colours bless the laughing clown.

Now why the mowing of the lawn?
The severed grass will lie forlorn.

Let our flora live undressed,
Or under Man, will toil repressed!

I, the tree of standing still –
Erect and proud, and stout of will,
Aglow with motley bark of earth –
Advance my roots for all they’re worth,
Internalising Nature’s bowels
To snag the devil, tweak his jowls
And pull his hairs from whence they grow!
I’ll destroy his pagan show
Of Homo sapiens’ disrespect!

The humble ape must reconnect
With Gaia’s plan!

nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature
nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature
nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature
nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature
nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Salesman

My lords and ladies, knights and squires,
Tonight shall see ye bask in fires
That do not light until the day
Has passed and is gone on its way
Then are heralded by choirs.

These fires seen but unknown are
Far from here, so very far,
So you would know from distant view
What you're seeing, have some clue,
But not when on that star.

A star! My dears, I speak not lies
(Well, I do, my conscience cries)
When I say you'll sit tonight
Upon a star thanks now to flight
That puts us in the skies.

Human flight! We need not wings
To soar among aerial things.
A backing band shall we provide
And singer too shall be supplied
To treat you well as kings.

As kings! Again my words speak large
So shall we now discuss the charge?
No? I'll leave it to surprise,
Amaze the mind, Widen the eyes
Upon our floating barge.

So sign up quick to snag a seat
Where dreams and imagination meet.
I'm sure you know we'll take you there
Past asteroid belt, past solar flare,
With a price that none can beat.

poem by Liam O'Brien
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One of a kind

My D.N.A’s in disarray
Genetically I am quite mad,
I just found out the other day
I never had a proper dad.

They hatched me on a petri dish.
From bits of that and bits of this
and kept it warm to incubate
How I turned out was left to fate

I finished up a vertebrate
but I will never find a mate.
In all the world I am unique
I shall not live to be antique.

I’m six feet tall and three feet broad
and I blow bubbles when I’m bored.
From both my ears I swear it’s true
Now that is something you can’t do.

My greatest hero’s Frankenstein
who was the first to recombine
Assorted parts into a whole
that could compose a barcarole.

The promised me before I die
go to that great Lab in the sky
They’ll do their best to raise a clone
so I wont feel quite so alone.

There is one snag, their plan will fail
for any clone would be a male.
I won’t be happy I am not gay
a male won’t chase my blues away.

I think I’d rather be alone
when all is said and all is done
I have no wish to procreate
a family without a mate.

For single parents life is hard
a lot of work with small reward
I’ll concentrate on breeding fish
I WILL NOT wed a petri dish.

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I'M WASTIN MY TIME...by talile ali

HERE I AM IN SUCH A MESS
HAVING EMOTIONS I CAN'T ADDRESS
LOVIN A WOMAN WHO'S SO CONFUSED
RUIN FOR DISASTER, BORN TO LOSE

EVERY DAY DISS HER OLD MAN
TALK BOUT THE LOVIN FROM SOME STRANGER'S HAND
GUESS SHE'S DOING THE BEST THAT SHE CAN
RULIN' IN HELL AGAIN

LOSSIN ALL MY MARBLES, NEED TO GO
NEVER'LL KNOW HER LOVIN, THIS I KNOW
SHE WONT BE THE WOMAN I CAN SHARE
ALL LIFE HAS TO OFFER AND TO SPARE

I'M WASTIN MY TIME ON YOU
I'M BEING A DRESSED UP FOOL
SHE SAY'S SHE LIKES OTHER MEN
AS IF THOSE WORDS DON'T OFFEND

THEN I THINK ABOUT ASSHOLE LOU
YOU KNOW THE GUY WITH THE KNIFE, FIVE FOOT TWO
SMOKIN CRACK AND HANGIN OUT WITH GHOULS
BEAT WITHIN AN INCH OF HIS LIFE, LOST FOOL

SHE WOULD RATHER DO THIS SNAG-A-TOOTH FREAK
CAUSE HE TWEEKS HER ONCE GOOD A WEEK
SAY'S IT'S JUST ABOUT THE SEX, THAT BLOW'S
SHE'S JUST A DOIN-SUBURB MAN HOE

WANTIN TO BE WHATCAN NEVER BE
FROM PLUSH SUBURBS OF HER DREAMS, SHE'S FREE
SOMEONE'S TWISTED REALITY
PLAYIN' TRICKS ON BOTH YOU AND ME

SOMEONE WHO'S WELL LIKED AT HOME
ONE WHO'S NOT EVER LEFT ALONE
DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO NOT BE BONED
GONNA GET LAID BY SOMEONE UNKNOWN

OH THIS TRAGIC INSANITY
BECAUSE IT IS SO TRUE I'M DYING YOU SEE
IN LOVE WITH A WOMAN WHO DOESN'T BELIEVE
IN A WORLD THAT'S NOT HER BEING SLEEZE

IT'S A TWISTED REALITY
AND I'M WASTIN MY TIME TO BE FREE
OF WHAT'S MESSED UP BETWEEN YOU AND ME
IN THAT TWISTED REALITY

poem by Talile Ali
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Delusion Of One

Born: Year of the Dragon.
Horoscope: 'Today's the lucky day.'

Luck, you say? O.K. Once. In a small town
on a snowy road, the scenery spinning round.
When it stopped you were pointing toward a good
place - Home. The message: Go back.
You can decide again to begin again
or stay warm there: Wombtown, population: 1.
No Lions Club or local Jaycees.
No chocolate bars and brooms for the blind.
Free room and board. It's kick and dream,
kick and dream and cleanliness more efficient
than a space suit. Talk about luck?

You're here aren't you? Don't say good or bad.
It's no accident the year's the Dragon's.
Chinese or no, the year has a tail long as a river.
Peel the scales behind the ears
you'll still roar for pain o roaring boy
spinning in the world, the recurring dream
of vortices whirling pink and red, a large
mouth with teeth spitting you into
an even muddier river. You'd fish it
if you could. More likely you'd dam it
at the source. The occasional catch is
more likely snag in undertow.

It's undertow that matters.
The real power's there.
Ask the undertow, you'll get answers.
Don't say need. The bottom's filled
with old cars, tin cans, bad seed.
All you'll ever want. Get lucky.

This is the day. The glass on the window's
steamed. Outside's a blur. What's that gone by
spinning with rustling wings, roaring like wind,
glint of mirrors hurling down? You'd swear
there was a splash. Something's pointing,

Go back.

poem by Warren Falcon
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Delusion of One, A Lunar New Year Reprise

Born: Year of the Dragon.
Horoscope: 'Today's the lucky day.'

It's undertow that matters.
The real power's there.
Ask the undertow, you'll get answers.
Don't say need. The bottom's filled
with old cars, tin cans, bad seed.
All you'll ever want. Get lucky.

Go back.

poem by Warren Falcon
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A Sonnet Upon The Pitiful Burning Of The Globe Playhouse In

Now sit thee down, Melpomene,
Wrapp'd in a sea-coal robe,
And tell the doleful tragedy
That late was play'd at Globe;
For no man that can sing and say
But was scar'd on St. Peter's Day.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

All you that please to understand,
Come listen to my story,
To see Death with his raking brand
'Mongst such an auditory;
Regarding neither Cardinal's might,
Nor yet the rugged face of Henry the Eight.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

This fearful fire began above,
A wonder strange and true,
And to the stage-house did remove,
As round as tailor's clew;
And burnt down both beam and snag,
And did not spare the silken flag.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

Out run the knights, out run the lords,
And there was great ado;
Some lost their hats and some their swords,
Then out run Burbage too;
The reprobates, though drunk on Monday,
Prayed for the fool and Henry Condye.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

The periwigs and drum-heads fry,
Like to a butter firkin;
A woeful burning did betide
To many a good buff jerkin.
Then with swoll'n eyes, like drunken Flemings,
Distressed stood old stuttering Hemings.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

...
Be warned, you stage strutters all,
Lest you again be catched,
And such a burning do befall
As to them whose house was thatched;
Forbear your whoring, breeding biles,
And lay up that expense for tiles.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

Go draw you a petition,
And do you not abhor it,
And get, with low submission,
A license to beg for it
In churches, sans churchwardens' checks,
In Surrey and in Middlesex.
Oh sorrow, pitiful sorrow, and yet all this is true.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Utter Importance Of Eating Cheetos

One day I just woke up
Just knew things were different, as I drank my cup
Of water, it was sweet, it tasted different
I really felt, that something had been sent
My way
Some joy, some kind of peace, no it wasn't those
It wasn't my clothes
It was... sweeter... it was, freedom, yes freedom I say

Today, that day, would include possibly one of the most important
Moments of my entire life
Although my day was rife
With the mundane and the normal, my freedom was heaven-sent
So I did something I didn't think I could ever do
I did something that I never knew
Could ever be so important, so sweet... so free

I opened up the pantry
I found exactly was I was looking for
I poured myself a plate of cheetos... and then some more
But I didn't realize the importance of what was about to happen
The kind of occurrence where you're amazed and just say amen
I reached over to eat a cheeto
But then I thought you know....
I don't want my hands to get dirty
Hmmmm well let's see
I've seen people do a lot of things, like use a bag
Put them in a cup, but then I thought of something totally unique
This idea definitely did pique
My interest and it would get me out of my snag
I decided I would do something I thought I'd never do
Something really weird too
I grabbed a spoon and used that to eat each cheeto
But who could ever know
The utterly significant beauty of this one moment

To me I had for once, done something that made me, me
I did something unique, because I wanted to... finally
I was starting to feel like I had an identity
I had hated myself for so long, anything that made me, me
I refused to see
It was repulsive because it was... it was..., well it was me

But today with sweetness and freedom
I ate my cheetos and it was bomb!
I ate them with a spoon, and now that's part of my identity
I felt like I was me, I'm... I'm me

But I felt one other thing that I also did not expect
In this very deep moment, there was some other feeling I did detect
As I used my spoon and looked behind me
Just to see
If anyone else could see me
I had this very strange feeling besides my freedom and sweetness

I wonder if I could describe it for you hmmmmm
I guess I felt kinda like... I felt kinda like, O that's it!

I felt like a dork

poem by David Knox
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A New Girl Up At White’s

THERE’S a fresh track down the paddock
Through the lightwoods to the creek,
And I notice Billy Craddock
And Maloney do not speak,
And The Snag is slyly bitter
When he’s criticising Bill,
And there’s quite a foreign glitter
On the fellows at the mill.

Sid M‘Mahon’s turned out a dandy
With a masher coat and tie,
And the engine-driver, Sandy,
Curls his whiskers on the sly:
All the boys wear paper collars
And their tombstone shirts of nights,
So it’s ten to one in dollars
There’s a new girl up at White’s.

She’s a charmer from the river,
But she steeps the lads in gloom,
With her blue eyes all a-quiver
And her hair like wattle-bloom;
Though she’s pretty and beguiling,
And so lit up, like, with fun
That the flowers turn to her smiling,
Just as if she was the sun.

But I wish she’d leave the valley,
For the camp is dull to me,
Now the mill hands never rally
For the regulation spree,
And there’s not another joker
Gives a tinker’s curse for nap.,
Or will take a hand at poker
Or at euchre with a chap!

Tom won’t stir us with his fiddle
By the boilers as he did
While Bob stepped it in the middle,
And we passed the billy-lid.
Ah! we had some gay old nights there,
But the boys now don’t agree,
And they hang about at White’s there,
When they’ve togged up after tea.

With the gloves we have no battle;
Now they sneak away and moon
Round with White, discussing cattle
All the Sunday afternoon.
There’s a want of old uprightness,
Too, has come upon the push,
And a sort of cold politeness
That’s not called for in the bush.

They’re all off, too, in that quarter;
Kate goes sev’ral times a week
Seeing Andy Kelly’s daughter,
Jimmy’s sister, up the creek;
And this difference seems a pity,
Since their chances are so slim—
While they are running after Kitty,
She is running after Jim.

poem by Edward George Dyson
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Dont Lets Talk About Lisa

(don henry/benmont tench)
Dont lets talk about lisa
Dont lets even start
Lets leave lisa out of this one
Lisa broke my heart
Gwendolyn was splendid, but her tendency to spending
Spun a little out of control
Two nights on the town and
My poor bank account was crawling around on the floor
And pretty young alicia, she could take a piece of your heart
And lead you to the light
Lucy, melinda, loretta and lucinda
We could go on all night but
Dont lets talk about lisa
Dont lets even start
Lets leave lisa out of this one
Lisa broke my heart
Priscilla was a killer, meaner than godzilla
But oh what a pretty girl and
Dawn in the dawn with her pom-poms on
She could twirl like a tilt-a-whirl
Theres wonderful women all over the world
Ive said it again and again
But she whose name must not be spoken
Has it all over all of them so
Dont lets talk about lisa
Dont lets even start
Lets leave lisa out of this one
Lisa broke my heart
You can talk about the weather
Cotton or leather
And do you think the beatles
Shoulda really gotten back together
Talk about the truth
Mantle or ruth
Fabio, dimaggio or john wilkes boothe
Dont lets talk about lisa
Dont lets even start no, no
Dont lets talk about lisa please sir
Lisa broke my heart
Oh lisa shes off limits man
Lisa broke my heart
You can talk about hanson, marilyn manson
And do you think theyll ever have a show down in branson
Talk about desire, sosa or mcgwire
And is we in the fryin pan or is we in the fire
Talk about whats real and what you really feel
And hows about those mini skirts on ally mcbeal
Talk about the x-files, macaroons and mistrails
And did you ever snag your jacket pocket on a turnstyle

song performed by by Lonestar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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