Mrs Snorer
Mrs Snorer
Went to School
Fell asleep in the classroom
Her teacher woke her up with a
Broom, broom, broom
As she snored, snored, snored
Mrs Snorer
snores like a
Horse, horse, horse
She took a ride on the
Bus, bus, bus
and missed the last stop
As she snored, snored, snored
Mrs Snorer
Went to bed
Lay down her big head
Turned her body round
And shook the whole house
Down, down, down
As she snored, snored, snored
Mr Snorer
Snored at home
With each snore
They had to shut
All the windows and the doors
As she snored, snored, snored
Mrs Snorer was a
Bore, bore, bore
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Related quotes
The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored.
quote by Elizabeth Bishop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fugitives
The fugitives remained absent,
They eagerly committed sins
Too profound and logical,
Too many early flowers.
Then they reached heights
Of murder and theft,
On their pillows they snored
And met the surgeon.
Unheedingly the snow of confinement
Enslaved the reminded ones,
The fugitives leapt into the fires,
With a handful of golden crocuses.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sonnet: A ‘King’ for Now
They chose a ‘king’ to rule their land for now–
A corrupt choice but forced by situation;
He rules the place ‘blind, deaf and mute’ somehow,
Deserving well, some congratulation.
The land has gone to dogs and appears worse–
The welfare of its subjects much ignored;
‘The land is now a mule and not a horse! ’
As ministers had slumbered well and snored.
Some future ‘heirs’ seem chosen already;
The common man is poorer than ever;
Land’s corruption is its own enemy;
Its bosses short-sighted are not clever.
The land though fertile raises not a crop,
As farmers get loan–waiver as a sop!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-29-2008
poem by John Celes
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The Huntsmen
Three jolly gentlemen,
In coats of red,
Rode their horses
Up to bed.
Three jolly gentlemen
Snored till morn,
Their horses champing
The golden corn.
Three jolly gentlemen
At break of day,
Came clitter-clatter down the stairs
And galloped away.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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As human
You are humble
When perfectly noble
Think of no ill will
And certainly never want to kill
You are honest
Only when you perform best
Serve the people
Take them out of trouble
You are adored
When fully awake and not snored
You are sensitive and alive
Committed fully for others to relive
You become impatient
When fail to be resilient
It is most needed
For advise to be heeded
What makes man perfect?
When he truly acts
Not unduly reacts
And believes on facts
No to any greed
Limited to only need
Such is symbol of great man
To be called individual as human
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Last Words of My English Grandmother
There were some dirty plates
and a glass of milk
beside her on a small table
near the rank, disheveled bed--
Wrinkled and nearly blind
she lay and snored
rousing with anger in her tones
to cry for food,
Gimme something to eat--
They're starving me--
I'm all right--I won't go
to the hospital.No, no, no
Give me something to eat!
Let me take you
to the hospital, I said
and after you are well
you can do as you please.
She smiled, Yes
you do what you please first
then I can do what I please--
Oh, oh, oh! she cried
as the ambulance men lifted
her to the stretcher--
Is this what you call
making me comfortable?
By now her mind was clear--
Oh you think you're smart
you young people,
she said, but I'll tell you
you don't know anything.
Then we started.
On the way
we passed a long row
of elms. She looked at them
awhile out of
the ambulance window and said,
What are all those
fuzzy looking things out there?
Trees?Well, I'm tired
of them and rolled her head away.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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The Patient's Sweater
A life of its own and a long one is led
By this penguin, with nothing to do with the breast-
The wingless pullover, the patient's old vest;
Now pass it some warmth, move the lamp to the bed.
It dreams of the skiing; in darkness it poured
From shaftbows, from harness, from bodies; it seemed
That Christmas itself also sweated and snored;
The walking, the riding-all squeaked and all steamed.
A homestead, and horror and bareness beside,
Cut-glass in the sideboards, and carpets and chests;
The house was inflamed; this attracted the fence;
The lights swam in pleurisy, seen from outside.
Consumed by the sky, bloated shrubs on the way
Were white as a scare and had ice in their looks.
The blaze from the kitchen laid down by the sleigh
On the snow the enormous hands of the cooks.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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A Ballade of an Anti-puritan
They spoke of Progress spiring round,
Of light and Mrs Humphrey Ward -
It is not true to say I frowned,
Or ran about the room and roared;
I might have simply sat and snored -
I rose politely in the club
And said, 'I feel a little bored;
Will someone take me to a pub?'
The new world's wisest did surround
Me; and it pains me to record
I did not think their views profound,
Or their conclusions well assured;
The simple life I can't afford,
Besides, I do not like the grub -
I want a mash and sausage, 'scored' -
Will someone take me to a pub?
I know where Men can still be found,
Anger and clamorous accord,
And virtues growing from the ground,
And fellowship of beer and board,
And song, that is a sturdy cord,
And hope, that is a hardy shrub,
And goodness, that is God's last word -
Will someone take me to a pub?
Envoi
Prince, Bayard would have smashed his sword
To see the sort of knights you dub -
Is that the last of them - O Lord
Will someone take me to a pub?
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Stars were racing
Stars were racing; waves were washing headlands.
Salt went blind, and tears were slowly drying.
Darkened were the bedrooms; thoughts were racing,
And the Sphinx was listening to the desert.
Candles swam. It seemed that the Colossus'
Blood grew cold; upon his lips was spreading
The blue shadow smile of the Sahara.
With the turning tide the night was waning.
Sea-breeze from Morocco touched the water.
Simooms blew. In snowdrifts snored Archangel.
Candles swam; the rough draft of 'The Prophet'
Slowly dried, and dawn broke on the Ganges.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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A Ballade of an Anti-puritan
They spoke of Progress spiring round,
Of light and Mrs Humphrey Ward-
It is not true to say I frowned,
Or ran about the room and roared;
I might have simply sat and snored-
I rose politely in the club
And said, `I feel a little bored;
Will someone take me to a pub?'
The new world's wisest did surround
Me; and it pains me to record
I did not think their views profound,
Or their conclusions well assured;
The simple life I can't afford,
Besides, I do not like the grub-
I want a mash and sausage, `scored'-
Will someone take me to a pub?
I know where Men can still be found,
Anger and clamorous accord,
And virtues growing from the ground,
And fellowship of beer and board,
And song, that is a sturdy cord,
And hope, that is a hardy shrub,
And goodness, that is God's last word-
Will someone take me to a pub?
Envoi
Prince, Bayard would have smashed his sword
To see the sort of knights you dub-
Is that the last of them-O Lord
Will someone take me to a pub?
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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The Ballad of the Anti-Puritan
They spoke of Progress spiring round,
Of light and Mrs Humphrey Ward--
It is not true to say I frowned,
Or ran about the room and roared;
I might have simply sat and snored--
I rose politely in the club
And said, `I feel a little bored;
Will someone take me to a pub?'
The new world's wisest did surround
Me; and it pains me to record
I did not think their views profound,
Or their conclusions well assured;
The simple life I can't afford,
Besides, I do not like the grub--
I want a mash and sausage, `scored'--
Will someone take me to a pub?
I know where Men can still be found,
Anger and clamorous accord,
And virtues growing from the ground,
And fellowship of beer and board,
And song, that is a sturdy cord,
And hope, that is a hardy shrub,
And goodness, that is God's last word--
Will someone take me to a pub?
Envoi
Prince, Bayard would have smashed his sword
To see the sort of knights you dub--
Is that the last of them--O Lord
Will someone take me to a pub?
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Travel With Bambi
Travel with Bambi
I was going to Seville, it’s not far an hour`s drive- I live
in the south of Portugal- had no one to look after my dog
she came along too. It was winter she sat inside the car
resting when I walked into galleries looking at paintings
visiting churches, yet keenly aware of her left in the car.
Guiltily bought a roasted chicken with chips, she ate it all
but what she really wanted was to go for a long walk.
Walked we did through roads no one knew existed, empty
houses broken down walls what history they held; the dog
was quiet but her little tail wagged.
We saw rats, cats and stray dogs which she quickly put
in their places; finely she was tired, I had lost my way let
her lead the way back to the car, where she curled up in
the back and snored. It was late I was hungry but could
only find a grotty pizza parlour still open.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Our Cocker Spaniel
Her name was Agatha, Aggy for short,
More human than a dog, a real good sport,
A friend, a partner and companion too,
Welcoming everyone both old and new.
Her tail would wag a thousand times a day,
Greeting each person met along the way,
So excited by each days events,
Full of energy and using every sense.
She lived, so very happy and content,
Enjoying 'home' and 'shop' life, free from rent,
Dried apricots, her one great loved reward,
But when asleep, 'my goodness' how she snored.
She reached the ripe old age of 12 years plus,
And even at the end there was no fuss,
She drifted very peacefully to sleep,
Of her, we have such memories to keep.
To us, she was a very loved canine,
A superhuman, Oh, so very fine,
We'll miss her so, she filled each day with pleasure,
With happiness and love beyond all measure.
So farewell, Aggy, Agatha in full,
There'll be no more pats or floppy ears to pull,
Old friend, old pal, old partner, you'll remain,
Within our hearts, until we meet again.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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She
I wish to put a discordant note
It may not find the favorable node
Yet it is fact and can't be ignored
You may dream nicely but not allowed to be snored
No one can be on fire with creation
It is special bond with relation
Some of the women may only be lucky
Rest of them are still can be called unlucky
She is not as free as has been imagined
Lots of things are compromised and bargained
Where is she today with freedom in all spheres of life?
No safe passage, attack on modesty, and torture as wife?
Something more is needed to cheer up
Lots of awakening with active participation must be geared up
Then one may see the bright future at the tend of tunnel
There are various ways and means for females
Of course participation from all walks of life is must
Mutual respect and confidence along with the trust
I shall go by the respect alone shown to the women
They may be able to care by themselves from the men
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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I Wish To Put A Discordant Note It May Not Find The Favorable Node Yet It Is Fact And Can't Be Ignored You May Dream Nicely But Not Allowed To Be Snored No One Can Be On Fire With
I wish to put a discordant note
It may not find the favorable node
Yet it is fact and can't be ignored
You may dream nicely but not allowed to be snored
No one can be on fire with creation
It is special bond with relation
Some of the women may only be lucky
Rest of them are still can be called unlucky
She is not as free as has been imagined
Lots of things are compromised and bargained
Where is she today with freedom in all spheres of life?
No safe passage, attack on modesty, and torture as wife?
Something more is needed to cheer up
Lots of awakening with active participation must be geared up
Then one may see the bright future at the tend of tunnel
There are various ways and means for females
Of course participation from all walks of life is must
Mutual respect and confidence along with the trust
I shall go by the respect alone shown to the women
They may be able to care by themselves from the men
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When we were small children
When we were small children
about five and four
my dad had died
of cancer
and I and my brother
had to stay during the day
with the Von Hörsten’s
when my mother drove away to work.
Uncle Hendrik was a farmer,
but also with his brother Fritz
wrote story books
and his string of children
who was much older
and bigger than us
(four boys and two girls)
kept us busy
since boys had to stay out of the house.
So it went that we
rode horses unsaddled,
tread on silage
and the second oldest Gardiël
was always on our case,
had put us on donkeys
and the lot of them laughed
while the animals run moody
into rocks
and my brother fell
and got some bruises and cuts.
One day the cornfield
was cut stubble high
to get feed for the cattle
and the breeding bull Kittennel
(a black and malicious animal)
were chased into the crush-pen
and Gardiël forced us on that bull
before he chased it
with a horse
into the cornfield.
On the other side of the field
beyond the border wire
his brothers waved a red flag
up and down and up and down
and Kittennel snored though his nose,
in anger shook his body,
kicked up dust
before he got direction
capering
and storming with full force
at the red flag.
The stubbles flashed
past his feet
and looked like spears
standing upright
and we were afraid
of being pierced
and we rode Kittennel
and no bull
could throw us down that day.
[Reference: The word uncle used here out of respect and local custom and not to point out family relationship.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Heart's Day
we went on a picnic to the beach
with samsam, a local dog,
pret, my poodle, kuting, my japanese spitz,
bonbon, our dachshund
emma, my wife brought her favorite househelp named tatang,
marinel and gina, her friends cooked the potatoes
and prepared the sushi
jasmine rice that looked like tiny pearls
and pork barbecue
pret, my loyal poodle went with me walking
while kuting and bonbon played on the grass
barking and chasing some teasing finches
the air is cool
the sun not so bright at ten a.m.
clouds hang like soaked cottons
the sea is crystal clear like a mirror
the corals are visible
with some stone fishes
emma snored while asleep
and tatang excused herself to take a view of the place
i took my plunge alone in that crystal sea: splash!
it is a beautiful life
and on this day of the hearts
i can hear mine singing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Valentine's Day at the Whistle Stop Cafe (for my Granddaughter)
Your Valentine, my Grandma said, will be one who loves you true
He'll cook and clean and wash your smalls and not forget the blue.
Adored you'll be, my angel child, from morning until noon
He'll tease and tickle and paddle you, with love and an ice cream spoon.
Your Valentine, my Grandma said, will always let you speak
When he returns from work he'll smile and not let forth a squeak.
Admired you'll be, my angel child; he'll breakfast you in bed
Then after all the paddling's done, he'll stroke your pretty head.
Later........
My Valentine, Oh Granny dear - he said he loved me true
He never cooked and never cleaned nor thought about the blue
He snored, he did, Oh Granny dear - from morning until noon
Then had me bake a creme brulee whilst he licked the ice cream spoon.
My Valentine, Oh Granny dear - he never let me speak
He took me then he left me then he took me more each week.
He burped non stop, Oh Granny dear, and made noises in the bed
But still I love my Valentine, even now - without his head!
poem by Margaret Kollmer
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A Prodigal
The brown enormous odor he lived by
was too close, with its breathing and thick hair,
for him to judge. The floor was rotten; the sty
was plastered halfway up with glass-smooth dung.
Light-lashed, self-righteous, above moving snouts,
the pigs' eyes followed him, a cheerful stare--
even to the sow that always ate her young--
till, sickening, he leaned to scratch her head.
But sometimes mornings after drinking bouts
(he hid the pints behind the two-by-fours),
the sunrise glazed the barnyard mud with red
the burning puddles seemed to reassure.
And then he thought he almost might endure
his exile yet another year or more.
But evenings the first star came to warn.
The farmer whom he worked for came at dark
to shut the cows and horses in the barn
beneath their overhanging clouds of hay,
with pitchforks, faint forked lightnings, catching light,
safe and companionable as in the Ark.
The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored.
The lantern--like the sun, going away--
laid on the mud a pacing aureole.
Carrying a bucket along a slimy board,
he felt the bats' uncertain staggering flight,
his shuddering insights, beyond his control,
touching him. But it took him a long time
finally to make up his mind to go home.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Unwritten Christmas (feat. Sum 41)
(Unwritten Law]
Remember when, I was ten,
lookin forward to Christmas again,
everything, I enjoy,
like the family Christmas tree and the toys,
and Id wake up early morning
while mom and dad still snored in bed,
so I crept, down the steps,
couldnt wait to see what Santa had left now
[Chorus]
I could not wait for Christmas day,
wait for Christmas day now
[Unwritten Law]
Don't want to wait, gettin late,
march up stairs to give my parents a shake,
get out of bed, sleepy heads,
Christmas doesn't start till you are awake,
as we gather around the tree
I open everything they gave to me,
so I stay, end up late,
why cant it be Christmas everyday now
[Chorus]
I could not wait for Christmas day,
wait for Christmas day now,
but I, but I, will have to wait for Christmas,
I will hafta wait for Christmas,
I will always wait for Christmas day
[Sum 41]
Now wake up Christmas morning, guess what I saw,
it's Unwritten Law and Sum 41 rock it raw,
with the message for kids sayin they should be nice
not naughty cuz, Santa knows karate, he's on the cross Vader,
hip hop hoorayder , got wade on the beats,
like AC Slater, if you good like Wally,
or bad like the Beev, only Santa know the score
come Christmas eve
[Chorus]submitting the lyrics.
Unwritten Law - Unwritten Christmas (
But I, but I will have to wait for Christmas,
I will have to wait for Christmas,
I will always wait for Christmas
day now yeah, I could not wait for Christmas day
song performed by by Unwritten Law
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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