Mr. Slithers
Lying quietly by the fire
Mr. Slithers showed no care
Warm and cosy was he
With no concerns about eternity.
Once he had made a big mistake when
He emerged too early from his den
And lay out on the warm tamarack
Straight as an arrow was his back.
The suns heat was enough to cause
Him to sleep and forget Nature's laws.
For when the sun went down
So did his temperature without a sound.
And there he lay
Till next day
When Ben happened by
And found Mr. Slithers in death's grip nigh.
Picking him up by his tail
Ben deposited him in the pail
That he used to take trash outside
This time he had something of value to bring inside.
For Mr. Slithers was well known
As a black snake that would be just at home
Living in a warm house all his days
Crawling about in snake-like ways.
As he warmed and slowly moved about there
He began to wonder what food was here.
And he discovered that Ben had provided
(But not to his intention it should be noted.)
A bountiful supply of mice and rats
Who live here with Ben and his dog and cats.
So Mr. Slithers took on the task
That would ensure the rodents would see their last
And he helped to rid the house then and there
Of those interlopers that did dare
To invade the house on the country lane
Where Ben lived in comfort, though quite plain.
Of course ridding the house of these pest
Would seem to mean that future meals would be less
But Nature provides an endless supply
Of rodents that come in from outside on the sly.
So Mr. Slithers was assured that his next meal
Was going to be there from the cotton field.
But Mr. Slithers had another
Job which he was expected to shoulder.
For you see Ben's house was without
Locks on the doors to keep intruders out.
So he was expected to provide
Security against those who tried
To steal into Ben's home and take away
Things that Ben saved for another day.
Soon it became known country wide
That within the house a snake was known to hide
And that was quite enough to ensure
That no one entered who had thoughts impure.
(At least when Ben and his dog were away.)
So if you should happen to see
A large black snake merrily
Racing across the yard,
Perhaps its Mr. Slithers on guard.
Or one of his offspring
Who reappear with spring.
poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Crane And The Snake
The crane spreads its wings
while the snake coils to strike
both have great agility
and flamboyance when they fight
The crane hops, the the snake slithers
they sleep at night, near soft flowing rivers
For days the crane plays
bopping its head
swaying it many ways
before standing on one leg
All white
and inocently pure
the snake sees this dance
as an enticing lure
The snake slithers nearer
to have a better view
all this is happening
under a morning mist and dew
But the cranes alert
she knows whats there
peeking out from the bush
under this damp air
The snake gets closer
close enough to strike
the crane blocks with his wing
and postures for a fight
But the snake backs of
smiling at the crane
while the crane stands on that one leg
smiling back just the same.
Charlie Vergara
06.14.2011
31147
poem by White Tiger
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The Cause of Enmity between Snake and Man
Snake, the first owner of fire.
Dog, the robber of fire.
Man the last owner of fire.
The snake gave birth first to fire.
Thus fire, the first born of snake.
Thus snake, only owner of fire long ago.
One cold evening
The man dying of coldness
The dog seen it master dying of coldness
It went to snake house and begged
The snake, the mother of fire to let
It tail get warm of fire
The snake cordially welcomed the dog
The dog twisted it tail on fire
The tail caught the fire
The dog jumped over the snake in door
Ran quickly to it master, the man
The man took the grass and wood
And lit up the fire
The fire lit up in man’s house
And it extinguished in snake’s house
The snake come to get fire back
But the man attack the snake
The hostility between man and snake
Began then
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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SnAkE oN mY bAcK
snake on the ground slithers. The plains scream out in fear, it slides onto my back and forces out my red tears. into my thought i can now see how foolishly i used to be. I remember the snake on my back and how i remember i should have fought back. The trees dance in scilence the fire now devoures the plains, the snake told me to forget my name. I threw the snake off my back with no sound forcefully it lay dead by the ground. Now i can feel the snake beneath my feet.
poem by Ben Sparaco
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It (the serial killer) (Mirrored Refrain)
Deficient lunatic, life’s abhorrent bounder
Cowardly species each and all and every one
A dastard slithers throughout aphotic night
Preys upon the weak and fears the rising sun
Nor may it count itself as man or beast
A cad, a rogue a loathsome pitiful sight
Preys upon the weak and fears the rising sun
A dastard slithers throughout aphotic night
Selfish worth seeking immediate gratification
It’s helpless obsession, it’s worth a sad pun
A dastard slithers throughout aphotic night
Preys upon the weak and fears the rising sun
Loss redeeming nil, notwithstanding prayer
Convalesce forth and be exposed nigh light
Preys upon the weak and fears the rising sun
A dastard slithers throughout aphotic night
poem by William Cavanagh
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True Friends? ? ?
the snake slithers around
sneaky not to make a sound
slowly creeps upon his prey
attacks then runs away
beware of him he bites
and does it within his rights
he might be pretty to look at
but truly he's ugly lot
the snake will smother
even kill his own mother
snakes are full of greed
upon your soul he will feed
the snake is a self-adoring creature
humility is not a feature
snakes are everywhere
so beware.......
poem by Ultimate Cyan
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Incantation (1)
The Shadow is a Snake,
Living under the Sand,
And seared by the Sun.
The Sun burns the Sand,
The Snake slithers out,
And follows the Shadow.
The Sand absorbs the Sun,
The Snake bares its fangs,
Then it covers the Shadow.
The Shadow and the Snake,
The Sand and the desert Sun,
One for all, all for one.
poem by Elmer Romulo Valdez
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No Place Like Home
My friend's house is perfect,
they lead such perfect lives.
Curtains never out of place
and beds are made by 9.
The bathroom is in cream,
the toilet seat stays down.
There's tiny little ornaments
and soap balls all around.
My friend's house is perfect,
you dare not move a thing
for if you did they'd notice,
a tad embarrassing.
They dine at 6, no later
and then at half past eight
they have a cup of Earl Grey
and slithers of cream cake.
They talk of trivial matters,
the world evaporates.
Inside their house its perfect,
the world outside can wait.
That's why I run for cover,
right back here, alone.
It may not be quite perfect
but there's no place like home.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Bare Windows
I look at the world
Through bare windows,
And see it all --
Bright sunlight,
Deep shadows,
Birds in flight,
Bare dead trees,
Thick tangled vines
That whisper in the breeze.
Fox hunts the mouse.
Snake slithers by
Shedding his dry skin house.
I look at the world
Through bare windows,
And I love it all.
poem by M. Elizabeth Barrett Doyle
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1. The Real Snake Is Twisting In The Mouth
poor snake
life is equal so god says
but look at the snake
look at the snake..
it cant even walk
but slithers and always
at the lowest of place
and everywhere
the message is
it's evil, culprit of the Great Fall
everything the snake
lowly humbly takes
cane, blows and all
you can swing it, you can stretch it
you can bend it in any angle
because it's just a snake
there is a snake too
barely two inches long
yet it's the most pliable of them all
and that's the real one
where the first divine
curse should go
guarded all round
in a red glowing ruby palace
and gleaming pillars of enamel
the cunning and sly creature
in all smugness and warmth
could never get enough of the world
sweet, sour, bitter, salty, hot or cold
it could make satan of god
and god of satan and turn
the world upside down
without even having to leave home
effortless, treacherous as the Niagara Falls
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Snake
snakes, scaly, slippery, a cold lump morbidly crawling
through the dark tunnel of memory
some creatures are born cursed
they are spat, and trumpled on
so that the nerves slithered when i actually
came face to face with one at two or three
the black six inch long they called two headed thing
propped my interest further
you dont get to see one often
i could not remember whether it had ended up
under somebody's stick or a parang
but thanks to the snake it helped me
hold onto a figment otherwise
would have been lost on the tail of time
an inert lump resting on cold yellow soil
guilty heavy of heaven and earth
all ready to take the cold and
inhumane blows of the world
once in while a little one would surface
below the neighbour's house,
a short floral ribbon it looked like jewels
on undeserving hands, bothersome foul mud
the impatient neighbour never let it up
coming running with his parang
crashing or splitting it into two
wonder how such a small creature
can elicit such a anger in a big fat farmer
an eerie feel for them led me to
kill one with a stick and to this
day i am struck with the thought
of what karma i have to face
little wriggly creature that
would have done no harm
but then it is a snake
the road between two padi fields
become a killing field during the harvesting season
a dead chamber as little snakes
make their way to to the other side
for better pasture ending up under wheels
they lie each morning crushed, bruised
they become nothing but a charred
brittle piece of leather a few days later
some snakes are aphrodisiac
and I usually wonder whether these
can be Chinese medicine
to heal whatever ailment you
have such as impotence
one morning a flash flood brought
the fate of a little cobra under brother's bed,
the cat agitated had sounded the alarm
with her irritating meows
the cat we then called brother's saviour
we smelt things foul and like the feline came face to face with it
someone screamed cobra as its head had reared
and its neck spanned
the poor little lifeless rope then flew head and tail
through the air, into the flash flood
after it had gone under the stick
as is always with snake it slithers back
to my memory lane each time
somebody mentions snake
a lane of sweet sour sad feeling
of heaven and earth about snakes
of why God even bothers to create it
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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If I Ever Was a Snake
If I was a snake, my eyes would be green,
I would wander the land and look real mean.
If I was a snake, I'd know how to sting,
Despite all the trouble it would bring.
If I was a snake, I'd be red and gold,
I would slither and slather and eat my mice cold.
If I was a snake, I'd rattle my tail,
But I'd be polite and never go to jail.
If I was a snake, I'd slide on my tummy,
Hamsters and mice would be real yummy.
If I was a snake, I'd live on the ground,
Sleeping and snoring 'till I was found.
I would never learn how to rake,
If I ever was a snake.
poem by October Bradley
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The Black House On The Corner
I passed by that house everday,
wondering what lurked inside of it,
was their some kind of ancient evil inside,
or a normal family that we never saw,
a house of macarbe,
it was painted black like the devil's sin,
it was surrouned by devilish-looking,
figures that stood outside on the line,
was also surrounded by a black pointed fence,
rumors of the devil himself living there,
the devil in the flesh,
satan living on my street corner,
The black house on the corner,
can't you see it,
you must walk past it everyday to,
dosen't your mind wander,
when you walk by The black house,
don't you to know what lays inside of the house,
maybe a ton of dead bodies under the floor boards,
a madman butcherd up his family,
could that be true,
or are our young minds racing again,
with impure and insane thoughts about,
who or what lives in the black house on the corner,
the black house,
painted with the devil's sin,
We were told to stay away from the black house,
that so many evils lived inside of it,
but us being kids we didn't want to live,
we wanted to see what was inside of the black house on the corner,
But we are to afraid to go forward,
we are to afraid to step through the gate,
and walk up the beaten path to the door bell,
it looks so old and so evil,
The black house on the corner,
we shall never know what evilness,
or what macabre force resides within,
the black house on the corner,
whatever you do,
don't go into the black house on the corner,
stay away from,
the black house on the corner,
it holds so many evils,
the black house on the corner,
poem by Robert Rumery
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Creators of Heartbreak
Creators of heartbreak.
Souless creatures,
Of wasted animation.
And living to strike with venom.
With slit snake eyes,
To victimize at random.
Your flickering light dims.
To live tormented in eternal heat.
With no peace to come,
To your released spirit at all.
Haunted by your deeds.
With no relief to quench,
Your screaming silenced calls.
Creators of heartbreak.
Souless creatures,
Of wasted animation.
Quickly comes your shortened days.
Upon your heartlessness evil preys.
Creators of heartbreak,
Your ways...
Slithers to an end.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hairfall And Photocopies
You will chance upon
The secret black and white codes
Of my being
Lying anywhere
In the bedroom, or the kitchen or in the lavatory
In the classroom, in the train compartment
Between the keys of a keyboard
On the mouse-pad
In the staffroom, in the caves on the moon
In the snake hole
In our house, in their house
In his house, in her house
In my home, in your home
In the gaps between the words
Among the pages of a book
That makes you scratch your head
Anywhere just anywhere
Obviously I know
Where this road leads
But don't forget
That in my every hair
Is my DNA
Or whatever
After thousands of years
In some rocks
A scientist will discover
My fossilised hair
He can generate
Yet more photocopies of me.
poem by Sachin Ketkar
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A House In The Country
He don't need no sedatives to ease his troubled mind.
At work he is invariably unpleasant and unkind.
Why should he care if he is hated in his home,
'Cause he's gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
He's gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
But he ain't gotta home, oh no,
And he's as wicked as he can be,
'Cause he's gotta house in the country
Where he likes to spend his weekend days.
Oh yeah, oh yeah, well all right
Well, he got his job when drunken Daddy tumbled down the stairs.
From that very day this boy is more than having his share.
One of these days I'm gonna knock him off of his throne,
'Cause he's gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
He's gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
And he's oh so smug, oh yeah.
He's got everything he needs,
'Cause he's gotta house in the country
Where he likes to spend his weekend days.
Oh yeah, oh yeah, well all right
And he's oh so smug, oh yeah.
He's got everything he needs,
'Cause he's gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
He's gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
But he's socially dead, oh yeah,
And it don't matter much to him,
'Cause he's gotta house in the country
Where he likes to spend his weekend days.
Oh yeah, oh yeah, well all right
House in the country
House in the country
House in the country
House in the country
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Astonishing Forest
Where the house filled with living
The house continuously giving
Where the house filled with nature
The house filled with adventure
Anything can survive
With the nature it provides
Where the house filled with grass
The house filled with hedges, bushes and plants
Canopy trees be it rain or shine
Will be there for you at any time
Where the green house filled with fresh air
Will shelter you in the heavy rain
O the house of beauty
O the house of sound
So much variety is yet to be found
poem by Sehar Zaman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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House In The Country
He dont need no sedatives to ease his troubled mind.
At work he is invariably unpleasant and unkind.
Why should he care if he is hated in his home,
cause hes gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
Hes gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
But he aint gotta home, oh no,
And hes as wicked as he can be,
cause hes gotta house in the country
Where he likes to spend his weekend days.
Oh yeah, oh yeah, well all right
Well, he got his job when drunken daddy tumbled down the stairs.
From that very day this boy is more than having his share.
One of these days Im gonna knock him off of his throne,
cause hes gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
Hes gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
And hes oh so smug, oh yeah.
Hes got everything he needs,
cause hes gotta house in the country
Where he likes to spend his weekend days.
Oh yeah, oh yeah, well all right
And hes oh so smug, oh yeah.
Hes got everything he needs,
cause hes gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
Hes gotta house in the country,
And a big sports car.
But hes socially dead, oh yeah,
And it dont matter much to him,
cause hes gotta house in the country
Where he likes to spend his weekend days.
Oh yeah, oh yeah, well all right
House in the country
House in the country
House in the country
House in the country
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Incident at the Farm North of Las Cruces
Now the killer sees the snake;
Boards are kicked aside.
Now the snake stares through the sun.
Birds chirp from the corn
When the rats burn through the brush,
When the dog barks past the moon,
When the wasp stings to the bone,
Death will find a home.
Hiding now,
Rising low.
Hear the heartbeat
From the dirt?
Watch the fear,
Numb the mind.
Hear the moaning
From the cave?
The snake is kissing killer's head.
Wind shrieks through the boards;
Black dust blows above the corn
While birds and rats lie low
Is the torment over now?
Are the children in the barn?
Has rain cleaned the blackened air?
Let's stand and guard the house.
Easter Scene
a woman in an early morning sweeping some trash
away from the house
a heap of garbage
thrown on the road for the garbage truck to pick it up...
whistles her way inside the house
locks the gates
enters the door
and opens all the windowsof the house
meeting a brand new day
filled with warm sunshine
and cool air breathings
from the yard's green trees.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Twelve
a woman in an early morning sweeping some trash
away from the house
a heap of garbage
thrown on the road for the garbage truck to pick it up...
whistles her way inside the house
locks the gates
enters the door
and opens all the windows of the house
meeting a brand new day
filled with warm sunshine
and cool air breathings
from the yard's green trees.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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