Snoopycember: A Grand-ish Finale
Hello, everybody, and welcome back to Stupid Poetry. I’ve been away—as it turns out, the holidays are a very busy time of year—but before the year comes to a close, I want to assure you I have still been writing Snoopy poems. Snoopycember is alive and well. I now have written at least 62 poems about Snoopy in my lifetime, and I can’t wait to write some more next December.
Keeping this holiday post short, but I also wanted to give everyone my best wishes for 2026. I hope the holiday season has been kind to you, and I hope that 2025 leaves you with some nice things to remember it by. There was a lot of bad, but I think 2026 will probably be better if we bring some of the nice stuff from this year with us. Like Snoopy. I‘ve had such a nice time writing these poems and writing and thinking about that crazy little guy. And I am genuinely very grateful to any of you who saw it fit to indulge these dumb little poems.
So, without further ado, another dumb, not-so-little poem. Snoopycember forever <3 <3 <3
New Year’s Confessional with Snoopy
snoopy i do not think i will make it to midnight this year. 2025 will go out with a whimper as soft as your sigh. while you danced, snoopy, charlie slept through the ball drop bc of his war and peace book report and he got a bad grade anyway. he takes pride though, in his persistence and snoopy i respect that but im so tired of my pride being too much and too little snoopy everyone i’ve ever known is so proud of their callouses and ashamed of where they came from and snoopy maybe it wasn’t the pride that killed them but it didn’t pay their medical bills. i’ve watched myself slip, snoopy, on the red ink the rich have spilled at my feet and so i’ve never trusted myself to dance in it. i think my loneliness looks a lot like charlie’s, snoopy, when i was his age i walked 3 miles down the highway to walmart by myself to look at baseball mitts because i wanted to be a pitcher, too, snoopy, but i didn’t understand why the brand new leather felt even stiffer than the frayed hand-me-down i had at home, i didn’t understand that it takes time to fit somewhere that callouses can create softness, except when they don’t, snoopy. because sometimes they don’t. my loneliness is maybe a bit like yours, snoopy, i think—i used to wander to the library alone every day to read of your exploits. i couldnt be happy until i only needed myself and even then when i sat in ratty bean bags and imagined myself flying it was always to feel unalone and when ive yearned for earth it was to feel un-al—snoopy i was too young for the words i knew then but i can’t stand their infantilization now and i know how that sounds after a month spent writing to a cartoon dog but i am protective of the language that made me give my reflection a name, i couldnt be happy until i gave it mine i couldn’t dance until i could sing. i am protective, snoopy, of the stars snuffed out by the fireworks when the ball drops, i want you to wake charlie up, i want you to write this new year in the sky, when the exhaust clears, just this once, i am asking you to eat my homework, i am asking you to let me join you in the air, let me scatter the paper scraps across the sky. i am asking you to let me hold the moon while you rest, snoopy. i am asking you to let me hold back time while you dance into a revolving future. i am asking you to do the same for me.
(oh btw i am taking a couple weeks off bc I am very tired, but I will be back soon with more Stupid Poetry.)
