"brainy" poems
He pulled and parked the supply red wagon,
then climbed the mast to the captain's cabin.
Captain Red is ready for adventure.
A quest to collect the world's best treasure.
His pirate crew is renowned far and wide.
They're rough and tough and they don't ever cry.
But none of them boys has the captain's stuff.
So don't mess with him, man, cause he don't bluff.
This motley crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
whales, whirlpools, storms, mermaids, krakens and kings.
"Set sail," squaws the boss as he munches lunch
and the Ocean Destroyer leaves port Wunche.
These rolling green hills are now ocean waves.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Benjamin!" beams the first mate Susanne.
Impeding the journey that just began.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The first mate trumps the captain, Ben will learn.
...
Her spacesuit crew is renowned far and wide.
They're smart and nice and they don't ever lie.
But none of these girls has commander's stuff.
So don't mess with her, girl, cause she don't bluff.
This brainy crew has achieved many feats,
has never suffered a single defeat,
and has seen the most incredible things:
aliens, black holes, stars, and martian springs.
"Lift off!" beams the boss as she munches lunch
and the Star Chasing Rocket leaves base Wunche.
These rural backyards are now rocky space.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
...
"Hey Susanne!" beams the pilot Benjamin.
Impeding the flight before it begins.
"We already played this game. It's my turn!"
The pilot trumps commander, Sue will learn.
...
Boys and girls grow up and out the front door.
Those children’s games evolve to adult chores;
those kiddy lawns to grandparent’s domain.
That blue sky, however, remains the same.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
i would love to be
skinny, pretty with a little
bit of fierceness
but why do i look
as if i wasn’t good enough
never the brainy
nor the beauty
i was always a second
choice, chance,
or even a lead in my life
i never became my own
because people
kept being too good
they kept stepping on
what i do
and they do better
i was an average asian
looking a little bit rosy tan
with a hint of korean spice
by my eyes
who was envied by others
but good-looking eyes didn’t
stand out
because makeup kept
shattering the concept
of natural beauty
we were all being fake
to the society full of hidden truths
they showcased
thin-ass bodies
abused by strict diets
and pressure
full of greed.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 5:41 AM UTC
I find myself sidewalking everything
So Silverstein was lucky to know where it ends
Will I ever be privileged to discover such a thing?
Too many trivial needs distract from its pursuit
But how am I to know?
When it's time, I only cared for my toys
The way the sheeple only care for their handouts
Do tell; if the Pentagon lays off 800,000 people
Will we know they're telling the truth about unemployment
When their words flow between mouthfuls
Of stolen fruit and gold
At the table of the elite
So tell me, who is John Galt?
I sit at a table with a mind that knows how to think for himself
And can't help but think this is the purest form of elitism:
Until at last the time has come
For the imminent end of all serfdom
Brought by the brawn of the brainy
How are we to keep our heads when the others ***** us over
Take our heads clean off to see the contents
Only the strongest can withstand the attempts to skew ideas
Upon who's minds the lying flies
Forced off by intellect
The simple last defender of God and liberty
Big Brother would have us not discuss such things
At times, I feel that we are the last in the world
So, tell me- if this paper is the last in the world, have we written something significant?
I've no doubt the world will see
The mistakes of society
Time then, will bring forth a new renaissance, with us as creators
And they, as the readers of some disconnected thoughts
Written at a time when the end of a page was a good stopping point for poetry, but not for the limit of government infringement on personal freedom.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
we see the world as a whole
we talk to others like to poles
I'm sitting aside you just like a tree
let me tell you som'n, do you agree?
My entire life is all about me
my mom, my dad, my friends, I, Be!
since I'm the stack of body parts
I consider this world like my heart
the sun will shine as doubt will grow
I aint gon lie, my sun's my eyes
the more i see the less doubt be
and when my eyes roll out and blow
I stop and stare, seeing the lies
that was allowing all doubts to be
human interactions are contradictory
because heart and brain are different history
my heart for humans will always be bold
my brain for its knowledge will never be sold
so the reason of that contradiction
is that we're doing things in the wrong direction
putting our heart in interactions
brainy analyse the human nations
once we've flipped it 90 degree
human interactions will finally be free.
I see children as my fingers
and veteran as my toes
the latter have the wisdom
so I keep them at the bottom
so I can stand tall like Heroes.
Children are important so i teach them daily
I keep them accurate and let them work freely
for they are the essence of things that most matters
TV news are useless so i'll say they are my poops
commercial aren't that far cuz they are my farts
one cannot live without them both they are 2 essential parts
of the social oligo-elements, a tiny lil portion or oops!
know yourself and you'll know the world
cuz each body parts is a fraction of the herd
I think I'm talking too much you are already too tired
I'll leave you with emptyness cuz that's what got me inspired
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
When I was a little boy, say when I was six, my dad calls to me and he says: Come, boy – let’s sit in our courtyard; let’s sit below the stars and I’ll tell you a story. It’s been told long in our village, and passed on from wise fathers to growing sons.
Long ago, goes the story
Farmer Somu wanted
his daughter Meena to marry
the Strongest in the world
and so he set out on a journey
with his daughter
to seek the World’s Strongest One
And what were they going to do, little boy? says my father to me. They are going to look for the Strongest One, I say; and my father says: Ah, you clever son of a clever man.
And when they walked
past the rice fields
they saw farmers
wiping their brows
and they said:
‘My, how strong the sun shines!’
‘Aha,’ said Somu, ‘I think
I’ve found the Strongest One.
Come, Meena,’ he said,
‘let’s talk to the Sun.’
*And what do you think, my little boy, what do you think Somu asked the Sun?
And I say to my father: Oh Sun, Will you marry my daughter? And my father says, excitedly: Exactly! Exactly! Oh , you brilliant son of a brilliant man.*
‘Oh Sun,
will you marry
my daughter
for she is the Prettiest
and you are the Strongest?’
‘But,’ said the Sun,
‘the cloud is stronger than I
for have you not noticed
how often the cloud
blocks me out
and I can’t do a thing
until he decides to move?’
*And what do you think, my little boy, what do you think Somu replied to the Sun?
Oh, you weakling Sun – I’m not even talking to you! comes my quick reply. And my father says: Oh how right you are – you clever son of a clever man!*
‘Weakling Sun
stand out of my way
and Oh you most powerful cloud –
will you marry my daughter
for she is Prettiest
and you the Strongest?’
And the Cloud replied:
‘But ah, I am not the Strongest
for the wind just blows me away!’
And what do you think, my clever boy, what do you think Somu did next? And I answer my dad: Well, dad - Farmer Somu drags his daughter Meena to the Wind. And my father says: Oh how right you are – you brilliant son of a brilliant man!
‘O Wind
you should marry
Meena who is Prettiest
in the world
as you are the Strongest.’
But the Wind replied:
‘Ah, you don’t know how Strong
the mountain is
for he blocks my way
and he breaks me down.’
*And what do you think, my little boy, what do you think was Somu’s reply to the Wind?
Oh, you useless Wind – I’m ashamed I even considered you! I reply. And my father says: Oh how right you are – you clever son of a clever man!*
‘Oh, you useless Wind
– I’m ashamed
I even considered you!’
said Farmer Somu
and he dragged his daughter along
to meet the mountain
and he said to the mountain:
‘Most Honored Mountain
I have heard of your strength
and so I have brought you Meena
who is the Prettiest.’
But the Mounatin replied:
‘Oh Sir, I am not deserving
of such a rare beauty
for the rat gnaws holes in my sides
and so is Stronger than I.’
And what do you think, dear son, says my father to me – what do you think Somu does next? And I reply quite impatiently: Somu takes his daughter to the rat? Exactly! Exactly! shouts my dad. Exactly, you brainy son of a brainy man!
And the Rat told Somu:
‘Alas, Sir
though your daughter
is most desirable
I cannot marry her
for the hyena is
far stronger than me
for he has eaten many of my family!’
And so they walk to the hyena, says my father to me. And what do you think Somu tells the hyena? And I reply: Oh hyena – marry my daughter for she is Prettiest and you are Strongest! And my father says: Oh you are right, boy! You are right – Oh you brilliant son of a brilliant man!
‘Sir Hyena
Most Revered Sir Hyena
do marry Meena
for she is Prettiest
and you the Strongest!’
And Sir hyena replied:
‘Ok. I ask for no dowry
just leave her with me
with no ceremony.’
And what do you think , asks my father, Somu did? And I reply: He left Meena with the hyena. And my father shouts excitedly: Oh, how right you are! How right you are! You clever child of a clever man.
And no sooner had Somu left
the hyena took Meena
to his cave
and he ate her all
skin and bone…
Ah what a tragic end;
what a horrid end…
*And dear son, says my father to me, what is the moral of this story? Many, I say. But two are: Use your wits and stay alive. Never allow yourself to be dragged around. And my father jumps up and he is excited: Oh how right! How right! You brilliant son of a brilliant father!
And he turns to my mother who has joined us at the courtyard and he says:
See how clever our son is – he knows all the answers! Such a brilliant son of a brilliant father!
And my mother’s retort is swift: It’s not that he’s brilliant or you either. You’ve told him this story a hundred times, you silly man! And it’s always the same words! And I would have kicked my father if I were Meena!*
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 11:42 PM UTC
One day at a food shop,
I met a man selling cats,
For the money, he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some bats.
"Got any bats?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No bats here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.
"We've got some lovely cakes,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some snakes."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.
The man seemed exceptionally brainy,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call zany,
The great disdain he noticeably oozed.
Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit beautiful.
Still, he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty dutiful.
So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the food shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you, I believe."
"Cats, bats, you shall find.
Cakes, snakes, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to New York Market.
So to New York Market, I decided to go,
In search of the bats, I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.
There were stalls selling apples,
Strawberry in many shades.
There were even stalls selling apples
People were scattered from many trades
I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather beautiful
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all dutiful.
Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some bats!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some cakes and cats.
"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the bats she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.
As I walked away I heard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 9:56 PM UTC
Acerbic antagonist alliterates agonizing accusations,
blasting ******* backbiter butting beautiful bombastic brainy blond bomb.
Cumulative cranial casualties cease caveman's cognitive coherence.
Doom digger derides Daddy's dangling dire dreary ****
Eclectic esoteric eccentric egotistical estranger;
Forthcoming fathoms fetch faithless fleeting father.
God given goblins gather gossamer ganglions;
Hell's hairy harlot harpies hover heeding Hyperion.
Ignatius imbibes irrevocably insisting,
"Jesus juggles justice's joy jarring jams."
Kindness kindles Kilimanjaro;
Malicious mountains melt, Mmm, morning marjoram.
Nothing negates Neanderthal ninnying.
Overt obsessions obfuscate original object of
purest passions, paltry past pinings,
quickly quieted, quelled,
resisted, relinquished, readily, ruefully, roundly
saturated, suffocated; surreptitiously silenced,
terribly torturing the thrashed tamed tormentor:
Ugly, ungrateful, unapologetic,
Vanity,
woefully wallowing, wailing, "Where's
Xanadu's
zeitgeist!?"
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
from the plains drawings of smudging hands
and the palms of warriors
whose caves glittered in symbolic otherlands
flowing into yesteryears with shifting tones
abstracting melodies awry
in the songs of language growing,
from the blood of worldly pains
and passionscapes of grounded glees
which surge in transtemporal veins,
to the gifting of a poem;
cosmic movements
ever novel
in the constant flux of fleshy presence
follow us in meaning—
every dot and cursive plane,
carries more than caligraphic feeling
beneath the graphing of our patient, formal, brainy gestures
(often blind to fools in Spring and better fates
of wholly kissing lovers over flower-oaths)
whose blindness in such sightly feeling,
graph so many moments black:
syntax, manner, unformed poems of wisdom’s grandeur;
stifled in the academic dust.
9:30 pm
above: praise gone awry. 12:52 pm
still, this universe expresses its possibility
through this minute verbia;
prolix trivia swinging by
the inquiries of existential mania
and the hope of solid, open value.
1:29 am
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 2:52 PM UTC
Once upon a time, there was me:
A simpleton of no account,
A dunderhead by word of mouth,
An addle-pate, a cracking crock,
A crazy who deserved a lock.
Not pretty, brainy, or well-bred,
Bespectacled, a short redhead
With hands too small and far too pink
Who’d trip or fall as soon as think.
Not many prospects, they declared
With such conviction I was scared.
But the cast was short one role,
The one who’d make the halfwit whole . . .
Once upon a time, there was you:
A lord of state, of high esteem,
The answer to each maiden’s dream,
A strong man, raven-haired, and tall?
No, not this person, not at all.
You had glasses just like me,
And freckles where your skin should be.
Your clothes were rumpled, torn and tattered
Not as though that even mattered:
You walked on set and came to me
You got down on one gawky knee
You took my pink hand in your red
And, as you fixed your glasses, said:
“I love your hands, your height, your hair,
I love you up, down, everywhere.
And I hesitate to ask you this . . .
But could I maybe have a kiss?”
And, for once, my tactless lips
Did not resort to stumbling slips;
I gave you one, I gave you two,
I gave every kiss I had to you.
Once upon a time, there was us:
Two simpletons of no repute
Two dunderheads whose names were moot:
Prince Not-So-Charming and his *****
And much as cynics tried to drench
The flames of addle-pated glee
I found in you and you in me,
As much as they enjoyed pretending,
They could not harm our happy ending.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 1:28 AM UTC
She laughs, he smiles.
The black forest taste he could only taste at the peak of light beams
Her laugh seems similar, quite similar.
Her haha's outcasted the glooms and dooms
Just as the black forest melted on his taste buds when sun rays streaked upon his shoulder blades.
She cracked a joke, he laughs and nods
Intellectual is what they might say
A brainy maniac she is, who could co-host a sitcom
His Friday nights would now only be filled with her wits
Replacing all the beers and stouts for a while
His once bumpy and rocky throat is nil compared to the highly raised cheekbones visible during a good laugh
But one day she cried.
The guilt he carries overshadowed his sympathy.
Her big swollen eyes
Her pinkish and warm face which was covered in dribble
Hadn't he known?
All those time he made somersaults, he was drown deep below
He could breakthrough,
but was too mesmerized by the mermaid's blinking fishtail and scaly skin.
And she saved him
From being turned into a merman
Only then he was back to square one
Where her laughters, her jokes and her sobs are actually his sugar crush, his Gatsby gold
As always, she was after all, his soul saver.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
There is a Professor Robbie,
who has a calculating hobby;
He delights in asking his pets,
with multiple inherent defects,
or not too brainy, to be exact.
If 2n is more or less than 2-n,
and 3x is same as 3 men, then,
the study of maths be banned.
With that Robbie will surely object,
for he makes a living on the subject;
He takes not too kindly our slow wit,
and chips away our esteem, digit-by-digit.
Equations after equations, he blast,
until one brave pet, at long last,
who sees more value in a candy bar,
than juggling numbers to solve algebra.
So Robbie, will you be ever so kindly,
spare the aging cells of these cuties,
singularly or simultaneously.
So loose no healthy slumber,
by chasing after prime-numbers;
And we who have trouble with dy or dx,
well, there is always graphic ***
If you think this -- dX+2(x^2 - x*y^2)dy=0 -- is cool,
to make idiots out of fools,
do not be easily trapped,
into giving polite claps;
or stare at them with awe,
for they are nothing more,
than saying pluses can turn into minuses,
and at times even used as voodoo curses.
But Robbie will still caress them tenderly,
like they are his little babies,
annoying different people, differentially.
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 3:12 AM UTC
There's the eight of us,
So very different
But yet so much the same.
Each of us holds our special traits.
Our special talents
Converged as an octet.
Some artistic
Some scientific
Some linguistic and
All fantastic.
We love to laugh,
We love to tease,
We love to make a fool of ourselves.
We know there's one who's always there,
Spraying water everywhere,
But never lets people touch her hair.
And then there's one,
Who's buff and tough,
Her voice can change like a chameleon's skin.
Next we have this pretty babe,
Her furry stuff are fun to touch,
She's the gentlest, loveliest llama I know.
Not to forget,
The one's that's brainy,
Such a smarty that she can't type properly.
There's also one that I believe
She's really a mermaid in disguise,
Her actions way too ridiculous.
Of course we have this crazy kid,
Too many fandoms and too little sleep.
I still wonder why she needs her hood all the time.
And here there's another girl,
With real beautiful eyes,
A perfect actress for sketch comedies.
Last but not least,
There's just me,
I can't find a word for my personality.
I don't know how far we'll go,
If we'll still stay as close as we are right now.
As time cruelly marches on,
The day we'll part ways draws so near.
This part of me knows
That this magical bond
That we call friendship,
Will live on forever and ever.
Never did I feel so sure,
So confident about friendship.
But you guys are so special,
I really hope you know.
No matter what happens,
I see myself with you all forever,
And you all with me.
I believe in this friendship.
This magical bond,
That holds the eight of us,
Closely together,
Forever.
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
Sometimes you're too brainy that you become stupid
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC
allow me to celebrate the ant
summer miscre-ant in my kitchen
picking up pieces of pieces "to go":
a crumb of Meow Mix, a crushed Cheerio;
applied the usual eco-safe spray
detecting this way too feint for they
amassed to quest their innate objective
exploring and toting the prime directive;
hymenoptera tents with doors
four on the floor: cafes of poison
for caulking the cracks in the walls hadn't solved
the stay-past-your-welcome guests involved;
soon numbers diminished but still a few
creeping through unrepent-ant
I swept thrice per day to starve them out
yet brooms are too thick all crannies to rout;
surrendered and wondered, perhaps they are teachers
attempting to bypass my brainy block
too thick to buzz with what the ants know?
I squat as a toddler to take-in their show;
for hours observing them (off and on)
until an implosion of comm-ants sense
challenged my globalized conception
exposing my mind to ant redemption;
the ant is now my writing totem
trouble though they'll be next June
within this mantra is what they knew:
one moment one crumb to carry and chew;
insight's relative I realize
ants have their own frustrations with size
but ponder the ant when writing time's little:
at peace with a piece of ant-agonist vittle.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 11:51 AM UTC
Oh I wonder if I mean pounding
Or maybe it's pondering
Hell what do I know, spelling isn't my strong point
I've always been envious of all those brainy lot
To see me you'll know why I can never be an alfa male
So its better I hide behind a keyboard and troll
I can't help feeling inadequate when I read the good poems
All I do is steal words and ideas then twist them around
I pownd and pownd and pownd till I drive them away
I am a Pownder that pownd and get a pound for every pownding
I am a little person with a little mind and something else bothers me so much it leaves me with a Napoleonic complex
But I hope other men don't know about it but anytime I see a hot dog, wish I could just disappear and die cause I know that's one pownding That leaves me unpownded.
Excuse me I got a job to do
There's a poet here, I've got to drive him away from here
He's Benson or something like that and I just feel so small
Can never write like him and being a stinking bully and a Hater
I feel so inadequate and it's stressing me out, how good he is
He leaves me feeling so carri gibbanoius and useless pownding about
My job and aim is to oppose anything positive and good
I was born to destroy cause I can't do better
guess that's why I can't even spell an ordinary word like
POUNDING....
That benson fellow will soon leave and coward inadequate me
will rule with my mediocre drivel again or go copy from someone
and pretend its my work like I did at Junior High and college.
My good friend below wrote this to me:
Karijinbba › In His Grace..............
I hear the pownding waves of God in every day or written silences. I hear Gods loving waves in everyday's life's harships and struggles; even when God in his silence blessess, me in imagined lovers arms, and in dreams, when my breath away.....is taken.
He copied a poem written by me and improved on it and then
posted it back to me to show me how to improve on my work.
So I must learn from him and be a better writer
And stop feeling bad and envious about other people's poems
And writing privately to them to intimidate them and making
them quitting this site.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
an impurity
inherent or invasive,
identity, purpose, all unresolved,
substantive, long-lived, minute sized,
flexible, formed, yet more,
clearly shapelessly, so well visible
we'll disguise it
to survive it
without passport, an émigré
illegally legal border invasive,
but somehow more knowledgable
of the unmapped byways within,
more than me - how can that be?
never motionless, indeed,
always hurried, even when energy gathering,
despite it's detailed timetable,
detailing plentiful stops and
interminable unexplained
screeching wailings,
it has no smooth gliding,
nor rumbling grumbling halting,
to a final destination imprinted
this impurity,
a beheaded brainy horseman
searching for what,
I'm not permissioned,
unquenchable questioning,
all I am allowed is
sensory
surceasingly, unseasonably seeking
the undresser,
the verisign
of veritas
eyes mirrored reversal internal,
you can't understand why finishing
this poem is so hard
because you don't want to
confess this
impious impurity,
no étranger, it is but
copious insecurity,
of the all of you,
the ecstasy of
the rushing,
the upsetting,
universal unique to us, you,
unholy, ecclesiastical, catholic,
that impurity is just
the heart pumping the
mottled blood of
life coursing through your words
and out your fingertips,
onto those
stained drumsticks
used
to play the keyboard alphabet
about an
out-of-tempo
impure ecstasy
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
This is just a dark piece of creative writing. It is not aimed at anybody. Just a bundle of words! Before you read this I hope you don't find it too offensive. I think I posted adequate censorship warnings. EVERY SO OFTEN I LOVE DOING A REALLY DARK WRITE! THIS IS PROBABLY THE LAST ONE YOU WILL BE PRIVVY TOO FOR A LONG TIME!
Thank you for understanding!
Tore my eyes out.
Popped them on my plate.
Stuck your fork in.
You watched them pop.
You said that I was watching you.
Well I can't do now.
Whatever.
For a really brainy man.
You sure as hell aren't very clever.
You tied me up with ribbons .
You sat me in your favourite chair,
Tried to feed me mushrooms.
Gave me them in a witches brew.
Think you called it tea.
I couldn't see.
It was foul as foul can be.
Told me that I'd like them.
You said you didn't care.
The volumes were distorted.
My love he then aborted.
Left my soul tied up in the chair.
Tripping out like I won't care.
Jesus Christ
I was so scared.
Almost crucified.
Now my love he had denied.
My man of so black.
F**ked off and left me.
Won't be back.
Shut my eyes and try to sleep.
And only then I realised.
I could not find my eyes.
Just have sore sockets.
That drip with blood and weep.
My peepers can no longer peep.
He took them out a while ago.
So I could not see the way to go!
If this is love.
I'll give it a miss.
Don't need no more of this!
(C) Livvi 01/12/2013
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC
A fool was
thinking to
add agriculture
to physiology
in text book.
He may be
the gene of late
king Mohammad Bin Toglak
of India.
A brainy
was thinking
to take
ice-hills
of North Pole
to place into
a coastal desert
near a growing city.
He may be
the gene of late
king Mohammad Bin
Toglak of India.
Jan 17, 2019
Jan 17, 2019 at 11:02 AM UTC
One person is a multimillionaire
Another is a pick-pocket or liar
But all become one in they pyre
Mingling with the God of fire
God's gift is one's birth-place
Everyone, his sins will chase
God of death shows no grace
He will exactly count the days
Decide not man's worth by age
See whether he is in ignorance-cage
To come out, let him just manage
To help him, you have to encourage
One man is a monster
Another is an oyster
Yet another is a master
Let reasoning stop disaster
Knowledge if you accumulate
Great actions, you can emulate
Noble schemes, you can formulate
Let not the beginning be too late
Create, invent and discover
Pray to God for safety-cover
Scent-power is had by a flower
Your aims, do not at all lower
Edison in his greatest experiment
Faced stoically every disappointment
One day he invented the filament
Then light entered into every apartment
In this way, many geniuses were born
They initially walked on pricking thorn
Their brainy heads, crowns did adorn
They were proved to be great later on
Just go back in your memory lane
Had anyone thought of a flying-plane?
Wright Bros were regarded as insane
To mental blindness, they gave cane
By the Almighty, Sun was invented
By Sun, darkness is circumvented
By prayer, agonies are prevented
By sweat, our victories are augmented.
mvvenkataraman
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 12:32 PM UTC
At the start of life,
You can be anything,
Good or bad,
Rich or poor,
You can be
brainy
or
popular
You can be
fat
or
thin
You can
fall in love
or
break someones heart
You can
get up and go
or
waste the days
Life is a blank canvas
and what you paint on it
is up to you...
Oct 25, 2009
Oct 25, 2009 at 10:26 AM UTC
Not the brainy doctors that rendered on me services in many nights and days did gave my corpse a novel life
But when I perceived her presence,
quickly i rose healthy like Lazarus and embraced her endlessly as my prophetess and religion.
She healed the scarcity of love in me!
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
That's a load of lovely luckies
frolicking in meadows
flowers of sun melting mosquitoes and lady bugs-
don't mind except during pollenation season
need to reproduce
hard when you're dead
then you're decomposed
wouldn't propose any other way,
weighing pros and cons
coming up with brainy storms
thundering and enlightening as they may be
smell like lavender after wards
and the rainbows criss cross the atmosphere
like roads for the birds and airplanes
leading the way to another way
another then another
all together now:
synergy.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 6:26 PM UTC
lately. o
o.
the feels of the world
weigh heavy o.
on shoulder-less giants
in the brainy child.
o.
lucky o.
that children
have no wisty
.o slits
of
******** fields of green.
o.
traveling makes the young weak
and the old stronger
while dreams o.
can be kept by boxes in a gamblers
lawn.
o.
sometimes the naked wusses in your planted pots just want
them back
but only get o.
the siren chagrin.
o.o
.o
i think artists get depressed too, but no one should account for it seriously.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 10:31 PM UTC