"canny" poems
A race between the Flash and the Man of Steel
This would be a competition for real
Who do you think would move fast?
Who would you think would come in last?
It’s a possibility in what could be
Imagine two Super Marvel’s in a race too see who is truly great
It would also show their sportsmanship in how they both relate
It would be a run to the finish
The winner being triumphed and distinguished
This wouldn’t be a race against crime
That story is another time
Flash moving at the speed of light
The Man of Steel feeling a bit uptight
The Man of Steel would be disqualified if he were to fly in order to win
But the Man of Steel coming from another planet, would that automatically disqualify from then
A canny detail
But the policy remains in order to preserver
It was Flash in the lead
The Man of Steel was maneuvering in proceed
Just around the bend
It was Flash being the champion at the very end
Well the Marvel Hero’s shook hands and are off to fight crime
This will be until the end of time.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
Laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous hypotaxis apomixis strive
Rainbow mare aura roan exude emote derive
Syntactical propinquity habitation harbinger harangue stoic hive
Colloquialism vernaculars prurient adage jargon idiom clichés jive
Mirador bartizan panorama stalwart bastion bulwark tableau live
Canny cleaver crafty cunning furtive sneaky stealthy connive
Poignant cogent piquant ephemeral effulgence temporal refraction arrive
Paradoxical dichotomy greaves gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts survive
Hectic mayhem , proximity parameter perimeter peripherals , annihilate rive
Zingy zesty zany zenithal azimuth entity zeal alive
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
Of ***** friends I've had but seven,
Despite my years are ripe;
I hope they're now enjoying Heaven,
Although they're not the type;
Nor, candidly, no more am I,
Though overdue to die.
For looking back I see that they
Were weak and wasteful men;
They loved a sultry jest alway,
And women now and then.
They smoked and gambled, ****** and swore,
--Yet no one was a bore.
'Tis strange I took to lads like these,
On whom the good should frown;
Yet all with poetry would please
To wash his wassail down;
Their temples touched the starry way,
But O what feet of clay!
Well, all are dust, of fame bereft;
They bore a cruel cross,
And I, the canny one, am left,--
Yet as I grieve their loss,
I deem, because they loved me well,
They'll welcome me in Hell.
2.9k
Cauld-bluided, humphing ower the stark grey hills
Gowd een skinkle to an fro
Split tongue lappin at the wind-blown smells
Bog grass blackens whaur ye go
Smoke split shielings and the clammerin o bairns
Bone cracked mithers in yer wake
Heirt-scaud ruin fae the valleys tae the cairns
Driven by a drouth ye canny slake
Crib tale shapit unner creakin heather thatch
Howf born craitur o the nicht
Auld sangs spake aboot the maidens ye would ******
Fleggit bairns tae keep intil the licht
True? Naw, havers, juist the blaflum o wives
God nivver biggit ocht sae fell
But ae bairn crouchin in the ruins o its life
Can think o naethin else the tale tae tell
Blin, lost, forwandert fae the shattered faimly hame
Warslin wi fear tae unnerstan
White winds whistle as he gies the beast a name
And dragons whiles can take the form o man.
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 2:39 AM UTC
Gotham the city of flight,
Where the moral and wicked fight,
Laughter rings throughout the dark
As the deranged leaves his mark.
He speaks for the mad,
and fails to recall what it is he had.
He see it as a amusement views me as a toys,
what he does he some how enjoys.
I've beat him time and time again,
though he still remains the most mysterious of men.
I once went to see him no mask, no cape,
Batman had returned him from another escape.
I walk to his cell "Bruce Wayne. Hi"
he wouldn't turn around, nor look me in the eye.
He didn't care who was behind the mask,
but there I stood "Dear Ol' Bats"
I knew then.
I was nothing to him.
But every plot so clever. So canny,
He's had so many chances,
but never glances.
Maybe it frightens him, the idea that I am just a man.
Unmasking me might bring back thoughts of how he began.
Maybe it helps him with his blind recollection.
Almost like the clown wouldn't feel succession,
The man with a ruby red grin.
He would come back to reality,
but what then?
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!
There’s nought but care on every han’
In every hour that passes, O;
What signifies the life o’ man,
An ’twere na for the lasses, O?
The warl’ly race may riches chase,
An’ riches still may fly them, O;
An’ though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them, O.
But gi’e me a canny hour at e’en,
My arms about my dearie, O,
An’ warl’ly cares an’ warl’ly men
May a’ *** tapsalteerie, O!
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye’re nought but senseless ***** O;
The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw,
He dearly loved the lasses, O.
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O;
Her ‘prentice han’ she tried on man,
An’ then she made the lasses, O.
2.3k
Sunflowers, daisy's and tulips too,
these are things that remind me of you.
Animals of many to them you are kind,
geese, dogs and chickens in your garden you will find.
Bright colors your a hippy chick you own it so well,
a friend in you that's my Auntie Mel.
Miss Melanie your canny plenty of good times that we've shared,
I know i'm not always there but for you I've always cared.
Your lovely little ornaments your wacky hippy ways,
I often think of the good times I miss the olden days.
Sunflowers, Daisy's and tulips too,
I really miss you and all that you do.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
Eh like playin fitba wee meh Dad,
It's so funny and a wee bit sad
'Cause when eh beat him he gets mad.
Eh like playin fitba wee meh wee lassie,
She plays fitba like Shirley Bassey,
Meh Dad canny tackle, he's so mince.
He devs in and taks awa meh pins.
Meh lassie heiders the ba wee the back o her heid,
Like a fish oot o water
Just before it's deid.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
Insecure, was the sign on your door,
The door was always unlocked
You were quick to answer with every knock
Your back pocket held a mirror,
it is for protection you said.
A faint replication of self worth
Would stare back at you.
On stainless steel
tear stained water spots left paths
tracing back to your regrets
A slice of the world reflected
in the pointed mirror
everything was more burnished,
but inverted.
You used it
to cut through the ****** tension
Between you and your frivolous guests,
with slick, quick witted flirting.
So sharp,
you penetrated through
Leaving a piece of yourself inside their hearts.
No exit wounds.
When you stare at it in your clutch
it points north,
Towards the star that is always there
For you,
that will guide you home
But the magnetic attraction
towards your thirst for drama,
Sidetracks you.
Like a deflecting needle
That is no longer running on its axis
Free will, bouncing thoughtlessly
With the world no longer holding it captive
Not moving in accordance
To what keeps the world balanced,
What a thrill,
You like the way the world looks
So limiting, so manipulative
When it is reflected on the narrow surface
Wrong side up.
You grip the knife, carelessly
Until you overstep the boundary
Of right and wrong
And you trip on the tight roped tension
That you had strewn across
between you and the other side
And you stumble,
your canny dallying discourse
slips away,
hitting hard, landing straight in the back
of the one who loved you
for your innocent eyes
who didn’t come in
through the door with the sign
but instead came in,
through the window of your soul.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
In my so called startled desperately stance o' interactively yearnings,
So wantonly emerged the worse anomalies by far
(yet the peak-est good time) to come..
I'm so naturally stupefied..so inclined on making & molding,
making'& wanting
As trial & error precipitates;
Virtually stagnant in the stillness o' haven-
Temptation stricken--chaotic world..An idolatry dernier cri chic!
Sets the tone o' a Caring Mom, would tell her kids
Not to be fooled by a a mainstream fool-
A Con Artist as Weird as ***** gets!
For the norm to behold!
On the LOOk-Out
but not lethargic.
Stigmatized out o' the blue, I surely reflected,
In a Dark-Dreary tunnel -- I 'd Die for
& to Root for-serenity subsides!
As I come out, I see rays o' Guiding light, I reckoned ..
"I have given You EYES to see,Ears to hear and a mouth to speak!" ..
but perhaps as indecisively as I may seemed--
It is what IT is!!..,.
SORDID!..so holistic ambiguously odd for me alright.
I speak my MIND fervently...
But as one may say, "My Smile can mean a thousand Ships nor launches its Value than Money ..
For every Smile to give out Comes with
a Territory o' Joy & Hope worth-
Every seconds inhaled-Priceless--
The breath o' Eros exhumed ..
I'd rather be ever Smiling along comes..
Head over my shoulder
however excruciating
can be, in life.. .
Neither in Bliss o' Ecstasy nor Dismay.
Just as though to keep my SANITY intact..
Oh My God keep my Salvation up in Heaven above! ..
so Creepy, too
Cloddish to think.to be canny
At all cost!
& not easily persuaded by the devil.
Lurks to get me..
A standstill Safely & Warm in a timely fashion,
In my own Rosy- Scented room thy PRAY, Oh Lord forgive US ALL Sinners, may GOOD Girls & Boys go to HEAVEN & Bad BOYS & GIRLS go to HELL !
I stand uprightly poised attitude
& be corrected if one varies-
The Age of Aquarius in stateliness!
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 6:47 AM UTC
There lived, amid the common folk
A seamstress of renown
Tucked away most smartly
In a quiet sort of town
So perfect was her needlework
And delicate her hand
That all and sundry sought her out
Her skills were in demand
To gain a moment here and there
She took a silver thread
She deftly put a stitch in time
And curled up in her bed
For she was such a busy girl
Deserving of a nap
But as she slept one evening
The stitch in time went 'snap!'
Time unravelled rapidly
From 'will be' to 'before'
And coils of causality
Were all over the floor
But fortune is a canny dame
For a needle was at hand
Still threaded up with silver
At an artisan's command
She bustled in a flurry
And rummaged through the ages
She sorted out the centuries
With diligence, by stages
While shoring up the borderlines
And patching up the wars
She darned the holes in spider silk
And trimmed the dinosaurs
She hemmed the mighty oceans
To snuggly fit the sand
Then zipped up the horizon
So the sky adjoined the land
The night was stitched in situ
In between adjacent days
And time was mended seamlessly
And better in some ways
She locked away her needle
And her strand of silver thread
Her work would wait 'til morning
And with that, she went to bed
So next time life is hectic
And leaves you in a flap
Allow yourself an hour
For a cheeky little nap
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Ah didny recognise him fae the eulogy.
The meenister'd nivver met the lad, Ah could see.
A hero? Aye, mibbe. Jist a name tae maist ay these fowk.
But ah kent im as a boay,
the daft wee scapegoat, ayewis in boather,
but nae real hairm in im.
He wis the lad wha'd get skelped, the noise
makkin the teacher turn is heid
jist in time tae spot im skelpin back.
Mairched tae the heidie again.
"Yir a bad lot, Barry.
Yir faither wis a bad lot too."
Puir Baz.
Da in the jile,
Ma aff her face on smack,
an him, daft, funny, doomed.
If onybody at hame had cared enough
tae keep the schuil photies,
they'd have shown a wee freckly laddie
wi a too-open grin,
year eftir year,
jersey gettin tattier,
teeth getting gappier,
still grinnin while the rest ay us
were far too cool tae smile for the camera.
Ah liked im.
Didny unnerstaun how the teachers
were sae ***** tae im.
There wis far badder boays in the year.
Ricky ****** Jackson - a nasty, sleekit wee body,
yankin ab'dy's strings.
But his da wis rich
an the teachers fawned ower im.
No Baz, though.
Cannon fodder, richt enough.
Tackin the flack fir the rest ay us.
Exactly the kind ay lad
the ******* Army thrives on.
Ah canny feel the patriotic pride,
canny picture the self-sacrifice,
the heroism.
Ah can juist see im,
daft an grinnin,
daein whit he wis tellt
an gettin killt.
Mind you,
he wis aye headin for the poppies, that yin,
One wey
or anither.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
An angry heart,
A damaged soul,
Possessed by,
A grumpy troll.
A lacking luster,
A friendly foe,
I aim to learn,
What I should muster.
A canny face,
A polished mind,
A fruitful spirit,
A happy place.
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 9:47 PM UTC
Susi sees angels here and there
magical creatures are everywhere
I canny see them, I try and look twice
I kind of regret it, it must be nice
but I think
Why should I personify
my sense of wonder,
sense of wonder
I laugh beneath the starlit sky
with my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
Ewan sees reason in everything
knows you can measure pieces of string
and he is my brother I love and respect
and proof of the other we've never found yet
but I think
Why should I categorize
my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
I laugh beneath the starlit skies
with my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
And I salute you, one and all
who've seen the light, who've heard the call
I'll not dispute what you have seen
I'm just not certain what you mean
Susi's a human, as sweet as can be
and magic or not she's amazing to me
and whether we're born here blessed or alone
I hope that her angels will see her home
but still think
Why should I personify my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
I laugh beneath the starlit sky
with my sense of wonder
sense of wonder
sense of wonder
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 9:36 AM UTC
Is an old poem of mine that I tender to you to turn your mind away for just, even just, a few minutes from the sadness and the depression that I read about in poem after poem. I am an old man whose sighs are recorded in the lines on his hands. It will be better. You will be loved.
Be brave.
Lead to Gold, Philosopher to Poets
When the philosophers abandoned
castle turrets for ivory towers,
lost was the secret of
I and thou,
of turning lead to gold,
but these cagey, canny scholars in new residences,
who traded
perspicacity for pensions,
before they left,
they tasked to the poets,
a singular task,
cloaking them in a life long responsibility
charging them as follows:
Be the harpooners of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhaposdy,
exhort the loopy
to light candles of illusions,
canonize the nursing mothers to deliver us
the kinder Ishmael's who will revel,
lead us with warmth and apprehension,
with the strength of sinews
fixed and flexible,
we will believe and
they will teach the rest of us
that the first commandment
is to empathize.
**with clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
the comedy of our conscience,
our free to see,
the peep show of us,
explicate and deconstruct
our unexamined lives,
help us to extend the boundaries,
record the voyages of our timepieces,
declare us all free and victors,
file away the chains of language
and declare us all poets**
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
Love is truly canny,
Rages like a storm,
Quiet as a millpond.
(On a still day, for sure)
Twisting and turning,
Tugging us here and there,
Turning us inside out,
Laying us low, flying high,
Departing, returning,
Cursing and praising.
The perfect love, hah!
Matter of perspective,
Where we are in life.
Love is linked with time,
Time is a fickle *****
Turning on us unexpectedly,
Just as we have it all wired,
Running out on us,
Leaving in the blink of an eye.
(Why bother? Hmm, anyone?)
Well, we choose to bother,
Just because love is good,
For some it is all there is,
Why else are we here?
If you have love, so lucky,
Cherish, cuddle, hold,
Tomorrow is another day.
©Paul M Chafer 2015
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
Whoa.
See that yin?
Jist sittin there?
Ye ken how she’s sittin like that, don’t ye?
Well, whit’s she sittin oan?
Aye, her erse.
She’s only sittin like that
So ye ken she’s got an erse.
Gaggin fir it.
An whoa, check that yin!
Wearin claes!
Filthy cow!
Whit dae ye mean, “Whit dae ah mean”?
Claes!
Ye canny wear claes
If ye huvny got a boady, can ye?
That’s right –
Just screamin it, so she is –
“Check oot ma boady!”
Aye, ah wull an aw!
Don’t mind if ah dae!
Aw, mate – that yin!
That yin ower there!
Bendin her airm!
See her?
Bendin her airm like a mucky ****
That’s so ye ken
She’s got elbows!
Phwoar, I ken your type hen –
you wi yir elbows an a’thin!
Desperate fur it, aren’t ye?
An man! This yin,
walkin towards us!
Breathin in an oot!
Whit a slapper!
Breathin in an oot!
Aye, ye need a pair o lungs tae dae that,
I bet, eh, hen?
A pair o fine, functioning lungs!
Aye, you use them, doll –
dinny you be shy!
Ah’m no!
Aw pal, haud me back!
This yin!
This yin eatin a meat pie!
Shameless wee ****
Aw yeah, baby,
I ken whit that means!
Mean’s ye’ve got yirsel
a **** wee digestive tract in there, no?
Ye dinny hae tae spell it oot tae me, love!
Probably got a pair o kidneys
tucked away in there too,
ye ***** wee *****
Aw the same, ur they no?
Aw ae thum.
Gantin oan it.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 7:39 AM UTC
Dim sum
Between finger and thumb
Canny little package
Dip it in soy.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
You...
Are not easy to appease and quite unsweet
(Special to me)
You...
Are the red ball my mother said it is dangerous to play with
(A world unrevealed)
Yet, I'm drawn to your bitterness
It makes me feel canny.
There's nothing more I love than candy
I mean I would be dandy with an outstanding quantity
Somehow still unequal to the flavor of you
You...
Who pulls my tail and teases my senses
(Convince me my pain is not real)
You...
Are the personified insatiable
And complacency is dullified when you are on my mind
This is my inept attempt to explain
I want to drown in the aroma that is you
Lose my fingers in your skin
Awakening your phobias in hopes I'll forget, my own.
Smear my lips near your hips
And you'll remind me
I only want you because I am not supposed to
You...
Are the olive taste I can not replace
I want to spit you out like gum,
But it would be so futile to.
(For I love you)
Dec 22, 2019
Dec 22, 2019 at 7:21 PM UTC
Friend, you stumble.
Can I help with your load?
*Aye, pal, cheers -
budge up, everyone,
here's a new friend!*
This is heavy.
Unbearable.
What is this thing
you all carry?
*We're carrying the dragon,
pal.
Carrying the dragon.*
Dragon?
From whence came
a dragon?
*Ehm, not too sure -
our fathers summoned it,
we think.*
Oh, its weight!
How have you managed
for so long?
*No secret there, pal -
love. Love,
and brotherhood.
We all chip in, know?*
But does the dragon
not eat you?
It writhes on my shoulders
most disagreeably.
*No, no,
canny eat you
if you're carrying it.*
But it must eat!
It is bloated
and gorged
beyond movement!
*Aye, well,
why do think we carry it?*
So what does it eat?
*I.. We...
We don't really think
too much about that.
We have each other
to worry about.*
And what would happen
if you just laid it down?
*It would die.
We would lose
all the meaning
from our lives.*
I see.
Then come, brothers -
let us carry on.
Let us carry on
and on.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Conversation has become
A chain of phrases, one by one.
Motions are rehearsed in song
Like YouTube Comments, in the wrong.
Trolls are lawling in their crypt
Of rocky couches. They’re the hip
Of fame for ten plus five, or
Replies so long you must ‘See More…’
People say:
‘Century twenty plus one—
Where things are thought and said and done
In Memes—We have epic skill.’
Say this, we always will.
Few have seen ROFLcopters
Fly between before and afters.
From ones who make no livin,
Not a single **** was given
About Chuck Norris being
A bible-thumper (or being
A terrible actor). Nah.
The Interwebs is home for all.
People might say:
‘Century twenty plus one—
Where things were dreamt and wished and done
In words—They had all the skill.’
Say this, we hope they will.
The fad of freedom is gone.
Forums closed. No statuses on
Facebook. Nothing has been kept
In life after the Internet.
How did this happen to US?
Z-Day and the Day Zero fuss
Released Mayan, canny ********
Our demise was writ, bit by bit.
People will say:
‘Century twenty plus one—
Where things were lame but lots of fun
For free—Then they passed the bill.’
Say this, we know they will.
The avunculicide of Sam
Reveals the brighter side of spam.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 3:35 PM UTC
After I have told you so much
Laid down so much in front of you
My struggles
Dreams
Needs
Wants
Secrets
I've opened up
I've let you see into my soul
The darkest parts
The foolishness
The stupid, giddy side of me
The things I wouldn't dare to dream of telling someone else
I chose
To open up
I made the choice
To trust
Again
And look
Once again
Lies have broken me
I have this canny little part of me
That somehow chooses to open up to people
Who LIE
And the lies are what hurt the most
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
By twist and ties from ages past,
We are but Union bound
Ruled from afar by silver spoons,
'til hope and freedom found,
A fire in the belly of daughters and sons
Made a home in faces awash in blue,
With roaring thunder in voices loud, proclaim;
A Scot! Proud, free, canny and true.
Past leaders, past has-beens, past moguls and crooks,
The passion spreads, face to face,
Tangible static in the Square tonight,
The cone standing tall in it's place.
The fire of the people out in the streets,
Casting eyes to freedom's distant shores,
Their message clear and printed in bold,
With every paper passed through street-lit doors.
'Saor Alba! 'Alba gu Bràth!'
The spirit of Scotia is free.
'Bairns not Bombs!' 'Seize it with both hands!', they cry,
This Aye vote is for you, and for me.
With faith, with courage, with braw, gallus grace,
This word will nae weesht, but spread,
Not if but when, not now but again,
Independence is ne'er 'put to bed'.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
Jovial is Jovy after Marriage:
She is chubby but bubbly.
She moves freely and viciously.
Yet, she ages lovely!
Jovanne is Jovy before Marriage:
She got slim body, ah so ****
She speaks softly, but canny
Yes, she grows so pretty!
Jovial is Jovie Alexandria - my shield
She, who would harvest in my field
For my ambition would not be killed
In her, my career would be fulfilled.
Jovanne is Jovie Angelina - my angel
She, who would make my yell
For my dreams not place in cell
In her, my beautiful life she spells.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 9:22 PM UTC