"cleverest" poems
I never understood “made in God’s image” until I saw her.
Anyone who’s seen her has higher expectations for what heaven looks like.
We’re both sensitive enough to know what love feels like,
and reasonable enough to know that it can be broken.
The first time you use a new toothbrush is nothing like the first time you kiss a girl,
But I still love them both.
Her laugh is a paradox; an outsider would think she either just said the cleverest thing ever or she wishes she could retract it faster than it was said.
Only I know it’s simply because it’s beautiful. It’s easily my favorite language.
I have considered wearing a wiretap so I could go back and listen to all of our conversations again. And I hope that it picked up her heartbeat. She told me, it’s beating exactly like life should sound like.
She offers to iron any wrinkled clothes. I don’t have any. But I have a wrinkled heart.
I thought it was made into origami but it’s just a wadded ball that missed the wastebasket.
The way she dances to hip-hop shows her versatility,
yet you can tell she doesn’t do this every day; but she still dances.
I’m almost too nervous to hug her - knowing it will have to end.
Whenever I let go, I feel like I made a mistake.
Her voice trails off into silence,
like an hourglass that’s trying to hold itself together.
I like that “click-clack” of her boots.
It lets me know I’m next to someone really going places.
She goes to the mini mart with me even when she doesn't want to get anything,
besides more time together.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 1:44 AM UTC
So many doubts in my mind
got to clear I was determined
asked the perfect he didn't say
asked the cleverest he got away
Then I rushed to the elder
Who was glad to see me there
Instead of answers
he threw me doubts
there I stood still again
Still without any gain..
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
Intellect without emotion, someone told me once. That's how they described me. That I had more wit and sarcastic charm than I could ever need, and yet I couldn't do anything meaningful with it because I lacked anything real…..like empathy, selflessness…or love. I was the cleverest robot in the world.
The truth is I do have emotion. Bounds of it. It pours out of me through cracks I forgot to seal when I walled myself in. And any attempt it makes to grow a garden is flooded by preemptive rain clouds, conjured up by a self imposed reality wherein the world sees my face in the daylight for what it really is and burns down my garden anyway.
I am no robot, I just hide behind cold metal plates and careful calculations, as if I could possibly predict consequences to chances I never take, moves I never make, and broken down walls I never break. So that the outcome is that i'm the loneliest, cleverest robot in the world, who discarded his humanity for a safety net and a bottle of cheap thrills, a bottle he uses as a telescope to see the rest of world because it looks better through the glass.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
A ****** becomes a woman
only when she is occupied, possessed
caressed and squeezed by her lover
or husband. As a buzzing bee *****
nectar from the flower, he sips manna from her rosy lips.
A man’s life is a waste
unless he smoothly touches the ******* of her lover
and pours the loving juice in to her beautiful *****
It is really an ecstasy for a man
to climb the mountains and go deep into
his lover’s deep valley and fathom
her inexpressible beauty
Blessed is the woman
whose breast is ****** most passionately by his lover
and most lovingly by her child for milk
when she becomes a mother.
The greatest thing in this vast universe
is the happy union between a man
and a woman which is the real source
of recreation and creation of man,
the cleverest thinking animal on earth
Apr 16, 2011
Apr 16, 2011 at 11:31 PM UTC
Almost happy now, he looked at his estate.
An exile making watches glanced up as he passed,
And went on working; where a hospital was rising fast
A joiner touched his cap; an agent came to tell
Some of the trees he'd planted were progressing well.
The white alps glittered. It was summer. He was very great.
Far off in Paris, where his enemies
Whispered that he was wicked, in an upright chair
A blind old woman longed for death and letters. He would write
"Nothing is better than life." But was it? Yes, the fight
Against the false and the unfair
Was always worth it. So was gardening. Civilise.
Cajoling, scolding, screaming, cleverest of them all,
He'd had the other children in a holy war
Against the infamous grown-ups, and, like a child, been sly
And humble, when there was occasion for
The two-faced answer or the plain protective lie,
But, patient like a peasant, waited for their fall.
And never doubted, like D'Alembert, he would win:
Only Pascal was a great enemy, the rest
Were rats already poisoned; there was much, though, to be done,
And only himself to count upon.
Dear Diderot was dull but did his best;
Rousseau, he'd always known, would blubber and give in.
So, like a sentinel, he could not sleep. The night was full of wrong,
Earthquakes and executions. Soon he would be dead,
And still all over Europe stood the horrible nurses
Itching to boil their children. Only his verses
Perhaps could stop them: He must go on working: Overhead
The uncomplaining stars composed their lucid song.
2.6k
For sustenance we trudge on
Just to sustain
This callus equilibrium of fragile crystals
swaying in the wind, falling constantly
Employing the cleverest techniques of fleeting upward momentum
Short-lived displays of affection bleeding the small offering received at birth
endlessly replayed to our children's eyes
Despondent indentured servants scribbling through skin and tendons
Just to feed their families the rice they can no longer grow
And sending these fairy tales to the rosy-cheeked offspring of their oppressor's store bought dreams
To keep the oppression alive .
To operate at peak efficiency.
To transfer honest muscle through wire mesh.
And fatten.
And enfeeble
Enforce the prerequisites to match the scale's testimony.
Testify! Oh, Lord. We thank you for this meal stolen from our inferiors.
Please Please Please.
We demand pleasure. IT IS REQUIRED.
For if we feel sadness, then we have failed.
And we'll lay down what we don't have space in our engorged bellies for.
It will be placed, with all due honors, to our greatest shrine.
Where we are honest with our real Mother.
Where the proud, twicely worn, footwear of our warrior-spiritless cows rests
Where erections limp as collapsed towers, respected by false jihads, sleep.
Where dream's plastic refusal composts never; nourishing nothing.
Where potential is pure impotence.
The bed we all share.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
Crude and ****** words are for the crude and ****** birds
As I **** **** **** and otherwise defecate on everything that ever mattered to you or I
Clever sweat beads cascade off the forehead of someone far more important than I
And the cleverest of intentions leave the cleaverest wounds in the forethoughts of those who I care for
Nevermind you or I, or the fact that these words have yet to grace the thought-o-sphere,
let us be, let us me
Let us remember who we tried to aren't.
Insecurities be ******
I have words.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 3:50 PM UTC
Born of a man who smiles
Never would he have a frown
A friend to walk with for miles
A king without a crown
They said he had special needs
But his heart would never fail
He would only do good deeds
Everybody knew of Timothy Dale
Always he had something special to say
He would stay with you, yes he would
He would always brighten up your day
Always trust in Timothy Dale you could
Even those who began treating him bad
They tried to make poor Timothy cry
He would even help them if they were sad
Timothy Dale, even for his enemies he would try
Children loved to hear him tell his stories
To tell them, well, he was the best
Told of long ago heroes and their glories
Told how they braved the trickiest quest
A time came when Timothy Dale grew old
And then poor Timothy Dale cried
There were no more tales left to be told
That was the day when a whole town cried
Those who would say poor Timothy was not bright
The entire town said he was the cleverest man
Now Timothy Dale is up in Heaven's light
He is telling Angels all the stories he can
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
A man with many faces
Is a man with the cleverest lies
He knows how to hide his secrets
And keep them from prying eyes
A man with many masks
Is a man with a practiced smile
He knows how to end his foes
And act their friend all the while
A man with many ears
Is a man who won't be surprised
He knows what his enemies plan
And he acts out the perfect reprise
A man with many faces
Is a man who will live long and well
But ask yourself this, my friend
Will he live in heaven or hell?
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
*I was born today,
Yes on this very day,
Today people wished me,
from here and there,
from the cleverest of people
to that nerd,
But I still wish that person remebered,
Who was once,
Through my life
Never forgotten..*
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 4:50 AM UTC
It happens in a Nano second
when your brain bursts
like a water balloon
and flavored ideas
of Snickers and sour dill pickles
run from your brain
down your arm
to you hand,
that magnificent five fingered
tool gifted at birth
then picks up a pen
and scribes the cleverest
inconceivable thought
ever known
to mankind
yes,
you have just blown
your own mind
it happens…
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
my neighbors still slept
as the zombies crept through town
they awoke undead
mom threw a grenade
the zombie blew up, alas,
blood got in her mouth
gunning down zombies,
my arm was bitten. weeping,
i hacked it clean off
later i saw mom
dead-eyed, moaning, and ******
and slit my lone wrist
nora burned the stairs
zombies piled up beneath her
rotten hands grasping
nora stayed upstairs
after five days of terror
she starved to death there
dad was cleverest
he fled to the Atlantic
to escape by boat
wading through driftwood
he found a russian u-boat
full of gnarled corpses
not dead as they seemed
the kremlin zombies leapt up
and ate my dad's brains
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 10:58 AM UTC
14
Every song or sonnet
singular in its intricacy,
in time it becomes something
other, hyper-personal and resonant.
14 things may burst into millions.
13
Three times I've felt alone
this minute. I should stop tallying
hours in my schedule, messy
rubric.
12
11-years old and jumping off
mud-mounds, playing King of the
Hill. The strongest rises to the top.
The cleverest usurps.
11
One thing for certain:
we are human. We are
not human.
10
Six times in school I got
detention. It was often due
to my willingness to be a
follower, silly sheep to a
slaughter.
9
Five languages of love we are
sure of, no more so far.
8
10 tally marks looks a lot
like less. Some things, like
people, refuse to show their
face.
7
13 is supposedly an unlucky
number. At this age I uncovered
a part of myself I did not know
before. Discovery. This is luck.
6
A dozen is meant to represent 12
because it is simpler, same syllables
only one less letter, a convenience.
5
If you flip an eight on its side
you can see forever.
4
Seven times I've thought this poem
gimmicky.
3
[redacted for time constraints
and continuity]
2
The artist places her pen to
paper and borrows, not stealing
so much as salvaging, wrapping
old presents in neat new bows,
satin or silk or rough twine.
Nine variations on the same
subject.
1
Four lids harbor two eyes,
a galaxy, universe,
each hiding half a heaven
from view.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
these dark days slowly fade to dark nights,
we fight now for justice, just to keep our minds right
never blindsided by the limelight cuz in hindsight
whats inside will be decided when we hit trife times
now say it five times
we fight now for justice just to keep our minds right
we fight now for justice just to keep our minds right
we fight now for justice just to keep our minds right
we fight now for justice just to keep our minds right
dark days spark ways to face stress
stuck in this placeless mindstate so we chase death
we face death every day but death is faceless
at best the right thing is just the best guess
but restless minds quickly grow weary
we think big and the truths a weapon we all carry
but most fear to lose and cling to every breath
freedom is not a given the blinds on the deck
what u fight for's what you get
I can't be tortured to give up my fortress
neither bought with fortunes
they can rob my orchard, but cant dig up the seeds,
so I shoot for the stars to make them all bleed
just to paint the picture that one day they all fall,
but somehow the worst of them land on all fours
endorsed by the four horsemen
if we play their game we all forfeit never seeing our reinforcements
the art of war we sell it door to door
there's more where this came from stored in distorted forms
seek and destroy their sin secretly kept under the rug
take their gloves off and dig their fingertips for blood
its all love tho I've been appointed to
present my resentment and my point of view
cause I can see beyond the horizon my eyes went
back and forth in time beyond the lies and advertisements
and found things u might find surprising
it entices u when someone slices you and dices
when someone tries to do you what they did to Christ
you feel the crisis you heard lies you hear the cries
give up the slightest fear and fight along the righteous
keep control keep conscious and don't roll with the punches
it might just work you never know just pull the lever,
be the cleverest than let her go
these dark days slowly fade to dark nights,
we fight now for justice, just to keep our minds right
never blindsided by the limelight cuz in hindsight
whats inside will be decided when we hit trife times
now say it five times
we fight now for justice just to keep our minds right
we fight now for justice just to keep our minds right
we fight now for justice just to keep our minds right we fight now for justice just to keep our minds right.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 6:01 AM UTC
*they say he was a clever ****
*the cleverest **** around*
*there were no *****
as clever as him ever found
his Dickie manner
smarter than all the rest
which proved beyond doubt
that he was the best
**** became a legend*
for being so sharp of mind
never had the world
seen such a brilliant kind
*the expert **** known*
near and far
his absolute brightness
made him a star
but sceptics had another
*opinion of ****
they saw that he was
a numbskull brick
you'll always get
an opposite point of view
from folks who have a defter
more insightful review
*they say he was a clever ****
*the cleverest **** around*
*there were no *****
as clever as him ever found
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 6:51 AM UTC
I like to believe
that nobody understands me
and I'm one of a kind
lost to obscurity
but hinting of mysterious
significance
And I feel sorry for
my uncle's three-legged dog
and the malignancy
of fear in rural America
and the failed successes
of the Bolsheviks
I wonder about the air
in Saõ Paolo in January
and the muskuloskelatal
infirmities that creep in
and make the aged
into churlish curmudgeons
There is no way I could
hunt truffles or find a fresh
Morel in the woods when
I didn't even realize until
my grandmother died that
we own a creek
Uttering vespers in moonlight
yields some sanguine lucidity
like contemplating the nuanced
differences between polenta
and cornmeal mush
It's like I'll never write a poem
in time or finish a marathon
or kiss a stranger deeply
through the crisp ventillation
of nevermore.
We might daydream the bombastic
colors of Cezanne but all
we'll ever be is some nondescript
platinum ischemic flash,
a slimy buffet consisting in
all-is-lost
An apocryphal journey
to the center of the city
faces our insubordination to plastic
with the harshness of a dictionary
in the face of the illiterate
But in the end, apoplectically
forgotten, I come to the
unintelligent conclusion,
mathematically speaking,
that there is nothing singular
nor more available
than the finite banality
of my empty, insufficiently
obscurantist words which
flow and choke and all can know
and see clearly through
though I insist that none
of this pretence is born
of any maleveloence, and I chide
"How very meta of me indeed"
to have thought of another witty
and most cleverest retort
the day after the insult
was first delivered
But I used my last gift card
to purchase this still life
to pierce the hollow
cerulean satisfaction
otherwise known as tears
Barring diastolic ******
I'll stick around to see
how this all turns out
and hope that one day I can stop
being so completely understood
And then I can hide in the lonely
and find refuge in the cave
as a single meaningless scrawl
buried in the last pages
at the end of the world.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 12:36 AM UTC
She walks through the noisy street
every day of the hot summer months.
She sees colorful kites flying overhead,
over the tops of roofs, coconut trees,
over the clotheslines, garbed in undergarments,
tattered shirts and poorly-sewn trousers.
She waits for playmates to come and
ask her to play tag, to waddle in the canals,
***** and smelly. The scent sticks even after
a week of being scrubbed and hosed down.
She climbs mango trees, steals the fruits and
with a mischievous smile, throws them
to her favorite playmate, waiting under the tree.
She loves long talks with her favorite playmate.
Sometimes, they would go to the park,
loiter around and walk hand in hand, just talking.
And sometimes, they like to play tag until dusk.
She adores this special playmate and considers him
her best friend in the whole, wide world.
She always looks forward to just sitting around
with him while he shows her cool card tricks,
holds her close, makes her feel like a princess--
his special, beloved and worshiped princess
Her world slows down; her mind falls silent;
her heart calms in his presence as he
shows her the universe, the simple things
city life denied her, the comforting silence
her buzzing soul is just coming to know.
She admires her beloved playmate, who, for her,
is the wisest, the cleverest spirit on the planet,
who shows her that it's possible to remain
a child forever, to keep the heart
of a young soul for all eternity, to see
the world in verses and poems, in stories and songs.
She weaves wonderful tales with her precious playmate,
stories full of fantasy and love, brimming with glory
and success, abound with heroism and dreams.
They will always be together, she and her playmate,
she vows. through summers and storms, through months
and years, through pain and pleasure, they will be together.
The summer later vanishes; the skyscrapers have become
too tall for kites to reach, the host of cars too noisy
to hear her playmates call. The world is just too fast
to remain a child forever. But there is one special
part of summer, one call she would always hear
above the din of cars and the loud ticking of clocks.
Her favorite playmate calls from the depths of her soul,
reminding her that she could always choose to be
a child forever, a child in her mind, in her spirit, in her heart.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 3:41 AM UTC
I know I won’t be here forever,
and I am just wasting away,
watching politician playing their games,
play acting outrage while preventing change.
There is a no place for my face
that shifts and distorts from the pain
that I am forced to witness over and over again.
I’m not the cleverest
but stating facts makes me feel like
I’m trying to scale Mt. Everest
while screaming against the bitterest winds,
like I am going to have to watch all of my friends
slip off the top and drop nonstop
until our whole civilization ends.
I’m just dressing my heartbreak up in
stark sparkling words meant to
amuse and enlighten all of you,
until the same fate catches up to me to,
and my legacy disintegrates
with the rest of the human race.
Nov 26, 2023
Nov 26, 2023 at 12:28 AM UTC
Love is the essence of life
It is the antidote to strife
Love binds the people together
It makes our lives peaceful forever
Love is entirely different from lust
Selfless love is the best
Love is the greatest of all emotions
Man is the cleverest of all creations
Internet makes the world a global village
All of us have created a page
Every blog should become an adage
English makes our lives rich
It should come to common man’s reach
Writing poetry is a great art
It should touch our heart
All the world is a stage
Why should we live in a cage?
We should enjoy the beauty of nature
We relish every aspect of her feature
Our life on earth is not permanent
We should believe that it is transient
We don’t know when our life ends
One day the e-mail God sends
We should open it gracefully
We will have lived our life meaningfully
by JVL NARASIMHA RAO
Dec 27, 2010
Dec 27, 2010 at 6:07 AM UTC
You are young
You are pretty
Everybody loves you
You are sweet
You are innocent
Your books, you'd need them too
You are smart
You are beautiful
Beauty needs brain too
You are the sweetest
Could be the greatest
Be the kindest
Learn from the cleverest
Success would be with you
You are brave
You are explorer
Come out from your cocoon
and breathe your life too....
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 1:59 PM UTC
So, I wouldn't say I'm unintelligent,
Then again, I wouldn't say I'm the cleverest.
But one thing's for sure, I made a good choice.
Maybe, just maybe, mathematics isn't my strong point,
Nor science for that matter.
But I know I made a good decision.
Often I wonder why I write, and why it pleases me,
I realise it's because of you.
You were one of the best reasons I came up with.
You're a great friend,
A truly wonderful person.
And you inspire me to write and write better.
I feel safe in knowing that you won't give up on me,
Where so many others have.
I know you make my life more than it ever was before.
I know I am grateful for knowing you.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 4:12 AM UTC
I lie to you.
I lie to you with every smile,
and I lie to you with ever note of laughter.
I lie to you with every promise that I'm fine.
Because I am most definitely not fine.
Not happy, not functioning, not sane.
My forehead needs a hole bored into it
to relieve the pressure.
My veins need some air bubbles injected
to give my heart a break.
My stomach needs a bombardment of chemicals
to still the churning torrent.
My nose and mouth need to be smothered
to block out the putrid air.
The engine of my car would be better suited
wrapped around a telephone pole.
Showers seem so incomplete
without a wired toaster to cling to.
Cleaning products don't convince me
unless they have both bleach and ammonia.
You lie to me.
You lie to me with every hug,
and you lie to me with every word of comfort.
You lie to me with every admission of love.
Aren't we ever the cleverest couple of liars.
Whatever your reasons,
and no matter mine,
neither of us is willing to let go of the lies.
So as long as you love me, and as long as I'm fine,
how about we just play house?
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
Every fear I possess,
every lie I can attest,
and here I stand, head held low,
until I clutch my heart in death throe.
Alone in an empty room,
I can recover here,
heal as healing dictates.
But here, in this safe,
still place,
I can smell you.
I can always smell you.
But kept from the truth,
in these waning years of my youth,
I can reach past it, through it, and into you.
From there, I hope, you can feel me, too.
In life, we are told,
there is hope.
I would trade an
eye for half a chance
to see you.
My love,
these hours keep us,
alone and apart,
My love,
I know you,
my work of art.
How you thwart,
my cleverest, my sweetheart.
my attempts at recovery.
My love, how I envy.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 5:53 PM UTC
I forgot what it's like
To love someone so deeply
Until I met you.
It wasn't like this
'Til the very second you pronounce your name
Like a perfectly blooming flower on the spring's sky.
I realized too
In that moment of seconds
That love isn't the cleverest thing I should ever feel
In my messed up mind.
I forgot
That the last time I fell for someone
I cried myself to sleep and try so hard to be beautiful
Until he didn't like me at all.
And I hate to know
That you will probably
Do that to me too.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
JULIAN IS WRITING A POEM
"The thud, thud of a horse's hoof
does not alarm fish."
MIND UNDER WATER - 1883
Richard Jefferies
Fishes flee him.
They can feel his thoughts
touch them.
Here, Creux Harbour
on the Island of Sark.
Mummy fish tries not to laugh
as her little darlings dart...
It's only a poet!"
she tells her younglings
"thinking thoughts
they won't hurt you.
Julian's vibrations
pass through them.
"It's what poets do
before they turn the world into words"
The little fish listen
with open mouths.
"As far as I can tell...it's a Julian
one of the cleverest kind one can find
a man composed of equal parts
wit and charm
an all shall be well and
all shall be well type of guy."
Julian is thinking
of nothing
but horses.
Horses.
The fish don't
even get a look in.
He sees the great Shires
being swum in the harbour.
Such a magnificence
of being
decanted from land
to sea
the great hooves
treading water
free to be themselves
enjoying their day at the sea's side.
Julian is alive
with this image
the sheer
awe of it all.
The fishes think
nothing of it.
They are used to horses
galloping among them.
It's the vibrations
of the poet's thoughts
that tickles them.
"But our Mam..?""
a small fry ventures
"...there are no horses
here....and now?"
"Ahhh that doesn't bother poets
ya see...they see
both what is there and not there
or what may be!"
She quotes the great 16th century fish
"Nothing is so but thinking make it so!"
Later, at the Candie Gardens
on another island altogether
Julian sits, sips...
a double espresso.
And again.
A double espresso..
We see the words flow
onto the page
charged with the grandeur
of the great Shires
as the little fishes look on
amused at the poet's
coffee coloured thoughts.
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 2:18 AM UTC