"craftier" poems - Hello Poetry

I wait longer and longer to hold a singing family. They let me go. (Fire.) They don't tell me about the show. I'm another broken promise... ...like words can't hurt me. Today is another broken promise... Like a much craftier wordsmith will never hurt me.

0

Oct 9, 2010

Oct 9, 2010 at 4:13 PM UTC

shana-dukes

Broken Promise

I wait longer and longer to hold a singing family. They let me go. (Fire.) They don't tell me about the show. I'm another broken promise... ...like words can't hurt me. Today is another broken promise... Like a much craftier wordsmith will never hurt me.

10

I am the raven, I eat the dead, I am the raven, I remember all things, I am the raven, I build all, I am the raven, I know all things. I am the otter, In rivers and creeks I swim, I am the otter, I eat and I play, I am the otter, On slopes I slide, Joy is mine, In the mountain streams, I own the rivers, I feed on their fish. I am the snake, The serpent I am, Between and through move I, On belly I crawl, Gold are my scales, Glacier blue and silver, All colours they change, First one then the other, I taste the air with my tongue, Through my belly, I listen to all, Far craftier than all, The beast of the field am I. I am the fox, The vixon am I, Crafty and wise, And hard to catch, In the ground I live, Cross the fields I race, Quick and fast, I take what I want, Nothing is safe, If it I desire, A vixon am I, Fleet foot and large tail, Back and forth it moves, Grace and escasy, All come to me, All I desire. I am hawk, I soar and I fly, Above the plains, All things I see, None see what I see, From up above, Down I soar, To **** and eat, Still on a wire, Or on a fence, I know when to wait, I know when it's time, When prey is in sight, Not a second to lose. I am the vole, Who lives in the field, Down in the earth, I burrow and dig, Across the field, All seeds are mine, To eat and enjoy, From dusk until dawn, Timid and cautious, I look to the sky, I cannot fight, I'm weak and I'm small, But many am I, And many more come, And still we will be, When all you are gone. I am the owl, Silent and still, You know not I passed, Only my wind, Silent end deadly, Queen of the night, I will consume, Whatever I catch. I am the horse, Across the plains do I run, Swifter than all, The one none can catch, I run like the wind, For we are one kind, My mane and my tail, Like banners and flags, Nothing can stop us, Nothing can try, For we're always moving, The fast wind and I. I am the trout, See how my scales glisten, I am the trout, At home in the water, I swim and I breathe, What causes others to drown, I listen to the water, The rivers, the creeks, the lakes, The secrets I know, No others can know. I am the eagle, High, high I soar, Queen of the high places, All others beneath, What is not prey, I care not at all, I and I only, See what I see. But above all tonight, The fox and vixon am I, ****** and sensual, Grace and desire, In the land where the sun sets, This land that is dusk, I am all *** The kiss of the dead, The dusk sets like dust, It powders my fur, In the night do I hunt, In the night do I ***** My fur is desire, My tail moves and calls, I walk here as *** All come to my call. ~I Am the Fox by Lorekeeper, June 7, 2014

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Jun 13, 2014

Jun 13, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC

muninnskiss

I Am the Fox

I am the raven, I eat the dead, I am the raven, I remember all things, I am the raven, I build all, I am the raven, I know all things. I am the otter, In rivers and creeks I swim, I am the otter, I eat and I play, I am the otter, On slopes I slide, Joy is mine, In the mountain streams, I own the rivers, I feed on their fish. I am the snake, The serpent I am, Between and through move I, On belly I crawl, Gold are my scales, Glacier blue and silver, All colours they change, First one then the other, I taste the air with my tongue, Through my belly, I listen to all, Far craftier than all, The beast of the field am I. I am the fox, The vixon am I, Crafty and wise, And hard to catch, In the ground I live, Cross the fields I race, Quick and fast, I take what I want, Nothing is safe, If it I desire, A vixon am I, Fleet foot and large tail, Back and forth it moves, Grace and escasy, All come to me, All I desire. I am hawk, I soar and I fly, Above the plains, All things I see, None see what I see, From up above, Down I soar, To **** and eat, Still on a wire, Or on a fence, I know when to wait, I know when it's time, When prey is in sight, Not a second to lose. I am the vole, Who lives in the field, Down in the earth, I burrow and dig, Across the field, All seeds are mine, To eat and enjoy, From dusk until dawn, Timid and cautious, I look to the sky, I cannot fight, I'm weak and I'm small, But many am I, And many more come, And still we will be, When all you are gone. I am the owl, Silent and still, You know not I passed, Only my wind, Silent end deadly, Queen of the night, I will consume, Whatever I catch. I am the horse, Across the plains do I run, Swifter than all, The one none can catch, I run like the wind, For we are one kind, My mane and my tail, Like banners and flags, Nothing can stop us, Nothing can try, For we're always moving, The fast wind and I. I am the trout, See how my scales glisten, I am the trout, At home in the water, I swim and I breathe, What causes others to drown, I listen to the water, The rivers, the creeks, the lakes, The secrets I know, No others can know. I am the eagle, High, high I soar, Queen of the high places, All others beneath, What is not prey, I care not at all, I and I only, See what I see. But above all tonight, The fox and vixon am I, ****** and sensual, Grace and desire, In the land where the sun sets, This land that is dusk, I am all *** The kiss of the dead, The dusk sets like dust, It powders my fur, In the night do I hunt, In the night do I ***** My fur is desire, My tail moves and calls, I walk here as *** All come to my call. ~I Am the Fox by Lorekeeper, June 7, 2014

132

The sun, a heavy spider, spins in the thirsty sky. The wind hides under cactus leaves, in doorway corners. Only the wry Small shadow accompanies Hamlet-Petrouchka's march - the slight Wry sniggering shadow in front of the morning, turning at noon, behind towards night. The plumed cavalcade has passed to tomorrow, is lost again; But the wisecrack-mask, the quick-flick-fanfare of the cane remain. Diminuendo of footsteps even is done: Only remain, Don Quixote, hat, cane, smile and sun. Goliaths fall to our sling, but craftier fates than these Lie ambushed - malice of open manholes, strings in the dark and falling trees. God kicks our backsides, scatters peel on the smoothest stair; And towering centaurs steal the tulip lips, the aureoled hair, While we, craned from the gallery, throw our cardboard flowers And our feet **** to tunes not played for ours.

0

2.6k

A. S. J. Tessimond

Chaplin

The sun, a heavy spider, spins in the thirsty sky. The wind hides under cactus leaves, in doorway corners. Only the wry Small shadow accompanies Hamlet-Petrouchka's march - the slight Wry sniggering shadow in front of the morning, turning at noon, behind towards night. The plumed cavalcade has passed to tomorrow, is lost again; But the wisecrack-mask, the quick-flick-fanfare of the cane remain. Diminuendo of footsteps even is done: Only remain, Don Quixote, hat, cane, smile and sun. Goliaths fall to our sling, but craftier fates than these Lie ambushed - malice of open manholes, strings in the dark and falling trees. God kicks our backsides, scatters peel on the smoothest stair; And towering centaurs steal the tulip lips, the aureoled hair, While we, craned from the gallery, throw our cardboard flowers And our feet **** to tunes not played for ours.

14

Huddled within boundaries highlighted by the craftier. Stubbornly, yet unwillingly willing, escorted to the connoisseurs of morality. Structured, consistent, but reembodied into randomness, the more the merrier. Spoiled, unripened, famished and fat. Pleasant, fresh, fit, chubby and… adolescent. In the name of manipulation, and its ***** messengers, we honour the catalogued pious. To Venus; the untrue, the shameful, the blasphemous. We serve peace and love, abandon the lies of Gods, join your cherished sisters below.

0

Nov 21, 2014

Nov 21, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC

revin

vase

Huddled within boundaries highlighted by the craftier. Stubbornly, yet unwillingly willing, escorted to the connoisseurs of morality. Structured, consistent, but reembodied into randomness, the more the merrier. Spoiled, unripened, famished and fat. Pleasant, fresh, fit, chubby and… adolescent. In the name of manipulation, and its ***** messengers, we honour the catalogued pious. To Venus; the untrue, the shameful, the blasphemous. We serve peace and love, abandon the lies of Gods, join your cherished sisters below.

4

If ever there were a perfect time for lies It would be now. If only I could weave a tangled web Of lies so beautifully thread Together in their simplicity, To make a bouquet of flowered words Gently flowing down stream In a basket carrying all our misplaced hopes And our misplaced dreams. If ever there were a time for lies, It would be today, this hour. I'd tell the lies a parent tells a child To keep the tame, the meek, From escaping aimlessly into the wild, but still I doubt you'd hear My feeble attempt at words With those high tuned ears, That catch only the off beat phrases, My mumbled words, and jumbled speech. You hear the fool side of me And take no time to hear my lies, Those lies that could save you time And time again, if I could only Spin the web a little craftier, A little stronger and thicker in the threads. Maybe then you'd believe the lies I spread.

0

Feb 18, 2012

Feb 18, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC

paige-jones

Perfect Time for Lies

If ever there were a perfect time for lies It would be now. If only I could weave a tangled web Of lies so beautifully thread Together in their simplicity, To make a bouquet of flowered words Gently flowing down stream In a basket carrying all our misplaced hopes And our misplaced dreams. If ever there were a time for lies, It would be today, this hour. I'd tell the lies a parent tells a child To keep the tame, the meek, From escaping aimlessly into the wild, but still I doubt you'd hear My feeble attempt at words With those high tuned ears, That catch only the off beat phrases, My mumbled words, and jumbled speech. You hear the fool side of me And take no time to hear my lies, Those lies that could save you time And time again, if I could only Spin the web a little craftier, A little stronger and thicker in the threads. Maybe then you'd believe the lies I spread.

26

to hammers we are all nails doesnt matter what type of hammer theyre all a ball pain isnt it time we threw a spanner in their taut chains taught the masters that were craftier than they thought when they thought theyd bought our worth for coppers

0

Apr 20, 2017

Apr 20, 2017 at 7:02 PM UTC

joey-jo-jo-jnr-shabadoo

brass tacks

to hammers we are all nails doesnt matter what type of hammer theyre all a ball pain isnt it time we threw a spanner in their taut chains taught the masters that were craftier than they thought when they thought theyd bought our worth for coppers

12

Engines of disuse disguised draw strongly I sail smaller in presumption taller craftier in my time as if it is mine Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis

0

Feb 22, 2019

Feb 22, 2019 at 11:44 PM UTC

Denniswillis

Engines of Disuse

Engines of disuse disguised draw strongly I sail smaller in presumption taller craftier in my time as if it is mine Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis

12

Sitting, picking at split ends, fishing for volition in the deep end. Twitching, itching skin past spent; the Tinkerer's turning pen tips into trenches. **** twigs, spit bricks til the crypt filled. Sheer skill, no fill, spare me the semantics. Hit the bench, kid, kick off the cool kicks. These royal blue vans be too fierce. Long live the worms, the devourers of dirt. Here's to the ones molding the curve. Your overlord's back, now pass me the torch. Kick a door down like It's a word I'm after. Craftier than those rats of Madagascar, but I'd ditch the laughter, poetaster. After all, you bow to a master. Dig deep, DeadBeat's unleashed. Good grief! His technique is Hulk green. Guaranteed to knock you off your two left feet. Whats wrong? Last I checked, talk was cheap.

0

May 2, 2018

May 2, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC

Bbbbbbbb

Royal Blue Vans

Sitting, picking at split ends, fishing for volition in the deep end. Twitching, itching skin past spent; the Tinkerer's turning pen tips into trenches. **** twigs, spit bricks til the crypt filled. Sheer skill, no fill, spare me the semantics. Hit the bench, kid, kick off the cool kicks. These royal blue vans be too fierce. Long live the worms, the devourers of dirt. Here's to the ones molding the curve. Your overlord's back, now pass me the torch. Kick a door down like It's a word I'm after. Craftier than those rats of Madagascar, but I'd ditch the laughter, poetaster. After all, you bow to a master. Dig deep, DeadBeat's unleashed. Good grief! His technique is Hulk green. Guaranteed to knock you off your two left feet. Whats wrong? Last I checked, talk was cheap.

19