"craftily" poems
In the light
Shadows are prisoners
And prisoners we are to our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say
*I am no prisoner
I am but a listener
I guide the light
and shape
the stars
I am detailed
craftily inked
I am what links
us all*
**In the darkness
Our shadows are free
And we are free from our shadows
But if shadows could speak
I think they'll say
***I am beyond free
I am everywhere
omnipresent
and omniscient
I shade what most
aren't aware of
I am the protector
The keeper
of all secrets
I am defined
by none***
But if shadows could speak
will anyone still feel lonesome?
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
The leopard and the lion chose to become friends,
For they were all proud of claws on their paws
They each glorified one another for their mighty,
Ability to live on meat of other fauna throughout a year,
They each admired one another for running speed,
They each remained firm and loyal to one rule;
Lions don’t eat leopards neither leopards eat lions.
They felt warmth in their companionship without verve,
Until the time they initiated a certain joint venture;
To hunt an antelope as it was famed to be the sweetest,
Again, there had remained one antelope only in the world,
They dilly and not dallied anyhow about such glittering project,
They both endevoured to set forth by each dawn for a whole year,
Tediously hunting throughout a day, the lion doing a great part,
Setting ambuscades and arduously sleuthing to orient on trail,
The leopard severally fainted in the field due to exhaustion,
On one eve of christmas day, the lion captured the prey,
When the leopard was a sleep shivering in fevers of malaria,
Their prey was a middle aged female antelope with swollen hips.
The leopard was sparked to fire of life by a mysterious fillip,
He boldly requested work, now to help the lion in carrying,
The un-suspecting lion relinquished the carcass to the leopard,
Feat of shrewdness gripped the leopard, he took off
Running away with a lightening speed, the antelope on his mouth,
The lion again began to chase, shouting to the leopard,
To be a gentleman and stop running, for them to share the plunder,
The leopard never listened, he craftily climbed to the apex,
Of the most tall and most slippery tree, he perched at the peak
With the antelope on his muscular mandibles of voracity,
The lion remained at the stem, wailing like a toddler
His family does not climb trees, not even a shrub,
The lion wailed, using all styles of wailing,
Pleading with the leopard to donate even an iota,
Not even a small piece of antelope bone dropped
To drop on the ground for the lion to taste,
Human leopards are not good hunting companions.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
It's seemingly not enough
to curtly say what I've done
and truth be truly told,
there honestly hasn't been much
so thank you kindly
for craftily making it seem
like apparently there's so much more
than what's inherently me.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
Manipulating information
To craftily plot your lore
Is necessary if you want
To continue an information war.
Specific example: Deny Russian
Collusion and interference in
U.S. elections, and do not stop
Seeking info that you can spin.
After months of denying Russian
Cyber attacks and election meddling,
Then admit the possibility
Through a little backpedaling.
Say that well…maybe they meddled,
But hastily add: so did others.
Say you'd still end all queries
And probes if you had your druthers.
It's vital, of course, that you keep
Bashing the press. Be sure to accuse
Investigative journalists
Of making up tons of fake news.
Finally, say the Russians will
Interfere in the U.S., and that's
How in elections this November
They plan to help the DEMOCRATS!
Why? Because you're so hard
(Wink!) on Russia. You'll be winning.
Your fawning fans will eat it up,
And you will have all heads spinning.
Your friends on your favorite TV station
Will help you criticize and demean
Those who don't agree with you.
Praise to your propaganda machine!
Who cares what the world thinks?
You've got your fans; you've got your base.
There's no match for a stable genius
Who says to the world, "In your face!"
-by Bob B (7-25-18)
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
Oh, three- in- the- morning,
how you snuck up on me, so craftily.
I don't want to go to sleep.
I'm having too much fun.
I set the clocks back to twelve;
just to see if maybe it will turn back time
So I can finish my videogame
before the alarm goes off in the morning.
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 12:59 AM UTC
Scrabble was more fun to play
When we both used the same board,
Long distance rules we now use,
As it's all we can afford.
Playing Scrabble was more fun,
When you used to live near Grand;
We could snack during the game,
And we took care of one hand.
Playing Scrabble using phones,
Is twisting the Scrabble rules;
But since we are far away,
Telephones are needed tools.
When we're playing phone Scrabble,
Face up letters need to be;
Where they're in Scrabble box lids,
To make them easy to see.
Two letter racks we both use,
Two by you and two by me;
During the game if tempted,
They help us play honestly.
Mary Anne, my Scrabble friend,
With words you're fascinated
You've sculptured many poems,
So craftily created.
I like the way you keep score,
You keep track of it so well;
You make playing Scrabble fun
I thought this you I should tell.
Mary Anne,, Do you have time,
For some phone Scrabble with me?
When you've time for phone Scrabble,
Let me know when it can be.
Nov 28, 2020
Nov 28, 2020 at 11:06 AM UTC
Blithe golden cloud, that once tugged at my heart strings
enigmatic pubescent,warm master work of raising steam,
you did drift too low, to be real for my sun scorched world
but deliberately pretended cold,when I waved, repeatedly,
I ardently wooed, to the alarm of your admirers, a legion
how I longed for the secrets, you whispered,know you more
aren't you fire within, that burns heart,lightening concealed?
Formed in sensual, undulating softness, hiding, fiery desires?
I waited, for you to touch ground, as you promised,to explore
being naive, you inadvertently tangled with the tree branches!
Obstructive self seekers,who craftily trapped you in thickets
and little by little, in grey strands you vanished in thin air...
A lesson to all straying cloudlets,I had to be sadly a witness.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
Our lopsided home
Sandwiches between
Thickets of sycamores
Abandoned and resembling
A surfaced shipwreck
Was swept clean by the floods.
But we craftily smiled
Like pirates up on their luck
Adrenaline sweeping our veins
Pumping us to search for
Any remaining buried treasure
Because in that moment
We realized we were safe.
Rebuilding was rebirth
And this labeled tragedy
Shook up our monotony
Giving us our badly needed
Second chance.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
She looked so sweet but she had black eyes
That charming little smile was surprisingly sly
An innocent act she continued to play
There was never a rumor, for there was nothing to say
She constantly, craftily, stole the upper hand
Guilefully cunning, appearing offhand
Triumphant she was when her deception succeeded
Prancing away from the hate that she seeded
Her friends were like puppets, their fate she controlled
A friend to no end, when she spoke she cajoled
She listened wide-eyed, and blinked in surprise
She was begged to help, and begged to chastise
So she fixed the stories in her own way
Discarding the remnants, displayed to decay
Contented and sprightly she talked very lightly
So sweetly and sightly she left ever brightly.
And now you know of the girl with black eyes
With that charming smile that's ever so sly
So don't be fooled by her false disposition
Otherwise, you will find
yourself
in a most
unfortunate
position.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
Annona feigns sleep.
Marcus has bored her
With his talk of the
Campaign; droning on
About this aspect
And that and not a
Mark on his body
To show for all the
Dangers he says he’s
Been through. The flowers
He brought lie on her
Lap. Marcus gets up
To leave the room. I
Have forgotten how
Tired you must be,
He says looking at
His wife lovingly,
And me chattering
On and you wanting
Your bed and sleep, he
Adds craftily and
Smiling to himself.
Amy waits outside
The open door; she
Pretends to show her
Disinterest in
It all, holding back
A smile, knowing her
Mistress feigns well this
Tiredness and sleep.
Make sure your mistress
Gets to her chamber
Safely, Marcus tells
Amy bluntly and
Giving her his cold
Eyed stare. She nods and
Bows and watches him
Walk away with his
Usual swagger
And toss of head. If
You knew how I lay
In your wife’s soft bed,
She mutters, seeing
His figure go from
Her sight, how it was
I who kept her warm
And whom she kissed and
Made love to while you
Were away on your
Campaigns, you wouldn’t
Swagger so; would not
Seem so confident
Of your manliness
Or your wife’s fond love
And devotion. She
Smiles and gazes in
At her mistress who
Still feigns sleep, the red
Flowers lying on
Her lap like broken
Promises and frail
Tokens of lost love
After a long fought
Campaign. Amy stands
Waiting patiently
For her mistress to
Open her eyes and
Wishes her master
Were long gone; she wants
To share and sleep in
Her mistress’s bed
And that love again.
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
Firstly, you might need to learn how to read, in signs
looking at those grey black and white lines
as thoughts become craftily inscribed
or where white spaces define.
Challenge inside yourself.
What do you know?
Put pen to paper.
Feel the flow
Hooked?
Totally?
Write!
GO!
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 1:52 PM UTC
The wolf prowls.
After the frightened, vulnerable sheep.
She is alone.
And can be so weak.
He knows where her weaknesses lie.
So he stalks her.
Tempts her.
Lures her.
Towards a path of darkness and danger.
Craftily...
he tricks her.
He lures her.
Further and further away from the Good Shepherd.
He promises her rewards.
"Come with me. Go this way. Meet this handsome stranger.
You won't be lonely anymore. You will find love."
He traps her.
He takes advantage of her.
He knows she is easy prey.
But this he fails to see:
The Good Shepherd has never stopped loving her.
He will never fail to keep His eyes ever upon her.
He waits.
Silently He waits.
For her to choose...
the way that is right.
He knows how to rescue her from her own foolish ways.
He knows she is easy prey.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC
Either be it beauty, fame, wealth, or greed
or such as destiny or luck , to wit,
what muse crawled into my brain
causes me to moan as such.
All is craftily insanity,
lame dreams, untalented
weaves my brain into this nest.
The best I have at present sent I send
unchaste, un pretend,
my poetry.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
Crouched in viewing the shivering cobweb
craftily spanning a waterfall's edge
I saw fine precision-knifed filaments
cunningly strung with infinite wisdom.
A weightless weapon of swinging steel,
death-celled bed spun on gossamer wheel.
That devilish duvet of glistening gauze
betokened real craft as the spider paused
then in obscurity tensed for success,
alert with magnetic insect suppression.
Hairily silent as tensile wires, cleverly glued
met miniscule life of wriggling food
that by moving caught death in but seconds
while spider gave fly lethal injections.
As water's curtain cascaded to ground
and whirling catch-trap spun victim around
fed spider wiped mouth, cleaned sticky legs,
repaired any holes and prepared for the next.
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 6:35 AM UTC
Though she has your number,
She does not call.
Though she knows where to find you,
She does not come.
Though she knows that you try,
She does not care.
She is indifferent.
She is blind.
She is half-hearted.
She leaves you hanging,
Leaves you wanting,
Leaves you unsatisfied,
And you want her.
Chasing after someone who won't
Spare you the time of day,
Craftily eluding someone
Who would give you the world.
She is The Other Girl.
The Girl good enough to ****
But not good enough to date.
Not who you would hold at night,
Or hold in thought for more than seconds,
But who you might wander to
When all else has failed.
A solid backup,
But never first choice.
She is temporary.
She is background.
She is white noise.
A quick fix,
A rushing high,
A biting jolt
Just strong enough
To carry you over
Until your eye captures
Something beyond Her.
Your moments together are brief,
Fleeting.
Disposable to you,
Consequential to Her.
You return again and again
Because She cares,
And She is fool enough
To let you.
If only you could find Her,
In anyone but Her.
If only She did not wait
For what will never come.
If only the world turned
The other way.
If only the sun rose in the west,
And set in the east.
If only the tides
Pulled the moon,
And common sense
Were a louder guide
Than the human heart.
If only reality,
Were not reality.
But that's not how the story goes.
Is it?
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
Mincing words and little smiles
Not too much teeth
A delicate flutter of the fingers
And a calculated toss of the hair
Over a craftily twitched shoulder
*Take small steps
And be sure to swing your hips -
But not too much*
Dear God, the claustrophobic prison
Of tiny, perfect words and
Tiny, perfect movements
You've created for yourself!
Let me scare away every man I meet
Before I put myself in such a little box,
Easily picked up, easily toted,
. . . easily discarded.
I will be me, loud and obnoxious,
I will dance in the middle of the street,
I will wave to random passersby,
I will wear funny hats and bright red boots,
I will carry plates of food on my head,
I will laugh as loudly as I want,
And I will be loved for who I am,
Or not at all.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
You creep up and peek at my swollen eyes
Wordlessly telling me how it’ll all be “okay”
Take that knife right outta my back,
Kiss my forehead and pretend to stay.
Live life like it’s the game you so craftily steer
What’s yours is mine, you plead?
I cannot help if you refuse my offer,
It is such a sad life, my dear.
When you run away, the light you seek will vanish.
Dance in a world you created all your own
The music stops- you panic.
You always were a dreamer.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
Congress has numerous duties
With oversight being one.
The president's decided that
Such oversight he will shun.
In other words, he chooses to thumb
His nose at our Constitution.
His lackeys in Congress refuse to defy him,
Fearing his nasty retribution.
Refusing to cooperate with
The lawful demands of Congress, he
Thinks that he's above the law,
Which justifies an inquiry.
Occurring at the moment is
A constitutional crisis, which
The president craftily plans
To pull off without a hitch.
Defying subpoenas and trying to silence
Witnesses' testimonies,
He's rejecting checks and balances
With the help of some of his cronies.
The president seems to think
That certain people should be exempt
From testifying. But watch as they
All are cited for contempt.
Americans deserve to know
What is really happening here.
Trump's obstruction of justice and his
Abuse of power are something to fear.
What it boils down to is this:
It's Trump versus the truth. That's it!
If you dig deep, you will find
What motivates the hypocrite.
If his record were squeaky clean,
Hearings could be set aside.
However, his suspicious behavior
Keeps us wondering, "What's there to hide?"
-by Bob B (5-9-19)
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC
For about two years it crushed me and me under its control.
Preying on my weaknesses and craftily infiltrating my mind, just like a mole.
It was trying to set up shop and stop me from living.
Like Groundhog day, it felt like each terrible day, I kept reliving.
I knew if I didn't do something, I may slowly lose my mind.
I had to make the effort and see what help and support I could find.
It was time to try things like CBT and medication.
It was time to get back to enjoying my life; and not be ruled by trepidation.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
^
<●>
======
=========
=============
Their hearts are made
of solid Stone
The mortar is of ice
Beneath their weight
The people groan
They pursue every vice
They hold the world
in their hands
Red and slick with blood
They subdue the
people of all lands
Drowning in the flood
Yes, they are the money men
They move with cunning feet
They and their offspring
Rule again
They're known as "The Elite"
They build their Fortress
strong and lofty
They live in the high Towers
They'll make them oh so craftily
Of Privilege and Power
They've hewn the rock
From quarry stones
In the deepest well
They've built
Their works upon our bones
They've risen straight
from hell
But they will find
their edifice
So beau-ti-fully wrought
When there can
be no recompense
Their works will
fall and rot
There will be
no hiding place
No rocks they
can crawl under
They will see God's
wrathful face
And be torn asunder!
My pain is only in this world
In it I'll be vexed
But I'll pass the Gates of Pearl
Joy Eternal's in the next!
SøułSurvivør
(C) 3/7/2018
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 8:15 PM UTC
The dungeon
The tortuous feelings-craftily hinged to the lock
My tumoltuous feelings
Breeding
A delusional reality, painstaking presents
Watching the figure dance with another
Dancing
Squishing
Swishing
Motions run by deviously
Your body pangs in utter despair
As your delusional reality never began with a simple
Hello
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 12:45 AM UTC