"crafty" poems
Who is she? I do not know.
Inhuman. She tangles my mind like no other.
One look, she glances over your soul
With her pale hues and feline eyes,
I have been baffled with her tight grasp.
Celestial. Confusing. Crafty. Cold.
That she is,
She has casted a spell on me,
That can only be broken by her.
Who is she?
Puzzled. I have been,
A witch? Could it be?
Her voice is melodiously venomous,
I have been mesmerized,
She has clung to my soul.
A distinguished walk,
The childlike enthusiasm,
An enigmatic character,
Her signals are vague,
She is full of anonymity.
Marked with beauty, a mask hides her personality
The possessor of the key to my heart,
She is a mystery.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
I love my country: India , but
I hate many of its rulers, as
they speak for the poor and
act for tycoons bellicose, and-
Diversity sighs in armed Unity;
The selfish corrupted in unity
March ahead on graves crafty.
I love my country: India , but
August fifteenth : with freedom,
opened all devilish forces
out of Hell to fell all virtues.
Grim faced Buddha smiles
Like a nuclear Phantom ,his
tears drip on tomb of Peace.
No white dove sits on dome
It bleeds in the lap of Buddha.
If birth is the cause of gloom.
who stops one from bloom?
Dearth of berth clamour for
Death of birth at the womb.
I love my country: India , but
Souls are free on lovely Earth
Lay bodies strain to survive.
A nominal word equanimity
Gushes in landslide infirmity.
Service becomes self –service,
In black ink sleeps Socialism.
Fear Neurosis like King Kamsa
Keeps Liberty behind the bars.
Healthy, wealthy Bharat Matha
Groans in labour room for Santi.
Note: 1). August fifteenth= 15 August 1947 when India became free from Briton. 2).Buddha=Gutham Buddha(Prince Sidhardha) who established Buddhism.3).Kamsa= The mythological character , uncle of Lord Krishna who chained even his sister Devaki out of the fear psychosis. 4),Bharat Matha= Indians consider Bharat/India as their Mother(Matha)-so it is Mother land not Fatherland for them .Santi/Shanti=a Sanskrit word used in Vedas and Upanishads of India which means Peace or Islam.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
There's a difference between looking and
seeing.
You can look at me,
but I wonder more
what you see.
Brown eyes,
brown hair,
barely more than
five feet tall;
my feet are small,
as are my hands;
my teeth are straight,
thanks to braces;
shoulders been broad
since I swam,
but my figure
is much less athletic
than it used to be.
I could look
at myself
and point out
a million flaws.
My forehead is much
too big for my liking,
my cheeks are too red,
my top lip is so
skinny it barely
exists,
and, if you ask me,
my waist line
could afford
to look a little more
like my upper lip.
My looks are far from perfect.
Not saying I'm hideous,
but I don't look
in the mirror
to find
America's Next Top Model,
or anything close,
at least not until
my face is perfectly painted,
flaws concealed under
a combination
of moderately priced makeup and
a rather crafty hand.
When I look,
physical imperfections
and inadequacies
stare back at me.
My overly expressive
light brown eyes
give me an
omnipotent glance,
and they beg me to
turn away,
to close them,
to put them to sleep
so that I can
see.
When I see,
it's like a whole new me.
I'm a human being
whose physical flaws
are diminished by
an overly giving, compassionate
heart,
a brain
filled of logic & curiosity,
a chest
swollen full of
endless giggles,
a throat
storing sarcastic words mixed in with
empathetic phrases;
down within me
I see
the woman
who still at times
looks and feels
more like the girl
whose heart has been broken
too many times to count
but still, despite her
womanly pessimism,
yearns optimistically
to love again.
Within me I see
a woman with confidence
and also insecurity,
ambition and fear,
tranquility and rage,
hope and despair;
I see dreams,
wishes,
prayers,
meditation;
I see a beautifully
complex soul
trapped in a world
that begs it for
simplicity and
conformity.
I guess when I look
I only get a glimpse
of the body
that feels the need
to be perfect,
to work out a little more,
to weigh a little less,
to fix her hair the right way,
and to dress in the right clothes.
The self-conscious me
who still fears being weird,
who cares what others think,
who worries if my parents are proud.
But when I see,
out comes the woman
who says
**** the status quo,
I can't be put in a box,
I'm beautiful the way I am,
and nothing stands
between
me
and achieving
my
dreams.*
When I look,
I don't see,
but when I see,
I see me.
I feel the brim of my glasses graze my nose,
and I know,
even once I take 'em off,
my vision
is better
than ever.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
Crafty, they say, He's getting crafty
crafty with my lies and my made-up meals
crafty with my sound-blocking tactics
crafty with hiding the burning lines of white and red.
Baking, they say, He's getting into baking
baking my binges
baking my restriction
baking my omad
baking my sad-looking low-cal low-fat low-sugar low-carb high-protein
'meal'.
Crochet, they say, He's getting into crochet
crocheting ankle warmers to make my legs look skinny
half-finger gloves in an attempt to curb the permafrost that has begun to
knit itself around my bones.
Healthy, they say, He's getting healthy
as i workout until i faint
and do sit-ups until i have bruises on my spine.
fruit and veg and vitamins take priority
and suddenly i have taken an interest in running.
Sep 18, 2022
Sep 18, 2022 at 12:40 PM UTC
There’s a Devil of a night each year, the night of Mr. Haim!
When the devilish and ghoulie ones come out to play their monster’s game.
And why some would seek to trick or treat on this scary day of dead?
Careful now cause gremlins, trolls …sprites and wolves, will offer up their dread!
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots…
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
That crafty-smith of horns and hooves is spying on these kiddies,
As Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo are hunting strays to do their dastardly-ditties.
Quiet, shush, I hear a pack of creepy-crawly boots,
And their costumes, oh-so-foul, the evilest of suits!
And there she is, that little girl who can’t keep up, in a tasty mushroom ensemble.
And the skeleton bones clink in her path to give her quite a tomble!
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo!
And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.
And Sammy Haim, that smithy-devil, a ***** hoof -igniting ghoul’s desire,
He’s howling out, demanding now, “Put that child to the fire!”
And little does he know, no little bit, not even a small clue,
Neither Ra’atan-Zu nor Boogedy-Boo intend on giving him his due!
For once a year on Halloween they get one night to spaz,
Get down and ***** wild and crazy and play a little jazz!
That little mushroom of a girl will play a tiny fiddle,
Ra’atan-Zu and the Boogedy-Boo, a jazzy duet with child in middle!'
Ra’atan-Zu, Boogedy-Boo and a little girl too as they get down actin’ a spaz! Playin’ all night, howling to the moon and kickin’ out some wicked jazz!
*And the skeleton bones, clink…
And the skeleton bones, clink…
The skeleton bones clink.* *
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
Travels the tree line
eats what it finds
Cousin the Dog
chows down Kibbles n Bits
or some other such ****
The lone wolf howls
not before mealtime
This beast roams,
has numerous homes.
Howling Wolf
A lucky day, a pack
A fight, a ****
The spoils of crafty laid plans.
The moon glow catches
his front row,
At peace with his place
But not the human race.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 8:52 PM UTC
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
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
A moments shy smile,
Two guppies intertwined
Crafty hand work
With something swimming viciously through your
Dark eyes
I long only to ask;
Assist you
As you've done to me
But I know you'd only close me out
Bashful Mr Pisces
Weakness is not defined by the admittance
To not being strong
For I've seen terror and sorrow
In your gaze
For far too long
My concerns and listening soul
Will be postponed until next week
For I cannot bear to see
Your frosted eyes melting
&
The Ice Queen making you weep
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
All is NOT well in the grasslands.
The animals are fit to be tied.
The actions of the crafty wolves
Have left the rest of them horrified.
"How will we EVER be able
To keep democracy afloat,"
The antelope asked, "if the wolves
Don't allow us all to vote?
"In many sections of these grasslands,
Shameless wolves are doing their best
To hold voter registration
Hostage, keeping voters suppressed."
"They aim to control voter turnout,"
The deer added. "That's their hope.
Their sneaky ways to manipulate
Elections push the envelope!
“They stall and seek petty reasons
To take names off voting lists.
Fair and honest elections are
In jeopardy if this persists.”
"It's so close to election day,
Our courts are reluctant to raise objections,"
The buffalo said. "Some of the wolves
Are even running in the elections!
"Humph! They stole a Supreme Court justice.
Then they rammed another one through.
Now they're still suppressing voters.
What more damage will they do?"
"Winnowing down voter rolls!
Their strategies should be illegal!"
The fox chimed in. Looking around,
He asked, "Where is our dear friend Eagle?"
The absent eagle wanted no
Responsibility tied to her name.
She couldn't stop the out-of-control
Wolves, and hid her head in shame.
-by Bob B (10-19-18)
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
Tell me what it is that you can't do,
or become,
tell me what it is
that is too insignificant to achieve.
Life is not worth throwing away
just to please certain people by
forgetting the truth and essence of life.
You don't want to die for another's believe.
Using your death to **** their assumed
enemy means you are one too.
Blowing up yourself is an abomination.
Anything unnatural that could cause
anyone's death is not worth anything.
Avoid it like a plague.
Hide yourselves from it's way,
when it comes with fury to meet you.
Close your ears from it's path,
as it uses subtle words to cajole you.
Guard your heart from the troublesome
tempest of it's bait as it keeps knocking
on your door to convince you,
using all kinds of manipulative
crafty intimidating tactical
techniques to woo you,
just to send you to your death.
Don't buy their ideas for it has nothing
to do with your vision.
Death awaits anyone who does not listen
to the secrets offered by wisdom.
It may look so strange and simple,
but it carries within it the age old beneficial
heart warming truth that has time tested
safe haven to keep you alive.
Heed to it's invitation to live.
Cowardice is not courage,
it's only an end to your beautiful life.
If there's truth in dying to prove your cause,
why are the initiators don't die
first to prove their case.
Can't you see that it's all for nothing.
Be wise and say no to their call.
Your lives matter.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
Who knew that getting a Starbucks gift card would turn out so harmful and mean.
When pleasant, harmless, innocent me fell for the spell of treacherous caffeine.
Like a hype with a spike
doing harm to his arm
I was hooked.
Leaped before I looked,
goose was cooked.
Now I'm here to play the blame game.
Innocent me, walking in free, joyfully,
just getting a coffee.
Then wham!
or should I say bam!
It hit me.
I walked out a quivering, craving, slobbering creature...
maybe not literally but like I said it was done treacherously, maliciously, instantaneously, I was a caffeine *****
So here are some of the reasons why I'm unhappy with Starbucks:
--- Starbucks caffeine influenced my body by elevating my heart rate (I'm not sure why I expected anything different).
--- Starbucks crafty, subtley and slyly habitualized me ( Oh god, I'm a creature of habit!)
--- Starbucks (If possible) is too friendly
--- Starbucks manipulated my accommodating nature (I just wanted to be friends, but now they feel more like, dare I say it... family).
--- Starbucks slandered me ( by assuming I'm lazy. "Sit, relax, make yourself at home, stay as long as you like").
--- Starbucks exposed my weaknesses ( l feel naked to coffees influence).
--- Starbucks made coffee hip and cool (I'm going to go ahead and count that as a bad thing).
--- Starbucks crippled my will power (my will power walks with a limp now).
--- Starbucks blew up the sun!
--- And the final reason I'm unhappy with Starbucks...because they're probably going to sue my *** for writing this!
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 4:44 PM UTC
My brothers dog is a naughty boy
he chews on the furniture, and destroys his toys
the chap can even open the bread bin
scoffing all that is contained within
My brother did say, just the other day
with a huff and a puff in somewhat dismay
that he had caught his crafty mutt licking
the board that he chops his food on
He had wondered why it always kept clean
now he knows, all is not always what it seems
Yet my brother loves that puppy
and together they are so very happy
but he is a rowdy little sod
is my brothers naughty dog
By Christos Andreas aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
The opening night,
in front of packed house.
The story, a fight,
between a cat and a mouse.
The cat with her guile and
the mouse, all the while.
Powers up a fuckin' chainsaw
with a knowing wry smile.
So never bet against the mouse
with either money or your house
because the crafty **** takers
have slashed the odds at bookmakers
as to what's in the pies
at the new high street bakers.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:11 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
i write about you
but you do not exist
or maybe you do;
maybe you do and i'm just talking to myself
maybe you're just another part of me that i hate so much
i have to talk to you,
i have to
punish you
because i know i shouldn't like the way it feels-
and i don't; but i keep coming back for more anyway
i amend: i know i shouldn't be addicted to this hatred
you tear me open and pull at my frayed edges
so that i split apart and lose my functionality - and i let you
then i let you thread me back together once more
you build my body with thicker wool each time, hoping that
one day
i'll be warmer, and harder to unravel
and you sew my edges with fragile promises of a better future
as breakable as the metal pin that bends between your crafty fingers
the materials started off so colourful at first, like rainbows
maybe that's why i'm so queer
though over time you started toning down my personality.
as my depression embroidered me, my sexuality dulled
purple and black and white and grey
you manipulate my patterns.
some nights i sleep through, others i don't sleep at all
and some nights my strings are stretched so taut across the nightmares
that one small pull will undo me
i am ripped apart then made into patchwork;
there are white seams over my arms
you call me a work in progress, damaged goods
to be fixed, to be mended:
you can't afford replacements
that doesn't stop you from looking
wishing you could upgrade me into something more,
something better
and every time i fall apart again
i'm left itching with apologies
but never to you; i never say sorry for hurting you
my only regrets are to those who become collateral damage.
i do not apologise to you
because you are me, and i am you
you are a part of me
and i hate you as much as i hate myself.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
The Pobble who has no toes
Had once as many as we;
When they said "Some day you may lose them all;"
He replied "Fish, fiddle-de-dee!"
And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink
Lavender water tinged with pink,
For she said "The World in general knows
There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!"
The Pobble who has no toes
Swam across the Bristol Channel;
But before he set out he wrapped his nose
In a piece of scarlet flannel.
For his Aunt Jobiska said "No harm
Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;
And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes
Are safe, -- provided he minds his nose!"
The Pobble swam fast and well,
And when boats or ships came near him,
He tinkledy-blinkledy-winkled a bell,
So that all the world could hear him.
And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,
When they saw him nearing the further side -
"He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's
Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!"
But before he touched the shore,
The shore of the Bristol Channel,
A sea-green porpoise carried away
His wrapper of scarlet flannel.
And when he came to observe his feet,
Formerly garnished with toes so neat,
His face at once became forlorn,
On perceiving that all his toes were gone!
And nobody ever knew,
From that dark day to the present,
Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes,
In a manner so far from pleasant.
Whether the shrimps, or crawfish grey,
Or crafty Mermaids stole them away -
Nobody knew: and nobody knows
How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!
The Pobble who has no toes
Was placed in a friendly Bark,
And they rowed him back, and carried him up
To his Aunt Jobiska's Park.
And she made him a feast at his earnest wish
Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish, -
And she said "It's a fact the whole world knows,
That Pobbles are happier without their toes!"
3.2k
Governors,
Mayors,
Policemen,
Night keepers,
Men folk and all of you
On the crest of powers that be
Don’t brutalize prostitutes,
Nor mishandle ******
Or terrorize harlots,
They were born natural
Innocent and callow
With plain white brains
Not tainted with any miss-morals,
Genuine in hearts
And humane in the genesis,
Until they grew up
Beyond father and mother
Clan and relatives,
Into the realm of money civilizations,
Where man and woman,
Must sell to survive,
Sell the wares of trade,
Commodities and tools of work,
Where men sell labour of their arms
To those crafty buyers,
And women sell smiles,
And the ******** of their *****
To serve vice of man
In the glory of warped thought,
Prostitutes have no tribe,
Neither class nor race,
They have no permanent foe
Nor permanent friend,
They have no permanent memory,
Their love is devoid of logic,
They love most but fickle,
Where they make no money
And love least but with nostalgia
where they make money,
So don’t brutalize them,
Only love them,
Pay them,
Kiss them fondly
And sing to them,
Lyrical songs of love,
Sent them to lull and slumber
With your sensuous ******
Of their ******** fountains,
Both male and female
****** of your rendezvous.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 6:46 AM UTC
i wrote poetry
he partied
i would overthink
he would oversleep
too lost within the oblivion
of trying to numb away
life
while i was here
thinking about "life" too much
writing about it too much
i enjoyed wine
on a quiet Tuesday evening
he enjoyed liquor
on a wild Friday night
surely
truly
love does attract
"opposites"
i loved him
and he loved me
but he didn't want to live
life
and i
wanted to write about it
we're sitting
in a ***** garage
blasting music
with lyrics
that i am so appalled by
this is his life
this is
it isn't mine
i am
the quiet
Tuesday afternoon girl
who writes her words
to figure out
life
while he is trying
to forget about his
on a Friday night
these lifestyles
we tried to clash
for far too long
so sadly
too long
i left
with love still
beating inside of my heart
because you could never
love me
the way you love
your Friday nights
like you couldn't love
my Tuesday evenings
love is so
crafty
and deceiving
it brought us to meet
we both understood
that life is sad
yet only i
could see its beauty
and our lifestyles
were too different
to sustain the life
for one another
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 12:34 AM UTC
Oh, Lac Operon, gene cluster great, you code for enzymes three,
but only if Lactose in the cell arrives to set you free.
Lac Z, Lac A, Lac Y: these genes would be expressed
yet a crafty protein from gene I keeps you so repressed.
Binding to the Operator, I’s Repressor keeps you capped.
Do not despair—Lactose saves you from this cruel Repressor trap,
for Lactose turns the Repressor off, giving you the space
to make galactosidase, transacetylase, and lactose permease.
Then Polymerase binds the Promoter, and the Lac genes have their day.
yet alas! They break down Lactose, taking your savior away.
When Lactose is gone, the Repressor binds and causes you to freeze,
so Operon, to live again, you must find more milk and cheese.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
Loony Tunes
Bugs Bunny is my favorite rabbit,
watching him became my habit.
He was smart, funny and two steps ahead,
his popularity was very widespread.
His best friend was Daffy Duck,
he never did have the same luck.
Rabbit season, duck season,
rabbit season, duck season,
watching them, I needed no reason.
Speedy Gonzales was so very quick,
this fast mouse was also a *****
Owned his own pizza place,
won a gold metal, at the local rat race.
Yosemite Sam was a short tempered man,
killing Bugs and Daffy was always his plan.
He's a liar, a cheat and a sore loser,
maybe he should have been a drug user.
Tasmanian Devil was a tornado of destruction,
he never needed any kind of introduction.
Foghorn Leghorn never saw a negative situation,
I say, I say boy was his favorite quotation.
Pepe Le Pew was a French skunk,
women loved his smelly *****
Marvin The Martian was from Mars,
his laser gun would leave you with scars.
Tweety was an antagonizing canary,
lived with Granny, and flew like a crafty fairy.
Sylvester was Granny's pet cat,
him and Tweety always went *** for tat.
Road Runner was so very fast,
said beep beep as Wile E Coyote he passed.
Never fell for those Acme supplies,
getting blown up was his ultimate demise.
Porky Pig was just happy to be included,
the, the that's all folks, is how this will be concluded.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Once long ago there was a small clan named Kah,
that lived in a cave up a draw, Who at that time,
had yet to discover even fire.
One among them, call him Shire was slightly
brighter than the rest, which is not saying much.
Bah the self appointed leader was a big strong man,
a hunter among men, a good provider.
But a fool in all other matters.
One day Bah returned to the cave with a large green
rock. A rock only different from all other rocks, by it's color.
Bah convinced most of the clan that this one rock was so
special that they all should worship it, get on their knees
and even pray to it, adorn it with bits of meat.
Shire too was a hunter, crafty and skilled, but also a thinker.
In the rock he saw no difference, to him a rock was a rock
and nothing more, although he did admire it's color.
"It's only a ROCK." He told the others and "nothing more!"
The clan was overcome by anger, how dare this one among
them not believe as they did? That night and the next Shire
got no meat, nor any pleasure from the women. Yet still he
pointed out his belief, that the green rock was no different
than any other and he refused to worship it.
The clan turned their collective backs to him, treating
him as if he did not live. Even his wife and children.
Still Shire did not relent, so sure was he in his own belief.
In a rage of Holy Righteous Indignation, Bah picked up the
green rock and smashed it into Shire's head, caving in his
skull. Where upon the green rock broke into many pieces.
As Shire lay bleeding, dying, he picked up a piece of the
shattered green rock and said, "See brothers and sisters,
it is only a rock, and not a very good rock at that."
Bah kneeled down beside his old friend and he too picked
up bits of the broken rock. Then said to his brother, "I am
sorry I killed you friend."
To which Shire's last words were, "I forgive you."
The clan was so inspired by these events that a new
religion was founded, in place of the rock, the dented
skull of Shire became their new thing to worship.
Many years later, one literate among them carved on
the rock alter under the sacred skull,
"He died for our sins".
And so among them grew a legend,
Shire became a God to his people.
Later still, another professed scholar calling
himself a Priest, carved a commanded message
in the face of the rock alter.
**** not a Brother in the cave,
before the eyes of our God Shire.
(Out side however is just fine.")
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
You, story master of comparison
Can you see without your Claritin?
Even the tools of your insight
Have they helped to make things right?
The story of your life
Is one among many
Your unique point of view
May only be true for you
And those that think like you do
There really is something to this wish fulfillment
But don’t think because you saw it out there
It’s the lords’ prayer.
So thinkers think
and
lovers’ love
and
dreamers continue in dreams.
Still, everything is not what it seems.
We think we are above
the beautiful greenery
scenery that we see
but did you ever see a tree
compare itself to another
Said one tree to another:
Your foliage is a pale shade of yellow
Your bark is a lark
And you can’t play the cello
Like me
What kind of tree can you be?
Do the bees share their honey
or
does one crafty bee have a secret stash
hidden below the window sash
that he’s saving for a rainy day,
A getaway?
Did you ever hear a songbird say
My song is sweeter than yours.
My high notes higher
On swifter wings do I soar.
If you’re tempted like me
To let a bee be a bee
And a tree be a tree
You will understand
If you want to soar
Don’t first attempt it from the highest floor
Don’t think there is a highest floor
Don’t think you need to soar
Don’t try to understand
Just let a bee be a bee
A tree be a tree
These are the things will set you free
Like the wind
You will wind like a gentle breeze
Then gust if you must
Never making a fuss
Don’t think you are,
Were, will ever be, anything
More or less than me,
Us, you, they, whoever
It was when I realized that all my trying
Simply wasn’t working
And I gave up.
But all it caused to say was
****
I get it,
I really do
But,
Personally
If I want to keep you near dear
I must set you free dear
Understand it’s very hard for me
I think you’ll agree.
I know what to do
Doesn’t mean I’ll do it
I’m not like a gentle breeze
More like a hurricane than a sneeze
Depends on your point of view
Because you see me,
Through you.
It’s true.
I have no idea what that means
It may be true
For all I know
I said so I should have meant it
I think it’s more like
I see through you,
Too
You can come out of the closet
And I will come out too,
But only with you.
Because we are the only two in there.
I don’t see anyone else.
Do you?
I’m not suggesting what you think
Far from it
So far from it
You know what I mean
No point in explaining
If nobody gets it
You do
And you’re not complaining.
So if you don’t want to be a bored buddha,
Eat some bread and buttar
Don’t forget to shutter
Stutter
Flutter
Mutter
Never rebut her
Never say mame
Because you found the only ******
And now you’re in a jam.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
You are bold
the inspiring queen
of Fs and
As
and I
a crafty lizard
this christmas mug
from which you drink
these scissors with
which I shred
words
our stories all
come together
on top
of a golden rose
24 carat
sampled with
my teeth
secured
in my bedroom
all of it
is yours
and
the last coin
evens
my luck
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
Will you conquer my heart with your beauty; my sould going out from afar?
Shall I fall to your hand as a victim of crafty and cautions shikar?
Have I met you and passed you already, unknowing, unthinking and blind?
Shall I meet you next session at Simla, O sweetest and best of your kind?
Does the P. and O. bear you to meward, or, clad in short frocks in the West,
Are you growing the charms that shall capture and torture the heart in my breast?
Will you stay in the Plains till September—my passion as warm as the day?
Will you bring me to book on the Mountains, or where the thermantidotes play?
When the light of your eyes shall make pallid the mean lesser lights I pursue,
And the charm of your presence shall lure me from love of the gay “thirteen-two”;
When the peg and the pig-skin shall please not; when I buy me Calcutta-build clothes;
When I quit the Delight of Wild ***** foreswearing the swearing of oaths ;
As a deer to the hand of the hunter when I turn ’mid the gibes of my friends;
When the days of my freedom are numbered, and the life of the bachelor ends.
Ah, Goddess! child, spinster, or widow—as of old on Mars Hill whey they raised
To the God that they knew not an altar—so I, a young Pagan, have praised
The Goddess I know not nor worship; yet, if half that men tell me be true,
You will come in the future, and therefore these verses are written to you.
2.5k
Like a ghost on the wind
She comes from the sea
And trembles the foe
So wild and free
With swashbuckling swagger
And a Jolly Roger laugh
She flies the black flag
On a whalebone staff
She has terrifying eyes
And a ring in her ear
And on her sun tanned face
A flippant leer
With a bone-cold glare
And a sneer on her lip
She has coins in hand
And a cutlass on hip
With a thunderous blast
From her cannons' might
She plants fear in the strong
And steals the fight
She takes all that's lost
And turns it to gold
For she's crafty and devious
And frightningly bold
She is dashing and daring,
A fierce buccaneer
Faces of many
Pale when she's near
From ocean to ocean
Her tales are spun
About the queen of the pirates
For in the end she won
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC