"devised" poems
There once was a young man named Feste, and he was not a very good young man.
He was a thief, and a sneaky one at that. He would go to all of the stores in the market and steal anything that he pleased.
He loved to steal from the baker and the butcher especially.
He would go to his hiding place in the forest after his deviousness and eat away his stolen treasures, brooding on what a “clever little boy” he was.
The baker and the butcher knew though. They noticed him coming in most days and leaving in quite a hurry. They could not actually catch him in the act, but they knew beyond a doubt what he was doing. They were having drinks together one night though when they devised a clever scheme to stop him from stealing ever again. The butcher carved up a juicy ham, and the baker baked up a delicious pie, but they added a little something extra to it…
The butcher made sure to quite a bit of alcohol into the ham, and the baker did the same with his pie. They both set their two traps in the store, right when the spoiled thief Feste came strolling into the market with his eyes gleaming.
The baker watched him walk into his shop,the pie disappeared.
The butcher watched him walk into his shop, the ham disappeared.
They both smiled and went about their work.
Feste rushed to his hiding place and devoured his stolen goodies so fast that he didn’t even realize how peculiar it seemed to taste...
Not long after, he started to feel strange. Numb and stupid. He ran towards the village, acting a buffoon. The villagers stared and laughed at Feste acting so odd. His mother found him though and brought down the fury.
“Feste! Why are you acting like a **** fool?" She demanded.
He threw out a few words in a drunken stupor and swayed in place.
"Wait.. have you been drinking!?” She screamed.
“Noe maum! Allll Ie had todae is pie and haam!” He stammered in a drunken sway.
“And where exactly did you get those!?” She inquired.
Feste had a look of terror on his face and grew silent.
He was found out to be the no good thief and was punished severely, because his mother thought he stole the alcohol as well as the pie and ham, and he couldn’t prove otherwise.
Feste never stole again and he even apologized to the butcher and baker, though they still do have a laugh now and then…
The End
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
thus every
careful
deception
that you
devised
disguised
the true
perception
you fooled
within me
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
For a creation was devised of the purest and simplest elements in life
When the calming and smooth sensation of water caressed your bones, it carved canals of strength along the way
Your skin crawled and crept past your defined chin to bind with its lover
and when the tendon reached the muscle, it fused in an unbreakable relationship
Baby, the sight of your eyes shatters the crystallization of the finest glass
And your voice pierces the night fog leaving a path for only you
The kindness of your heart poured into the rivers to feed oxygen to all of those who depended on it
Your body contains the same carbon that creates sparkling diamonds
The majority of the oxygen is the same element creating tornadoes, or when fused to hydrogen to make a hurricane
Do you see how powerful you are made?
Your soft lips are the same lips that can produce sound in an empty canyon
Your bones are the base of your embrace when you sweep me off my feet
That mind is the exact replica that discovered how to survive the times that were a bigger struggle than planned
Despite all of these acts, how simple or extravagant
You are the perfect arrangement of atoms that hold my hand when I am scared to carry on alone
And the same arrangement of atoms that pull me close and kiss my lips
One might say these actions, however small, have a stronger effect than any hurricane, or tornado, or diamond
For you are a creation devised of the purest and simplest elements in life
And you are completely mine
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
Advice from Freuchen , the explorer
When Arctic blizzards blow
in Northern Greenland
and your supplies are low
and dwindling
the best advice is build an igloo
and wait out the storm.
And when you hear the wolves
howling with hunger
and prowling on your igloo roof
it’s best to go outside
and sing - only occasionally
though you will fight to be heard
above the judder of the wind.
Inside the igloo will be problematic
the walls seem to close in
as claustrophobic days proceed
it’s not an illusion
but a fact
each breath freezes moisture in the walls
and breath by breath they thicken
spaces close around your body
breathing yourself in a coffin of ice.
There’s no instrument of death
devised by man to so terrify
as being locked in space and time
each breath reminding you
of that closeness to that final loss
of breath and an icy Arctic death.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
With margerain gentle,
The flower of goodlihead,
Embroidered the mantle
Is of your maidenhead.
Plainly I cannot glose;
Ye be, as I divine,
The pretty primrose,
The goodly columbine.
Benign, courteous, and meek,
With wordes well devised;
In you, who list to seek,
Be virtues well comprised.
With margerain gentle,
The flower of goodlihead,
Embroidered the mantle
Is of your maidenhead.
12.5k
The thing, he said, would come in the night at three
From the old churchyard on the hill below;
But crouching by an oak fire's wholesome glow,
I tried to tell myself it could not be.
Surely, I mused, it was pleasantry
Devised by one who did not truly know
The Elder Sign, bequeathed from long ago,
That sets the fumbling forms of darkness free.
He had not meant it - no - but still I lit
Another lamp as starry Leo climbed
Out of the Seekonk, and a steeple chimed
Three - and the firelight faded, bit by bit.
Then at the door that cautious rattling came -
And the mad truth devoured me like a flame!
10.4k
★★★
When God created woman
He came up with a well devised plan
Make woman super special
Gentle as a dove
And like a silky rose petal
with a heart for love
Make each woman
unique in her defined beauty,
Like mother earth with curves
to soothe a man's nerves
Make woman
kind with a voice divine
So like an angel of heaven
Her songs of love
will carry notes high
Then God went to work
molding her and sculpting her
and threading red streams
of life giving blood
through her veins
And when he was finished
God smiled quite pleasantly
And thought,
What a masterpiece I have created
God then whispered in her soul
Come to life my beautiful creation
For I have created
A universe of stars for you
And so woman shone brightly
When she came to life
Like those stars God created
She stretched and sighed,
and thus woman
became poetry
For she sang praises of love
for both God and Man
★★★
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
Devised by Cosmic Boss
Sourced by parents
Aided by obstetrician
Nursed by pediatrician
Nurtured by nutritionist
Counseled by sexologist
Treated by orthopedist
Stressed by physiotherapist
Directed by dietician
Nudged by nephrologist
Nerved by neurologist
Contained by cardiologist
Consoled by psychologist
Interspersed by dentist,
Sighted by ophthalmist
Conditioned by physiology
Terminated by mortuary
The inexorable Lifeline Express
Of hospitalized hospitality
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 6:42 AM UTC
474
They put Us far apart—
As separate as Sea
And Her unsown Peninsula—
We signified “These see”—
They took away our Eyes—
They thwarted Us with Guns—
“I see Thee” each responded straight
Through Telegraphic Signs—
With Dungeons—They devised—
But through their thickest skill—
And their opaquest Adamant—
Our Souls saw—just as well—
They summoned Us to die—
With sweet alacrity
We stood upon our stapled feet—
Condemned—but just—to see—
Permission to recant—
Permission to forget—
We turned our backs upon the Sun
For perjury of that—
Not Either—noticed Death—
Of Paradise—aware—
Each other’s Face—was all the Disc
Each other’s setting—saw—
5.5k
I Am Waiting
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
Addicted to diction,
With conflicting
Prescriptions
From competing
Physicians,
I'm dying from sickness
In the wealthcare system.
Our nutrition
Is based on
Corn-laced fiction,
Advertisement
Superstitions,
And a pill for every
Devised affliction.
We're born into life
Under welfare
Conscription,
And destined to die
From dereliction.
Make sure to vote
For the best
Infection in the
Next election,
As they raise
A toast
To their own
Reflections.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
I love surprises!
Well, most of the time,
if they fall in line
with what I had in mind.
And should that surprise me?
Should it be so?
That something unexpected
is not something I will know?
The way life has gone
and the way it will go
is that God will surprise me,
no matter what I sow.
God's surprises will be
unexpected and so
my mind devised
that though I may love it or not,
should I be surprised?
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 7:21 PM UTC
I feel like going back to those days,
when I could feel and not fear it.
When I didn't know the world's ways
and I didn't yet need my fighting spirit.
When I could simply have a romance,
nothing complicated or categorized,
that would come up by happenstance
with no limits needing to be devised.
I miss those days, I could awaken
find another body next to mine,
and not even be mistaken
in thinking this won't be the only time.
I miss those days with a passion,
too often I feel like I'm crashin'
straight through the mud and the dirt
all the pain and the hurt.
I render my poems inert,
when I stare in the mirror,
see myself crying and dying,
insanity getting nearer.
I one day hope to rise from it all,
stand from the ash, proud and tall,
but I know that after I do
I'll eventually once again fall.
I miss those days
in more than a million ways.
Watching my eyes glaze over
thinking about days over
again.
I flow my heart into this pen
put my soul into what I write
now and then.
I know I'll be that happy once more,
I've got that joy kept in store,
for a future when I suture
this wounded pride and mind.
I've got a stride in mind,
for when I return.
See the surprise in their faces,
I bet they thought I would burn
up in the anger like butane.
I'm just too hard to contain
and I walk through cold rain,
thinking about once upon a time,
through sweat and grime,
You were mine, I was yours,
now it's vice versa.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
In the very beginning
when God made woman and man,
He noticed some were smarter
and devised a glorious plan.
He gathered them together
and solemnly commanded,
“You, my favorite children,
will henceforth be left-handed.”
So when you see a lefty,
please give your due respect,
and try not to be offended
by their greater intellect.
Although you are right-handed,
for which there is no cure,
remember God still loves you…
He just loves lefties more.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 9:46 AM UTC
A dozen fellows draped in threadbare tread densely,
Profligating goons in obsidian gowns
gathered under rainbow
moonshine shaking bronze hands,
howling and ****** in the shambles of the moon,
rap'n and nod'n to the notes of midnight.
The mellow marines mourned over malice,
lionizing over lost ones,
many howled venerated, exalted in wonder
in favor of their thrilling grace, and delight,
and brilliance, and might!
but some neighboring sticklers,
behaved haughty and in disdain,
of the crowdy Cavaliers bellowing echoes
signaling out
to the seers of the sea,
singing to the wands overwatching the wedding,
and ravens listened,
roving like noble patrolsmen.
Traveleres and trainees at sea
humble and bright
niave, and frieghtened
in traverse,
volatile and toiling,
tireless,
Lunatics, (laughing, laughing, laughhing,)
Rumaging through rain,
fireciely,
rallying and rableroused,
through towering halls of mohogony,
hefty and wholesome were their hearts
though, beast of the woodsy edifice
were foul and benumb
scowling with contempt,
haste to devide and devised to hindrance.
Hence the heroes heed
to the valleys of rose, and violet,
and strawberry fields of forever,
seeking Saint Nicholas,
in the bustling Byzantium,
in the murky shadows of doubt.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
The essence of love
Runs atop pillars of space
Anticipating to transform
The oblivious by-standers
Into inflicters of righteous pain
The pain that will set free
The reins of resistence,
Foreshadowing portals
Of everlasting beattitude.
The songs have all been sung
Yet not one has been able
To surpass the nightingale's
Who spins the sweetest darkness
Without a tinge of temptation.
The rhythms that fall upon thee
Speak eons of platitude
Of pedestrian coronation
Of revelation devised
Where the upshot is
Synchronized syndrom
That eats away the spirit
Like canker.
The flow of love
Is not a smooth ride
Like a luxury car on open road
Love's code is candor
That suffocates without killing
To reveal the lofty window
Toward unearthly meadows.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
[*I can only survive my life in two ways;
wasted by the fire of my gratification,
wasted by the fire of my longing.*]
Love had just woven my
intolerable shirt of flame, this
bedazzled blouse betwixt
an area brimming with smoke
and my own heart.
this consuming flame...
the flame that fuels itself with
my everything.
I am a sorceress at the stake.
I feel the fire sear
into my skin,
destroying the weak,
frail covering
to my body,
disseminating to parts
I didn’t know
existed.
The torment is utterly
consuming.
Everything within me,
every ounce of strength
that remains, struggles to
shed this shirt of flame.
[This devised torment
by love Herself.]
Yet, the blazing fire
is frantic for my body.
The flames
cling to me,
fast to my skin,
like you have
...and do
...and will.
We suspire the smoke from the flames which
destroy all that surrounds us;
it becomes a part of us that
our bodies will never be able
to discern...
to notice...
to erase.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
in the hours of circulating darkness
meandering the streets of my mind
inside the walls of a staple
sadly not built in the realm of
satisfying fantasies.
believing that more remains
under the stars that house
infallible creatures determining the
lackluster era in which they
dwell cannot be all there is
in this undiscovered,
newly founded land of
gallant nonconformity
forever dancing a brilliant quiver
orbiting the undeniable
refuge devised if only
to be safe from the world for a
single day more
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 6:55 AM UTC
★★★
When God created man
She devised an ingenious plan
Make man somewhat tough
and a little rough,
make him brave as a lion
Make him strong with a voice
confident enough
To sing a rock ballad,
A country song
Opera,
and a gospel hymn
Then God molded him
and sculpted him
and threaded streams of blood
through his veins
And when God saw
what a magnificent creation
she had made
She was more than
well pleased
So gently as a summer's breeze
God whispered
in man's ear,
Breathe and come to life
my handsome creation,
For I alone
have created everything
for you
and so man came to life
gazed upon the earth
and heavens
wrote a stunning poem of love
For both God and woman
Thus Man had become a poet
★★★
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
Only those who have used an outhouse would appreciate this.
The Outhouse Poem by unknown author
The service station trade was slow
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and cedar stick
Piled shavings on the ground.
No modern facilities had they,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.
"Where is the ladies restroom, Sir ?"
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.
With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, just like a snake
Or spider might be in it.
With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for the car
Just like three gals before.
She missed the foot log - jumped the stream
The owner gave a shout,
As her silk stockings, down at her knees
Caught on a sassafras sprout.
She tripped and fell - got up, and then
In obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.
Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.
A speaking system he'd devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.
He'd wait until the gals got set
And then the devilish tike,
Would stop his whittling long enough,
To speak into the mike.
And as she sat, a voice below
Struck terror, fright and fear,
"Will you please use the other hole,
We're painting under here !"
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
.*in the end days?! you charge against the snowflakes... and make a ******* snowman! he... he! i still can't comprehend how these personalities made money from lifestyle choice... they were basically internet bums, internet "lazy people"... bums... become supporters... engrossed in the internet homeless people... bums... i ate a custard pie, and devised a poncy-scheme to become paid for an opinion without a dialectic.... homeless people, bums... seem like philosophers by comparison... and now the bewildering quest... of how / why the internet died.*
**** it, the gloves are off...
about time to punch this *****
silly-dead...
**** it... all the internet content
creators, that are women:
are giving off nervous voices...
shoe on head... whoever...
here's where said people...
start looking for, ahem....
"real" jobs... jobs plagued by
the study of psychology....
oh they're scared...
because whatever the internet
was...
from 2007 through to
2016... in the time of the zenith...
hello new t.v.,
hello internet banking...
hello internet online shopping...
what?!
you want edgy?!
come down to the forest,
or the shady back alleyway
with the new teens...
come come...
you wanted edgy...
such a shame though...
to think of your comments
becoming as redundant
as the plight of sending
off your C.V. application...
sorry....
what?
you have finally arrived
at what you wanted...
why are you looking at me for
with that dumb-"found"
look?!
do i look stupid?
or are you pretending
to not be?!
******* internet bums...
you know it was coming...
it was coming...
i never asked for money...
i'll never ask for money...
but you did...
you begged...
you dog begged...
you...
begged...
you're still going
to beg,
when the internet is reduced
to nothing more than
a 2nd t.v., internet banking,
and internet shopping...
and... that's about it;
you're joking, you think there's
more?!
ha ha... good luck.
p.s.
because, believe it or not,
look at what you gave me?
i didn't ask for money,
i didn't ask for time...
but what you gave me
is best expressed cryptically,
as both time, and money.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
I have shut myself inside this box.
Sealed it well, from the inside,
And filled the cracks.
I fashioned it myself,
Based it on a model I devised long ago.
I remembered the dimensions intimately.
And inside I am safe.
Inside, I can hardly be seen.
The art of invisibility is slowly and carefully learnt.
Copyright Vicki Watson 2013
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
Ego Eccentric, Collective hysteria
A mind of madness,Compassionately cruel
Do or die
Black or white
Comprised carefully of duality
We are presented a human life
The thinker thinks but will never know
Think as much as you can
As much as you'd like
Ahh a thinker,
For he is one far and few between
He cringes at the tabloids
Glamorized ****** flashes
upon the big screens
Fear mothered slave state
Is where he sighs home
A pattern to repeat
An average man's prison
One of which
He's carefully constructed himself
Barring his own windows
Processing his own food
And his own paperwork
Jail keeper sounds
The morning alarm
"Wake your body!"
Mind stays in slumber
"It's time to make money"
Yet no real wealth
Another day on repeat
Constructing his "self"
Identifying carefully
With devised roles.
The play begins
"Curtain call!"
"Places everyone!"
The lights dim
Going back to pretending again
-KaitValentine
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC
I’m scared.
Cold, alone......... scared.
My body aches from fighting.
I won, but at what cost?
Revenge shouldn’t be the answer.
They took her life, my true love.
I’m crying, crying like I’ve never cried before.
A life for a life, but at what cost?
I became the person, I set out to destroy.
I’m a monster, a creation the devil himself devised.
I’m scared.
I’m alone, cold, and nothing to cling on to.
I have nothing........ nothing.
There’s only one thing for me to do.
I’m picking up my choice of death.
Goodbye monster.
You’ve done the most evil thing imaginable.
It’s time for you to go.
I’m taking you with me, back to where you came from.
Forgive me Father, for what I’m about to do.
I’ll see you in a few seconds.
Five....... My heart is beating fast.
Four........ Sweat is covering my face.
Three........ My heart is beating faster.
Two........ Hello love, good to see you again.
One........ Goodbye.
“BANG!!!!!”
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
lit by the sunlight is none other than your skin, intertwining with that of my own,
meshing in the air is our thoughts and beliefs, and our future being carefully devised before us,
it's not hard to think ahead, or at least dream ahead that perhaps just like right now,
our skin will still be touching as you lay softly next to me in five years time,
it's nice to think I will be happy for more than this moment can last
and perhaps you hold that key, its just up to you to use it
I know you more than I know myself, despite you thinking differently,
your smile glows brighter in my thoughts than it does in the sunlight
overwhelming would be a word to describe you,
you've seen me in light, whereas others have only seen me in the dark
thinking realistically maybe this won't last forever, nothing does
but I can dream
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC