"shrewdly" poems
1292
Yesterday is History,
’Tis so far away—
Yesterday is Poetry—
’Tis Philosophy—
Yesterday is mystery—
Where it is Today
While we shrewdly speculate
Flutter both away
20.8k
(and I cannot live
from with-out)
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a poem in appreciation to Rossella Di Paolo
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I, too:
- am an embryonic work in progress,
well into my seventh decade, with no ending in sight
I too,
live in the house of poetry, the address likely differs,
but suspect the innards of the houses differs little,
the decor, quite similar
- my house shrewdly requests a rethinking,
noting, it lives my artifice,
with in & with out
Then, we are a We:
- my cavities house her, She, Poetry is of Ruth (1) born,
- Poetry, She, reminds me, ”whither thou goest, I will go”
This duality:
- where the haunting of words providential,
emanate, both inhabiting & inhibits my breathing
She, a fearsome creature, a fearful-something,
for it tears me and shreds tears its demands be wrung
from with in to with out
She, Poetry:
- leaves me gaping, hollow, fills me with
depressurizing boreholes exposed to the elements of
externalities of an admixed atmospheres, that nature demands be refilled, fresh in, stale out,
for which the artifice trick is knowing which is which
when Poetry’s birthing:
- chest pounds, heart-rate beats heavy metal,
abdomen contracts, there then, no languid in my language,
no help untangling the alpha-bet jumbling,
product of the screams of pushing,
squeezing it forth*
*you’re hoping to quick-catch newly formed combinations,
for if you fail, a poem
noisily crashes to and through the floorboard cracks,
where poetry’s chaotic glinting etes
maliciously glimmer~winks at me
with a sarcastic thank you*
*“ah, too bad, another creation stillborn,
gone to rest, biting the nether dust,
without hope of resuscitation…”*
just another unfinished work in progress
periodically
a survivor clean caught, transcribed, edited to be finished,
amniotic fluids cleared,
poem resurrected
blessed with eternal life,
readied to be shared and delivered,
affirmed
and you say to no one and to everyone:
this poem will be our poem,
wither it goes, ascending, descending,
all live in the house of poets,
one house,
many apartments,
each poem a god,
and
my God will be our God,
your God, my God,
in the House of Poetry
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 5:55 PM UTC
A woman who dies in labour,
In the pains of pre-delivery
For no reason but poor midwifery
Is a martyr and a true martyr
Than religious charlatans,
For she has only died in heroic
Defense of life and its perpetuation,
She is better than you the user
Of contraceptives in odious fit of
Family planning frivolity,
With condoms and the stuffs
Weapons of your ****** war,
She is a true martyr
To allow live sperms to meander
The valleys and fountains of life
Without dodging them shrewdly
Through wiles of science and tech,
Sperms and ova when in a duel they are
God’s intent of life, and human lives
Alack, suffocating them is heinous
A sin as big as murderer
Or a terrorism of the Twin towers
Or a **** agent armed with gas poison,
Let them, the sperms enter the walls of life,
Minus fear of deathly virus, let them enter,
They intent to give life naturally, Godly,
And if they have Aids, then you are
A martyr who died in support of life
Against the wiles of the evil one,
You are better than him that
Masturbates to waste the *****
Of life, God’s grand purpose of
Them to be the first stations of life,
You **** them, you commit ******
Genocide, massacre, macabre,
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Often, we masquerade behind words without weight
Words that coldly costume our minds, but rob our warmth
I know you’ve euphemized, for me, speech forged in hate
Just as my mouth belies each loving thought I form
When burdened, your mask slips to lay bare hidden eyes
Eyes flatly calm, though agleam with muted malice
While I’m a hypocrite to disclose webs and lies
Still, our beloved ones should not act at loving us
My rarest friend, please, know that to my heart you’re near
And the sword you have carried is a pointless one
For I fall on my own, year after wounded year
I chastise on behalf of all when day is done
So, if the veil grows too heavy, then let it fall
Your shrewdly made disguise does not relieve my pain
The truth can never cut like secrets, after all
There are furtive daggers in the smiles you have feigned
We are all alone, and I, in suit, am alone
And I’m still not sure where life’s path will lead, my friend
Maybe to a lover or child with to atone
Someone real whose hand I’ll hold in my story’s end
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC
Never decide all of a sudden
Take time and act shrewdly
In case you take a rash step
The repercussion will be bad
Consult many in the trade
Talk to those whom you trust
Very carefully analyze points
Finally a solution will emerge
Acting based on just instinct
Will take in the wrong direction
It may spoil all your initiative
Animals are only **** rash
Crude decisions end shabbily
Producing lots of confusions
The position may turn terrible
As a result of blind approach
Use brain and also your heart
Here only shrewdness mingles
With your heart's natural mercy
Use this combination to achieve.
mvvenkataraman
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
A sword of awareness can be drawn to deflect all sides
Averting misleading deception
Striking immense fear into the heart of those
Who can see your apparent perception
A razor-sharp discernment will cut straight to the chase
Shrewdly seeing all in undying motion
Rendering powerful blows to break down a charade
Bringing a swift end to chaotic commotion
The spirit of instinct wields your sword of awareness
Sharpened by the vision of your third eye
While knowing rules the heart of the sword bearer
Gallantly fighting through chaos and lies
Do you have hold of the hilt of your sword of awareness
Lifting your blade of discernment up high
Are your edges of perception sharpened and ready
To slice through the chaos and lies?
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 11:05 AM UTC
Listen,
I wanna embrace a blanket of your sensuality.
I wanna abandon all rationality and create our own boundaries.
I wanna become in tuned with the vibrations of each other's souls.
Want you to climb so steeply within me that you can't find the way out of me.
See I don't wanna make love, I wanna create precious poetry.
While breathing the same rhythm.
You **** every stanza out of me.
Two pair of eyes undivided, two bodies ***** vigorous, exuding of familiarity.
Make a story out of me.
Feed it descriptions of true beauty.
Not shrewdly, but do it smoothly.
Let's co write a poem based on our union.
We can be a masterpiece.
Ink stains left in my bed sheets.
I'll lend you my body to use as a diary.
Release all frustrations as you lay your fervor out on me.
Send a chill of suspense intensely towards the inside of my thighs,
just where the margins would be.
Our minds are deadly.
Their correlation, deadlier.
We're writing words so compelling, while releasing showers from hearts too heavy.
Our poetry is nothing to compare to the regular.
Every inch of my body manifesting your touch readily.
I recede as you synchronize my private visions of a flawless fantasy.
Basking in this radiance as you guide your pen to an astonishing ******
Inducing my body to impasse in ecstasy.
Leaving me dripping with your artfulness.
As if announcing all expectations surpassed.
Drowning me in words that mirror ardor.
Each line so passionate,
I have no such memory of felicity that neither compares nor contrasts.
Every part of my skin left sensitive, tender, and fragile.
My body fluently floating, light as a feather.
Skin now designed and decorated with such puissant letters.
And God forbid we begin to forget the significance of our coalescence.
You can lay me down,
As you read it back to me.
This way, we can reminisce on the angelic medley.
Listen,
I don't just wanna make love,
I want our bodies to intertwine and invoke aesthetic poetry.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
This art alone will not quench my thirst
So, I pushed to the street in a disorderly burst
Not as myself but as the lacerating beast
He erased my fish-like stare and began his feast
His fangs pierced deep and would not let go
Implanting them shrewdly as a seed would be sown
Stared through my mind but he saw only me
A cowardly corpse of the filthiest degree
Dragging me further by the arduous lights
That shun on my skin and reflected mere blight
Forcing me to confront the dwelling of lies
As I loitered the entrance I screeched my despise!
The masochist's dream is really quite lame
Like smothering an ash from becoming a flame
To bright forth the end is such a shame
What a waste of time to miss out on pain..
Do what thou wilt is the whole of our law
Next to that indulge in your flaws
Be who you are and love under will
But remember again do what thou wilt!
The demon left me and I felt swift again
Why should I leave and not take a friend?
Might as well reveal that not much is real
and bring forth the extent of misery I can feel
The scent of death was close and would surely come
And to my surprise I knew where it was from
The pits of lust and her treacherous Gaze
Leading me through the most grotesque haze
Upon my arrival I was ceased to a sudden halt
for what lay before me was preparing its assault
Three seeds of evil from the lowest circle of hell
but these had faces that I could remember so well
The first was my love but she had no eyes
They had been gouged and now hang at her thighs
"I can't believe you're content with stupidity!"
She screamed at me with the utmost sense of pity
That sight alone was a dream come true
A boundless arousal that was sincerely due
The bliss I betrayed was evoked once more
Into the depths of my stomach my innards it tore
Glanced upon her flesh again and it began to rot
At least seemingly so or obviously not
I'd finally met god and I knew he'd been watching
My sorrows to date and the guilt I was flaunting
He mocked my existence and showed me his fame
From that moment forward I knew who to blame
This deity was consciousness and I hated him so
I needed to run but where could I go?
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
she drove a block
through the middle
of my man and I
she performed it with a
callousness of ply
into his heart
she wormed her way
not a bit of feeling for
me did she display
all the time pretending
to be my friend
but only doing that
in benefiting her own end
she got what she
wanted so badly
my man fell into
her arms gladly
she hooked him
as a seductress
he was so readily
reeled into her caress
she robbed
she robbed
she robbed me blind
she pulled off the greatest robbery
robbing me blind
she took the love
of my life without any regard
only ever caring
for her home yard
she never gave a
thought to my emotions
when using her
sensual potions
my man she did
shrewdly impound
spinning her spider web
around and around
out of our bed
he did stray
she had the bait which
caused our love to fray
she robbed
she robbed
she robbed me blind
she pulled off the greatest robbery
robbing me blind
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
I hate your movement, your tainted, remorseful, inhuman, abnormalities.
hemorrhage your finances on useless entities, such as a mind altering beverage, more than one, or please go on and drink yourself to death. I was almost so accurately close to the unconscious mind you engage in every 12 hours, but loosely, abruptly, and significantly, it was what humanity refers to as a “failed task”. To you things are practical, so spur of the moment, our impulses we had frequently left us in dismal. Ever on occasions, if I ever. Finding a soul doppel-ganged to yours, carbon copied, manufactured, identical traits, perfectly matched in sequence of personal qualities making me sink as far down as gravity could pull my main pumping ***** of course this is all anatomy. I laugh, although I should be rather pessimistic about that morning dawn, fogged, winter dawn. But what exactly is a joke without a punchline? A cell with no nucleus? a god **** house with no support beams? A band with no drums to keep everything counting, to keep everything in time? These things may no be able to survive without base, and you can find humor in everything life possesses, even after disaster. According to the most profound term of worship, the most known masked replica of “religion”, according to, this representative is god, the joke master. Look at your mentally impaired, speaking on a more serious level of course, I think things would ride smoothly if I had been blessed with autism. You see that type of mind state can put others at ease, they think so shrewdly that I feel sorry for them rather than the mental impaired. TO be gifted, to not give 12 ***** about media, politics, war, economy, and common global uproars. Thus if they do they know more than the presidential campaign combined into one single universal atom. What I’m getting at is are they the joke or are we?
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 4:35 PM UTC
Determination must be had to succeed
We cannot live just like that casually
Our mind must possess will-power amply
We must not be prone to temptations
Our goal must be carefully selected
And every moment for it must be lived
We must take steps to fulfill it wisely
We must not ignore it out of disgust
Skillfully by maneuvering toward mission
We must take concrete action shrewdly
Thousand ideas will be given by the World
But, we must stick to our goal to achieve
Enticing moments must be firmly tackled
We must not fall a prey for fate's traps
We must take judgements with real care
Our full brilliance must be displayed fully
In the absence of most sincere efforts
How can we attain glory creating history?
Never approach the goal with a weak mind
Proceed to prove your mind's supremacy.
Reluctant approach is a definite loser
Firm decision to toil brings great victory
Never hesitate, but ever be courageous
Only bravery is the answer for solutions.
mvvenkataraman
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
*-----------------------------------------------------
Lazarus looked up from his tea with a look of surprise.
At first, I was anxious and a bit fearful,
but his words quickly lifted my doubts:
"Ah-ha!
That scoundrel convinced me
it would take longer to get here!
I suppose that's a decent use of trickery..
at least I'm pleasantly surprised and not dead, or worse: disappointed!"
He looked at me and nodded knowingly.
"Scoundrel! I almost thought it would arrive too late!
See, I spoke to a friend on the desert coast-
well, he's a bit more of a jester I once tried to banish, really, but a friend, nevertheless!-
about some possible leads for finding this child.
He agreed to draw me a map based on his research.
However, the only thing is that this map
is shrewdly coded.
You see,
though I may be more frail now than in my youth,
I've certainly learned a thing or two
and I'm afraid I must accompany you,
for what do you make of this map?"
He showed me the scroll
and it seemed to be a sketch of the Kingdom with symbols for places and landmarks. Some parts were even upside down and there were several burn marks where the Volcano is. In the corner was an ink flurry I could only imagine to be the signature of the artist.. it seemed to read.. 'Scoundrel.'
Was 'Scoundrel' his name, or a title? A joke?
Certainly seemed to be fitting, regardless.
Clever little ****** I figured this trickster fella to be.
Seven locations were encircled in deep red,
but only three had an icon of the sun stamped with a golden ink.
"Seems like a treasure map."
"Of sorts..
a mad map drawn by a mad man for a mad quest.
Quite apropos, indeed.
The encoding would prevent those of impure mind from finding the child, should the worst happen to the bearer of this map. Leave it to a scoundrel to think to safeguard a map to the Chosen One against foul play. Wisdom can be found in such impishness as his, so long as the darkness doesn't break you. It takes one to know one, I suppose. Hah."
Lazarus turned to me and sat up straight, clearing his throat.
"Now, should you allow me to come with you,
I can decode it based on the clues we come across,
that is, unless you wish to make it on your own."
His expression was stern, yet infused with wonder and anticipation.
"The choice, my dear Dhorna, is yours."*
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 6:05 AM UTC
shrewdly depicted to hide the gracious
a wormhole warped as collectible chances
a star beaming its glowing white light
to the people whose feet have gone without sight
live and sink to repeat the prodigy
we tearful acids have plowed the ****
lashes dewed of jewels, from once
a medium embraced to fabric of joy
stumble and tumble
hobble on a knee
keep the chins held aloof
so the water won't recede
basket cases seething to sheathe
the one thing they know
that each one of them
are born to speak for all
and as this poem shrinks
words gone fewer
a cycle this is
of birth
death,
start over
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
Do well the present task
Never carry the gone past
Worry not about the future
Utilize very well the present
Past may contain mistakes
Which may cause anxiety
Future is unknown always
Present alone is at hand
Learn a lesson from the past
And rectify the defective action
If your action is shrewdly solid
Future brings you great glory
Nobody always wins in life
Everyone faces at times defeat
None also ever loses only
Success and failure alternate
Losses are not at all in life final
Failure is not a permanent feature
Never at all drop your noble dreams
Believe firmly that you can achieve.
mvvenkataraman
www.mvvenkataraman.com
SEARCH mvvenkataraman IN GOOGLE OR YAHOO
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 7:44 AM UTC
Why are you so needy?
Why can't you just sit still?
Why are you so greedy?
Haven't you had your fill?
I can hear you judging silently
Will you just be honest please!
Why do you act so violently?
Will your taking ever cease?
But sometimes you're quite kind.
And I guess it's wrong to be so harsh
For your not so out of mind
And you're really not a shallow marsh.
I shouldn't judge you so shrewdly
For all your problems there is beauty.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 4:42 PM UTC
yet another savage tragedy
ravages, emotionally,
the trap queens in bandages
screaming to their bae’s
about the vastness of calamities
blunt tips glow showing smoke blown
extensions flowing growing tired of
liars on the youtube
seeking gifs and snap-chat
besties to wrestle
with the cultural festivities
being given proclivity
to policy lunacy –
smart phone glued
claw hand and shrewdly
planning to revamp the system
with hello kitty ***** twisters
and metrosexual waterfall trips…
it’s truly a pip
these auto-tuned post baby-boomers
no relations to crooners
thinking the sooners are only
Oklahoma….
My youth tirade
is partly a parade
like a brass band on Burbon
playing unafraid –
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
come to sight this site
once a fortnight,
the volume, ***
a straight line curve, - all
fingertips to the sky appointed,
my followed favored poets get
per force, my attention immediatement!
but
costly for/to the new writers
whom with so few (‘cept Le Gomez)
panning for gold, mostly fall posthaste
to add to deep sea coral reefs below
where lower & slower is an unnoticed
state of sleep, you be the carnival barker!
or a Moses
crossing a
black letteral sea, by the hello,
repost please, the new babies,
otherwise they suffocate from
the unintended lack of oxygenation
it’s a small and costly gesture tho
$$$ free, we well risk losing the new perspective, updating jargon (parole gergali!)
we risk absence by obsolescence, if using
old software, astride our high horses,
putting our heads up our ____
in a nosebleed trivial Jeopardy stratosphere
so shrewdly share, share a link or like,
for we all would be dustbin paper, better
suited for beach bonfire shredded kindling
if someone
had not grasped our words for even more to
love
Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 10:57 PM UTC
Muteness creates sounds, warning perils
as hyenas shrewdly approach shelters,
expressing needs of thirst and hunger
when lands run dry and fruits perish,
chanting instincts sparked by seasons
eliciting mating overtures inspired,
drawing pictures on cave walls
to indelibly report, leave a legacy
of human exploits, enduring struggles,
nascent cultures and traditions,
storytelling striving to be faithful
to a truth the only known, evolving
to engender words made of letters
placed in devised orders to confess
thoughts and feelings, exchange concepts
and ideas, bring minds closer to reflect
upon the myriad marvels of a world yet
to be discovered. Eclipses. Crafting caravels
designing maps, recording wonders
encountered in search of an end, a limit
where it all began, keeping Captain’s log
fearing the monsters of the unknown,
tornados and typhoons a presage
of death inducing mortals to call
for mercy upon immortal gods,
fantastically explaining what reason is unable
to decipher. Singing songs to raise moral
until bashing locutions begin to bless
far more than slaps and blades, hanging ropes,
lightning and storms, using them to hurt
with intentions turned malicious, ingenious
communicative talents drowning
in oceans of wickedness and shame, leading
man to regret to have ever invented words
in the first place, leaving me with just one
sound of indwelling grief, a sigh, succumbing
tuning back to muteness.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 3:23 AM UTC
insistent banging
hot air on cold steel
keeping pace with the second hand
replacing the drum track
placed on the education floor –
sliding iron door
electric lock
shocked at the space
misplaced faces race against the case
chasing freedom thought computer tutorials
and changing attitudes
challenging inner platitudes
shrewdly scouring the ‘self’ for shreds –
surpassed expectations mitigated by short-sighted controllers
crushing spirits while building for retirement
smiling on break, sharing war stories
without consideration for rehabilitation
only condemnation –
watching light-bulb moments
day after day
inspired by other’s achievement
I sit awestruck
the stories of prison might as well have unicorns
for the reality they express
from my desk
this cesspool
smells like fresh beginnings and wider horizons
these dregs of society
move me to be the best version of myself
as they seek only to be considered by society
as equal and accepted –
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
I want to thrive and twist and burn with life.
Live passionately curious until i draw my last breath.
knowing with each rotation of the earth, there is potential to evince new magical manifestations.
With an open heart i shall shrewdly descry the universe through perceptive cerulean eyes.
I wish to breath in the secret whispers of the world through crimson lips, slowly exhaling every experience.
Continuously remain enlightened, embracing every intrinsic phenomenon life has to offer.
Reality exists in our minds. What is visible depends on our willingness to alter our perceptions.
Half of living is to seek the truth and believe there is always more than what meets the eye.
Half of living is just letting your thoughts run riot and letting your imagination wreak havoc.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 11:33 PM UTC
They left us a birth prize
We all believe to be gold
They glided to the front
They called it bronze
The city engulfed by ire.
We concluded again they left us silver
They called it stone
The city bewailed of inequity
Blood, blood....
The city unrest
The antagonists sacrificed.
"Either bronze or stone show us our birth prize" The voracious compatriots claims trickled to the negotiating corner.
In spite of all words,
Their actions betrayed our claims.
Again, the city soaked in dread,
Antagonists wanted,
Heedless, we protested
"Give us our birth prize"
Antagonists thundering voices
silenced with prototypes.
Shrewdly, they dance to the city
with drums and packages: lustrous education, fat salary, electricity, infrastructures, healthy economy, social amenities, health care...
They boast of frequent return of all only with the birth prize.
In their wit, we found relief, and
We drummed home to feed on
repercussion of a new dawn.
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
It's June the 9th—
I'm pensive about having
a figure so significant.
I've watched my dad pull an engine
from a Nissan Sunny, alone—
fix it, reinstall it, alone.
I've watched my dad shirtless every morning,
praying in tongues.
We never owned a rooster,
never needed an alarm—
only my dad's voice, praying in tongues.
When my dad speaks, I fall silent.
I become a fool—
a listening fool.
I've watched my dad move shrewdly:
once, when school opened
but money wouldn't stretch,
he bought old batteries,
sold them as scrap
the same day—
so I could pay my fees.
I'm pensive about having
a figure so significant.
I'm baffled
by his patience.
He sits in rooms thick with noise,
conversations crashing over each other,
but barely speaks—
still, patient.
I praise my dad.
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 1:26 AM UTC
Well-crafted suits,
chic, colour-coordinated costumes,
toned bodies, heady perfumes,
affected accent,
modish gadgets,
glib, politically correct talks,
juggled alphabets displayed after names
to show off eruditeness -
a bizarre veneer of sophistication we flaunt!
We wisely disguise our hideous true selves -
our barbarous primitiveness -
under our glistening outwards.
Its greed, its pride, its selfishness,
we shrewdly camouflage with enamouring smiles,
we, a generation of impersonators!
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC