Best Canny Poems
5/20/17
Regardless of if I never get to see or reach the grand finale
Doing not too shabby
I may not exactly
Be all that happy
Yet when things turn out badly and sadly
Can't stay feeling crappy
Memory occasionally somewhat foggy and patchy
Not trying to be too wacky
Or flashy
Just want to be more crafty
Handy
And canny
Take care of my granny
And the rest of the family
Stock up the pantry
Pour them some brandy
And buy some domestic and foreign candy
Serve them food first and myself lastly
And appreciate the simple things, not just what is fancy
Near and far from any valley
As well as waters with or without algae
I am not familiar with necromancy
And have no idea if we are related to chimpanzees
Azure blue skies weep in rent glacial torrents,
iridescent earth sun trap poised to garner sympathy,
dark red cloud’s indignant float might yet rumble,
toxic deluge drenches mudbank plot as toilers whine,
thunderstruck I gaze at wild indigo sea mist on brine-fleck shore
Edge of seat terra firma species orange alert mere bluster,
grim altitude apocalypse for amber moon orb,
rampant shower pockmark with visual scar as trenchant plague,
vapour trail from lachrymose horizon now a shrunken haze,
alarm bell’s doleful peal across an impact cratered expanse once sumptuous mint green
Stream of gurgling silken brook upon reciprocal bright cadence,
otherworldly pine from volatile nebulae’s damp swathe,
vapid biome acreage a gaunt reflection though surreal,
despite magenta stardust twinkle whose infant phase corralled
by wayward drizzle
Hemisphere by half redolent of sombre devastation,
yet exotic visual haunt is that vaunted shadow zone,
sweet maple leaf ether bound refuge from monsoon rife,
pot of gold opal strewn paradise escape hatch,
from lesion blight topsoil or open sore empyrean
Purple leaf and bell pepper cascade swirling o'er panic stricken globe,
perfume clad hillock under hawk-eye squint,
denizens idyllic foster atmospheric canny urban vault,
they hobble gingerly on salmon pink stone bridge en route to harried terrain rescue
If they have to point out it is banter
cus you didn’t realise it as banter
As they left no clue it was banter
The simple fact is it’s not banter
Banter’s quick wit the sort with charm
not blunt brain dead comments which harm
banters apparent with its own alarm
you know to reply with words not arms
Some will insult you then say what it is
banter they say but the humour's a miss
the standard they bant to tells you just this
have they a brain or a head full of piss
One reason banter is something some hate
Many don’t get it run their lip like an ape
after an insult “it’s just banter mate”
pointing it out then banter it ain’t
Acting a prat is a different thing too
don’t justify actions stupid you do
a prat you are and stupid are you
It’s not banter not close I tell you true
Banter only works against a near IQ
you can’t banter with someone much dumber than you
Banter is something the dumb do different
They are not canny or clever they’re just a blunt
I can ride with galaxies out of sight
explore the far edge of everywhere
I can pause to walk at the speed of light
surf the wave that curves, collapse time that slows
I can do little things, descend from height
share those moments with more canny creatures
I am fluid crystal, chill breath of air
born expectant, soft re-imagined shapes
I am the drifter in my garden lair
blankets cover, abiding imminent
I am stretched-out molecules mingling there
potential plaything with pristine features
I await for movement, for some signs above
footprints crunch the silence, crescendo yell
I gather as warm fingers push and shove
heave my half-formed body, my tumbling roll
I mould together, coalescing love
still blind and deaf to these tiny screechers
I receive head on shoulders, scarf and hat
carrot nose, potato eyes, mouth of twigs
I hear with ears poked open, child-like chat
free-dancing nymphs around my bulbous frame
I am " The Snowman " they caress and pat
joyous, full of life my youthful teachers
I feel passing heat as they flit away
focused beams of sun have melted my heart
I dissolve smiling, daring dreams hold sway
wise looks of transient, naive wonder
I remember, ...... unbelievable day
innocence built by cosmic out-reachers
Standing still head's up
Retrospect greatest pitfalls
Mass consciousness whim
Wandering till dawn
Waiting brave for the result
Less breathe heartless beat
Until the mind soar
Now is inexplicable
Sufferings indeed
People grim anew
For the best of all Juries
Render canny nod
Continue service
Captivating voter's wit
Last laugh never ends.
Pick & Mix
Oh Frank. W. Woolworths what have you done,
You have taken away all of the fun.
Buying the traditional Pick & Mix,
Was a yearly ritual like the turkey and stuffing mix,
Trying to cram as many as you could
Into the large cardboard tub.
Trying to be canny
and fill every nook and cranny,
Toffees, chocs, jellies, dolly mixtures, shrimps & white mice,
They all tasted really nice.
It only cost £2 99 for the lot
It was up to you how many you got,
Now it is to be no more
Having asked at several of your stores.
Gone now is the tub you could fill with as many as you like.
It’s A bag and weigh & pay, and on your bike.
Oh Frank. W. Woolworths what have you done,
You have taken away all of the fun.
Those hateful green eyes. . .
I’ve seen more color in blacks and grays than in your bottomless hell
You call yourself a true friend?
With you, I’ve never been more ignored!
I had once begged for your attention,
But now I dread it
You’ve found the bad in me
And now you present it
I want to call you out till the life returns in those heartless eyes
Till you taste the red blood of thousands you have shed—
Till real tears free you from the glare of your green
We shall mix and match and make new, oh I promise you—
We will make bright yellows together and call it justice
I’ll turn your vanity into desperate prayers
Try your glares—I’ve got nastier snares
What is it in those canny, green eyes
That makes you hate the very air that gives you life?
You inhale kind souls with that glare of ingratitude
Spitting them out with disgusting, aftertaste claims
Oh, you know so well not to take in mine anymore
That bitter Wormwood that’s got your taste, bud—
Well it’s got nothing on me
Good old days,
Our ancestors finished wise,
Furnishing humor still to laugh at,
Small in number but beautiful and humble,
In small,small communities like birds,
Every person had a name since birth,
But all similar,difficult to come familiar,
Confused in the usage of names,
They picked some nicknames like icing over cake,
To ease the identity signatures in case,
The nicknames kicked fading his name,
It carried reasons fit to all seasons,
Cat,one lazy,
Goat,one engaged in gossips,
Fox,one very canny,
Bull,one useful,
Rat,who steals,
Snake,who is always in anger,
Chicken,one who sells chicks,
Bear,who is in dark complexion,
The village today like a zoo!
Name men's but nicknames animals bear,
The ancestors fallen and turned into dust today,
Their master minds stand tall and still intact!
The Andalusian tops my list,
So elegant with eyes like mist;
But the Quarter horse isn’t far behind,
Praised for their intelligent mind;
And next we have the Cleveland Bay,
Wonderful sport horses are they;
The Warmblood’s are a canny cross,
Drafts and thoroughbreds with sauce;
And the Lusitano can’t be beat,
Their temperament is usually sweet;
The Paso Fino with gaits of gold,
Their heaven to ride, or so I’m told;
The Fell Pony is solid black,
And the perfect size to carry a pack;
The Paint’s are sure a colorful set,
From black to blonde and even brunette;
The Arabian is dainty yet strong,
Hot blooded but with them you can’t go wrong;
And the Friesian with it’s feathered feet,
Now makes my list of ten complete!
~For Adeleke's Top Ten Contest~
America the Beautiful
The heartland of America of peace and old farmhouses,
the country I read about as a young man it is still there
although news we are served is of riots and mass shooting.
Sturdy farmers in blue overall at the bottom of the road
have collections of old stuff from recent past things
collected for the love of it, but you can buy some if they
feel like selling, canny know the value of scrap metal
Nice roads in a green landscape and tall three, and no
police sirens scream around winding corners and bullets
do not fly through the air hitting a child.
This is America the beautiful, I will go there someday,
perhaps buy a rusty old Dodge that has been standing under
a tree for twenty five years-who cares- and talk to the old
farmer about this and the sorry life of city dwellers.
C's
Clumsy chubby chimpanzee counts cherry cheesecake cases covering corner combined clear ceramic counters.
Canny cat catches canary
Cunning cat chases crazy chattering chipmunk clumsily can't close chubby cheeks 'cause chaotically cramming chocolate covered cordial cherries
MY MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Cindi Rockwell
I was barely seventeen working at my first job,
I was young so I was still in the “nice” stage,
I had this manager who bugged me named Rob,
He had a beautiful wife not deserved named Paige.
Paige never visited her hubby at our work place,
He scarcely talked of her or even of his family,
I had no idea how many children he had raised,
Everyday he thought he was so clever and canny.
One day Paige walked in and I really thought I knew,
For her belly had been so big, full and round,
I asked, “Paige, when is your sweet baby due?”
She glared with anger with no answer to be found.
As her mouth started to open I realized my mistake,
I thought, “oh no! she’s not pregnant after all!”
She said loudly, “who are you anyways, some flake?”
If only I had a rock under which I could crawl.
She continued to rant and I stood there embarrassed,
My blood pressure was flying through the dang roof,
How could I be so impulsive and completely careless?
I swear her belly was so big I thought I had the proof.
Rob ran out frantically to see what was going on,
Paige screamed, “she thought I was pregnant, that flake!”
I was awfully humiliated and could see they weren’t fond,
Never ask a lady when she’s due, it’s an embarrassing mistake.
Date Written: July 4, 2016
‘Mrs Doubtfire’s really a man
Her costume is a cunning plan
As the lawyer forbids
Daniel can’t see his kids
But he’ll see them however he can
He gets hired to be his kid’s nanny
and dresses like an ancient granny
Daniel’s plan it soon works
They get used to ‘her’ quirks
His deception really is canny
But his children discover the ploy
Daniel tells his older girl and boy
They must not breathe a word
(Though his costume’s absurd)
It acts as a clever decoy
Switching costumes so he can escape
Daniel gets into many a scrape
But there was never a doubt
That his wife would find out
When exposed… her mouth was agape
Now the story has a happy ending
Daniel’s able to stop pretending
He has proved he’s no quitter
becoming their babysitter
it’s quality time he is spending!
Favourite Comedy Movie Contest
Sponsored by Alexis Y
3/16/18
A luv ma life sae full o' joy,
I keep ma interests at full employ.
Each day fur me is sic' delight,
every day, aw' day an' ivery night.
I go tae bed an' lay doon ma heid,
aye richt efter ma supper feed.
Ma thochts are o' beautiful things,
an' tae ma wee brain sic' pleasure brings.
Ah even dream afore ah sleep,
aye, ah do, afore a count those sheep.
Aw' the happy things that has been ma day,
ma wife,ma daughter, sons an' all things ofay.
I'm lucky growing plants is my joy,
auld as I am noo, an' since a boy.
Saft , verdant, vibrant, aw' kinds o' colour,
that grow in winter, spring, autumn an' summer.
I luv sculpture as weel as ma bonny plants,
an' aboot them ah very oaften rant.
An' a luv ma Gairden that's foo o' life,
sno' though, as luvly as ma Bonny wife.
An' ma bairns gei me luvly dreams,
aw life's great, thats what is deemed.
So when ma heid has passed tae sleep,
aw thay luvly thoughts ma soul dis keep.
When I awake frae ma gentle dreams,
wae that first gentle saft sunbeam.
Am oot o' bed like lightnin' jack,
an' oaf tae work wae ma luncheon pack.
Workin' among aw ma bonny fluers,
ah tend no' tae notice ma wurkin 'oors.
Of back noo ,tae ma ain luvly hame,
luvly , 'cos nae ither hoose wid feel the same.
Ma ither joy is cookin' fur aw ma folks,
an' I'll no' mention ma luv fur jokes.
Then there is ma luv in writin' poems each day,
am sure oan FanStory yea arrr' aw' ofay.
A guid night wae aw' ma kin beside,
ma happy face yea canny hide.
Hae ma supper then tae bed I go,
thinking beautiful things, Aye, that is so.
The Auld Yin.
camouflage
calico cat
calm captivating cadence
cagey cajoling calculating
cantankerous capricious canny
careening caressive caviling . . .
___________________
September 02, 2022
Poetry/Alliteration/camouflage cat
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1484-903-02
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Alliteration
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 09/02/2022
Third Place