Best Cleverest Poems
Wish I was dumb
easily amused
Too thick to get hurt
not care if confused
Walk around half-gone
stare at the whole truth
Shrug my shoulders
right before I shoot
Being dumb’s simple
takes boredom away
too dizzy to feel down
or deflated in any way
Gazes at a cellphone
giggles at silly memes
More so the same sh!t
a billion times seen
Dumb has it good
needs little to do
Stares at the sky
never dawns why it’s blue
Sees a vivid sunset
pulls down the blind
Quickly falls asleep
with a blacked out mind
Dumb wears the T-shirt
gets soaking wet
Catches a fever
believes it’s no sweat
Eats crap all day
doesn’t care if sick
Ends up on a drip
watches it for a kick
Dumb and numb
guitars that won’t strum
A vacant skull
muffled out drum
Won’t beat itself up
as a rule of thumb
My world’s so f•ucked
dumb’s remains plumb
* * *
the world’s cleverest man once said ~ nothing to me ~ he wanted a life
By
David Kavanagh
Made is she of the finest porcelain, that daddy's
Money can buy, with soft raven tresses, and blue
Hued shining eyes.
My pretty Polly baby doll, has a hand painted on
Smile, and long curly eye lashes, that bat and blink,
When one is not watching her, my cleverest of play
Mates is she.
You must understand one thing perfectly clear, dear
Friend, my pretty Polly is no ordinary standard toy,
Yes, I fully know that children have a vivid imagination,
But sir or madam, I've seen it for myself, and felt her
Malevolent presence.
At first it was fun, playing these haunting games,
A trickster’s paradise, she'd laugh and giggle, with
Fiendish delight’s pleasure.
But I'd always get blamed for the mischief, she'd get
Us into, so I decided that I wouldn't play with her anymore.
So I tucked my pretty Polly in a trunk, in the upstairs attic,
And locked it up good, and tight.
Later on that very same night, when I took off my slippers,
And said my prayers, I snuggled beneath my comforting covers,
Then beside me I realized in sheer terror, there she did lie,
Smiling back at me, with those great big blue eyes.
In the quiet and stillness of my very own bedroom,
She did so whisper in a gentle sadistic voice, cuddling ever
Closer to my tender year’s youthful ear, don't ever do
Something likes that ever again.
This is when I lost my childhood innocence, it was then
That I realized the true matrix of our relationship, that I
Was Polly's pretty playmate, not the other way around?
Time passed by slowly after this earth shattering event,
Deadly tea parties, hurtful games of hide and go seek,
Until one day she turned her delicate porcelain face
Away from me, announcing in a curt and mischievous voice,
I'm rather quite bored with you.
The next morning when I awoke she, my pretty Polly
Baby doll had gone, never to be seen again.
When questioned by my Papas, about her whereabouts,
I gave him the same chilling smile, which this haunted
Doll my pretty Polly, had given me time and time again,
Well I'm not sure, she's lost my dearest father.
Oh that's a shame my little child, would you like
Another one to take her place, no I replied, a hug
Will do instead, just fine!!!
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Where to? Just to walk?
Dressed in long garment like ghost?
A question mark in purse… gold!?
She preferred a walk!
Missed her crooked edgy boat!
Just went to walk down the road…
Looking at picture
In the hands of the painter
Van Gogh’s mystery nurtured
He drew her prayer…
In her purse she did question
Why!? Was just a tough question
Wondering how could
That happen in night’s second!
Hefty waters dashing… haunt!!
The chimney trembles!
An earthquake wakes up fixed days!
See a muddy unpaved ways?
Though all wide paved roads
Reach Britania’s bay… north?
Shown on left corner’s foot’s coy
Enlarge picture here…
Her garment is night-time sleep
See the shooting stars racing heap?
Umbrella is closed
Carried lest harsh rain is dropped
Fall signed surprises to roll…
The roof is breaking!
But picture of landscape’s tweak
Is seven degrees… earthquake’s squeeze!
What caused that earthquake?
Look close… hills’ dance! Wave!
Tsunamis launch big headache…
The sun’s round high rays
Amazing view! Beneath slate!
Above roof tops water stays!
Can’t take my eyes off
That white house’ name looks… hello!
Van Gogh meant… white house we know..!
The cleverest knew
Floods and blubbers can dash through
The Atlantic Ocean’s see through..!
Since past styles distort
But now all styles run the show
The broken boat… does not flow!
The ark as in boat..!!
Seems like Noah’s ark… didn’t row!
Got broken on hills… the road!
Looks like Broken Wa-
gon town fits show on sheer Van
Gogh’s print… water’s sketch grade’s class!
Under her smooth feet
Hilltops’ visage… very week...
Vast landscapes flattened… see here?
Till water recedes…
With hefty tears of few years
Trotting in Van Gogh’s tart dreams.
BY: Nadia F. Shahwan – September 2009. The portrait of “White House at night” by Vincent
Van Gogh was the inspiration of my poem-Seven Degrees.
Garfield, a loveable famous, lazy cat,
Who likes to eat and eat, that’s why he’s fat,
Jon his companion, Garfield’s friend or foe dude,
On call twenty four seven, to give Garfield food!
The world knows their love hate relationship
And of course Garfield's innermost thoughts,
Each an amusing quip!
He is the cleverest, wittiest cat, he’s a star,
His charm, and fertile mind reaches afar,
He loves to eat, sleep and then to repeat,
His sarcasm no other cat could ever beat.
Garfield regards Jon as his permanent box changer,
Perhaps Jon should give Garfield a thought pager!
Garfield, shouts Jon, why do you everything scratch,
Don’t shout, you silly human, give me a scratch patch!
John emphasises, Garfield you’re lucky, you have
A teddy, a dog called Odie and a loving companion, me
What else could you want, a bowl of lasagne says he!
A mouse runs by, Jon says Garfield catch it, but
Garfield doesn’t like hurting mice,
And so says Garfield’s thought quip,
Will I ever get that through your thick skull,
Or do I always have to give you an earful!
Garfield teases big angry looking dogs, makes
Faces at them, and when they chase him,
Runs to Jon who picks him up and then Garfield takes
Advantage as he sticks his tongue out,
So the dogs attack them both, Jon
Scolds Garfield who looks at Jon, with a pout!
Garfield cartons were recognised and awarded
Top honours and were rewarded
With accolades, in the Guinness Book of Records
Congratulations to the author the late Jim Davis,
Who made billions and achieved worldwide status,
And who created these wonderful characters,
Manipulative and coffee dependant Garfield,
Not forgetting Odie and Jon,
All of who brought us laughs by the ton!
Garfield was an era, a striped, intelligent thinking cat,
Who refused to ever hurt a mouse, that’s a fact,
But who could eat lasagne every day of his life
As his greed for this meal was truly rife!
I could carry on forever, but will end with what
I think is a laugh,
Jon asks Garfield why he has got such a lot of
Junk in his bed,
Oh this, Garfield grins, it’s a whack bonk, with which
I am about to hit your head,
Our furry friend sarcastically said,
Rather, thought in the quip,
It’s a wonder that Jon didn’t chase him with the
Scissors, and go snip, snip!
We were poor, but my brother and I didn’t know it.
Before Christmas my dad would take us to find just the right scraggly
fir tree..a wonderful afternoon tramping around in the woods.
Old and worn decorations..we were delighted to open the crate
and unpack them; it was like seeing old and beloved friends again.
The red velvet car was my favorite.. his a bedraggled Santa sled.
We always had a present or two..but the most exciting gifts were
in our stockings. The stockings were my dad’s work socks..washed
and pressed for the occasion. They hung with pride, beautiful to us.
One year I got a fishing pole in my stocking. It was stuck through
a hole in the heel. I thought that Santa was the cleverest
of men. Imagine..using that hole to my advantage!
My dad’s boss would give us the same thing year after year.
A crate of oranges, something we never had at any other time.
I can still see the juice on my hands as we devoured that special gift.
I wouldn’t trade those Christmas memories. The greatest gift was feeling
warm, and safe…and loved.
Many years ago, in camp,
A project quite prosaic
Was manipulating tiles
To make artwork in mosaic.
We lined up all the little squares
In patterns and designs,
With creative juices flowing
As we stepped outside the lines.
With every tile I glued in place,
My confidence increased;
The fact I’d made an ashtray
Was the part that mattered least.
A subway wall mosaic
Set my memory abuzz,
Remembering how calculated
Each tile placement was.
It takes a lot of patience
To make magic using tiles,
Thus mosaic seems to me to be
The cleverest of styles.
Fast forward to the mysterious gift known as the present.
I finally accepted her into my monotonous life's content.
I thought my knowledge of survival made me super duper clever.
But even the cleverest has flaws that can make em ever wiser.
Acknowledging it is good but patching it up is even better.
Through her them flaws got exposed like there's no tomorrow.
But as it showed, I didn't anticipate it would bring her so much sorrow.
The amount of pain I brought can only be reconciled by the power of time.
I made a promise that I’ll never leave her for anyone else for a lifetime.
No matter how short we’ve only been together as partners in crime.
I intend to keep that promise regardless of the challenges that may chime!
So baby, I’ll be right here waiting for you through rain or shine.
Author's notes
This is extracted from a verse from another rap I wrote under a different name, the intent of it however, is much like the Soldier of Pain poem I posted.
Hope you guys enjoy it. :)
One who helps each and every one
One who kills the world of Corruption
One who protects the surroundings like the Sun
One who destroys the stage of destruction, is society's son.
One who breaks down the progress of societal run
Will be never regarded as the cleverest.
If he is someone who ends the legacy of intruders and injustice
Than he will be capable of lifting the society as high as the Everest.
Being over the crust of this kind,
He should have a narrow mind.
With peaceful nature and pleasured insights
To work hard, be deligent and meticulous and achieve more heights.
Finally if his heart understands that succeeding in life is being honest,
It will be always possible for him to finish the rest at the best.
#Sonnet a 14 lines poetry
It wouldn’t be considered gourmet food.
In fact, I’ve seen it eaten by a lout
who wore a baseball cap, and looking crude,
kept chewing it until he spat it out.
It hasn’t got the most delicious taste,
but cleverest of diet snacks I’ve tried,
its calories can’t be consumed in haste.
One cracks its shell to get the seed inside.
It’s high in protein, fiber, zinc and E
and sunshine’s D. . . I’m healthy as a bird!
And at the matinee, I have with me
a package (nacho flavored most preferred!)
And since my fingers always have a need
to feed my face, I love my sunny seed!
Note: Sorry this is not a really emotional one
All my addictions seem to be pleasure centered and not too harmful!
Just to show you how addicted I was to nacho flavored sunflower seeds,
when they were discontinued by the company, I went around to every
gas station and grocery store in the valley and bought up every package
of them. It cost me around $85 and the 75 bags lasted only a year! Now I
eat the large ranch flavored ones!
For me burning daylight invites me to the black
It's not that I don't like daylight, for I'll never lack
If I'm ever to prowl whether it's amidst the dark, light
It's being the cleverest, within either I'm out of sight
Have you ever walked behind someone oh so quiet
Can you simply imagine, their strolling quiet riot
To even stand beside, in an Otis lift, we're alone
We in burning daylight, whom does whom belong
Sitting in a restaurant, all alone with no chaperon
Whether it's burning daylight, who does who own
For me burning daylight invites me to the black
To venture into the black, then I'll soon relax
Misconceptions so often prevail,
They rob us of honest detail,
They clutter the mind,
With notions that bind,
Of the cleverest female or male.
We really should root them all out,
Removing the reason to doubt,
That the tales we are told
By the young and the old
Are really worth bandying about.
To tell you the truth I despair
At the apple that fell through the air,
And struck Isaac’s head
Releasing the thread
Of the theory of gravity there.
When Washington’s dentures you view
It’s simply not right to construe
That they’re made out of wood
For wood is no good
That popular myth is not true.
Michelangelo, its widely known,
Lay on his back ’neath the dome
Of the Sistine to paint,
Well that’s something that ain’t,
So the next time you hear it please moan!
The footballer played for Brazil
Black Diamond is how he's known still
His cleverest trick
Was the "bicycle" kick
That let him score goals nearly at will
August 5, 2016
For Black Diamond poetry contest
With you I want to have a word,
Thou immor(t)al bird!
No angry generation
Can tread thee down:
Thou wast not born for death.
Thou art indeed a riddle on earth.
People seem to like other creatures
But not you, your function or features:
You have wings, but are not called a bird.
You can sing, yet not called a songbird!
You have regaled Thoreau
With your requiem, though.
You always have the better of the human,
Outwitting the Crown of creation!
One of the cleverest of creatures are you,
And the prototype, it’s true,
Of the dinosaur and brontosaurus extinct
And an expert in blitzkrieg by instinct.
You can make human life on earth a hell
And can sometimes sound our death knell!
You are not at all guilty
Of the undistributed-middle!
Is it because you thus diligently
Go forth and multiply,
That God loves you so amply?
And made you his analogue and alter ego?
Omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient, as you know?
And wanted you on the Voyage, too,
Even though Noah, I'm told, was against i?
Above all, you are a teacher great.
For, you teach us all a lesson best:
Survival of the fittest!
Little bird, to you I bow:
Never can I forget or forgive you, though!
--The Jester
Dragon sat in the bushes all night long, for he wanted to catch himself a Leprechaun.
See Leprechauns have gold by the buckets full, and Dragon wanted himself… some.
So our sly little Dragon had put a lit up rainbow, on our garage door, to be cast on…
St. Patrick’s Day was in the morning, and he wanted some of those golden charms.
He’d read: You gotta get up, so very early, to be able, to even a little, trick those guys.
For those wily Leprechauns are the cleverest critters, which were ever seen… to arise.
So Dragon had dressed up in the Irish green, topped with a cute little Leprechaun hat.
You see, Dragon believed he was, the slyest thing, put on this earth, here… ever… yet.
Sure enough, at the break of dawn… a Leprechaun came snooping, stealthily around.
Strangely, he looked about 3 years old, the same age of our Dragon, or there, around.
They hit it off immediately, with so much in common, at that tender age and time.
Finally together, they dug up the pot of gold, which the Leprechaun’s magic did rise.
They had decided to share the wealth, of any gold, they did hope to some how find
But darn, the Leprechaun was unhappy, at the small amount of gold before his eyes.
He swore our Dragon had dug it up early, and already taken his own share… after all…
Dragons were known to be the greediest things ever put on this earth, he did recall.
Yes, he’d seen thru Dragons disguise, and had seen the wily-ness of it all… so true…
So the Leprechaun threw a crying hissy fit, the likes of which Dragon had never knew.
He raged on and on, how his new best friend could ever think to cheat him, Boo Hoo!
Now, Dragon began to feel very guilty for what he had originally, truly, wanted to do.
So in the end he gave it all away, to his newest best friend, who left without an adieu.
At that our dear little Dragon, felt proud for what he had finally achieved and done.
That is until he looked at his own little bitty horde of gold… that was suddenly gone!
Yep the little Leprechaun, had stolen it fast away! With his magic he had transferred…
Dragons gold to the Leprechauns beloved pot! Now Dragon became enflamed at it all!
At what the Leprechaun had done… Until Grandpa Troll reminded him with the moral:
Don’t be surprised… if you get burned… when you play with fire, my little friend!
The End!
Written 3-17-2017
When the noise of day recedes
in the shadowed graying light,
I see as the form and shape
distorts, an illuminated blight
The only things that seem
to hold our attention still,
is the moon and stars arising
over the height of the hill
The once brilliant sky becomes
Gods greatest form of art,
shimmering with their glowing
it would awe us from the start
Even with all that scares the mind
in the blackness of the night,
with the tiniest reach of chin
it cowers down from that sight
not even the gentle penetration
and the sliver of a knife,
can take away my intentness
to gape in awe at life
Born at the beginning of a time
that shattered the knowledge of man,
then with the cleverest of discoveries
everything became a digital plan
Yet, the miracle of daylight hours
can never begin to compete,
with this spectacular moonlight,
it was really an impossible feat
As first breath came from darkness
I would really like to confess,
I'm in love with stars and comets
my dreamtime walks de-stress
Breathtaking, evening arrives
the journey begins to the deep,
who really needs the comfort
of a restful, peaceful, sleep