Best Craftily Poems
The truth was concealed with many branches. Countless
are the days I happily lingered in the comfort of your shade
before passionate winds revealed each of your limbs as too
weak to support natural, core growth. Your delusive roots
cannot grab substantial hold in earth while fertilized by
pretense’s charade. Only hollow echoes resound within your
skin of splintered bark and your shadows of nothingness grow
ever longer.
Under a warming sun, I joyously gave my heart in open palm
to you. At the time, I ignorantly embraced your breadth and
sum, for your apparent beauty preceded your tells of long
developed and craftily hidden inner rot, sure to disease all love
given in deep, steady, heartbreaking spurts. I can no longer
tarry beneath your deceptive branches and chose to depart with
no thought of ever returning, but I leave behind my tender pity to
witness your inevitable withering.
Categories:
craftily, betrayal, corruption, farewell, relationship,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
As words escaped constricted passage
of time from eons of layered myths,
legends of demi-gods thus linked,
in glowing rendition, with whisk on hand
the Orator with staff, sang the Eel to slumber.
As words from parched lips of orchids, flowed
dispersing sweet juices germinating dense spheres
of time in which history was packed in roots,
armed with psalms in measured cadences,
the Orator soothed kings and chiefs.
As words of our ancestors oiled and pampered
by prophesies of aging oracles, songs of lovers
and monotonous chants of old men...slithered
into hiding while physical wars waged, succinctly
the Orator proclaimed the heroic pursuits of warriors.
As words, precision in recitation of kinship ties
craftily sewn by political machinations of unions
vital for survival of race waltzing in purity of blue
when blood flowed thru veins of aging rocks as
the Orator cemented pacts chanting tribal honorifics.
As words, imageries of sky bursting, moon phasing sunsets pertaining to legends of my village heroes,
sweet nectars that put rhythm in his art of tongues
inspired by fruits from my garden, mine own words
the Orator in action, was he infringing my copyright?
As words, our heritage orally passed down in poetry,
set imageries prohibiting meddling with sources,
set quotations where time absolved breaches of patent,
plagiarism, for traditions dictated that the word be
secured in a cocoon of oratory ferried down the ages
by the dynamics of cultural rites and rituals.
the Orator, blessed not only as the spiritual Vessel
...but now deemed as the Spoken Word incarnate.
Categories:
craftily, art,
Form:
Spoken Word
The Punching Bag - Through the Eyes of a Child
Each day the pattern was the same,
for all Dad’s shortcomings, my Mom got the blame.
WHACK! He cursed her for all his lost dreams…
WHACK! For missed opportunities, and failed schemes.
WHACK! Dad would hit his punching bag again,
to release all his pent-up frustration and pain.
When he felt inadequate and couldn’t cope with life,
he resorted to battering Mom, his “beloved” wife.
Of course, it was always her fault that things were bad;
so he made her suffer for all the troubles he had.
Inflicting her with insults, black-eyes, concussions, and cuts,
he claimed that she deserved them because she was like all sluts.
Craftily he played on her bully-enforced meekness,
getting down on his knees to beg for her forgiveness.
Moods swinging like a pendulum from night to day,
his promises were empty - he would never change his vile ways.
Predictably, he continued to torment her as he pleased,
degrading and abusing her…he never ceased.
He figured low self-esteem would prevent Mom from leaving;
and that she was a nobody, he really had her believing.
He was oh so convinced that needed audacity she lacked,
to ever think of opposing him, or of fighting him back.
Besides, with no family around, no job, and no dough,
he smugly concluded that she had no place else to go.
God knows she was weary of existing in this hell on earth;
and I was tired of seeing her endure all that unbearable hurt.
I had had enough of being terrified by that despicable monster,
who had ruined her and made our lives an utter disaster.
After convincing Mom that inevitably I’d suffer the same fate,
one night, we finally escaped to a shelter before it was too late.
*** Note: Thank God, nothing like this ever happened to me. But this piece is dedicated to those many women and their children who are victims of domestic violence.
08-31-2015
Contest: Through the Eyes of a Child
Sponsor:
Placement: 2nd
Categories:
craftily, abuse, hurt, violence,
Form:
Rhyme
I would say, Poetry is an art in verse.
From deep inside the Poet brings out
Revelations of self, nature, life.
Poet, Poetess - skilled writers in verse,
Paint for us imagery of abstract thoughts,
An art that can "move" us to the core.
We "see" what they write and reflect
On images conjured up in thought,
A master-piece created for lovers of the
craft!
Craftily, pages come alive with expressions
That emotionally move and sway,
Removing the unwanted yesterdays leaving
only the now.
The Poet captures and engages the minds of
the audience,
Whether from the platform or silently reading,
Spoken or written words echo in the stillness
of the air!
Poems can ignite passion, calm the soul, create
Thoughts and provoke eloquence in speech,
Which awakens the "sleeping" soul as the orator
reads.
Bursting with passion from within,
Love stories come alive and, O,
Climax slowly like crashing waves
dissolve upon the shore.
Categories:
craftily, art, beauty, culture, devotion,
Form:
Verse
Yikes, all I feel is attitude with zero Christmas mood.
Blessed am I for Jesus’ birth and sacrificial rood,
but Santa and his deer had best just skip our roof
or I might very well rage out on every furry hoof.
All my Christmas feel of unique is long past its peak.
Do color me aloof, uncouth if you choose, or bleak,
but my entire entirety still feels yuletide fatigue
from the Christmas I’m sure we just had last week.
Makes no mind to me if stuffing that gleeful day
stirs relatives into a finger wagging, yapping say.
I’ll show critics red and green done fist proper,
Christmas-awe land them on their tree topper.
I would rather hang with the Grinch and Scrooge
than endure another round of Santa subterfuge.
Aint no way I’m buying, baking, craftily stressing
while wrapping, decorating or glee impressing.
Ho, Ho, Ho can ever so jolly just blow, blow, blow.
I flat out dare Santa to plan to show, show, show.
... CayCay Jennings
December 13, 2017
Categories:
craftily, christmas, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Opening the door to Pandora’s box where chaos descends
As the wickedness of the locusts descends upon this world
giving birth unto passions that have no heavenly equity
Craftily-constructed plausibility draws away the inexperienced mind
held captive within the wounds of prejudice that are licked by a splintered tongue
while our Lord patiently awaits with outstretched loving arms pierced deeply
Vain genealogies born of arrogance in an allure to the simple minded
unable to distinguish evil falsehoods from truth they stumble on nevertheless
brass mixed with sliver shines falsely bright to the deceiver and deceived
Error in judgement their blasphemous and impious opinions spread venomously
In an allure of reality where more true than then truth itself beckons mendaciously
souls of Our Savior colourless in creation for the divinity of heaven is not of this earth
Almighty transparency transcends in all earthly traits eclipsing a complete deceit
His Excellency most sublime radiant Gem gleams of eternity for all mankind
Whom when asked gives the Precious gift of His Blood through Grace unconditionally
a co written piece by Donna Loughman and liam mc daid
Categories:
craftily, baptism, blessing, faith, forgiveness,
Form:
Free verse
Mixed up stuff in a dumpster truck
Placed in front, lost out lady luck
Cut up chunks of a coral snake
Left in an oven too cold to bake
The dyed rice in a toxic brew
That if eaten leaves eyes askew
Yellow red and burnt out browns
Craftily topped with lemony crowns
Seriously! Carrots too! In the milieu
Gulp and keep in a murderous stew
No mutton or chicken or even beef
Dead and barren like a burnt out reef
Charred remains of onion flakes
Now have to eat whatever it takes
Pooch wagged and lowered his snout
Hair raised cat, lost, screeched about
Flies too nose dived into the morass
Like so many soldiers dying of gas
Girl who cooked it will kick me out
Send me spiting in a coughing bout
original
saadat tahir
22nd Mar, 2013
Islamabad.
Categories:
craftily, food,
Form:
Rhyme
I wanna hiding with you and escape
from this moody realm in bathyscaphe
that made from one pea seed or nutshell,
but inwardly this little chamber
must been craftily and exactly
prepared as yacht of Abramowitz,
with precious dine room, cupboard, sofa, nice kitchen,
and others fashion utensils and commodities
protecting gears and comforts setting, -
have you been happy, satisfied and saluted me,
if we are going to trip and dive in depth of joyce and luxuries
in such excellent solitudes
swimming nowhere and everywhere?
I wanna vanish with you in silk cocoon
of mulberry worm,
have gone forever
from all these problems
and hard solved tasks -
jealous, stupidness, side back glances
from this and others world.
I wanna creating own universe personally,
where all have been simple, the best and informal,
boarding the airbus of hollow bean pod
to fly somewhere
there no one to step before us,
diminishing for the tiniest blade of grass
gone to one dust,
fluctuating in Brown chaos,
wrapped to molecule,
absorbed in the cloudily world of atom.
And even punishment in the electron
flying with great speed and for no one known
place in universe
in every instance,
i am gladly received
as get such life and principle of uncertainty existence,
if only you, my dear, have been happy and satisfied
with me in that extraordinarily environment
in micro world of macro love
living nowhere and everywere.
Categories:
craftily, love, universe,
Form:
Idyll (Idyl)
ARISE AFRICA
Arise shine Africa, arise
Awake sleeping giant of the universe
Shine your utter light to illuminate
The dark edges of your continent
Break away from the Traders’ fetters and chains of drill
Thunder your voice from the top hill
Though the beads of your sweat and tears
Tickles down like the oil that quenches the thirsty engines
A smile of the rising sun wipes your weep
Caused by the Masters’ stroke and whip
Those writhe and pains bred generational scars
But remember to carry in your head the scrolls
Africa, a beautiful bride that have come of age
Craftily adorned with bracelet of gold and diamond baggage.
A poem by Uche Ken Okologo
Categories:
craftily, africa, universe,
Form:
Acrostic
Beautiful Brenda was bewitched by a man she created in her novel,
Blissfully absorbed in her imagination with this man she marveled.
Boats and the sea were his lifelong passions.
Besotted with the ocean, it sparked supreme satisfaction.
Beguiled with this boater, Dan, the author had imagined,
Brenda futilely fantasized about this blue-eyed man with abandon.
By chance, she was invited on a cocktail cruise with some friends.
Brenda decided she needed a break from her passionless pretend.
Blustery and brilliant, the day azurely arrived.
Brenda was unaware a blind date had been craftily contrived.
Befuddled at first she met this new man called Ben.
Blushing and irresistible, the inevitable dance began.
Ben was uncannily alike the magnificent man in her book,
Brawny, with a sensational smile that required a second look.
Ben was the boat owner, and loved the seductive sea like Dan.
But he was not imaginary, and the romance took off and ran!
9/10/16
Written for "Brenda" Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Awarded 1st Place
Categories:
craftily, boat, ocean, romance, sea,
Form:
Alliteration
Gray wispy clouds skillfully painted
Encapsulate the sun
While birds' tunes craftily are sung
A new day's play starts to run
Some birds still are quietly nodding
To a rhythm all their own
But the doves awaken early
Before the sun rays are shown
There is a Dove of Peace Who doesn't
sleep, He's there all the time
Feel Him knock on your heart's door
Saying no, only true crime
Categories:
craftily, faith,
Form:
Rhyme
Leaves at Dawn
Leaves at dawn show off
dark silvery sparkling charms,
like chandelier earrings dripping
with diamond dew drops.
In shifting shadows, leaves at dawn
silently contemplate sneaky spiders scurrying
from leaf to leaf, craftily spinning and weaving
widespread webs, hoping to trap a tasty treat.
A wee bit weary from blowing to and fro
in the cool night wind, leaves at dawn faintly quiver,
deeply inhaling and exhaling, relishing their own brand
of nature’s musky wild woodsy perfume.
Delightfully dizzy, leaves at dawn are still
drowsy and dreamy until gently awakened
by the enchanting kiss
of the sweet, warm early morning sun.
08-07-2014
09-02-2015
Contest: Your Favourite Old Poem #3 (06-27-2015)
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Placement: 1st
Contest: Leaf-Feather-Shell, or Flake (08-17-2014)
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
Placement: 3rd
Categories:
craftily, beauty, morning, nature,
Form:
Free verse
There was a lady who lived in a Shoe,
A very stylish Shoe to be admired.
Decorated in style, every convenience
thought of,
And nothing else could fit.
Down the stairway, under the bed,
Shoes of all sorts and colors and styles!
Besides the Rainbow, add copper, silver and gold!
Pretty feet, a Pedicure every two weeks.
But the lady who still lives in that Shoe,
Is now craftily handled and exposed to all!
Some count down and remove to leave,
What they believe would be all she now
needs.
But the Lord looks down upon goodness,
And many are surprised at the Hezikia
extension,
A repayment for the SERVICE she willingly
rendered,
In rain, snow, sleet, helping in the affliction
of others.
Categories:
craftily, blessing, character, giving, hope,
Form:
Elegy
All for one
None for all
A house of cards that will
Bring about a great fall
Only a select few
Can spellbound the masses
Becoming Kings and Queens
With illegitimate claims to fame
We lift them up high
On a plinth made of our backbones
We the new third estate
Glorify them as demigods
Who conquered us all
With just a little bit of gloss
We are their slaves
Enthralled to them
We give them all
Unholy wolves
Swaddled in wool are they
Devouring all with their avaricious mind-set
We pay them tithe
Which they feel is rightly theirs
The public purse is for them alone
Everyone else must get by on their own
Just a few control the building blocks of society
An inbred top heavy hierarchy
That exert undue pressure downwards
Maiming those they lord over
Stymieing their advancement
A limited gene pool of ideas and talent
Hinders the legacy
That today passes to the future
A sure way for eventual extinction
A very sad prophecy
Selfishness and graft
Erode decency in society
Harassing the pillars of unity
Resentment thus festers
Those in the middle
Are full of hyperbole
Their spiel of being undervalued
Naught but insouciant drivel
They craftily forget
The power they wield
And the economic gains they do so
Hard to conceal
Society must benefit if we aim for equality
Those that contribute
Must see their labour bear fruit
All and sundry must get a slice
Of the overburdened public pie
Categories:
craftily, social, society,
Form:
Free verse
There once was an alchemist gifted with the mortar and pestle,
Who could combine magic with herbs and wax in a glass vessel.
She used charms and floral elixirs to make enchanted scented candles,
Which melted under flames whose brewed fumes burnt wood of sandal.
One day a princess from the Fertile Crescent came to her store to buy,
Some hand-rolled incense for all her people who live in lands ever so dry.
For her people were distraught by the shame of the sands,
In their odorous markets entrenched by world traders' demands.
She had asked an apothecary from a market in her village,
For a way to freshen the lands that foreign trader's had pillaged.
The apothecary said, "My dear, you must visit an alchemist outside the city,
Who makes candles so fine they would impress a fine-robed gorgeous gypsy."
So the princess set out to find she who makes candles craftily,
With a peculiar and profound method of magical alchemy.
When the princess found the alchemist she asked for a wax candle scent,
That would impress all those who smelled it and hide the market's ferment.
So the alchemist made her a bunch of candles with nine herbs held in several glass quarts,
Cockspur, lamb's cress, plantain, mayweed, nettle, crab-apple, thyme, fennel, and mugwort.
So the princess placed these glass candles she brought,
Around her market and asked each sniffer what they thought.
One man claimed he smelt roses while a woman smelt lavender,
And a child smelt honey while an elder smelt chocolate and coriander.
Confused about the mixed reactions, the princess returned to the alchemist,
And asked why many people claimed to smell different scents, including piss.
The alchemist replied "I sold you some candles meant to impress,
All those who smell them, smelled something different I guess?
For the candles I made you emit that which you might tell,
Of the most pleasant of scents that one can ever smell."
Categories:
craftily, fantasy, senses,
Form:
Couplet