Best Cunningly Poems
The Butterfly Flutters By
On a steamy, sun-drenched, summer Sunday,
tree leaves delightfully dancing to the tune of
a warm, welcoming, wandering breeze blowing,
metamorphosis now complete,
no memory of being yesterday’s creeping caterpillar,
the butterfly flutters by.
Blatantly, brazenly, boastfully,
showing off beautiful, brilliant, blue-black and brown wings,
gracefully gliding through a breathtaking, glorious garden,
the butterfly shyly pitches from blushing,
boldly-colored, buds to fragrant flowers,
cunningly outmaneuvering a competing, hovering hummingbird.
Slyly snatching a satisfying taste of tantalizing, syrupy sweet nectar
from attention-craving, Golden Flame Honeysuckle vines,
the butterfly flutters by
cheerfully and completely satiated -
perhaps, already dreaming about
tomorrow’s anticipated sugary feast!
05-25-2014
Contest: Highest Views (08-30-2015)
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Placement: 10th
Contest: My Last Contest (02-17-2015)
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placement: 4th
Contest: The Butterfly Flutters By (06-03-2014)
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placement: 3rd
Categories:
cunningly, beauty, butterfly, garden, nature,
Form:
Alliteration
Smiling Spitting Deadly Sins
Son of the Devil evil and twisted when his mask falls away
Through the curtains of death he turns truth into dark lies
With horrible shadows haunting over Love's light so pure
As jealousy reveals shades of a Soul’s envy at this moment
Cunningly you crawl behind colors pride with selfish hurting
Innocence casting stones—the fruits of a hideous lurking evil
Filling you with stupid silly emotions crying crocodile tears
Hate is your playground game as the Dark One takes his souls
Weeping from the deep wounds inflicted on others at your wish
While fighting one lost battle as your words burn from the ugly
Fork of your tongue while spitting venom they become a vile
Poison in which every last drop makes one’s very skin crawl
When I see the light of truth awakening in your Soul’s eyes
I really see a Hell-Fire scorching red hot who is the real you
Your pretty tongue of thy father speaks the evil words of the
King of Lies to my heart as it is touched by the serpent’s rasp
Yet ever you can never always hide behind this perfidious mask
And such words of beauty will not always hide what lies within
The darkest outreaches of your Soul’s descent into damnation
For Love itself is a journey of the gentle divine and the innocent
But those who breathe the Hell-Fire can only fool us all so long
And when their mask falls away they speak with a serpent’s tongue
So vile and gruesome that they know not of Love as they strike and
Bring eternal pain holding the Devil’s sword with their blackened hand
Causing pain with greatest relish as they laugh heartily at the pain
Inflicted on others not really knowing what they hold in their hand
In hate and anger while striking out at all innocent souls as their
Double-edged sword waits for those from the depths of Hell itself
Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 9, 2015 (Unrhymed Quatrain)
Categories:
cunningly, betrayal, dark, evil, fantasy,
Form:
Quatrain
A BUSH FIRE
One scorching afternoon,
A sudden splintering sound was heard,
The nearest was the buffalo herd,
They smelt the smoke and felt the heat,
And began to charge, they had to beat,
The, scorching red hot fire.
The monkeys who swing and never tire,
Screeched loudly in tongues,
Whilst smoke, stole oxygen out of their lungs.
A mighty midget the porcupine,
Warned chancers that his quills so fine,
Would incur great pain
Not only a red blood stain,
For he dreaded to be turned belly up,
And had no intention, of being anyone’s sup!
The birds began to fly very high,
Away from the smoke, in the sky.
The unfortunate tortoise lost his way,
And sadly, with his life, had to pay.
The giraffe with tall spindly legs
Ran wildly destroying nests and eggs,
His wildness came from his wrath,
And, the chaos along his path.
The animals ran faster away from the fire,
Whilst the flames leapt higher and higher.
A mamba slithered forward next,
Whilst a frightened cub looked on perplexed,
A Zebra, tripped and broke his back,
Causing more confusion in this race track.
The springbok and hyena together ran,
They were now close to the water pan,
The pan was next to a river,
Would they make it,
Each animal began to quiver,
Could the springbok be tomorrow’s lunch,
A tree falls with a thud and crunch,
Distracting the hyena from his would be munch!
The fox cunningly glances from side to side,
Nimbly a burning log jumps wide.
The lions mouth their cubs gently but tight,
As they run from this horrendous plight.
But water is in sight!
Everyone is close to the finish line,
This race has become competitively fine,
The crocodiles are savagely waiting to dine!
They have spotted their first meal,
The frightened perplexed cub hurriedly steal.
Only a quarter,
Can get into the water.
A stampede starts, animals clamber over each other,
The young ones protected by their mother.
Unfortunately only the strongest will survive,
To tell future generations of their strive,
Of what it’s like, living a bush veld life.
Categories:
cunningly, animal, fire,
Form:
Rhyme
Smiling Spitting Deadly Sins
Son of the Devil evil and twisted when his mask falls away
Through the curtains of death he turns truth into dark lies
With horrible shadows haunting over Love's light so pure
As jealousy reveals shades of a Soul’s envy at this moment
Cunningly you crawl behind colors pride with selfish hurting
Innocence casting stones—the fruits of a hideous lurking evil
Filling you with stupid silly emotions crying crocodile tears
Hate is your playground game as the Dark One takes his souls
Weeping from the deep wounds inflicted on others at your wish
While fighting one lost battle as your words burn from the ugly
Fork of your tongue while spitting venom they become a vile
Poison in which every last drop makes one’s very skin crawl
When I see the light of truth awakening in your Soul’s eyes
I really see a Hell-Fire scorching red hot who is the real you
Your pretty tongue of thy father speaks the evil words of the
King of Lies to my heart as it is touched by the serpent’s rasp
Yet ever you can never always hide behind this perfidious mask
And such words of beauty will not always hide what lies within
The darkest outreaches of your Soul’s descent into damnation
For Love itself is a journey of the gentle divine and the innocent
But those who breathe the Hell-Fire can only fool us all so long
And when their mask falls away they speak with a serpent’s tongue
So vile and gruesome that they know not of Love as they strike and
Bring eternal pain holding the Devil’s sword with their blackened hand
Causing pain with greatest relish as they laugh heartily at the pain
Inflicted on others not really knowing what they hold in their hand
In hate and anger while striking out at all innocent souls as their
Double-edged sword waits for those from the depths of Hell itself
Gary Bateman, Liam McDaid, and Michael Clarke
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
August 9, 2015 (Unrhymed Quatrain)
Categories:
cunningly, dark, death, evil, hurt,
Form:
Quatrain
Winged, winking devils dance
on onyx tinted wings entice
burnt appendages so broken inside rib cage
Unable to fly out of this hell hole
a shadow lifted nevermore
a touch as cold as night lures steel cuts
knees buckle, locked down
nowhere to run from
Rusted chains tighten
each new link pierces,
digs deep the heart's flesh
not enough mercy to shred apart
desire kept it beating just
....this must be what love is
bound in arms
blinded souls cannot escape
Tormented visions
a dark cloud silhouette
spinning around the sun
ravished by chaos
an ancient evil curse arises
within shadows suffering
darkness inside embers burning
with hot pain buried inside ashes
Deeply rooted demonic forces spawn
an evil eye turns
evolving in bad deeds
capturing the innocence of the human
sacrifice
one beast of an unclean spirit
possessing love charms of a snake
coils with lust
putting a heart in chains
attacking with wickedness
Fallen angel filled up inside
hate and pride
cunningly from out of the ashes
remains a demonic lapdog
violating innocence
Soul of impurities
a shadow grows darker
in every love that is taken
unpure vessel when the eyes open
to the dawning light
A collaboration by Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler
Categories:
cunningly, dark, desire, heart, lust,
Form:
Free verse
I see the bitterness polluting this world
a multitude of evil hides then divides
conquering with twisted visions of democracy
one joke history repeating past horrors return
Hurting innocent people tells another story
bullies who think they are above human justice
aggressors filled with pride in falsehood
you will fall heaviest of all
Suffering fleeing war victims as the devil marches forward
his army is arising from ashes darkness grips our planet
6 children a day dying, 3 world war two show mercy
for the love of all that holds good in this world
Such hardships giving up everything held dear
Look into your soul and know the mortal truth
only the blind hide and do not see selfishness
the one demon followed by others a legion
Fed like animals where is the loving joy that opens arms
Offering comfort to those in need have mercy
Peace unto this world sings with a warm heart
To love and understand our brothers and sisters plea
Please give them shelter
feed and clothe their weary bodies
in their hours of ache
With open arms I pray to God
Your salvation love and understanding the scriptures
we all know what must be done in our Lords name
Protect those families against the demon who hates and destroys families
Watching the news we are tainted with so much ugliness
lies drip fed to us twisted through the master deceivers hallow heart
We all know who sits at the head of a fork tongue
Peace is the way forward as greed wants war
only a fool arms themselves with hate their pride lies in bed with envy
Cunningly cursing everyone
curtains raise darkness you will kneel to the light
With power and glory supreme leader at your command
I bow with open eyes we see the path of complete destruction ahead
Faith is the sword of truth
openly we all should do more even in voice help
Do we stand for something or fall in our sins
I speak one soul because united we are many
Just a note to say Gary on What Kind of People Are We
after reading your piece these words flowed from my heart
thank you kindly for the insight and powerful pen filled with light and truth
Categories:
cunningly, baptism, blessing, christian, earth,
Form:
Quatrain
Cunningly swinging
On the trees of life
Playing his pranks
Winding up the wife
Enjoying every challenge
Using his brain
Owning it. Bossing it
Playing the game
He's a Chinese Monkey
- a little bit spunky
A little bit of attitude
A little bit of grit
Dashing, darting
With daring and drive
Top of the tree
And feeling alive
Dancing with spirit
Fire and wit
Not at all annoying
- well, maybe just a bit(!)
He's a Chinese Monkey
- can get a bit funky
A little bit of attitude
A little bit of grit
Friendly when he wants to be
He'll pat you on the back
Can get a bit competitive
Never one to slack
Ants in his pants
Fire in his belly
Gregarious. Free.
Can give it some welly
He's a Chinese Monkey
- Full-speed junkie
A little bit of attitude
A little bit of grit
Nimble on his feet
Able with his hands
Confident and up-beat
Always with a plan
Charming little fella
Curious too
Has the metal and the dignity
To get himself through
He's a Chinese Monkey
- can get a bit funky
A little bit of attitude
A little bit of grit
Little bit of attitude
Little bit of grit
Little bit of attitude
Little bit of grit
Categories:
cunningly, animal,
Form:
Rhyme
She's only 12 1/2 years old as I recall
Adult minded who walks before the crawl
How did she join us and we not figure out
Her mind is not a kid but adult throughout
She calls herself "the Literature Lover"
Flowing through Soup we soon discover
Her name might well be misconstrued
She's smart, bright and cunningly shrewd
So BE AWARE all YOU poets so BOLD
The Kid's not a novice at 12 years old
----------------------------------------------
Good Luck to all of us we're gonna need it!
Categories:
cunningly, kid, , literature,
Form:
Light Verse
Captive
Grinning coyly
She feigns timidity
Cunningly knowing fools become
Ensnared
Categories:
cunningly, on writing and words,
Form:
Cinquain
Mrs. Robin, busy as a bee
visits my home's skylight annually
She builds a nest there carefully
her private retreat, only I can see
She commandeers my yard militarily
hopping to and fro imperiously
Ever seeking bark or twig assiduously
to feather her penthouse more comfortably
A half-dozen blue eggs she lays surreptitiously
Settling down over them protectively
Sheltered from the elements so cunningly
She awaits their hatching expectantly...
One day, her chirpings' cease, inevitably
Mrs. Robins' dreams realized successfully
She's flown the coop, perforce happily
Her nest, forlorn ~ stares at me emptily
July 10, 2020
Bird Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Categories:
cunningly, bird, care, home,
Form:
Monorhyme
2 Peter 1:16 (KJV) “For we have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eyewitnesses of his majesty.”
If I spoke of all the sins I’ve known,
I’d leave my fears with the love He’s grown,
When He saved me – yes, saved my soul,
That was the day that He made me whole.
If I spoke of all the doubts I’ve heard,
I’d let the stillness sing like a songbird,
Resting in the wings that seem to praise,
With a joy that remembers to amaze.
If I spoke of all the tears that I’ve cried,
I’d consider all the times when I’d backslide,
Reminding myself that grace keeps me sure,
Without a doubt, His light and love will endure.
If I spoke of the ways life seems to let me down,
I’d wonder why He didn’t just let me drown,
There isn’t clear reason for His salvation plan,
Other than He’s been here since the world began.
If I spoke of the challenges I’ve faced in life,
I’d realize that I’ve been opposed by the darkest strife,
But He knew me as the one who’d believe His love,
It came from the Creator who lives in heaven above.
If I spoke of the music that carries me through the pain,
I’d lack the words, the lyrics, to show you He will reign,
The very reason that I love when everyone says to hate,
The same reason I live a life of hope, without sin’s heavy weight.
If I spoke of the gentle faith that He encouraged inside me,
I’d be sure to reveal His kindness, grace and you’d surely agree…
With love this beautiful and true, there is only One to adore,
It is Jesus, the Christ, who is the only truth – not merely folklore.
Categories:
cunningly, faith, heart, hope, inspirational
Form:
Rhyme
At the Charlie Norton School of Performing Arts
They only taught armoured acting parts.
They had a special maintenance man
Always kept busy with his little oil can
Keeping the suits free of fleas
And all the joints moving with ease,
Especially the cunningly concealed vent
For the disposal of excrement
And the removal of noxious gasses
Which even the refined on occasion passes.
Trying to learn lines could be hell
When surrounded by your own trapped smell.
In the event of a dearth of suitable parts
They taught other non performing arts
Like sweeping leaves away from drains
In the event of torrential rains.
As this part of the course was free
It didn’t carry its own degree
But for the elite chosen few
It could be a unit of your NVQ.
The Charlie Norton School of Performing Arts
Gives your career a powered kick start
Categories:
cunningly, art, career, education, mentor,
Form:
Rhyme
Coffin is where this creepy fellow sleeps
Other people’s blood he likes to drink
Unique teeth – shiny pointed fangs
Naked necks are his tasty midnight snack
Transylvania is his homeland, its soil gives him strength
Darkness is his only friend he works undercover of the night
Real name is Count Vladislaus Dracula
Always avoids eating garlic in his food
Cannot abide a sunny day
Unless he has a wooden stake through his heart he cannot die
Loves to shapeshift into a bat, wolf, dog or fog
Alucard is his name backwards beware he’s cunningly disguised
Jan Allison
29th March 2014
Written for contest ‘Be Bram Stoker for a day’
Sponsored by Darren Watson
~ Awarded 3rd place ~
Categories:
cunningly, gothic, horror,
Form:
Acrostic
"IT"
On the way home,
I notice a change around my domain.
Shivers prick all the way down my spine.
I inhale a smell so evil- IT is now ITS’ name.
Without hesitation, I pass my hopscotch sidewalk.
Creeping up my screeching steps, my doors were unlocked.
I hear a man’s footsteps below.
There IT was waiting for me all over again,
Ready to steal the light that shines on my face.
Trying to find ITS’ way under my skin.
This time I was prepared.
Not scared!
"Finally,"
I started to enjoy the way this evil dwells.
Only I could see and feel its impulsive behavior.
Always profiling me and, trying to screw demons inside.
IT is like a retarded disorganized killer.
Leaving a trail and odor that IT is around.
A look so randomly
Overlooking my criteria.
I can smell its decomposing body.
Its voice inflicts my soul with injuries of guilt.
I feel IT moving very slowly,
IT is proceeding near the door!
I wait!
IT turns!
I yell!
IT cunningly smile my way.
I smile back.
With the thought
Death was the only way to do us (IT) apart.
Now IT is my creation!
A murder!
A crime!
A hidden grave!
IT wants revenge.
All I wanted was to be alone.
Now IT is there.
Haunting our home.
~A~
Categories:
cunningly, imaginationme, me, smile,
Form:
Free verse
A ray of sunlight streams across the room
To light the raven ringlets of his hair,
As now and then he slightly sways, within
His artful hands a violin and bow,
From whence bursts forth the musings of his mind
In vivid tones with deep vibrato's power,
And there expands and swells to fill the void
Of empty space that dwells within the walls
Composed of stones, both grey and worn with age,
Their only saving grace the leaded panes,
Designed by some forgotten man of old.
There stands Marcell, a stranger to the world,
Absorbed in fantasies of melodies,
The phantoms of how things appear to be;
For in the notes he dreams and then pours out,
He cunningly reveals his somber thoughts
And feelings, while the world is stamped to dust.
They tell the mournful tale of one who lived,
And breathed, and thought, but was not understood;
A boy whose parents died before his eyes
For crimes they never could have helped commit,
The crime of being born the same as he,
Of race that every other thought as vile,
And now while all the world engaged in war,
Is hidden in an ancient, empty church,
His one companion held within his hands
And speaking, just as he, to empty air.
{Written by Isaiah Zerbst on January 2d.
Published January 3d, 2015.}
Categories:
cunningly, conflict, history, holocaust, hurt,
Form:
Blank verse