Best Outwitting Poems
Form = Free Range Verse
The Hunt
Mans desire to hunt
Testing skills from the beginning of time
I had outfitted myself the day before
With camouflage, and all the tools of the trade
The excitement of catching my prey
Outwitting my fellow hunter a plenty
Tracking for hours and hours on end
Off I went in search of the trophy
In my jeep and down the hunters path
Being not so familiar with the terrain
I often backtracked, here and there
Moving from one place to the other
Silently and with anticipation
Looking forward to bringing home my kills
I had already a few scores to my name
Now for the final
The pièce de résistance
That made the hunt all the worth while
Bang! I got it
Hunts Tomato sauce in Isle seven
Oh how good the spaghetti dinner will be
Hope she appreciates all the fine hunting you see
I have done at Wal-Mart to make this evening show
Candles and guitar in the shimmering moonlight
The hunter so proud for being her shopping Knight!
Hens and Roosters in the barnyard
living in symbiotic relationships
each searching for kernels of corn.
Taking turns with beaks they snip
scorned and pecked. What the heck?
How hard should it be to get along
even when some foul fowl are wrong?
Cockadoodle don't squawk at me...
Why can't you see
peace in the barnyard is a reverie.
Squawk squawk...scratch scratch
Roosters and hens don't get along
Farmer, unlock the gate latch
to free those who don't belong.
Don't scratch, peck and complain
when you don't garner fame.
There should be no pecking order
Don't point the finger of blame
when you don't know the root
from which the clawing came
or you'll feel the farmer's boot.
Don't be misled by words of ruse
from roosters or hens on the loose.
They're out to suck up the worm
in the early morning sun...
their charade has just begun.
Squawk squawk...scratch scratch
Roosters and hens don't get along
Farmer, unlock the gate latch
to free those who don't belong.
Don't tell me this is a fabrication...
of a chicken barnyard story.
This is merely an observation
of things that are not hunky-dory
Beware the fox, lurking near
feathers ruffled in the barnyard
Cockadoodle don't live in fear
of a fox, a wolf, a fraud.
Keep safe the eggs in your nest
Don't leave your children unguarded
Outwitting the fox is a test
One for which you'll be rewarded.
They squawked and squawked
scratched and scratched
Roosters and hens in the barnyard.
"Cockadoodle Don't Will Open the Gate,"
is the title to a new hen house song.
Our family’s visit to an ashram—
Where parasitical monkeys haunt ’n hum.
Creatures known for tricks and hanky-panky.
So tussles ’tween visitor and monkey!
Monkeys win— tussles with woman or man.
Outwitting the monkey whoever can?
So woes of the devotees are many;
There doesn’t seem to be solution any!
A li’l one came to us ’nd held her hand out;
With a bottle of water, turned about;
Came back again straight to my son swiftly
Only to look for lice ’n his hair deftly!
A surprising gesture of gratitude.
We appreciated her attitude!
***
Composed on October 18, 2017
That I could ever cease to love you dearly;
How possible is this?
As possible as wearing water
Possible as eating air
As stacking Space
As folding Time
Possible as going on happily without you
As possible as outwitting God.
What is being loved by you like;
How does it feel?
Like happy five year olds on Christmas morning
Like redemption for the Damned
Like being found when lost
Like the end of war and famine
Like health come back to the invalid
Like everything accepted and complete.
And what are we together;
The Sum above the parts?
We are the feeling always striven for
We are the impossible balance acheived
We are the hope that no one speaks of
We are the dream no one believes
We are the level holding everything
We are the reason to go on.
So this is how I love you;
How it shall ever be.
I looked deep into the mirror just the other day
But I didn’t really like what the crystal had to say
He looked right back at me in a reflective sort of way
So I didn’t wait around to long
Over my shoulder, I watched him walk away
For a while I thought of stopping, just to chase him on his way
But I know that he’d still be waiting there, every single day
So I’ll wave him adieu in the morning
They say that he’s my double, though I can’t see it for sure
He looks sort of menacing, and his expression is quite dour
I know he looks like someone, it could be Kenneth More
I hope he’s in a better mood today
Of all the times I’ve seen him, he’s looked quite pale and drawn
I wonder if he’s bored in there, or if he has already gone
I’ll wait all night just out of sight and see if he’s there at dawn
I know for sure that I’ll be there, and this time with a gun.
I know he copies every move and gesture that I make
So outwitting him will not be hard, now that’s a bet I’d take
I’ll pretend to blow my head off he’ll copy me for sure
except my gun is empty but for him there’d be no cure
or perhaps I’ll put one bullet in and spin the chamber round
behind my back where he can’t see, my tactics are quite sound
just one smart move, my genius ploy, can put him in the ground
and as the smoke clears I will see, who’s still standing him or me.
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
In days of old the poets told a tale
A scout rode out to search the unforseen
To gather food and drink, to blaze a trail
A pious nobleman, charged by his queen
He was a fearless man and very wise
Outwitting those mistaking him a fool
His principles he would not compromise
His creed of life, "Obey the Golden Rule"
For many years he rode and sacrificed
His health and wealth, yet never one complaint
His pay for services grossly mispriced
They mourned him in the end, a selfless saint
The poets often cried, the tale so sad
His queen decreed henceforth,"He'll be called Dad"
Daniel Turner
Thank you Dad
Bullying is not confidence
Deceiving is not intelligence
Lying is not outwitting
Disparaging is not bravery
Shouting is not how to be heard
Preaching is not love and harmony
Kindness and compassion
Are not words,they are actions
Those of deceit
Often delete and retreat
WD-40 resistant, cranky
mental gears no longer appraised,
honored, nor prized
as a precision crafted tool
never adequately utilized,
when eyes stared blankly
taking up space and
time (sigh hence) during
during twelve years
of public school
passively mute as a general rule
ambivalent, whether I sank or swam
during physical education
time in the pool
evincing being in
somnambulant state giving
top notch 40 ache curs and a mule
a run for his/her money,
plus also outwitting
any motley fool
nonetheless garnering huzzahs
if challenged to silent duel
despite implacable blackened
barbs didst unspool
assaulting me though
vicious and cruel
fast forward to
Matthew Scott Harris
at this present age
once feigned numbskull,
now deeply rutted,
pockmarked, cratered, asper
useful as fist size asteroid,
which post mortem will
not surprisingly, definitively,
and conclusively gauge
imagine dissecting my
fifty plus shades
of gray matter
revealing analogously glommed
together one severely
gunked up bacteriophage,
where once upon a time,
when a newborn babe
feeling warmth mother's chest,
she long since
passed away forced guest
to attend masquerade
hosted by grim reaper,
a most nefarious,
obnoxious, and pernicious pest
intricately, handsomely, genetically
her cremated remains
freed to the four corners
of the globe quest
inert particles integrated
within biosphere, she remains
perpetually in motion,
and never at rest
within infinite void
nonetheless...the spirit
of (the late) Harriet Harris
passed the electric
acid kool aid test,
and thus continues
to sprinkle the world
wide web with zest.
Slaves to Perception….
Perception is influenced by probability judgments formed on the basis of earlier actions performed in similar situations
And I think I know
As much as I know of a triangle and breathed in the number three, all of this unto me all of this unto me.
If the premise was true the conclusion was true,
But how would I know the conclusive evidence: that product which is truth when the addends divulged were false, and the addends are always false as truths evolve and reemerge as new philosophies…
And Even as a poet I have learned from a defamed philologist that words get in the way…
The sum of it all is out there somewhere in the ether… floating aloft in a grey heather or the black vastness of space
Aloft a mist or rather it is a mystery
just
JUST clanking, ringing along in eternity with all those other eternal truths just beyond my knowing…
I derived a conclusion, intuited from a premise… like a hound to a fox…yet red herrings abound when you’re around… and I chase logical fallacies and grab kite’s strings…that pull me along with the rhythm the beat of your pulse,
If the woman is sick she will vomit,
If she vomited, she was poisoned.
In similar situations, the premises are all smoke and mirrors and the looking glass no clearer through the dregs of Domain Romanee Conti products…I saw your one eye peer at me…sizing me up outwitting me poking jest at love: that tomfoolery.
And simple biological permutations of something that renders itself as love is what you seek and what I know to be the opinion of each is different for all the same reality. If we assign meaning in our own minds to each act--an action of reality-- Why then would it matter to engage? To indulge and assign meaning and perception to anything? That simply enslaves us all.
Future Shock
Scheming together years ago, before the weekly executions,
dreaming of days we'd lift the fog of ignorance from the masses
and paradigms of stagnation shifted with cerebral solutions.
To no avail our heady course in theory only passes.
We knew the day, the hour, the minute how texts would be rewritten.
The generation of our spawn in classes they would read it.
History so enthralling, with learning would they be smitten.
Instead the propaganda beast so ravenous and we must feed it.
The old men while away their time with tales of a foiled coupe,
and students smile and avert their stare, it's better to be a number.
The One he loathes such minions who wish to think or do,
so all the day of arduous labor leads to fitful slumber.
Yes you and I, my loyal friend, matyrs in the making,
outwitting cowards that march us to the death of liberty.
But threats and greed lead to your word finally forsaken.
In brutal death at least my soul will wonder this world free.
The dead is blowing hisses with their thin whistle
Swallowing the metal, the sound and the supposed terror
Flying in a backward spiral permeating through minute touches
Of infinite displacement among lost consciousness
My death is not on this day
My death is my reluctance
To stop pretending
Of manning up to a stoic mannequin
My death is over my belief
That to read is not the same as to proclaim
Death is engraved on the edge of each of my invisible claws
Down to the spinal line of my imaginary tail
My frail lifeless stale state
Staring
With eyes fully filled with distrusts, mistrusts and all that there is to it
To my supposed superficial living tales
Will I outlive my death better than me outwitting my crassness
A patio umbrella
That provides a patch of shade
Makes a backyard much more pleasant,
Worth each penny that you paid.
For the glaring sun can scorch you
Or make sweat run down your face
But beneath your canvas rooflet,
There's a cool and comfy place.
Someone sure deserves a medal,
Plus some royalties in pay,
For outwitting what Apollo
Thinks it's fun to send our way.
This generic creek king mortal mwm
(who generally river ears the bay sea gully feels ire ate
asper propensity plundering positive human qualities
tested to the max), bait
ting virtue with rapacious opprobrious
malicious lugubriousness, and hatred create
head via the violent wickedness yawping zealously
oceans of tears that in un date
every nook and cranny of society, wrenching,
whip-sawing, and hammering extirpate
ting, the delicate nuances that anthropological fate
bequeathed to *****sapiens
species and genus undermining great
ness brought forth by artistic, democratic,
and graphic accomplishments with HATE
diluting the virtuous unification treatises
agonizingly tried to insulate
basic rights, whence erosion, corrosion,
and abrasion with goliath gangrenous monstrosities of late
subtract at frightful pace, the very survival of mankind and doth mate
absolute evil that percolates into the body electric,
where bloody fiendish genies prosper upending immunity
fostering broods that deign devious strategies in Nate
to destroy any salient sliver via BuzzFeed ding fifty shades of a gray pate
outwitting tentative grasp upon survival
barely fending off lashing off faux kings who e quate
might with right, and bring out the big guns
which blitzkrieg magazines fire at greased lightening speed rate
this battle whereby competing credos, ethos,
and grand Poobah grinds by force state
mints that all most obey lest Das Capital life will not tolerate
nasty, short and brutish torture engendering wailing ululate
diminish in a vain attempt to escape the maws of madness
where the grim reaper doth patiently wait.
What is it you have to answer
But before you ask someone
You have to know the answer
People call me ed, Edward, nygma or prince of puzzle
Conclusively it doesn’t matter
Cause I can make your mind a dimwit crippler
So you better call me THE RIDDLER
Riddle me this, riddle me that
Let’s recall who I am and
What am I good at.
I orchestrated every riddle
Make them look like a dancers
So please honey, don’t be hard on yourself.
Because soon you are out of answers.
Expertise in outwitting every living soul
Cryptic clues gonna make you howl
Try and try until you die,
It sounds so childish
As far as you trying to solve my riddles
Then I’m certain that it’ll be your death wish.
Batman thinks he can bring me down
Clueless fella thinks it’s untroublesome,
But I AM NO CLOWN.
My enigmatic persona make you a psycho
Allow me to tell you two rule for success
One is never reveal everything you know