Long Cleverness Poems
Long Cleverness Poems. Below are the most popular long Cleverness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cleverness poems by poem length and keyword.
Quiet down the insane mindset of giving up so easily
I’m upset with this frown, full-grown and immature
I will endure if you’d let me be free for an eternity
I regret not loving you all the way — I was your cure
I’m sorry
I feel so weary
I am in tears
For many years
I quit
You’re a bit
Harsh with scars of endlessness
You’re a marsh of a mess…of a mess…a mess
You haven’t found the key to my corridor of childlike cleverness
You haven’t seen the diamond shimmer in the moonlight yet
You don’t care that I suffer long and I feel like departing from this wretchedness
You pained my heart and tore it apart — not all mental bridges have met
I’m sorry
I feel so weary
I am in tears
For many years
I quit
You’re a bit
Harsh with scars of endlessness
You’re a marsh of a mess…of a mess…a mess
I’m sorry
I feel so weary
I am in tears
For many years
I quit
You’re a bit
Harsh with scars of endlessness
You’re a marsh of a mess…of a mess…a mess
You’re a marsh of a mess…of a mess…a mess
I know you’re making some sort of progress
You’re a marsh of a mess…of a mess…a mess
You made me suffocate and drown in my distress
Yes — I quit
I’m sorry a bit
I have so much wit
I’m just emotionally lit
Get rid of this feeling of…
Long lost love from above
I am a rather wingless dove
In the world of ravens, soaring gleefully
Yet, oh so darksome in its intensity
You’re a marsh of a mess…of a mess…a mess
Harsh with scars of endlessness
You’re a marsh of a mess…of a mess…a mess
Mend my mournful cheer
It’s been many a year
Since I shedded these tears
As it appears, you let me down with childish fears
I’m sore to the core…
You don’t love me anymore
However, I got over it
I’m not sorry, I quit
What in heaven's name would we ever do, oft' I wonder,
If not for the humble pencil eraser to correct our every blunder!
Plaudits to Mr. Hyman Lipman for his inventive intellect,
For patenting this mundane gizmo for our errors to correct!
A pencil eraser is also useful for musing bards to chew on,
While striving to concoct verse when their cleverness is nearly gone!
I've even observed folks surreptitiously cleaning both of their ears
With a pencil eraser that would cause alarm to an otic doc and his peers!
A weekend golfer's pencil is sans an eraser and for good reason I suppose,
Otherwise, with certain "adjustments" to their scores they would all be pros!
In this enlightened and technological age, correcting mistakes is much neater.
No eraser needed - just click a button on the computer called a "deleter!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Honorable Mention in the "Rub It Out" Contest - June 2010
Loving mothers are caring angels,
who direct us into the narrow paths of life:
to spare us much sorrow and grief,
to motivate the growth of positive feelings;
and anytime we'll fall from grace,
they'll bring us back to God with praise!
Let those caring angels
adorn your golden dreams
with the glories you'll achieve:
like their affectionate words
that will give you worth and confidence...
when obstacles seem a hindrance!
Never resent their austerity
through reprimanding words
or deserved punishment,
be grateful for their cleverness,
because it will keep your weakness out
and teach you those lessons of audicity!
Oh,listen and take heed;
be joyful and never regret your obedience
to those caring angels
who live their lives giving of themselves:
to leave their mark on all of us,
who should disseminate their seed!
I'm listening to soft music through earplugs,
the strong stimuli of relaxation enter lungs...
they stifle the external sounds
and deepen my consciousness.
The invariant analogy
between time and clock has a steady
rhythm and ticks enough to frighten
thoughts of a serene mood arising
from secluded meditation
that replaces a normal day of brooding.
Alluring is the idea of obtaining
what is found through searching;
this journey taken with doubtful eyes
may lead all beyond immense stars...
is it possible to mention a few
to the star-gazer who never knew?
Our Creator predestined us
with a certain fate on the instant we were born;
some were endowed with gifts
that would drastically change the wrong notion
of conceavable and blessed things
by walking in His ways always.
Why should we rebel against Him and incur
His displeasure trying to modify it, consulting diviners
with superhuman powers? Nobody can read God's mind
and exploit it to their advantage; neither can Lucifer
with his cleverness, and in doing so we are surely bound
for unhappiness, misfortunes and calamities!
Fortune-tellers are aware of everyone's prerogative
and foresee all events either positive or negative:
they want us to think that we can be more powerful
that He is in reversing destiny when odds are impossible.
Nothing distracts me from meditating
in the stillness of the ablaze evening
making the fiery-red clouds drift with adventure;
they lift me me to subliminess of the stratosphere.
I am very pleased that the invariant
anology remains truthfully intact,
but it warns others that's not
too wise to let their vague and vast
curiousity tamper with Nature
and universe and constantly interfere
with the Laws that were set in motion
with great precision since creation.
Written on 7/ 20/ 2017
How can I change what has already been changed?
Everything has been tried over a thousands ways,
and there my perplexing question lays...
without a persuasive answer connecting the flow of words
to a revelation that necessity has invoked!
What else can I write when every subject
has already been written about by those illustrious writers?
But there's never a shortage of inventiveness...
that's found in the intellectual cleverness
that's only found in their depth!
How can I possibly replace the gentle pen which flows,
from an imagination so genuine and free?
I'll complete my sentences that wouldn't be an object of envy
of those written in the dreadful eras of restricted liberty;
one must bring more realism to questionable stories!
What new thoughts will be expressed by this mind,
not to imitate or infringe upon those writers' works lauded by society;
and give them proper credentials for their creativity...
one can't help being inspired and transformed by their originality,
great writers or composers wouldn't excel without the precedent!
How can I speak of fairness, if I don't practice it myself?
My human side should be compassionate;
take on that unprejudiced and forgiving look...
I,too, I'm subject to faults and replete with regret;
when my conscience isn't reminded of death!
What can I create from those eight notes
that await the awakening of inspiration from me?
For hours and hours my fingers will pound tirelessly...
on this piano, to write that unforgettable melody
that somebody will hear and play many times!
How can I change what has already been changed?
I'll risk it all by revealing my unfortunate events...
contesting their wills and connoting their faults!
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
"You are ... different, aren't you?" she said, crinkling her nose.
That sentiment, spoken by my fourth grade home-room teacher
Had been paraphrased many times before
(And would be countless times again)
Different, unusual, odd, weird, curious, complex, or just plain strange
Those were the kind ones - the ones I can repeat
My favorite, however, was "unique"
The day my mother put it into that sensible little frame, I knew ...
I ... was HOME.
You see, we creative folk
Are not put on this good earth to "fit" into it
We are not molded to be a status quo part of society
But rather, set apart FROM society
Our gifts are granted us in order to change the world
Not continue the order of its mundane spin
We are interpreters of the language of beauty and ingenuity
We weave expression and imagination into what's tangible and visible
Turning ideas and emotions to the substance of words and color and sound
Bringing light and clarity to variation and choice
We are the very children of NON-conformity
Living proof that acquiescence and conventionality stifle the human spirit
We are soldiers of vision, innovation, cleverness, and inspiration
Fighting the war on commonplace, submission and docility
Battling daily in the name of ALL who are unlike the Average Joe
And bringing inspiration to the world.
So, do I think I'm "special"?
Yes, for we are ALL special ... every single human is born with unique gifts
Ours - the artistic talents - just happen to be of a creative fashion.
Yes, I am odd, strange, weird, different, unusual, and unique ...
And I am BLESSED ... to be so.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "CReAtiVe CoNForMiTy" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
In case you haven't noticed I'm a poet verbal usage explosive,
Wrote it to show I'm potent while showing I'm still unfolding,
With words I manage verbs the action within observed,
Then swerves I'm pitching curves a gentleman well reserved,
I'm classic because I practice my passion bring satisfaction,
Imagine the acrobatics of circumstances enacted,
On paper with just a pen meditate then begin,
Fusing my thoughts within with music inhaling scents,
Of candle lit cinnamon my ritual so intimate,
With cleverness I invent miraculous I'm convinced,
My poetry heaven-sent please pardon my arrogance,
Cause I was afraid to win but mentally made amends,
To never be scared again and grow from the commentary,
Some cats will always hate a lesson from Tom and Jerry,
My poetry animated a visualized brand I made it,
Never contaminated passing examinations,
With all honor and glory unto the Lord that's before me,
And all poets with stories I pray you make it cause surely,
It's hard to write a verse that quenches the people's thirst,
Hoping your equals nurse the love you reimbursed,
From being a fan first to writing your best-worse,
Creation is adverse with patience the craft works,
So please acknowledge this in the presence of politics,
Engaging your common sense to a poet this dominant,
With word play in rhythm observe Hey I'm winning!,
Concur they beginning to merge grace within him.
Thanks.
I’m not clever enough to join Mensa
Not sporty so I can’t be a fencer
So I’ll form a new group
Here on poetry soup
You’re invited to join - its called Denser!
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
Some in the soup will never take an active part
in your new Denser group, Jan, but take heart
I will join you
and others too
Cleverness isn't required to be considered smart
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
She joined the group called denser
And her poems became intenser
But she spelled her words wrong
so they gave her the gong
And now her poems they censor
WRITTEN BY JOSEPH MAY
07-18-17
Dozen of dozens questions, I was carefully asked..
Maybe ten hundreds, I was requested for a shot..
hundreds by hundreds, vivid images rush..
of smiles; of wonders; of glee and of absurbness..
some fantazises..
some beholds..
some envies..
some admires...
leaking in deep embedded trenches..
bombarding waves after waves..
begotten in fusions of vibrancy..
in partition of velocity and gravity..
some is a picture of truthfulness..
some is a picture of falseness..
some is a picture of dramatic eloquence..
some is a picture of authority obedience..
yet underneath a wiseman's eyes..
behind an elder's cleverness..
surely, no one can ever hide..
surely, no one can even deny...
by: olive_eloi
22/10/2013
5:01pm
-----+--------***----
The order of a vitamin
Simply, life, a hair is for fun
Spoken worth, a willing shade to climb?
Into your lap, a wholer smile for any who would innocence
Spare me the details, in a cup of frequent spirits
High as a kite, with a reach to the stars, somewhere over the rainbow
I see your shared shall, if not the coolness of a remembered wit
Silver bells to come, an avidness of a problem we both know....
Toenails?
Simple rhythm of a bliss for ideology to bloom
Sakes without a created pain, to inform my clash with strength
Continue with a silent night, misery, promises to few, with soon
Could ink have an unexpected owe?
Silly accusations of windy deeds I have a saved repose
Lucky as this would seem, I have a question for adding a quiet mouse
Live and let live, or a sweet sincerity I should know, in the smile of a prose
Here goes kiddo...
Smile at the song of a fruity share, in a distant house
Walls of livid kindness, a God of asking a reason of a flower?
Lizards with a wisdom's tooth don't, promise us a spill of cleverness from Gods?