Long Crow Poems
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Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
(Or ... I Know What I Know)
(Prov. 1: 29* / Prov. 1: 22-33 / John 15: 19 / Matt. 7: 3-6 / Prov. 3: 7 / Prov. 9: 7, 8)
Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
They Either Get On Your Nerves
Or Make You Climb Up The Wall
They Come On Like Squalls
Their Opinions Sprawled
We Shake 'Em Off Like Tattered Shawls
... Nobody Likes A Know-It-All
So, If I Happen ... Across Your River To Row
I Don't Mean To Come Sounding Like An Old Crow
Or Waste Your Time If You Say No ...
But Listen ... I Know What I Know ...
I've Read & Studied & Meditated
Perused & Pondered & Got Educated
In Reason & Rhyme - I've Ruminated
My Thoughts Into Rooms Are Relegated
Raised Questions & Quizzed & Investigated
(Even Made Some Folks Uneasy & Agitated)
but GOD Said That 'That' Knowledge Would Be Hated
(John 7: 7 / John 17: 14 / John 15: 17-20)
So With All Due Respect -- So and So ...
... I Know What I Know
... of Innocence & Intelligence
Ratified Ideas & Reference
Cataloged Diligence & Resilience
Always Bravo'd The Beauty of High Brilliance
In Conventions' & Congregations' Confidence
& Assemblies & Achievements' Evidence
In Citadels of Archives' Residence
In Colleges & Scholars' Licensed Competence
In Trust's of A Counselor's Expert Guidance
and In The Word of GOD's Reverence
With Lessons' Continuance' Vigilance
In Meaning of Life & Purpose & Spirit's Significance
and Carpe' Diem When Possible and Patience ...
So, That Even In Philosophy's Status-Quo ...
... I Know What I Know
... From Countless Hours - In Half A Century of Years
In Conversations From A Constellation of Peers
About Life & Death & Future & Fears
About Love & Passion & Lust & Leers
About Laughter & Joy & Pain & Tears ...
About Mercy & Justice & Truth So Clear
About Fame & Fortune & What's More Dear
About War & Peace As World Totters & Veers
About Freedom As Kingdom of GOD Draws Near
About Why We Cheer & While Others Jeer...
(Part 2 of 4)
Written & Copyrighted ©: 9/20/2013
by: MoonBee Canady
(Part 2 of "Nobody Likes A Know-It-All" is the serious side of addressing "Knowledge ... ... So, this free verse is really about Godly Knowledge, Biblical Learning and Spiritual Intelligence ... (first) ... and then about education and different areas of study in an academic way. So when reading this write - that should be kept in mind, to get the most out of it ... MoonBee
A DREAMERS PLIGHT ON JUDGEMENT DAY
Give solely sovereign sway & Masterdom.
The air nimbly & sweetly recommends itself unto my gentle senses
To commend the ingredients of my poisoned chalice.
But this same thing we desire the most
That makes us say 'the one I love the most is the one I hate the most'.
The love that follows us at times is our trouble.
How tender it is to love the babe that milks me?
And make my face vizards to my heart,
Disguising what they are.
False face hide what the false heart knows.
From a dream, I hear a shout; a loud one
But hear it not, the dreamer; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell
For sleep is the cousin of death
Which keeps the face pale as lights thickens,
The crow flies away to the rooky wood.
Nights black agents rouse to their preys.
As a dreamer wakes unannounced from nightmare
And eats his meal in fear
Sleeping in the affliction of those terrible dreams
That shakes him nightly.
The torture of the mind which maketh lie
In restless ecstasy...
My virtues will plead like Angels trumpet-tongued.
Upon the sightless winds
Shall blow the realities (of life) in every eye,
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature gives way to in repose.
Innocence & pity like a naked new born baby
Striding the blast or heavens cherubim riding on an horseback
Then arose to escape the thrills of the instant
Living a coward you ones own esteem.
And I asked: is it nights predominance or days shame?
But knowing where my path leads to; I follow my journey
Even when the dark night strangles my travelling lamp.
Would nature hold God's benison from those
That would make good of bad and friends of foes?
Maybe with vivacious or flushed face, we all go to the grave
After life's fitful fever, we sleep well
And be not disturbed, nothing touches us further.
Just like a possessive man trust are their great grandmothers
He sleeps well not, because six feet of solid earth
Hath not keep her permanently underground.
She would creep out - so many Lazaruses from the grave
But after the dead which goes to peace
And at the end, hears a voice cast from pure gold, calling
Heaven or hell, the book chooses
Even he who was left unwept, untombed,
A rich sweet sight for the hungry birds beholding
Leaves for a permanent and eternal home.
Get set.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright ©2009.
they say forgive and forget
remember and hold to account
seems to be frowned upon
and memorable events take a while
to manifest digest and process
narratives change with the core
at every reason and heart
‘everything is wrong and it is all your fault
what exactly you will have to find out yourself
I will put our relationship into a drawer
and possibly open it again once you …’
have changed to her wishes?
relinquished any meaningful part in the drama?
conceded to her perfidious pantomime?
are totally broken?
‘you claimed that one cannot talk to a depressed one
but were you not projecting your discontent?’
years on the metaphorical couch
like a spider in a cobweb of distrust
attempting to just pull one string
breaking at rock bottom
with someone else throwing rocks
from a fortress of a glass house
accusations lies silence pretense of innocence
and turning children against him
he walked a difficult path
many a time running on empty
but eventually it turned out to be
the best thing that could happen
and he found new love
made peace with his offspring
invested in kindness and compassion
now lives with his lover and soulmate
chapters however can only be closed
when the epilogue has been written
when the spine of the book
stands upright in truth
for years he maintained that she
could not have done any better
did not cope with her own crisis
and he absolved her from further critique
the protagonist eventually found his voice
He has become I and I lay to rest
my memories of that evil malignant
and greedy you chose to become
it was you who tore me apart
and watched with satisfaction
when I became vulnerable and depressed
discredit where discredit is you
it is not about settling score
or spread sheets of retribution
simple honesty will do and
I don’t have to be nice
because poems understand
and refrain from judging the writer
but deep in my soul I do not care
that you have turned lonely and bitter
because while I am privy to
exquisite satisfied pleasure
you made your bed
and that is empty for a reason
trying to hack out my eyes and essence
made me spread my wings joyfully
and you are an old haggard crow
merely feeding on crumbs
05th August 2021
Was the purpose of your absence an attempt at causing me pain?
That crippling feeling, a spider spinning its web inside my mind.
That arachnid, poisonous, jeers the word space like a handicap.
That parasitic relationship forms a cloud covering the moonlight,
A fog that swirls like a whirlpool in your absence. How rapturous
Your paradox forming a bridge made from our memories. Broken and
Reshaped they become the foundation to a journey in that sea you
Created within me. Your withered emotions and fleeting empathy
were a false proposition of hope only a jester would find funny.
An exhibition of animosity lies in the silent waves – waiting –
for our sunset. How beautiful its rays are against the black water;
falling into the abyss, hidden under that rain your pseudo blanket.
Does the sunrise when you are blind? Does the moon set when
You can’t see the sky? That colorblind man sits there on the beach
Looking in silence. He cannot see his reflection within the water, he
Stands and walks to its surface. There he finds a crow crippled, limping
In the ripples where his reflection should be. That psychedelic feeling
Draws in his drowning breathe, falling into the sea. Paramount to his
Survival the man drowns, his understanding a paradox in his memory.
Only he, the crow, remembers the light of the moon. Its pompous shape,
that transcendent light, a memory to your decay. Only when yellow hits
the eyes of the crow will that white light fade beyond the thunderstorm.
He cries to the heavens, yet his speech murmurs under the weight. That
Black water suffocates his prayer, but he finds comfort in his anonymity. In
the presence of absence the crow longs for loss. He who is stolen from
wishes to be further buried, lost in the waves. That siren sings a fading
melody back into his ears. His own prayer an anchor tied to his feet,
crippled in your memory. Fractured in his own faith, what god heard
his suffering, his murmurs clots of air in a salty sea; black as the blood
from the wound you carved out in his chest. What blessing filled
his misery, that pseudo composition you create is a platter filled
with the feather of the crow. His words held sweet your grace,
an ensemble dancing in the mind of the forgotten. in the sea of
his followers he is Poseidon, yet still the crow sank, anchored in misery.
Theme for collaboration suggested by Tim Smith
Two enormous old toads crossed the road
On Tom’s back lounged Thomasina toad
Both are ugly and warty
Thomasina’s so naughty
As her bowels on his back she’d download
06-16-17
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
When Thomasina toad dumped on old Tom
He thought her poop explosion was a bomb
He hopped in the air
gave her a mean stare
shouting, "I'm not taking you home to Mom!"
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Ribbit rubbit robbit 'n ro
this crazy toad has got to go
She's turning quite mean -
Fifty shades of green
No time to chat but still does crow
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
"Why don't we do it in the road?"
Said Thomas, the old horny toad
Thomasina hissed,
"Get a load of this!"
and a "blessing" on him bestowed
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
Thomasina was on a road trip
Her taxi was Tom's back she'd grip
But she strained as she held
And her bottom expelled
So she said "I've just left you a tip"
WRITTEN BY RAY GRIDLEY
Tom and Thomasina were the perfect pair
They were ancient toads without a care
He had a huge wart
She gives a mean fart
Anyone in her vicinity better beware!
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
Now Tom was an over achiever
He wanted the lady, not leave her
He sprayed his back with Scotch-Guard
and rubbed down with lots of lard
the dumper was now the receiver
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Tom gave Thomasina the boot
Got sick from the smell of her poot
told her to get lost
right after he tossed
She gave him the one finger salute
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
Thomas and Thomasina loved to hear
the waterboatmen rubbing their gear
Thomas tried and started to croak
causing Thomasina to choke
you two will never get it right I fear
WRITTEN BY SEREN ROBERTS
When T'sina hopped on for a ride
Old Thomas reminded his bride,
"Though you're my sweet dish,
on the road we'll get squished",
"Just do it!" was her terse reply.
WRITTEN BY CRAIG CORNISH
Thomasina and Tom a heavy load
Lingered a little too long on the road
He could have kissed her all night
shocked at the oncoming lights
Croak and ribbit was heard; two flattened toads
WRITTEN BY EVE ROPER
PLEASE SOUP MAIL ME ANY SUBMISSIONS FOR THE COLLABORATION
06-16-17
7 Ravens
In a terrible time of famine, war, pest and inquisition,
a master Wicca giving homeless boys a apprentice permission.
They had to maintain a household in an isolated place,
working very hard to earn some recognition to face.
Collecting woods, herbs and edibles to survive
building a garden, harvesting some fields to strive.
When the moon was new the master summonsed the boys,
teaching them the art of magic, using dark power like toys.
The very same power was keeping those young men imprisoned,
some tried to run away, but got lost and ended up same place wrested.
He turned them into ravens, spying on innocent prey,
and gave them that illusion of freedom that they can fly.
The deeds of darkness had its toll and innocent hearts rebel,
they could not take the viciousness by mental means able.
The Wicca promised them the virtue of ultimate power,
focusing only onto the abuse by tragic endower.
The ravens tried to work together against the masters will,
but could not fit his evil visions to conquer the needed bill.
In disguise of 7 Ravens they had to visited villages,
creating distractions for the dark master to take advantages.
One Raven got injured during some chaotic rage,
a maiden of gentle touch, nursed the captured creature in a cage.
Not knowing that a boy is in this disguise of a bird,
and the young man was in awe of all he heard.
She was talking about a charming prince she dreamed to meet,
giving her the stillness for the loving longing as a deed.
The raven recovered and the boy’s heart was enchanted,
flying back to the brothers and the master will granted.
He told his fellows about the beauty he is feeling,
and knew it is the way to conquer all fears and controlled stealing.
They decided to fly to those villages to find some maidens of charm,
exchanging bodies to create loving features with no harm.
Soon they hearts where all full of joy and virtues abilities,
much against the masters witching capabilities.
His own manipulation fell against him by circumstance,
leaving nothing left to do, giving those young men the advance.
They swore an ode, never to use the art of dark power,
living a life with the meaning of celebrated love in any hour.
Still hearing from time to time the voice of a Crow,
sounding like the croaking noise of…. nevermore, nevermore.
Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe
Except My Hugs
Written by D. W. Breidenthal
You think everything's passionate and sincere
Except my letters, texts and hugs
You think cats are warm and friendly
You think dogs are dependent and full of positivity and vitality
Except my heart, kisses and hugs
Oh, how it bugs me to death
I can smell a stench of lies in your breath
You're lying to yourself - last one to lie is a rotten egg... I guess you are the creator of lies
(it's in your insidious nature...don't feed me lies now)
You appreciate your friends and family and you love their rare embrace
Except my hugs (and that really bugs me to death)
You think everywhere's a place of rest...
Except my shoulders...except my fatigued hugs (tired of not hugging you another day)
You think you are the best out of the rest...but I'll try my best (to think not dismay...not to sink in disarray)
To not be infuriated by you...
Though you accepted people's gifts
Except my hugs...you refused them...long ago...(and that really bugs me to death)
You're heart's as hard as boulders...where's your prudent glow?
Who knows...
Where your twisted wind blows
Only you know...you're as dark
As a midnight crow...
Cawing before the dawn...
And yet, I must drive on...
Must move on with life...(now that's a big must)
Though I'm living with unbearable, vexing strife
(my family tells me to wipe off the dust
Off my boots and bust
Some moves...just cause I don't want my dancing skills to rust)
Oh, how your pride drives me up the walls
Graze in your own maze... (It means"mind your business" - get my drift) You never answered my calls
(I won't offer you a lift and ill just watch you drift...
Away on a ship...with a small rift.
Hah!)
I'll watch you fall
And laugh at your calamity
Hah!
Because you thought
Everything made you feel like you belonged
Except my hugs
Except my hugs
Except my hugs (and that really bugs me to death)
('Sorry' won't cover it - now that really does bug me to death)
You made me draw my last breath...
And I felt like I kissed death...
Literally
Just accept my hugs
But you loved everone and everything,
But my bear hugs. . .
Except my hugs...
Accept my hugs...
I beg of you
Why do you make me
blush blue?
I guess I'm left with 2 mugs
"Let me have a refill of bear please?"
Asked James Dunk.
Maybe a shouldah prayed on my knees, thought he...thought he...now he regrets getting drunk.
Timothy Catchpole lived in a field
on the edge of a deep, dark wood.
One of a long line of Catchpoles he was,
who tried to do nothing but good.
Home was a nest on an ear of corn,
in a fresh grown field of barley.
On the outskirts of a pretty village,
which folk called, 'Little Harley'
He spent most days foraging for food,
or else tidying his little home.
A harvest mouse doesn't need a lot,
and he was disinclined to roam.
One day, playing 'dead', in the farmer's field,
he overheard something distressing.
Two men discussing the sale of the land,
which Timothy found quite depressing.
They went on to talk about houses and shops,
and destroying a part of the wood.
He didn't know how, or where, or why,
but Tim thought he must stop it, if he could.",
But what to do? He was only small,
and no one would listen to him.
"I must talk to Owl, he's wise," Tim thought,
and off he went, on a whim.
As he neared the edge of the deep, dark wood,
his folly he started to see,
"This is a bit foolhardy," he thought,
"Owls feed on the likes of me."
"What have we here?" asked a big black Crow,
as in front of Timothy he swooped.
"A tasty morsel, I'll be bound."
As he threw back his head and 'whooped'.
"You don't want to eat me, I'm saving your life!"
Shouted Tim, at the top of his voice.
"Why, you little rat, you've no say in that,
it's not like I'm giving you a choice!"
"Please, listen to me and I'll explain,
let me try to make you understand."
Tim took a breath and the words poured out,
about the farmer and selling the land.
"That's nothing to me." Said the Crow with a strut,
and a blink of his gimlet eye.
"What should I care if he builds on his field?
What's it to me? Pray tell, why?"
More confident now, Timothy spoke,
eloquent and without fear.
"What will you eat when the corn is gone,
and us small animals disappear?"
The Crow's beak opened as if to speak,
when the penny dropped in his head.
"I see what you mean." He mused and strutted,
"We'll all be bloomin' well dead!"
"Exactly,"said Tim, "which is why I'm about.
to enter the deep, dark wood.
To ask Owl for his answer to this thorny problem.
Could you help me, if you'd be so good?"
"I like your spirit," said the Crow,
"and, if what you say is true,
the Owl's the very one to help,
stay here!" And away he flew.
I stopped beneath a big oak tree
and tried to catch my breath
My body it was shaking still,
he scared me half to death
I pulled my notebook to my lap,
my hand it held the pen
And started writing poetry,
my love for her again
When then I looked above my place,
the branches filled with birds
They watched as I was writing this,
they chirped at every word
“Don’t let that old crow bother you”
I heard their voices say
“He wants to be the only one,
that’s why he acts this way”
“Just keep on writing poetry,
your verses are the best
Be yourself, you’re doing fine,
to that we can attest”
“There’ll always be someone like him
that tries to pull you down
But worry not, just wear a smile
in place of that old frown”
So that I did, I wrote and wrote
and didn’t have a care
So I could always send my love
to you I long to share
I penned for you a poem of
affections written deep
Hoping that close to your heart
my words you’d always keep
When then again I heard that voice,
my day then turned to night
“I see you’re writing poetry,
I knew that I was right”
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do,
we’ll put it to a test
You write yours and I’ll write mine,
we’ll see who is the best”
I closed my eyes and thought of us,
my mind held such a view
I wrote some lines of perfect prose
to say that I love you
He scratched and clawed upon his pad
and with an evil grin
He tossed the page down on the ground
and said, “Let’s go, begin”
I read the words that he did write
and if I must confess
I didn’t understand a thing,
his poem was a mess
Several lines of gibberish,
hate in every breath
Calling names of everyone,
he even threatened death
And then he read my offering,
a look came on his face
His feathers black had turned to ash,
his head hung in disgrace
For love shall win out every time
in ink of gentle flow
“Go spew your hatred someplace else,
it’s time for you to go”
I watched him as he flew away,
a sulking fading bird
On silent wings he disappeared,
he uttered not a word
I often walk along that path
but now I wear a smile
For I’m still writing poetry
in my romantic style
Though I will not forget that day
as these words come to mind
“Hate will never pass the test,
it’s better to be kind”
Thank you for reading my poem.
DAUGHTERS
Opposites presented by Goddess
in talons of Eagle
on wings of Dove
Equally loved
A torrent from a fierce black cloud
yang frothing waves in a storm
beating seaweed rocks
claiming it in her bosom
then furling it afar
into unknown depths
where Neptune roars
his roar on end
boasting an indigo flag
Then ...light as a feather
yin floating on a shimmering beach
rosy ringlets microscope crabs, bubbles
giggling at ant antics
in crevices of creaky floorboards
while autumn Sun sets
dew drops on clover leaves
so misty morning says Hello !
A dancing juicy apricot
kisses at library doors
spongy beneath oak exterior
where beetles dug a hundred paths
staring defiance at an orange star
scornful, graceful, factual
proclaiming a Largeness of Life !
An Earth child in long waves of auburn
reaching for Mercury
A Spirit child, Earth located
One imaged from bowels of struggle
she whispered freedom in my ears
when behind prison bars
I sat counting toes
One imaged from Gabriel’s gown
or was it Merlin’s ?
she fingered watercolours
through my lenses
As Saturn said goodbye ...
Sirius screamed from wreaking hell
wrought from rages or sages unknown
Born in blood without its blue
from a womb of turmoil tremors
crystal dripping dark strife
hypocrisy contemplated
torn apart by churning guts
as young medics ogled
grimaced, searched
so premature, so incubated
it was “I will survive!”
Sun and Moon crossed one another
not knowing which way but loose
streaming rivers flowing sideways
in dusty towns, painted villages, rape
a gecko appeared on a pillowcase
Gangster peeped through a window
books came tumbling down
numbers flew away
lashes black as croaking crow
it was “I am here!”
There can be no coin to
ponder if not faces two
no tornado ripping apart
if no breezes play on
a horse farm in Karoo
No life if no death
Night clings to day
as daybreak clings to escaping night
sunset embraces twilight
negates itself, disappearing
one embalming the other while
flying
together on a silver thread
in blueberry Sky !