Best Clandestinely Poems
Words are Going Missing
Words are going missing……and no one seems to care!!
Red lined!! Redacted!!! Clandestinely subtracted!!
Their meanings have been undermined
to alter documents - long signed
cater to the lunacy
that altered words will set us free.
Words are being conjured…gene splicing gone awry
because our conversations may be heard by passersby,
someone may be offended
because our language wasn’t blended
certified as neutralized
words no longer “Super Sized”.
Words are being muffled….silenced by the mob
demanding that we serve them – fresh corn- without the cob.
Words are being “weaponized” – the arming of perception
a conversational “Cold War” – exchanges of deception.
Words are going missing……gaps upon the pages
trapped within this horror…….a poet’s heart still rages.
John G. Lawless
12/1/2015
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone.
The inscription is illegible, but that matters not to me.
At this centuries-old grave I place flowers and moonstone --
As requested by my ethereal savior, friend, lover, devotee.
My first visit to Gravesend was via historical daylight tour.
Another attempted escape from a dreadful loss and daily boredom.
This landmark cemetery predates America by 100 years or more.
Yearning for comfort, I sensed only a dead-strewn auditorium.
Though the feelings persisted, I dared not reveal my plight.
Breaking from the group, I chanced upon a hidden burial mound.
Sitting on a slate stone, a tweeting bird subdued my fright.
Then a silence did ensue -- and a whispering from underground.
A mist ascended in the form of a desirable, raven-haired beauty,
Who ingested my pain and angst, diluting my secrets in oblivion.
Her voice was the sweetness that called my cells to sync-duty.
She smelled of paradise and her kisses raised a dead compulsion.
Meeting clandestinely as the summer turns to fiery autumn-rust.
Medea (her name) asks to be released from her purgatorial strife
By way of dark spells, old magic and a curious blood-crystal dust.
On this Halloween night, I will transmute ghost to fleshy wife!
The ritual begins as most rituals do: serious, focused and grim.
Within the pentagram, Medea fluctuates -- in all her femaleness.
She comes to me warm and steamy. I hear a chorus, a siren hymn.
I'm enfolded in the marvelous lure of a dying-to-eat ... succubus!
August 7, 2016
Camouflage Me A Poem - Poetry Contest
Hear my baby! I am your dad!
Kissing you here and kissing you there…
Your flowery face, your little chin,
Your eyes, eyebrows, fingers and feet.
Hugging you softly hard,
Rubbing tenderly your tiny head.
My eyes are filled...!
And I am feeling heavy at heart,
For I feel I cannot carry on any more
Like this!
I give in! Weary, with the faith,
Now my sickened soul shall find its solace
In the God’s garden-abode.
My dear babe! I’d wish I live long…
At least as long, you grow into a tall man.
And you marry
An Arabian singer-dancer;
Or a European noble lady
Professing Art.
You write what I couldn’t,
And you write in an unknown—
Harmonious meter and rhyme.
And I take my sweet grandchildren walk
In the dew-wet mornings
To the forest-side meadows.
And you my baby doll!
You shall set up a farm in the country
In the fir-forests’ lap.
And rear goats and sheep.
You work dreamy day-night
In the company of old saintly shepherds;
And you marry the one you clandestinely admire—
Who comes into your dream
And plays with your tress.
The widower shepherd’s only son—
Long haired, honest and brave,
Has almond eyes and the aroma of roses.
(under construction...)
Way up in the mountains there’s a story that they tell.
About a man named Billy Jo and how one night he yelled.
He lived up in a little spot well-hidden in the hills.
A place where very few will go and many hide their stills.
They say he made a strong concoction by the moon at night.
To even taste his beverage you’d need a rare invite.
The recipe was passed along through many generations.
A secret kept by kinfolk and Billy’s close relations.
Precise amounts of sugar were added to the yeast.
And then a few days afterward he’d have a night-long feast.
They said he knew just what to do to make it safe to drink.
A spoonful set on fire, and a blue flame meant in-sync.
He called it his white lightning, at times his mountain dew.
The colorless libation was his very special brew.
Always made clandestinely when no one was around.
He guarded the proportions of his most adored compound.
Then one day they say that Billy made a real bad batch.
No one knows for sure but some will say the still got scratched.
The story is he took a sip and that he went insane.
They say the moonshine made him blind and went right to his brain.
All night they heard him screaming from his secret mountain place.
The people started searching, half the night, but found no trace.
But when they found poor Billy they all said that he was dead.
Poisoned, his white lightning turned his body into lead.
Hushed by the stares
The moves, the everything
For in your eyes
Feeble and frail
Are synonyms
Of female
This silence is everywhere
In relationships, busy streets
Corporate realms and cowering in the dark
If only they knew the epicness
Deep within her heart
Humility preserved always
Glides clandestinely thru the noise
Lest they glance her shadow
And mistake it for her voice
Anxiety bubbles, bemoaning, bottled
A certain subtle potential overwhelming kapow!
But hushed by the stares
The daily humans who say no
Are her heart and mind worth naught?
In this bullying world
Too busy shouting and staring
To even recognize her
Much more listen to her thoughts?
Must she continue pacing this life?
God forbid she should rise
Be hushed and muted
Unsung to this realm
Fragile and frail
Lest we forget
She is merely female.
How long shall we try to convince her to see the truth?
How long would she pretend, when the truth sits in-between her breast cursed?
Deception and lies she fed her children but she hypocritically crave for peace in the midst of injustice
She is an adulterous who slept with corruption, tribalism, nepotism and soiled her white garment on the day of marriage to truth
At the dawn of her great tribulation, she clandestinely assembled all her bravest children i.e. Nkrumah, Haile Selassie, Lumumba, Kenyatta and lied to them about how corruption, tribalism and nepotism of the white man raped her of her virginity
They started an uprising with burning flame of emancipation in their hearts because they were willing to shed their blood for the pride of their deceptive mother i.e. Africa
I felt thunderous roars from Cairo to Soweto that broke the cord between mastery and slavery
The awaken of a lost history
Restoration of a broken dynasty
The nations ruled on the moral fiber of love and unity
Their own hailed them but their own also murdered their dreams because they stood for something that was more powerful than blood diamonds, oils, and dictatorship i.e. the truth and serving humanity
Wipe away your tears for there is no reason to love and fight for Africa; when tyrants like Mugabe, Al-Bashir, Museveni, Biya, Eduardo Dos Santos, Obiang Nguema are stealing and oppressing their own
Oh! No truth for her
No truth for Africa
BY: KOJO POET
The calm of day brings a tranquil presence.
So superficial, her existence hides in her tips of black.
Lonesome she flies with reminding that life is to thrive.
Her point of ecstasy is alive to every circumstance she encounters.
Her tiny wings wave stealthily in craft.
The art clandestinely takes my breath.
Reflections of her path are seen.
A lost messenger whispers that this secluded place is where she exists.
She came from her vessel ready to take on the world.
She flies with confidence “even in the face of error,
for she known to ‘always’ search.”
Her wings embrace the wind.
As she gleams under the twilight, metamorphosis begins.
In tune, for a change, her wings,
which are in one place, onsets a hurricane in another.
The white butterfly sashays, sways, cavorts in and out.
Her essence is her survival, which glorifies life.
__________________________________/
4/5/2014
My Mistress, the Moon
From mine chamber, breathless and perspiring upon the bed,
I spy you there, out my window, looming overhead.
Your gaze, a silent arbiter in the night,
I cloak my naked shame, to veil my plight.
Reigning atop her celestial silver throne,
While I, lie with a lover not of my own,
Broken vows flee like ravens in the night,
And you, casting shadows of guilt in your light.
Glistening spectral tendrils adorn the wet cobblestone,
Where I and my lovely paramour have dared to roam.
With discreet footsteps, we clandestinely meet,
And you, with your enchanting freckled glow, how sweet.
Soft beams gently caress her alabaster cheek,
Lost in each other’s eyes, passionate and weak.
Reflected in her amorous gaze, I see your ethereal glow,
A witness to our sinful secrets, only you know.
Beneath the silvered shroud of your alluring gleam,
Our love, a surreptitious waltz in a moonlit dream.
In intimate whispers and fervent glance,
You orchestrate this forbidden romance.
The conductor of a symphony of sin,
Our affair, a soiled tapestry, unraveling from within.
In the dark chambers of my heart, you are the phantom spike,
The harbinger of this dreadful plight.
From my bed, to the window’s edge, I drew near,
An inquiring voice, “What troubles thee, my Dear”?
“’Tis naught, my Darling, j’st——the moon’s, cold stare”,
All the while, a laden heart, wrought with despair.
For my spirit is torn between duty and desire,
Engulfed by passion’s flames, intense blue fire.
From my window to the heavens, I plea my discontent,
To the pale blue eye above, I solemnly lament:
“O Moon, in thy spectral light aglow,
Release my soul’s despairing woe.
In thy celestial realm, I lay bare my sins,
Where shame deepens, and remorse’s tide begins.
Cast thy luminous gaze upon my plight,
Guide me towards redemption’s forgiving light.
For in thy ethereal embrace, I plead release,
From guilt’s relentless grip, grant me peace.
Lead me, O Moon, through this sinful night,
In thy mercy, permit my spirit respite.”
Beneath your fading glow, the whispers of love wane,
As I bid adieu to this fleeting masquerade,
Sun cresting the horizon, she reaches for the door,
The time has come, farewell my muse,
my lovely paramour.
-Edward
DIFFERENCE
A friend once said that
difference is a problem
when used as a weapon,
perhaps something good
when sought as an
adventure.
He started the interview
by clearing the air, told the
corporate panel at the mahogany
table that he was an African, Jewish,
Republican cross-dresser from southern
Mississippi, both the son and the daughter
of an Islamic Russian from east of the Urals
and an Ethiopian Christian of half-Chinese
descent who was partially handicapped and
wanted by Interpol for clandestinely supporting
Cuban revolutionaries and Aryan supremacists
by transporting drugs for an Afghan cartel
whose amoral leader, the half-Indian
brother of his beautiful mother was a
Colombian priest who had
broken his vows
He shuffled his feet
and prepared to get up
but the wiry-haired man at the
head of the table held up his hand, looked
over his glasses like an exasperated teacher
about to show faith in a mercurial student
“Get over it!” He said
“You start work on Monday!
You’ll be the company entertainment
for the next thirty years!”
Thy fair head is reminiscent of a freefall cascade
Thou art so lovely and undeniably a silent charade
Hark you imposter, thine dewy eyes fool me not
For your impetuous ways I have not easily forgot
Thine misty greys, thou art mine
Yet to no one you have signed
Delusions of grandeur fill up my heart
Yet alas the pain has yet to depart
Clandestinely we loved, through thy soft gentle serenades
Perish me, for my end dear heart continuously debates
Adieu I say, for my end is here my lot be taken
For it is I that your heart has callously forsaken!
Oh the pain it hath endured
T’was that I was better off forlorn
Violaceous twilights,
clandestinely sated
lavished 'til morn's early blush
midst honey suckled euphoria,
poetry hidden 'neath
silken pillowcases,
written 'tween the dew
of rendezvous'
blissed arousal
evermore eagerly breathless,
reawakening intentions
aloft the vast obscurity of
a wistfully surrendered sunset
DAWN
Night dark as a mute strangers gaze
By the minute, appears to pale;
A clear sky of pristine light blue
Morning glistens with pearly dew
Gold edged arrowheads shoot at earth
Their glow warm as a mother's hug
Far, a sphere of reddish bright hue
Seems to clandestinely peep through.
A gleeful horizon beckons
Come forth, bask in the feisty sun
Lazy life rubs its sleepy eyes
Enthused to join the wicked fun
Dumps all worries out of its sight
All agog for recreation!
Chirpy birds giggling playful songs
Usher in an inspiring dawn.
DateNov22 2016
Contest any form any theme max 16 lines
We peep through grated beams in the dark confines,
Kept in chains by the tyranny of audacious jailers,
unending cynosure of profligates and imposters:
ruining the destinies of million wearied sufferers.
criminals fit for the gallows,
morons from the days of the colony.
dictators in military attires.
and simpletons kept in power for temporary ease.
our heirloom forced from us by old monsters.
cabals of criminals, greedy goons, men untutored in reputation.
Felons and rapscallion from the military barracks,
too old for modern ideas.
we are burdened along by colonial tyranny,
in a country where destinies are suspended in the gale,
and youths are forced into their own crimes of stealing.
we could not speak our sentiment freely.
we are fettered and riveted by their guns.
The sword above us, tyranny of archaic mind.
dreamy theorist acting as lords over multitudes of docile lots.
men made to cringe and fawn bowing and stooping to the
threatening of their guns.
They armed assassins and sufferers alike,
paid a trifling sum from the proceeds of corruption,
to keep the masses away from them as old baron loot the treasury,
this open prison of fancied freedom,
where marauders employed by the states with a gun to kill,
trans versing the south with AK47/.
terrorist renamed bandits by religious sympathizers.
from the porous borders of North,
comradely of Fanatics and bigots of the sword sect.
Clandestinely overrunning the land.
Freedom is a crime to fools.
those who dares becomes enemy of states.
assaulted by “operation python” dance.
or raided by Lawless DSS.
This is but a Jihad disguised as government.
The road is a trap of death,
we sleep as watchers waiting for the sword.
we starve amidst multitudinous resources,
they Lend to keep us in Bondage.
The crude in the south.
and all the resources are carted away to the North
to pay terrorist.
A state crimes condoned.
we groan,
we dare not speak as their armed assassin are
ready to silence the Voice of Truth.
one more Truth for the Jailer from the North.
How My Cat Got To Vote
@FICTION WITH A MESSAGE@
I dressed up my cat, making her look, lovely and fat.
A long, blond, sexy wig and a big furry, leopard hat.
On a huge pillow in an expensive, wheel chair,she sat.
We went to where questions were not asked so we both
Clandestinely,went, with no integrity to vote!
That bright day, where there would be no Faux Pas.
I didn't care if we were breaking American voting law!
Come now, I loathe police, law and order! Peeuuw!
Grow up, let's fool them,all the country, let it fall and
Open all those once, life saving borders!
Let us never work, get SSI checks, we Medicare Marauders!
I just rolled Kitty in, no were questions asked!
I had my dead Mom's ID, if a question came to task.
Easy as can be ~to cheat on voting in the land of the free.
Blaming all in the USA who had any money,more than me!
Whoopee, I jumped with boundless, inner cheer,
How very proud~worldwide anarchists are here.
I gave Kitty fresh salmon, that very special night.
I was so proud of breaking voting rules, that very night.
V is for victory! Or, so I heard it said.
"Honesty and integrity are nothing” I proclaimed!
But something so terribly American in me, had me blush,beet red!
I lost my soul and integrity, for less liberty??
And I sold out to Communist mush,how they love me!
CELEBRATE A LOVING THANKSGIVING
HUGS
PANGIE
11/26/2024
You and I met for the first time
At a period when all was sublime
Both of us enjoyed youth in full bloom
Unaware about the approach of gloom.
Initially our contacts were limited to friendship
Later they developed into a different relationship
Seeds of love paved their way in life
To make you become my wife
Attracted by your blue eyes and chiseled face
Our passion grew at a giant's pace
Unaware about the situation
Our parents were curious about our strong relation
For many years dating continued clandestinely
Until they consented officially
Marriage filled our home with happiness
Afterwards it was invaded by darkness.
With the accumulation of so many losses
All our dreams were shattered to pieces.
You had become a victim of destiny
Yes.... life was no longer shiny
Incurable disease forced you to fight against death
Till your very last breath
Bereaved of you, I am one of the few
To wonder who can replace you?
Will I achieve peace of mind?
When you have lagged behind