Best Cloaked Poems
Mist rolls through silently, ghost in the trees.
The near field glistens; the far fades away.
Spring creates longing on days such as these;
Winter’s advancing, has nothing to say.
The near field glistens; the far fades away,
formless and shifting, as far as one sees.
All is enshrouded and cloaked in the gray.
Spring creates longing on days such as these;
waiting for sunshine to come out and play,
water drops shelter, avoiding the freeze.
Winter’s advancing, has nothing to say,
intruding so rudely, quite ill at ease,
seeks no permission, intending to stay.
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A Trimeric, with A:B:C:D B:x:x C:x:x D:x:x. There are no rhyming or syllable requirements
In one ghost whisper of a town,
the mourning sunset had bloodshot eyes
A tombstone place that was
long shadow
past it’s boomtown prime
Withering eureka hope fills the short cups
of the abandoned mine folk
Whiskey tears takes a canary desperado gulp
Purgatory waiting ~ Gut rot
has all the suicidal time in the world
to stomach more wasted dreams
On this dying twilight night,
a bad moon is darkly rising ...
as the half-empty
saloon
doors
swing
During visitation of a short desert weep,
a 6-foot four
twin emerald glow mysteriously
steps out of the downpour
A black-cloaked man,
with twelve lead fingernails,
was tapping a cold metal dirge melody
as he walked in
Taking up space for two,
the raven-haired man said to no one in particular,
Death was his sidearm friend
After ordering the strongest bottle
from a shakily, weak-handed bartend ...
the tall, dark-clothed man
saw gambling courage slowly returning
in the pale faces of the paying patrons
Green hue greed shone in the mirror reflection —
his baleful, beryl stare saw that avarice look before
Plenty of bottom card dealt undertaker action
was coming ... coffin photos taken of a bloody floor
Midnight was always the best time
for quick draw ire killings
When drunken surfeit hearts had a belly full
of wanton violence feelings
Losing was the spark
that lit the firewater spillings
Scarlet darkness overshadowed
the cemetery sob kneelings
Cloaked in the mantle of a soul reaper,
the blackness of a red bullet hole
was a grim reminder
to those witnessing the terrifying departure
of slow hand ...
cheating, widow purse keepers —
That a dozen toasts for the living
always were closing-of-the-eye cheaper
Cloaked In Deceit And Hidden In Darkened Shrouds
I am done with giving to those that deceive
casting pearls to those that do not believe.
Why join with pretenders seeking a gold crown
when all they desire is to take you down?
Poetry is not game that some make it to be
not the glory of look all, how pretty is me.
So much more than some can ever dare to find
its hearts of deep soul and generous giving mind.
So as some walk in pride upon plastic clouds
cloaked in deceit and hidden in darkened shrouds.
Consider those that humbly dare to bear it all
with no demands to be given the golden ball.
Yes, this world rewards such as those that plot
against those truly sincere and demanding not.
Robert J. Lindley
Sonnet L10,11,12.
Season-1: Graving Ourselves
We are graving ourselves in the middle of the trail,
Breathing smoke as air, skeletons block our way.
this path is ours, ash as rose on the floor.
This moon is too close to us burning our own sights.
These stars are blind in the middle of the night.
Our hearts are too wild to be graved,
Let them be blind, we can find our own way.
I can help you cross the floor and breathe this smoke,
Let them be close, I will reflect the sight on the floor.
Season-2 : We Were Playing
We called those stars blind
but they helped us hide in light.
We cloaked ourselves in quiet, and the moon belived the lie.
They saw us breathing smoke,
The soil, like saviour, gave us hope!
This grave is Deepo, smiling at us
like he wants to keep us in touch.
A mirror as our pawn on the floor,
Protecting us from the skeleton store.
It made them look — no place to hide.
Their faces burned in their own sight,
And the moon, once clever,
now burns with them.
Now we are in Deepo,
watching for an opening window.
A window where pluto sings- love unhexed,
in moonless light.
Fireworks are rising, feeling ignite,
We survived, just to scream — I love you tonight.
Isolated here
Feathers cloaked and soaked
Oil's not the answer
Beneath the Holy
Veil of sanctity
Men and women
Play, tease the Devil
Offering up children's
Innocence
For lust and
Momentary pleasure.
meadow cloaked in white
lambent moon in ebon sky
lustrous winter night
December 8th, 2019
Nature Haiku
for Tania Kitchin
cloaked angel wings
part and a soul emerges
a gift of the guff
The beauty of the molten gold
Embedded beneath my skin
Mysteries concealed, stories untold
They gazed at in disdain.
Forever bold, meaningless art
Ravaged with sinful brands
Beyond the graft, speaks the heart
The criminal is in a trance.
Defeat and sorrow spurt from within
In veiled obscurity it clings to me
Happiness etched like a triumphant grin
Dearest friends unlock the key.
Oh, I’ll clothe my soul with abundant colors
Of endless styles and hue
Take no heed of the momentous rumors
Of another great tattoo.
© Arabelle Sanchez-Grospe 0892014
Ghost
Gothic
Eidolon,
Sovereign king
Tears begin flowing.
Byzantine abandoned.
The cloaked statue sits and waits.
The tourist lifts her head and sighs.
Phantom’s pain she feels his suffering.
Hand on her forehead nods from side to side.
Labyrinthine journey stirs stark madness.
Intruders’ rash and reckless taunting
Grey-sky midst morning mystifies.
Glowing - white - apparition
Clicks, flashes, from tourists.
Take focus of the
Timeless undead
Cloaked statue
Haunting
Ghost
I was drenched in black water,
Yet, it looked as though I were dried out.
I stood before a lighthouse,
Yet, remained unseen.
Gazing into the sea’s blackness,
The highest tides forever circled me.
My eyes could find no anchor,
As my dark hands sailed towards the farthest shore.
My home, too, was cloaked in shadow;
Something unseen, yet present, walked with me there.
The map and the wanderer within me never agreed.
Colours were but drifting sailors in my life’s vast sea.
Different souls sail different paths,
Tides come and go.
Memoirs float like driftwood.
Something vast yet fragile appears near the stones.
My grave is smaller than the stones,
Its epitaph; empty and black.
I performed on countless beaches,
Yet, nothing remains visible on this blackest shore.
inside her cloaked wings
she held my dead form gently
thirty years ago
Cloaked in grinding whispers
Such inhabitants feel
Their way
Gallop the day
By thrusting, trusting
Emblazoned minds
Envious looks deflected
As the clan stays on task
The full-time preoccupation
And execution of self-expression
Daring risks trickling
The vacant gutters
Thirsty for adrenalin
And a satisfying gulp
Of shattered dreams
Fashionable product
Underserved and underappreciated
By the sanctimonious angels
Slinging hash in pits
Adjacent to the realm of man
Does thou hast remedies
For secrets and manipulations
Self-inflicted
The favored play of
Tenderlicious vassals
Who clamor for more
Than anyone truly deserves
The proven chorus
Decorated in colors
Beyond their years
Hum a distant buzz
Galvanized harmony
Textured strokes o' plenty
Count the measure seventy
Plus whatever is needed
No budget heeded
Because symphonies
Laced with street sugar
And turnstiles revolving by
The peeks and cheats
Sing the bling
And never stray too far
Given no better place
To go.
(8/7/06)
The shadows of the mind remain concealed,
time’s quiet veil upon wounds unhealed.
Treasured moments sleep in cloaked recess,
a history bound in silent darkness.
Two hosts bear witness, their truths untold,
hidden, unseen, by hearts grown cold.
Regrets spilled forth, like fractured glass,
unexplored journeys lost, they pass.
Divided hearts, once worlds apart,
tangled doubts pulling threads of the heart.
Twisted and stretched 'til bonds collapse,
shadows of the past, in the dark they lapse.
He was sure of only one thing
No one knew him here
He could recreate and reinvent himself
This was a face they did not recognize
No one would see his hair and think “Murphy boy” from over the hill.
He was confident he could be, say and do outrageous things without consequence.
Of course, he had forgotten about social media and how far it goes.
Mother, wife, and boss were all three waiting up for him after his return flight.
A video of his honesty had made it from Austria to the USA in incredible time.
His mother was irritated, his wife was furious, and he lost his job.
Honesty, and anonymity apparently no longer exist
in our high tech world