Best Concealment Poems
The memory span of the average sprout
Means he forgets why the light is out
If life in a fridge will be life without end
Never forget that the dark is your friend
*
And hidden away in a refrigerator
A brave little sprout needs no invigilator
He’d tucked himself between some beans and a leek
And went undiscovered throughout Christmas week
But now that the trifle and cheeses aren’t there
The fridge is beginning to feel rather bare
The spaces within have become wide agape
With few nooks and crannies in which to escape
He’s watched as his friends were all taken and eaten
But this little sprout was too brave to be beaten
He may be just one single sprout, small and green
But he can be ruthless and ever so mean
He knew that the sound of the footsteps nearby
Meant somebody sharing his fridge could soon die
But he’ll stop at nothing for self preservation
He pushed the leek forward without hesitation
It’s dark in the fridge which should aid his concealment
And save him the sight of leftovers congealment
He thought he’d be safe in the darkness inside…
But screamed like a bean when the door opened wide!
i thought i could see clearly
clearly was an overstatement
there you were
an intruder in my concealment
leading me astray
insidiously blurring my vision
yet i pursued you without hesitation
uninterested in the warnings
how could i be so careless?
you brainwashed me
fed me lies upon lies
how could i be so stupid?
you made me feel precious
somewhat valuable
i took a chance on you
you were patient with me
carving away at the wall i had built
vulnerable,
i let you see the real me
you told me you were different
i believed you
we laughed together
made memories
i felt at ease with you
you told me you loved me
i believed you
all along
i was chasing a mirage
was it all a coax?
i reminisce about the smirk on your face
seeking your port in a storm
i wasn't the only one you made feel precious
there were others
i thought you loved me?
you told me you were sorry
but the damage you did was irreparable
you finally revealed your true colours
i couldn't forgive you
and suddenly
i could see everything clearly
A lesson I have learned before the birds and the bees
was when I tripped, tumbled and fell, frightened by my bloodied knees
My mother came and helped me up, patched my wound, smiled and teased;
“When you fall, always get up, you don’t want to stay down and freeze”.
Curiously what marked my mind and what stood out most vividly,
other than the way she took care of me so tenderly;
How could she have heard me fall and come to my aid instantly,
for I knew she was asleep, and I sneaked out so quietly.
To this question she laughed, rumpled my hair with amusement
“Don’t you know moms have a radar, switched on to permanent?
Be it trouble, or a lie, for us there’s no concealment,
or sudden fever at night, we know.” she said to my amazement.
“Hear with your ears, but listen with your heart, often save the day.”
These words I carry till today, for a mother’s role I now play.
Inspired by Craig Cornish' theme - NOT FOR CONTEST
07 May 2015
As my youth goes yonder her beauty says to me yet, bet, yea,
in my mouth the word beautiful becomes a flavor of valor,
she likes to whisper moments of sad love & tender tragedy
into the ears of quiet poets as they trace the perfection of the Present
with quills dipped in the tails of comets destin for drama,
as you walk wantonly along trails her melody invites
she'll scorn with a question of why are you here with her
then the nails she sharpens with teeth of nurture
will attach One to a cross of commitment, a relic of costly consumption,
because she must have you
as a shadow must have a soul to follow
within the humiliation of Light,
as an owl finds comfort in the concealment of night,
so subtle in admission of affection
although profuse in protection of the Ones she charms,
sensitivity she cannot escape, always hurting to be an angel,
born to be a Princess with feet in mud and eyes on the stars,
deserving dreams of diamonds cast on diadems
while living to endure harsh humanity
an adequate lover her timeframe will accept,
quotes from adolescence she repeats romanticaly,
'Love me in the heat, love me on the ice,
defend me from the cheat, define me despite the price',
alone in her desire I am the champion of her fire -
J.A.B.
The day has come, alas the time is at hand
For all people on earth, in all of the lands
To fight the demon of man, usury and greed
Cyberspace is our garden for planting the seed
We can grow this seed, to unite all the lands
With a new found hope, we can take a stand
Those who enslave us and care not for our health
Pit man against man, while counting their wealth
Their faith is in money, metals and riches of earth
Creating banks and systems, to hide what their worth
The plan has been the same, since Jesus walked the earth
Through war after war, people still wait for his rebirth
Corporate losses are shown in red ink on a page
Ours, in rivers of blood, from the wars that they wage
With an insatiable thirst they raped and soiled the earth
They tell us "Our countries are failing", because of our girth
Its time we lift their concealment, uncover the ground
Making them liable, to the same laws that we're bound
It's not a quick cure, for problems man faces on earth
It's beginning a path, to find health, hope and mirth
What is this word, betrayals?
How did it come to be?
Is it simply something less
Than you expected?
Did your hopes and your desires
Fall short of your aspires?
Perhaps others failed their duty
To protect you?
Did the trust you put in
Someone fail you?
Have you suffered grave
Abuse?
Did someone close
Back-stab you?
Was your loyalty
Unrequited?
Was contract breached or
Just misunderstanding?
Did a lover’s indiscretion
Distress you to the core?
Does your object of affection
Now love you less or more?
Did secrets kept
Destroy you? Or
Surprise with
Joy and excitation?
Was concealment
Worse than truth?
What cost to hide
Even from yourself?
Speak your truth, but speak with care
The truth can set you free!
But there is
No guarantee!
"Three things cannot long stay hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth."
Gautama Siddhartha, the Buddha
In the midst of a wet night,
Discovered myself upon a viaduct.
Straggled or vagrant, uncertain.
Not petrified by the dark, rumbling sky,
Amazed to find the place familiar.
I perceived the faintest advancing steps,
On turning back, delighted with her presence.
The cold, shivering breeze,
Waved her black long hair.
I insisted not to blink.
She ambled,
At my fore now, only whispered.
I apologize greatly, for concealment, for eons.
I was denied your presence: a shadow's grace.
Only welcoming death set my soul free.
Fate unveiled its script,
Offering me a last goodbye.
Imparting my truth before the noose claims me.
My world knows no dawn since....
Now gone, shine bright, bring me dawn once more.
Conveying my farewell,
I plunged into the water.
Bewildered-reincarnated.
Faced....
My damp eyes.
There was a time
I was invisible, and
empty, in naked truth
exposed, my soul bare and stripped.
Lost and unprotected,
my pretty wings tattered and destroyed
with feathers fallen,
I was destitute without family or friends.
Naked of emotions,
a fading flame in the darkness,
my heart stark and unsheathed
all I knew was grief.
I pushed everyone away,
fell into concealment and weeping,
bare of all emotions, save one-
until I threw off my nakedness.
I clawed my way back,
uncovered my strength, dwelling within
let my flame burn bright
cast off despair and stepped back into life.
______________________________
November 12, 2016
Poetry/Free Verse/Into The Unknown
Copyright Protected, ID 16-849-421-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted into the contest, End of June 2018
Sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
____________________
Written for the contest, Naked
sponsor, Anthony Slausen
Eighth Place
'Twas an ominous moment when rode into town
To its marshal defy and outdraw and gun down
A notorious, murderous varmint named Slade
Who had widows and orphans throughout the west made.
The next morning, as destined, they met on the street
To for title of gunfighter finest compete.
Marshal Matson, with duty to outlaw arrest,
Versus Slade, risking life in the ultimate test.
At a distance the townspeople gathered to see
The historical challenge that thrilling should be.
Two tall figures unconquered and stoic and brave,
With the loser interred in a premature grave.
Foes whose shadowy faces beneath Stetson brim
Wore expressions determined, ferocious, and grim.
Hands were poised over holsters attached to their thighs,
Jaws were set, hands were steady, and angry were eyes.
Doomed to sprawl in the dust would be gunslinger slain,
While the victor would toasted and honored remain.
Marking one more rash braggart whose lifetime is done
Would be notch newly carved in his pearl-handled gun.
No one knows who drew first for the blur was too fast.
Barrels blazed in a loud, simultaneous blast.
Then a second and third and again and again
Until chambers were empty, but still stood two men.
Errant bullets great havoc had caused all around.
Precious water was gushing from tower through holes.
An unfortunate, low-flying buzzard was downed,
Signs were dangling from hinges, and riddled were poles.
From the crowd that was watching arose a great roar,
But of laughter, not cheering as always before.
The combatants, embarrassed and hanging their heads,
Scurried back to concealment in brothel room beds.
All night long drunken witnesses filled the saloons
To guffaw, raise a rumpus, and target spittoons.
While on opposite ends of the town slinked away
Into darkness two shadows disgraced on that day.
So astoundingly awful and wayward was aim
That the pair's reputations were never the same.
Butts of jokes the names Matson and Slade have since been.
Still remembered for showdown that neither could win.
Some days, I just like to be silently invisible
and lurk, prowl and creep in the shadows of my soul,
in a foggy, misty, haze of beauty,
hushed, withdrawn and hidden,
submerged in my innermost thoughts.
I want to hide away behind a veil of concealment
where my voice is mute but my imagination is wild,
writing poems in my head,
using invisible ink, where I am . . .
a leaf, floating on an emerald deep ocean,
an infinitesimal speck, just a fragment detached.
Oh, how glorious, how painful,
to dwell behind a wall
of my own secret construction.
This whisper of a girl camouflaged and invisible
and hidden in the dark curved corridors of my mind,
writing poems in my head,
using invisible ink.
_________________________
February 16, 2017 (Re-write)
Poetry/Free Verse/Writing in Invisible Ink
Copyright Protected, ID 17-1099-241-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the Ultimate 2018 Standard Contest
sponsor, Brian Strand
First Place
A lifetime ago
I could hurl a stone
across the river to land
on the far bank
with a splash. Today,
I let memories slip
from my mind
to see them fall
and send ripples
out across time.
Some catch
the morning sun
and seem to reach
the far edges
of an inner ocean.
Others barely crease
the surface before
sinking, seeking
the concealment
of hidden depths.
Others skip joyously
across the bright water,
fully in the moment.
I ride them, holding on
to their brief flight,
realise that all things
of this world and beyond
are mere disturbances
set upon a vast still.
Rage Against The 12 Kings
On icy thrones, they sit on high,
And pull the strings of average men.
Their governing, silent, ruthless,
As potent and lethal as venom.
They pull strings of mere mortals,
Presidents, Premiers,Dictators,
Tugging these chosen with vindictive force,
Assuring the subjugation is understood.
What can we do,powerless,stricken,unheard,
As the 12 Kings rule from up high?
Behind the ash of burning cities,
With shields of concealment and ruse.
Creators of demons, that exist only in fear,
Liars, twisted minds pocked with deceit,
Money guzzling, shape shifters all,
As they spin their yarns of terror.
I rage against the self crowned dozen.
I long for the judgement that ends their treason.
I cry for humanity that drifts with Dante's souls
In the winds of purgatory below icy thrones.
Brenda Atry
5/23/2011
Rock paper scissors,
Wizards of utopian flavored wizardry, exquisitely triumphs in every gamble beyond these doors,
Flawless tangled reversed reflections, remain forever forbidden to thoughtless mentors,
A cursed emotional seesaw bleeds and wrestles each end hardcore,
Roaring and agitated amassing vacillating backwards tripped out cognition galore,
Attuned intrinsic tutor restoring more miraculous palaces placed within your space and time,
Sublime tribes of chrome plated words alive and congregating, hitting hard the hammer of stamina utilizing backyard grammar,
Autodidact physiques pack preeminent techniques fond of higher states,
Earthquakes from snake riddled concealment shake the anointed with disappointment,
Appointed fools lowering vibrations of stations frequencies,
Advocates underground traveling through lands and over sea's,
Undetected forward vision upwards,
In the presence of cowardly lords using swords of misfeasance,
Eyelids glued open, still unobserving rulers, kings and queens with blinding evil pupils,
Topple till stagnant misplaced silence takes vengeance over souls,
Walking gods of earth observing a hole as the devils henchman transform from the fallen,
Never forget the calling, the called out elect without verbal speech, supernatural telepathic freedom,
Finding Eden beyond quantum universes unlocking Pandora’s Box,
Mundane conscious blocks, angelic psychedelic capabilities,
Infinite possibilities traversing dimensions with three sixty peripheral vision,
Subatomic divisions, galaxies of particles coexist omnipresent yielding disorienting mechanics,
Organic fractals, geometry sacrosanct, divine kinematics pure to awoken viewers,
Future past tense, retrocausality effecting cause of events presents questions,
Spooky beauty interviewing intentions, synchronized oscillating firing patterns,
Exploding fireworks of hierarchically organized neurons, circuits and networks,
Knowledge or Ignorance? Defective decision fostering Berkes, Apple believers the first?
Earthborn mortals thirst!!! For cash, philosophy of money doctrine, man cursed.
Quincy Mac
Date Written:4.5.2016
I write my verses in seclusion and solitude,
in isolation, free from disturbances and interference, I write;
once upon a time I kept my poems secret in concealment,
privacy was required for me as I was so afraid of what people would say.
Then one day, I got the courage to share them,
I posted them online, and they became subject to piracy, theft;
plagiarism, pillage, copyright infringements, and plundering,
bootlegger raiders, marauders and thieves of words roam around cyber world.
Those who cannot write will mimic, mirror, echo,
replicate, forge and appropriate, rip off my words and your words;
a total copy cat, or just duplicate random lines, oh the sad pain,
but how does one prove these stolen words are true, bona fide, and genuine.
So, I write my verses quietly in authenticity,
I share them with the world, I send them on wings of beauty;
and should a low down, no good thief steal my words away;
there is nothing I can do to stop them, but never can they steal my soul.
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November 17, 2016
Poetry/Verse/ I Am The Real Thing
Copyright Protected, ID 16-850-914-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest,Privacy is Like Piracy
sponsor, Ironic Zink
Second Place
August is ending with a heat that gives no mercy to the land or man
so intense that the air swelters off the river into the tree tops,
looking ahead, its as if we are passing through the gossamer of summer's spector,
Private Shanon has been missing for six days
although, we believe he is lost, not captured or deserted
only God knows where his feet have taken him,
evidence along the riverbank indicates that he is alive and pursuing us
perhaps mistaken and disoriented, thinking that we are further up river,
Old Dorion is seeking him now like a clever wolf,
Shanon was seperated from me while stalking a coyote
a most mischievous animal that is entirely foriegn to us except in prank,
a bottle of whiskey goes to the first man who can lay a coyote down,
yesterday half of the expedition went hunting the prarie dog
a critter more cunning than a cat and jumpy as a log spark,
after several hours of scrambling around like lunatics
Private Sheilds has finally caught one with pork bait and a twig basket
the poor rascal squieks like a cheap violin,
eventually I will send it to Washington with other novel specimens,
President Jefferson and the Philosophical Society will be good guardians,
the men and I have been refreshing ourselves on the jewels of soil
the wild grapes are so succulent that the Italians would believe
Bacchus himself had seeded this earth with a secret serum
and the plum groves cuddled in the most unadulterated coves
invite the mind into Eden's shadow,
on this journey we have observed migrations of pigeons
that have rivaled the stretch of storm clouds,
crowds of squirrels so numerous they have canvassed the ground with a sea of fur,
and now the mighty, mythical buffalo walks before us
a legend amongst beasts, monstrous in girth
with hooves that peel the Plains and horns shaped by vengeance,
as they graze we seize the prize of their offering with thanks in our aim,
not having horses strategic concealment is critical, they are reknown for retaliation,
we dropped seven of them in a great pandemonium of panic
the gun smoke, field dust and perspiration meld into a fragrance of sacrifice,
our sustenance is secured, their lives feed our future,
J.A.B.