Best Hideouts Poems
In shortness of breath
he heaves thundering hooves
over gravel road and through thorny brush
In terrors madness he dashed
as elves lie in still and
fae giggled from imaginary hideouts
down into the meadow he dashed,
the gripping thud of hooves
followed with the crackling of branches
when he stopped:
a quickened still -
A pricked ear
the sound of deep breath in scent
a hesitation
A crack! echoed across the plain
and nestled into trees as foul to wing
did look to see,
a Faun lie bleeding,
as the demons surrounded him in glorious jubilation
at a prize buck, an ordinary deer to them -
For their eyes couldn't see what was really there -
the elves sang out in lamentations,
while birds did shriek the songs of fae,
~ in a land not far away.
Categories:
hideouts, confusion, fantasy, mystery, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Before the birth of fatherless children
Life was good, the land was peaceful
To the field we went happily
Children knew and played with fathers
Peace died because war was awful
To unlivable areas women fled unhappily
Fathers taken as war hostages
Evils of sickness, hunger and thirst we endured
In our hideouts, the worst of evils was war rape
Unknown gunmen made us impregnated
Fatherless children we delivered
Children of mothers they are
Community hates this for man decides
On him, mother and child depend
Wordless the mother is, and so the child becomes
Unhappily and unfreely the child grows
He cannot play with his unknown dad
So shame builds on him, as no father he has
We never decided to bear a child in impurity
Who will never be at harmony
And whose life and education are risky
For he is fatherless and family ignominy
Ultimately, mother and child need basic rights
For they both are victims of their innocence
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
Categories:
hideouts, abuse, africa, violence,
Form:
ABC
Traveling through the back roads
I find I still remember the way
to the old hideouts and pathways
that brought us here to today.
Those old winding tree lined paths
flow so easilg through the woods.
with a herd of deer off to the right
some wild turkeys on the left.
The sky is clouded gray and threatening
and a sudden whisk of cold
mixes with wind and trickled rain
force the lights and wipers on.
The deer continue to graze peacefully undisturbed
looking up only now and tgen
staying a good distance back
avoiding the threat and danger of the car.
These last few deserted roads remain
happily unchanged barely paved
despite the increase and
altering of traffic patterns.
Along the canal
the water rises high
almost obscuring the bridge
as I cross over.
Out of the woods
the last hint of solitude and peace now disappears
lost in the lights of the highway
and a staggering flow of cars and traffic
as the back roads sadly disappear.
Categories:
hideouts, change,
Form:
Quatrain
If you laugh at anger and allow some pride,
You may not be quite the same person inside;
If you ignore a little greed, just to yourself,
And inspect sloth in worship as an act of self,
You’ll become lazy more often than you like,
Expecting no consequences, no laborious hike,
Back to work, concern and effortful interest,
Where you do your utmost to do your best.
If you pass over that extra chocolate drop,
And let your greed compensate for your flop,
To account for the sadness in your life and day,
Then you’ll only put on weight to dribble away;
If you shine on gluttonous outbursts as good,
You’ll only validate for your happiness, food,
Which can’t love you or elevate you into meaning,
Because it’s got no warmth, presence or feeling.
And if you have sex with too many friends, people,
You’ll never see them as sensitive and capable,
You’ll never relate to them as you could or should,
And sex will become purely physical, crude,
Which will make you jealous of others’ sex lives,
Envious of their relationships, hideouts and dives,
And anger will devour your mind to place and stake,
Everybody else as wrong, oh for goodness sake!
Categories:
hideouts, character, emotions, feelings, life,
Form:
Tail-rhyme
Crabs tip toe along the bottom
daintily picking at morsels
with their crushing claws.
This is an arena for carnivores,
creatures made for tearing flesh,
or picking carcasses clean
with a kiss.
Hinged mouths
engineered for swallowing whole
lay in wait in mud or stalk
weedy hideouts for prey.
Others prowl oceans
fitted with rows of serrated teeth
or have bellies as big as trucks
to house their kill.
Some have arms studded
with vacuum cups
that caress and hide
a deadly beak pouched
just below a brain.
No screams
can be heard here or, if let loose,
find a register in the human ear.
Pain is tapped out in tiny tremors
too subtle for our senses
to feel, death
signaled by a surface splash
or kept out of sight.
The suffering is seismic.
Blake's terrestrial tiger pales
to a pussy-cat compared
to the arrayed instruments
of slaughter that have
a home here. God must love
these killers to witness
the pain of their bite
or else floats anesthetized
in an infinite,
dreamless state.
Categories:
hideouts, animal, creation, god,
Form:
Free verse
Sorry, no graceful way to say his....
Your friends and family under green grass lie.
Body filled with odious pride, the hand of death shall pass you by?
As self inflicted hideouts lie.
No adoring prince, family nor money can save you.
Not even your adoring pet can stop death in its tracks,
That Reaper wants your back,
He deals you the final smack.
The younger ones with vigor, without a a pain run to the beach!
And stare at you in piteous, disgusting wonder.
Not knowing death takes even the younger.
Tearing family souls asunder.
This is not the kind of poem, to be popular here!
I care not for endless laughers and frivolity.
Raise the souls high, not in lowlife joviality,
Before death gets the best of me.
The angst true patriots experience.
America in a state of idiotice somnanabulance!
Doing the Wuhan death dance.
While governent overlords give you a death vaccine and you prance?
6/20/2021
Categories:
hideouts, health, humanity,
Form:
Rhyme
When the storm hit my nest
I thought of finding my safety as being a must
I searched everywhere I could
Even among the hideouts made of wood
I realised not that the storm was sent on purpose
If negativity does not kill you, what do you get to lose
You gain, rather, on strength
On being able to face the other side of the fence
Whatever does not kill me, makes me stronger
Whatever does not kill me, fills me with deep ardor
Whether it be pain or loss
I shall remain, as the moss
Impassive and faithful to the skies
For their mystery is not made on lies!
7/1/2014
Categories:
hideouts, allegory, anger, god, heaven,
Form:
Sonnet
When I was very young
All I really wanted
To be was an Indian.
My mother always read to me -
Stories of fairies and elves,
Of princesses and ogres, witches,
And brownies who did good deeds.
Poems, “Wynken, Blynken and Nod”,
“The Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat”,
And “The Sugar Plum Tree”.
Books, Alice in Wonderland,
The Little Colonel stories, and
The Five Little Peppers.
(I wonder if my grandchildren
Have ever heard of any of the
Old-fashioned stories and poems
Which were all magic to me.)
But, most of all, I loved
Longfellow’s poem Hiawatha.
“By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining deep sea water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis…”
I hear my mother almost singing
Those magical words from
“The Childhood of Hiawatha”.
I could see Hiawatha growing up
And learning Indian ways in
The woodlands of his youth.
I wanted to live in the woods,
To learn to talk with animals
And know their secrets.
I wanted to wear moccasins
And build a birch bark canoe!
One Christmas my brother got
A cowboy suit and hat and holsters,
But I, wonder of wonders,
Got a “real” Indian dress
With designs of tiny beads,
A fringe on the skirt,
And a headband with feathers!
I told my friends I was part Indian,
That my great grandmother
Was a real live Indian!
When it got back to my mother
She just said, “What stories you tell!”
Although I outgrew the dress,
The dream stayed with me
Throughout my childhood -
Sort of wishful thinking.
I always wanted to
Be close to nature.
Much of my childhood
I spent by myself, somewhat
Of a loner, climbing trees,
Making hideouts in the woods,
Walking in streams
To “cover my tracks”.
That “Indian child” I was
Still lives on in the
Recesses of my memory.
Maybe that’s why now, “grown up”,
I love walking in the woods
Or foraging by the ocean,
Why Stalking the Wild Asparagus
Is one of my favorite books,
Why I love picking wild blueberries
And grapes and making jam, or
Digging for clams and mussels.
Why I HAD to experiment with cooking
Slipper shells and making
Seaweed pudding and “Sumac-ade”.
Of course, I realize,
As well as anyone, that
The life of an Indian was not
As idyllic as I had once believed,
But, even now, after
All these years have passed,
It appears that
My “inner Indian”
Is alive and well and
Living on Martha’s Vineyard!
Categories:
hideouts, childhood, growing up, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
L ynn is how my name’s pronounced
I ntegrity and imagination the ideals
N otably nostalgic on occasion
E clectic maybe even a little eccentric
M otivated by a playful muse
O pen-minded at times obstinate
N o fancy pseudo nom de plume
I ntolerant to painful platitudes
Q uality time ideally by a fireplace
U nbridled passion for photography
E mbrace uplifting peaceful views
G rateful a constant state of mind
A rt aficionado to the core
U nconventional and proud of it
T echnologically challenged tenderfoot
H appy hibernating in cozy hideouts
I nfatuated with the infinite and all that’s zen
E nergetic when it comes to writing poetry
R acing to the finish line to leave a legacy
AP: 2nd place 2021, 3rd place 2021, 3rd place 2020, 3rd place 2020, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2023, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on April 30, 2020 for contest I AM: A LIST BIO CHALLENGE sponsored by ANDREA DIETRICH - RANKED 2ND
Categories:
hideouts, i am, image, introspection,
Form:
Acrostic
They claim thousands of lives everyday,
carrying out mass executions on innocent souls. A lot of training
is done in their secret hideouts - learning to make bombs, and shoot. They
do all this training not because of any forthcoming war, but only to annihilate
those who don't take heed to their code of living and believing. They
believe that by following their code, heavens will open the doors,
for their souls to enter. They are puppets being controlled by the code,
which moves their heads, legs and hands, using invisible strings......
Categories:
hideouts, conflict, dark, death, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
I hear a child bemoan in dreams, reclaiming dreams,
His dreams he dreams alone of flying with songbirds,
Picking and chewing, oozing juicy fruits in teams,
And dancing gaily, prancing to the tune of words,
Diving, and drowning gleefully in pools and streams.
This child I see in somber moods murmur alone,
Awaiting birds, his darling sisters and brothers;
I tip-toe behind to track this child’s lonely zone,
And read his eyes, his thoughts, to see if he withers,
Yet I do not see, nor do I hear ... any groan.
I sniff him behind to the valley, hedge and wood,
And all his rainbow hideouts to see rueful signs
Of psychic woes, or other fancies in boyhood,
But I don't see, I don't hear, any woeful whines,
Yet I see love, a lesson to learn, which I should.
*A 3rd Place* in the following contest (judged on Jan. 12, 2021)
Jan. 10, 2021 (Originally posted on Nov. 29, 2020)
Podium placing promise(6) Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Brian Strand
Categories:
hideouts, childhood, love, magic, nature,
Form:
Quintain (Sicilian)
They sit on the thrones..
Yes, they sit higher than God,
But call themselves servants..
Of whom?
Ego or obsession?
Or some kind of mental sickness?...
They proclaimed themselves leaders.
But good followers, they never could be.
'Little knowledge is dangerous...' it's been said.
Sure, they are a danger to the human race.
They are the very roots of sufferings and pains.
Their blind faith upon thyself is masked as fervent worshippers of the great one.
Who's the great, is it not around us, among us?
But none can be greater than the life gifted to each and every one...
Wake up human fellows, question these rulers...these guardians..these dark Angels..
At every point of your life..
It's like hide and seek...if you discover my hideouts, you catch me.
Come on, look for me..know who I am
And what I am...
I know the rule of the game...
Once denounced you will know me, as I come out of my self made hideouts and masquerades..
Till then bad luck I will lead the game...
I hold your nose..check!
Dance with me, say what I say, do what I do.
You cannot lead yourself...you are a follower..
Or you're ME..??????
© Sunita U D Palawon (monologue)
Categories:
hideouts, abuse, addiction, change, conflict,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
I haven't written anything for a while
I really need a blues-rocker for an ep I have planned.
The music is pretty much already there with it being blues/rock.
Written while nervously hungover. I suppose it comes from a dark place... Enjoy.
Nietzsche helped me out with those last two lines, which are, of course, reoccurring.
Feedback appreciated.
______________________
Every Word Is A Mask
I cannot part the sea, or even turn the tides
I know you will not listen to me with my history of lies
let the valleys hold my tears
should the mountain prick my eyes
I think it should be said, we could have stolen more
modesty was never validated, not now n' ne'er before
avarice, tried and tested
tartuffery has no allure
should Miss Andre get married?
we should have taken more
opinions are hideouts, ev'ry word is a mask
'does not belong to me, I disown it, insist n' I will retract
take back the love that was lent
salvation is under attack
opinions are hideouts and
every word is a mask
_______________________________
Rightly.
Categories:
hideouts, abuse, love, truth,
Form:
Rhyme
Bricks of pain heaved on feeble frame
Hell’s ring tone in fragile ears
Exits incomparable in life’s little memory
A goddess gone, the pillar of a heart’s strength.
Lured above reason by fables,
By mean mortals of and kings of calumny
“They said, and the tattlers said”
to the end of a structure so rare.
This trust is tested,
As hope crumbles
Among dark rumors by strange marauders,
A heart nurtured for stranger’s gains
An Oprah’s regret found in Ruth.
All entreaties as weak words they fall,
And so must I let the bird fly to her nest,
Into hideouts carved by her lust and greed,
Seeking a heaven in hell’s lies.
A foretelling powers of bygone times
Pronounced this exit by lightning's speed.
Goodbye to true parleys of the heart,
An End to the dream by imputed fables.
A shaking of wind, a tossing of sea
A tornado of earth’s fires
A true test of oaths and love
Goodbye to what men call love.
now and forever know.
Eros is a stranger to agape
Categories:
hideouts, change, conflict, feelings, goodbye,
Form:
Lyric
Soul droops when the weather is wet,
darkened days, drizzle on windows,
Wife watching same soaps,I detest,
no one to talk, no friends, no foes!
Birds take a nap in their hideouts,
cat warming up near fire place,
some eager sports, fishing for trouts,
mystery read, close book,shut case.
Hunger features when day is dull,
seek slice of bread to get undone,
warm herbal tea to light up skull,
to wake up muse and have some fun!
Hazard an attempt with my pen,
old fashioned, paper and pen style,
but ink is dry, thoughts frozen,
wait! my verse will flow in a while!
‘When there is no inspiration’ Poetry Contest
Sponsor Silent one
3rd placement
Written 03/10/2020
Categories:
hideouts, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme