Best Secrets Poems
Each day dawns laden with secrets.
The morning dews are crystal balls,
each holding a secret trailer of
a fragment of day.
The birds, chirping incessantly,
gossip among themselves about the
delightful things you’ll find at
the weekend market.
In the crevice between the sun's
virginal light and last night's shadows,
an old friend waits for a
scheduled chance encounter,
bearing a gift of forgotten memories.
Fresh brew drips into the carafe of your
old coffee machine, tapping out
a Morse code of the new
thoughts and feelings that will percolate
into your brain in the hours to come.
And the curtains billow with echoes
of the laughs to be laughed.
The day is waiting to confess
its plans for you.
The sheets beneath the shadow lights a spark,
for whence we laid down he nestled his head.
Our enchantment lights magic in the dark,
but so much is spoken with words unsaid.
For love can be given without a sound,
and received within the silence of night.
Freely nurturing with touching, profound,
nevertheless understood without sight.
Let us keep the secrets of passion calm,
yet exalt beyond the whisper of breeze.
Free from apprehension and busy qualm,
longing for our souls to be hushed with ease.
For as long as we remain free from sound,
our mystical romance will be unbound.
~28 April 2016~
Dedicated to Lorie Jean, Though She'll Never Know
Asleep, I cannot escape my love’s depth for you.
Awake, I cannot deny my loathing towards you.
Confusion and missing settle-stay in my pain’s cliché.
Thoughts of you weigh down my moments every day.
Long is the time I have spilled grief yet failed its release,
but dreams weave my joy strung to net grief’s relief.
Asleep, I see us blend as we did easily back then.
As before, we pool play, float happily and swim.
In sunshine, we decide our age will be just ten
as laughter splashes our feel with child-like appeal.
In dreams, we cook, play cards, take road trips,
critique movies, compete to title older song hits.
Our laughter soars until you ‘ink’, and then we
laugh more, stopping only when laugh sore.
Secrets from one’s lips merit the other’s ears
to heart-hear and hold all told in love-lined folds.
My feet twitch as I dream-walk to your home
and street-met you dream-walking to my own.
In dreams I see all I reality-miss; your face,
voice, moods, humor and unique attitudes.
I live our togetherness, our special groove,
in cherished dream scenes of us as still a two.
As soon as I first wake, reality steals my happy,
smashes the contentment dreams grant me
while missing aches swirl colors of lonely.
I ponder whether while in your own slumber,
you also dream plunder from our past splendor
for assistance with your friend-grief ender.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
In youth the Eden where you played
was left bereft, destroyed, decayed,
by trusts malignant masquerade
Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
No grass survives your fallow glade,
when opportunist needs invade
and bleed the lives from every blade
Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
First, victims surging song is brayed
but dirges of the wronged soon fade
and urges pant their serenade
Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
Agendas you arrange cascade
to keep your motives undisplayed
and cover cracks in your charade
Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
You planted with your soiled spade
these spoiled seeds in hopes that they'd
advance the rancid plots you'd laid
Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
In kind, your ruined past replayed
will find each bloom on whom you've preyed
entombed in blighted beds you've made
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
He says that I remind him of
Some old country song, I think
He doesn't really need to know
"How many arms have held you
And hated to let you go"
I'm dizzy, up there on his pedestal
My character is flawed
Wings tattered, flesh a bit scarred
Stars twirl around the bumps on my head
I think he sees the dark of me, but instead
He says he thinks he's found
An "Angel flying to close to the ground"
Some days I ooze with personality, or
Become his worst reality, a little bit rebel
Alot flower child, mostly free spirit
Sometimes gone wild
Each new day begins again
Some things he'll never see
I'll be keeping all my secrets
Just between you and me
!st Place Win in SCAT's "Secrets" contest 06/29/13
~
Impatient, are the waters, that ripple in the stream
Taking no notice of one all alone
They continue to flow, to swirl, twist and turn
They pay no attention, think nothing of me
As I sit here to ponder, to write and compose
~
Deep in the stones, lie dark secret longings
Old stories of those, who sat on the bank
Like me, finding hallows to gather and think
I'm called by the breezes to capture the prose
Inspired by nature, words flow from creation
Written to cast, like leaves on the water
~
The cattails that rattle, the cinnamon fern
The willows that lean, each twig bends to listen
Before me, were others who sat in the sun
On the mossy green bank of the waters that know...
Watching each ripple from precipice high
With stories, of heartache, and reasons to cry
~
Cavorting blue ribbons, hiding the answers
Splashing and laughing, no time for my questions
I lean my hand over, to calm the swift partings
Cold water runs swiftly, and it stays in command
It runs through my fingers, like life on a journey
Secrets it carries, and onward it goes…
Taking no notice of one all alone
~
________________________________________________________________
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
This was the first time I’d laid eyes on your final resting place
In front of me stood a grey granite slab covered in emerald moss
Green ivy clung to the stone and snaked round the nearby yew tree
It was evident your grave had not been visited for many many years
In fact, until ten days ago I didn’t know you existed …
A family secret kept hidden from me by my elderly ‘mother’
It wasn’t until her recent death I discovered the real truth
At the will reading the lawyer presented me with an envelope
Spidery handwriting revealed that my real mother died in childbirth
I discovered that I’d been adopted; my real name was Sara James
Seeing my original birth certificate for the first time was a huge shock
Now I know the reason I felt that I never belonged
With my raven hair and pale skin I looked very different from my sister Beth
I’d been told I looked like my great aunt and I’d never queried this
Now I stand in front of the plot where my real mother is buried
I spend an hour weeding, tidying and cleaning the gravestone
Rivers of tears run down my face when I finally reveal the inscription
Carved in the decaying stone I read
Ellen James - died 17th April 1953 aged 33
Fell asleep with her tiny angel
Susan James - died 17th April 1953 born sleeping
Family secrets kept hidden in the graveyard
Sobbing bitter tears I kneel down and leave a red rose
For my mother and my twin sister that until today I never knew existed
Fictional write for Camouflage me a Poem Contest Sponsored by Broken Wings
Theme 1 chosen - Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone
08~04~16
When moonbeams dance upon the placid sea;
When billowing waves seethe endlessly;
I ponder what secrets the sea might yield,
Should its ageless mysteries be revealed!
Are there unknown monsters lurking in the deep?
Might it divulge where ancient mariners sleep?
Where rest fleets of sailing ships with holds of gold?
Are there seething volcanoes, disasters waiting to unfold?
Where lie armadas sunk in conflict due to mankind's folly,
Sunk in mighty battles with cannons' fearsome volley?
Although the inscrutable sea will not confide in me,
I can still meditate upon closely held secrets of the sea!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
So strange this land, old and yet young.
Where is this place of tall green trees,
and grey-haired men in unknown tongue?
they must have traveled summer's breeze.
Adobe brick quonset "chalets"
mud-soaked roadways in all the blocks.
WACs and wives and waifs everyday
midst hollyhocks and four o'clocks.
Los Alamos*, this place must be.
A land of Oz 'neath bluest sky.
Where science dealt humanity
a fatal blow, then watched it die.
A perfect paradox is this.
How splendid to contrast the two--
a lovely place/a devil's kiss,
and wisdom sprinkled like the dew.
I left quite soon but still recall
the secrets hidden on each page.
The lilac mountains looming tall,
their perfume of fission and sage.
August 5, 2022
"Terra Incognita"
for This or That, Vol. 13, poetry contest
by Edward Ibeth
*Los Alamos Laboratories, New Mexico, are where the atomic bombs were
created then dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan in WWII.
A forest - sunlight squeezing through the arms
uplifted by its countless ancient trees.
So fortress-like; her inner royal charms
even the time-worn traveler seldom sees.
What culture lies within? What foreign tongue
is chattered nervously by bird and beast?
What joyful hymns of revelry are sung
which, by my drawing near, in fear are ceased?
My love, those hidden parts I find unique
are those which I would most desire to know.
Dark corners which I least wish you to seek -
the very ones you need the light to show.
Though brighter are the colors from outside,
let's pledge to let no hues within us hide.
Listening attentively to nature's whispers
The secrets of eternal life I was taught
Secrets, hidden in every being existing
That my perplexed mind forever has them sought!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
07 February 2019
12-11-12-11
* I would like to thank all my friends who honor me with
their precious visits and comments. God bless you all!
I also thank the officials of the site that have bestowed the
honor of POTD on this humble poem of mine.
Secrets that She Keeps
hidden deep within
are secrets that she keeps,
as playful thoughts begin
that make her passions leap.
tender thoughts of him
are roaming through her mind;
these musings less than prim
that blossom unconfined.
dreaming of his touch,
the warmth of his embrace
while held tight in his clutch,
her hands upon his face.
longing for his love,
and hearing tender sighs
while gazing from above
into his soft brown eyes.
ardent are these dreams
but never can they be;
his love is pledged it seems,
alas, his heart’s not free.
tempted with this sin
her smile an impish tease
‘cause hidden deep within
are playful fantasies.
April 28, 2020
Written: July 17, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Quote: "Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words," By Poet
*********
It glides—not gently,
but akin to a scrupulous scalpel,
a syllabic salve for rusted throats
and trapped desires.
It drips down the well of grief,
melting into metaphor,
softening jagged memories
into pains that are easier to bear.
This poetry is not serene.
It is slick with secrets
and greasy with grammar's
serpentine filth,
and sentences thrum
through the engine of anguish.
You utter the words,
and the universe starts to shift.
A bearing in the brain,
a balm under the bruises,
and syntax strung, such as silk
between broken cogs of memory.
Each line is dense.
Each verse unwinds—
caught in the hinge of desire and pain.
Essence of the oracle,
gleam of refinement.
Let it spread:
a rhythm that caresses,
a mouthful of taut truths
seeping through the snags of silence.
You can hear it whisper in the night
Passing on its tales of utter delight.
It moves between both quill and soul.
Of ordinary things, it finds so droll!
In its center, an eternal flame burns.
Like waves in the sea,it churns.
Singing songs of loves remembered.
The voices strong and of sensual timber.
Music of the Earth, is its symphony.
Of an eternal couple, forever to be.
An etched memory of no sorrow,
Before this day, beyond all tomorrows.
9/9/2021
Secrets sail on the whirling winds,
along with the dark and driven clouds.
Carried aloft with litter and leaves
are invisible, partly submerged longings:
to hitch a ride on the primal rawness,
to abandon all things set and tethered,
to project oneself toward the unknown,
while thriving through the natural chaos.