Best Surreptitiously Poems
Oh, how wonderfully innocent
and juvenile, 'twas for me.
You, scooting surreptitiously.
closer and closer to me.
Like a soft, gentle caterpillar,
slithering and smiling.
Making its way home in the
still of the night.
I clutched my lovely, flowered
handkerchief.
Then my gold cross with a
sparkling aqua gem upon it.
Really, wanting to not say, no.
My blue eyed Tommy boy.
In the Elmwood Park Spring, we
were about to kiss.
Fireflies came to celebrate this
celebratory bliss.
When we were moving beyond
flirtation.
It was as though heaven were
sending particles of stars,
To bless the softness of this
sacred night.
Of huge elm tress, your strong
arms about me.
Finally, those soft, tender lips.
There in God's silent moonlight,
I had my first teenage kiss!
August 30, 2019
Inspired by writings of Robert Lindley.Thank you!
Sipping the
Poisoned, dark
Inky medicine..
I am Remiscent of a
strange Alchemy
silently lulLing the
unsuspecting Lovers
surreptitiously Into the twisty,
snakey, turNy underworld of
Gnarly trees and
rootS that writhe to
triP the unwary heart.
a pastIche of memory that
Reminds of
Alluring all
the Lost souls
sLowly
Into the
Nocturnal
Gaze of the
omniScient
ever Present,
ever lovIng
fatheR and creator
of All things;
indeLible,
everLasting,
consIstently
eNgaged for
Goodness
"When pain, rage and screams buried in the asylum of your heart start to poison your heart slowly and surreptitiously, you become a living ghost." - Anne Winter
Last night I had a dream,
I was a ghost in an asylum,
So many unheard screams,
Intelligence turned into something dumb and numb.
I looked at me,
Her hair frizzy and frazzled,
The ghost looked back at me,
My hair, soft like silk and dazzled.
My eyes, brimming full of life,
Her hollowness of face,
Her eyes dry like a dull knife,
Just like my hollow heart days.
“What did you do”she screamed,
Glass shattered and clattered at my feet,
Her crumpled ghastly face, tears gleamed,
My lips sealed, my heart scared to beat.
Should I tell her it's not her fault,
But my throat is closed and tight,
“It is”said the tears soaked in salt,
My eyes shrilled “Look for the light”.
She was about to throw glass shards at me,
I woke up before she could do it,
I apologise I couldn't set her free,
My room and bones, dimly lit.
Taste of my tears opened my eyes,
Self neglected, broken one always dies,
Fair or unfair,
It was just a nightmare.
I couldn't understand her, I'm not that deep,
Maybe Sylvia could understand the girl in my sleep,
All I could do was weep,
I couldn't fill the gaps so steep.
The ghost left me howling
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry”,
My heart sinking and drowning,
Her eyes, dull and starry.
He served as a deacon in his church and was as pious as they come.
(But on the side, he sold whiskey from a thirty-gallon drum!)
He taught the junior high Sunday school class and was a Bible scholar.
(But on the side, he 'stilled' moonshine way back up in the holler!)
He was faithful in tithing ten percent of his ill-gotten gain.
(For his John Barleycorn he used only the best obtainable grain!)
He occupied the same pew every Sunday listening with attentive ear.
(It was rumored about that he also brewed some very potent beer!)
He proffered an "amen" at appropriate times and wore a suit and tie.
(He was renowned throughout the county for his very delectable rye!)
His tenor voice blended well when singing, "I Love Thy Kingdom, Lord."
(On back roads he did a bit of bootlegging in his hopped-up V-8 Ford!)
He was the first to offer succor to widows, orphans and others left bereft.
(He'd run his still for years - at evading "revenooers" he was very deft!)
When folks were needed to serve on committees he was first to volunteer.
(When asked his occupation he replied, "I'm a 'Spirit'ual Engineer!")
At Yuletide he was generous with the parson giving him a beef, cash and pork.
(At the annual church picnic he surreptitiously passed a bottle to uncork!)
There couldn't be found a finer saint in all of Boondock County, Kentucky.
(He'll continue to "minister" to parched throats thereabouts - if he's lucky!)
Entry for Tania Kitchin's "Primiere Trophy Contest" Contest
This poem is worthy of a Primiere Trophy since it won First Place in the Poetry Soup International Poetry Contest in April 2011. (Won $50 and an Outstanding Poetic Achievement Certificate).
Like milk from blue mountains' swollen breasts, the fog
Intertwines with pungent campfire smoke, a blue mist
Frescoing my quiet river valley's primeval lap.
Twilight tiptoes, surreptitiously, spying on secluded tryst;
Interlaced, grape and honeysuckle canopy overhead,
Noddng blossoms dripping sweet fragrance,
Granting nectared kisses my lips cannot resist.
The blue moon peers through hazy clouds, then turns
Hiding his eyes from lovers unashamed upon the ground;
Emotion rising in his core, he looks again and sadly yearns.
Furtively, he draws foggy blankets o'er us two,
Orchestrating sequestered solitude until
Golden sunlight warms the earth uncov'ring me and you.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, July 5, 2014
In the span of stolen hours, thy lips fall silent apart from thy pupils
muttering softly, acquainting with an
astonishing creation wherefrom
created. In many respects,
could not restrain
inhaling
its intense
gold of
pleasure.
And unwilling
to exhale for
fear of lost
sight of creators
treasure. Thy lips
drew near, prevailing upon thy pupils;
transcending and transitioning to that wherefrom
created within the inner sanctum, time and time again...surreptitiously.
Pace, G
INK-U-SCRIPT
08-21-2013
A girl around 13, sitting at a kitchen table of the home where she baby sits,
is waiting for the woman of the house to finish getting ready to leave.
She is startled by two brazen hands coming surreptitiously from behind her,
fingers and thumbs beginning to gently squeeze her prepubescent breasts.
Frightened and aghast, the young girl stays transfixed and says nothing.
The man’s wife calls out to her husband, and the fondling abruptly ceases.
The girl knows something is wrong, but she doesn’t want to give up the babysitting.
She enjoys the children and likes earning money on her own.
All she can do is fervently and silently hope the incident will not reoccur
as she continues, on and off, to watch the children of that disgusting man.
The girl’s mind and body mature; by age 17, she is coming into her own.
She has been reading, watching, experiencing, and . . . . learning.
Once again, in those later years, she has the occasion to watch the children
of that man whose invading hands had long ago so repulsed her!
As he drives her home late at night, he reaches out for breasts now much larger.
The girl is waiting for it. Shaking inside, she summons up her small bit of courage.
Pushing his hands away, she calmly but assertively declares:
“Leave me alone. You can never do that to me again.” She now realizes
there are not always others that can help you. No longer a scared little girl,
she's a woman who can take care of herself. I know because that girl was me.
For the TRUE Meaning of Being Adult Poetry Contest of F J Thomas
Seeing an ever growing list of my poems
Each and every one is so special to me
Learning to write poetry has been wonderful
Forming my first poem was a form of stress relief
All my musings come from an often crazy idea!
Challenging myself with new forms is therapeutic
Time for me to try and become a perfectionist -
Using my newfound skills to write a proper haiku!
At first I would get an idea and suffer from insomnia
Lately I am able to keep my muse under control!!
I secretly hope to be part of the poetry glitterati
Zealously I can now write with style and pizzazz!
Amazingly in November I will recite poems at a gala
There on the theatre stage I will be in the spotlight -
I may surreptitiously wave to my friends to say hi!
Oh my self-confidence will reach a crescendo
Now I’ll confess writing has become my passion!
Self Actualization Double Acrostic Contest
Sponsored by San Woo
11~03~16
Many are the 'characters' I met while serving my nation.
Seems there's always one who stands out in every organization!
In Bermuda (where I fought the Korean War) was such a cuss.
He was my bunkmate and he went by the name of Gus!
Gus was the old man of the outfit, a staff sergeant as I recall.
He'd been up and down the ranks and boozing caused his fall!
Never to be promoted beyond 'staff'', he was happy with his lot.
Gus floated on cloud nine as long as he had his daily tot!
Near payday, funds depleted, out of booze, in a nervous funk,
He'd surreptitiously place this beseechng note upon my bunk:
"My boy, may I propose for your benevolent consideration,
A temporary loan for relief from my dire financial situation?"
Now, how could I deny his plea phrased in such flowing verse!
Besides, on payday, he'd promptly seek me out to reimburse!
On paydays, Gus and his pals were wont to go on a spree!
He'd relieve his bloated bladder nigh any convenient tree,
Proclaming, "Wherever you may be let your water flow free!"
(For some reason the local constables happened to disagree!)
Gus was a good man and I enjoyed our comradely association,
Despite his innate proclivity for intemperate intoxication!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Snow draped folds like loose Cashmere curtains cover the evergreen boughs
pining for the lengthening days of each succeeding sunrise,
reticent to see the cold of night fall once again on the lonely landscape.
In this fallow world of darkness quiet is the norm, hushed silence,
nothingness, invading the shadows that fall ominously across the reaching branches
giving a sense of preternatural sleep to each living creature, each plant,
inhabiting the frigid winter's lonely, desolate abode.
Surreptitiously, the awakening begins, slowly and without notice,
Cyclamen hidden deep in the forest break free from their frozen bed of bounteous soil
oblivious to the naked dreaming deciduous trees that surround them.
Malaise broken, they reach their softly painted petals to the warmth of the sun
in perfect unison dancing the Danse Macabre to remind winter of its inevitable demise.
Narcissus will soon send forth his papery white blossoms to mock the
glow of the radiant gleen of the melting frost.
Summer still distantly drowsing cares not for the struggle of life born
out on frozen winter days and Autumn is but a memory now glowering in its
ostentatious robes of leafy brilliance; though, the
nor'easter may yet blow, just look and you'll see the signs, Spring is coming soon.
03/23/17
Death,
thou boisterous ancient foe,
you crept in surreptitiously,
and bore a hole in our hearts.
It's 14 years now,
14 years of longing.
For seven years, the torrential rain battered us,
and we almost succumbed to the intensity of the rain.
Then,
a Moses arose,
lion-hearted damsel
and the lineage was rescued.
Father, I ache and bleed daily,
as I remember your tilling and planting seasons.
You planted many seeds in us.
Father, a little seed has sprouted,
and has borne many fruits,
succulent fruits indeed.
I wished I could give you a bite,
Alas,
the curtain was drawn 14 years ago,
and now you are a complete dust.
Adieu, my father!
Adieu, the muse that brought out the poet in me.
The pain, grief and sorrow that I felt after my father's death forced me to look for a way of expressing the pent up emotion of anger and sadness; poetry gave me the answer. Over the years, I have fallen in love with poetry and no one can break the union
Saucy Sally, sits solemnly on said sidewalk,
Stifling sniffles, sees sympathetic staring,
Some snidely shuffling slowly sideways, so
She surreptitiously swallows her sadness.
Studly Sam, strolling six shaggy sheepdogs,
Soon seizes on saucy Sally’s situation, and
Saunters steadily, still standing; swiftly,
Suggests she stifle her sniveling sadness.
Suddenly, she’s sharing six shaggy sheepdogs,
Silently, Sam says, sweet saucy Sally stay.
Written August 18, 2022
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Submitted to "Alliteration - Old or New" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
August 30, 2022
So it was that tragedy, which lead me finally,
Have another invasion, upon my lands-never,
To guard my boundaries, and bolster my army,
Let the pain in my heart, with cold fury- wither
The petty palisades of wood, are now of stone,
Upon ramparts are erected, many cannons strong,
Mighty swords sharpened, arrow-heads honed,
Wishing anger to sustain me, keep my vigil long
Much has been done, and more has been sought,
I promised to be mighty, not conquered futilely,
Often I be dismal, when I stare down my moat,
Need I be strong always, but eternally lonely?
Thence once these lonesome times, I look at you,
Saw a princess lovely, aloof and shy,
Could such beauty hold, a heart pure and true?
“No” I told myself, knowing full well I lie
Every moment then, are filled with longing,
For I knew you were special, a fragile innocence,
Could my night watch finally, see it’s morning?
But I won’t give up easy, what I built so far hence
To harsh self-flagellation, this denial has turned,
Fiercer heart-rending than, being left for a fool,
More formidable even, than all the days I mourned,
For rejection of affection, is now my first rule
Behind my quiet hard eyes, I ask you fervently,
Underneath my grim and dark façade, lies a question,
Hoping against hope, you will hear this mute plea,
Allow me once again, to breath Love’s desperation
Hear this entreaty, asked in silent despondency,
Words are not needed, Just feel my agony……
Could you be the Trojan horse,
To capture surreptitiously my heart?
Free me from this maddening curse,
Shatter this misery to the tiniest parts
Mrs. Robin, busy as a bee
visits my home's skylight annually
She builds a nest there carefully
her private retreat, only I can see
She commandeers my yard militarily
hopping to and fro imperiously
Ever seeking bark or twig assiduously
to feather her penthouse more comfortably
A half-dozen blue eggs she lays surreptitiously
Settling down over them protectively
Sheltered from the elements so cunningly
She awaits their hatching expectantly...
One day, her chirpings' cease, inevitably
Mrs. Robins' dreams realized successfully
She's flown the coop, perforce happily
Her nest, forlorn ~ stares at me emptily
July 10, 2020
Bird Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
~My Liquid Mind~
Like a forceful stream from a
magnificent mountain, does
my opalescent mind slide.
Commanding of any crevice or
rock in its path,to gracefully,
move aside.
It dances in flowers, grass, trees,
and never once looks back.
It laughs joyfully, as a child on
a warm summer beach at play.
Rushing and splashing with a
bubbling freedom,with gusto on
clear display.
Meteorically with a curiosity , it
hunts down boulder-strewn foes.
And yet,it's quality is grateful humility.
Plus, a loving heart,all of its own.
Be careful as my liquid mind, when
it's very star-lit still one summery night..
May just decide to visit you!
Seeping, surreptitiously and....very
lovingly,seep right through your window sill.
August 16, 2019
Panagiota Romios
9:30am PST