Long Secretly Poems
Long Secretly Poems. Below are the most popular long Secretly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Secretly poems by poem length and keyword.
I don’t worry about nonsense
I abhor it
I love and appreciate common sense
That’s it
I pray to God to grant it to me daily
As a reward or compensation. Pride, integrity
Good logics, compassion and respect are the main
Ingredients that one can find in this domain
One must also follow the principles, the rules
The laws and the constitution of the relevant tools
Acting like fools or bullies is not part of the equation
Narcissism is highly volatile and hazardous for our nation
Power runs out of steam fast
It does not last
The rules of laws are paramount for a civilized society
When a subject is unanimously considered false, eerily or crazy
Everything becomes obvious and logical. The majority
Always prevails unless the venom of corruption, greed and thievery
Is fraudulently or secretly injected. I am always on the side
Of common sense. The majority always wins and the Vox Populi
Vox Dei adage retains its relevancy and accuracy, and the tide
Is echoing in the direction of righteousness and justice. Vox Populi
Vox Dei.
Copyright © January, 2026 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
Silence listens to the voices of the world, an echo lost in the abyss,
On the earth, a stray breeze wanders as the sky opens up,
God hears the silent pleas at the crossroads of silence's steps,
Silence breathes slowly at dawn's arrival, secretly inhaling the sunset.
Silence lies at the core of our soul, a paradox of presence,
At the edge of twilight, it stretches like a shadow of tranquility,
It knows how to gather cascades and breezes, a dance of eternity,
Silence is the ear of the heart, leading us to hidden peace.
Like a silent yoga master, my silence is sublime linguistic heaven,
It is the mantra that carries me beyond the overwhelming tumult of the world,
When everything becomes too much, I retreat into silence and live,
At the crossroads of silence's steps, where the soul finds rest.
Silence is a living paradox, a language of the heart that needs no words,
It embraces us with a firm hand, bringing us toward ultimate peace,
In that silence, I find the truth about myself, a hidden universe,
At the crossroads of silence's steps, where time dissolves into eternity.
SOMEWHERE
by~ JOHN LOVING III
somewhere out there in the sky's
God is wearing His great disguise
He's so cleverly hidden
no one can see Him with there eyes
somewhere in there, in my mind
God is hiding, looking and finding
like the thief that comes in the night
taking from you what's wrong and right
by~ Poet Destroyer
Somewhere I silently hear my name.
God whispers words as if this was a ballgame.
"Come to me!"
He aims secretly, this man I can't see.
Somewhere along my path I admit,
God is waiting for me to surrender
Like lightning and thunder in broad daylight,
he will always strike, shine and takeover~ like my white knight
a collaboration with * John Loving III
Part One
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/mid-summer_night_dream_1482320
Concluded
Elves, dwarves, mini giants, and hobbits all performed.
But last was Fili as he strutted to the middle of the glen.
Secretly clutching his alexandrite lode, he flew
Straight up ten feet with a view for all to see.
Fireflies flew erratically around him, a ghostly shine.
As Fili moved his clutched hand, he turned.
Somersaulted, spun and returned to his standing stance.
Below the people of the glen clapped in awe.
But now Fili was worried, how was he to descend
And thus receive his well merited prize?
It was the River-maid who rescued him, as she flew
And whispered in his ear. Change the lode to the left hand
She whispered, giving him a luscious kiss.
Soon Fili landed and the Fairy Queen beckoned him.
You can take your first midnight skinny dipping and eat all
The strawberries you like so much, she graciously said.
She took his lode, put it on a crown and on his head it sat.
And now Fili, the hero, was annoyed no more.
Such an array of complex verse,
orchestrated by a few crazy poets;
Catastrophe of emotions
instigate more than a few masterpieces;
Engage to inspire that’s the goal,
tighten a skill release a breath of words;
Yank along a heartbeat and write,
over and over again;
Feathers and ink join in a light
succumbing to a prompt or a soft purr;
Eloquently they swirl it all together,
catastrophe of emotions;
Rare phrases revitalized
each with a brand new twist,
tantalizing other poets to
learn what this group is all about;
You present a poem to earn a spot,
perhaps twenty lines, perhaps not;
Unequivocally your work,
unequivocally your soul;
Unconventional ways to think
result in classically avant garde;
Rambunctious just like kittens,
feisty when excited about something;
Encouraging the group to stretch
constantly from their norm;
Together a poetic tour de force;
Pulling a group into a round robin,
out of nowhere they find a home;
Everyone welcome just bring a pen,
take a try at a masterclass;
Society of secretly puuurrfect poets.
There once was a podium man.
Who gave to the world all he can.
He broadcast his message,
A dismal sad presage,
An excuse to push through his plan.
On point, there he stood smiling bright.
As he lied through his teeth, pearly white.
With showmanship air,
He feigned how he cared
For his countryman's desperate plight.
A leader of such strength was he;
Incorruptible, honest, and free.
Was showered in praise
All through ruling days
While his rivals were crushed secretly.
He lives in all ages of time.
Deceiver of men, he is prime.
If you feel disgusted,
By a man you once trusted.
Be sure he is known for his crime.
Ghost Named Memory
As I lay in my darkened room
there's nothing I can see.
Still I hear him calling,
this ghost named Memory.
Yesterday I told the world
today I'll be alright.
Secretly I knew somehow
that he'd return last night.
Whispers in the nighttime
as he whispers in my ear.
Quietly, so quietly
that only I can hear.
He tells me lies, tears in my eyes
like never will I find love.
Only fools believe in dreams
and there's no God above.
I hold my pillow to my head
it's no use from the start.
Memory can see through me
and whispers to my heart.
I try to talk about it
and ease my troubled mind.
It's like reaching for the wind
but there's nothing there to find.
So each day I try again
still clearly I can see.
It's so hard to just believe
in a ghost named Memory.
Edwin C Hofert
Electromagnetic Radiation
Secretly – unbeknownst to me – you were holding out a light
of hope for me to see, to reach for, to bask in, some day.
If I had only the foresight, the insight, the wisdom to
have seen, to believe could become a reality some day.
You were / are the Angel that held the light of my essence
in the palm of Your, hand, so gentle yet strong.
I am so SORRY that I sentenced to death, to the grave,
that flame of hope – that in my stupidity had extinguished.
The Mist in Decay
Into the quagmire of, into the swampy dregs of
aloneness have I relegated my soul, my spirit –
to become trapped inside a forest of putrefying
driftwood images – lost forever the potential
for love from, or to love and have that love be desired.
Love is now left to rot, in the black arms of Hell’s
icy embrace ( forever and a day ) because of my lack
of wisdom, my lack of faith – in myself, my desirability –
in your motives, your reasons for keeping me at bay,
for continually pushing me away.
I am so SORRY Moneca, for my lack of wisdom,
for my lack of faith in any kind of future,
in were you stated you wanted to go with me,
in my blindness, my stupidity, my ineptness,
my perceived / projected insecurities.
I am SORRY that in my stupidity, I believed
that what you constantly conveyed to me
throughout our time together
- expressed verbally and in your physical reactions
to my attempts at expressing affection for you –
would not be seen through the veil of blind love .
I am SORRY that I believed in what you said to me,
what I thought was a truth, was a reality, was my fate.
I am SORRY !, I am sorry that I could not see,
would not see, did not see.
Love
Bill .
B. J. “A” 2
October 6th 2007
Life’s a poetic juggle of the cosmos,
we dance and try to make sense of it;
At times stars align then they will cross
through it all hung up on what could be;
We dance and try to make sense of it;
Maneuvering a volatile high wire act
through it all hung up on what could be;
Secretly stumble and get up again;
Maneuvering a volatile high wire act
you move so graceful and so quick;
Secretly stumble and get up again
transforming into a poised vision;
You move so graceful and so quick
they only see the limelight’s shadow;
Transforming into a poised vision
survival can sometimes look easy;
They only see the limelight’s shadow,
at times stars align then they will cross;
Survival can sometimes look easy;
Life’s a poetic juggle of the cosmos.
then they heard the singing
they were excited to have heard
the songs and music
they appalauded and stood
watching me as Picco
and her as Shelayla
they never knew how I
secretly fell in love with
she and Her sister
each role I rehearst from the Oboist's position
watching them ignore me
they were genious in their private
pursuit oif me.
I fell in love with being Picco,
on and off the stage.
Years later
I contacted a composer
he and I wrote
the song
"pRimms Sultio" Translate
to "Woman LOver"
it inspired the actress to marry me.
Picco never married
Shelayla
in Theater or
in life
he married the woman He referred to as
"SHELAYLA"S SITER"