Long Surreptitiously Poems
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I love to listen to the rain. I love to feel it, to smell it, to stand in it a while
I am not ashamed to say…I am a pluviophile.
I love to sit on the porch and watch and listen as the raindrops fall
sometimes they can come down loud…other times they make no sound at all.
I love watching the rain advance in the middle of the day
with the thunder announcing its visit and lightning showing the way.
But there is something about a night rain…the one I cannot see
that stirs my imagination and fuels my fantasy.
The night rain comes as a surprise…completely unexpected
It softly tiptoes in, surreptitiously…undetected.
At first I think it is the wind…for the wind and rain share a melody
and in the darkness of the night…neither can I see.
So I step out on the porch and by then it’s very plain
It wasn’t just the wind….as I’m greeted by the rain.
Then off in the distance I hear a sound I hadn’t heard before
as the thunder muted by the night whispers instead of roars.
Then I see the lightning blink…across the sky I see it splash
and I smile thinking even God when he’s taking pictures knows at night to use a flash.
And for a while I am happy to sit and listen to the night sky weep
but eventually I head to bed and let the rain serenade my sleep.
With the hope that in the morning memories of my dreams will still remain
for are there any better dreams than those inspired by the rain?
Malignant Avarice
by Odin Roark
How pernicious
This featureless monster
Lurking in shadows of cravings
Knowing well its metastasizing power
The child in man squints
Observing the ghost like presence
Segueing centuries past
Where both kings and peasants
Priests and flocks
Bankers and customers
Toyed with the infectious apparition
Ignorant of its ravenous nature
Time continues its partner
Tiptoeing surreptitiously
From party ice cream
Through adolescent hormonal voracity
Into awakened narcissism
Clever its disguise
Masquerading upwards through corporate
Domestic
Spiritual safe havens
Where waning immunities
Await ready infection
Long ago
The child giggled
Birthday cake and gifts
So innocent
Gluttony and greed remained
Unknown enemies
Until...
Fear of Terrorism
T raumatized tortured tumultuous feelings of trepidation
E ncapsulating effervescing emotions everywhere eventually
R esponding rapidly to ruthless and relentless repetition of
R evelations of revolutionaries remorseless rapaciousness
O bstreperously obliterating outrageously the innocent
R etributions replicate as ramifications remonstrate
I nsurrection insidiously intensifies as ideologies immortalize
S trategically surreptitiously suffocating silently sons sanity
M ankind muses meticulously as methodologies morph into misery
John Derek Hamilton
March 24,2016
An infinitesimal slight speck tickled
nostril follicle – activated via an itty
bitty, nitty gritty dirt band noah bigger
than a mole luck yule set in motion a
chain reaction, whence mine sensitive
proboscis honker (wheeze - hilly little
bridged fine tuned pug nose aroma
sensor), got unexpectedly in gauged
(in holy matt trim mo’ knee) to achew,
and eschew pledging troth (in favor of
hanky-panky) found this chap feeling
phlegmatic because an endless string
of faux allergic emanations, which
upon subsiding left me throat rather
raspy and voice some octaves deeper
akin to a coterie of celebrated jumping
frogs from Calaveras County, California
took residence and refused leaving
stranglehold upon math rote upon
awakening from a hard day’s journey
into night across the outer limits
of thine twilight zone resurrected
during slumber, yet upon awakening
felt much refreshed and hungry enough
to eat a horse – nee – make that forced
whore – gulped down within a hoof
n hour and now recount how back in
the day when zooming thru the Lilies
of the Valley (whooshing mass elf tubby
an aeroplane) frequent bouts with uber
twittering snapchatting sinus attacks
besieged crinkled, doppelganger expeller
for germs hunting with his clean X
instantaneously for nasal passages
to enter surreptitiously the fecund
effluvia dripping, oozing, and seeping
clear liquid as wintry cold air looses
droplets from out a near frozen nose,
which bloke knows not why frigid blast
stimulates gallimaufry of sniffling
to spurt into a volume of one after
another gesundheit donning, snorting
trumpeting unwittingly confusing
Canadian geese, who misconstrue
the honking from midway centered
facial organ, which angry birds
in tandem with flock of Seagulls
quite perturbed to espy one curmudgeon
chap clapping hands over (what feels
like Smashing Pumpkins on face)
in an effort to stifle subsequent gummy
emissions, which residue expectorated
with heave hoe shove
schnoz el tov blowing into snot-rag.
There are so many things in life that give me so much pleasure,
Family, friends and fishing all of which I treasure.
But having my ice cream fix, ah, I'm the happiest guy on earth.
Never mind that such ecstasy adds to my ever-expanding girth!
My spouse closely monitors the types of foods that I consume,
Concerned that cholesterol will bring about my early doom!
So surreptitiously I sneak about for my ice cream ration,
Fearful of getting caught and causing untold consternation!
I fondly recall as a lad the ice cream socials that we had,
When friends and neighbors got together with my Mom and Dad.
Bringing their favorite ice creams to mix in hand-cranked freezers.
Ah! Such delectable concoctions prepared by those old geezers!
A hot fudge sundae is a treat that I really savor,
Or a thick shake made with real ice cream of any flavor,
And every chance that I get I sneak a luscious banana split.
Am I concerned about those calories? Not one little whit!
Some folks relish sherbet, but I think that is sissy stuff.
They can have my share of that, but of ice cream I can't get enough!
When I cease to function you can etch upon my stone this theme:
"Nothing could make his eyes gleam like a bowl of ice cream!"
In the battlefield of bloody action the steadfast soldier
charges with the loaded gun across all the harsh barriers,
treads the thorny ground surreptitiously mined,
the notion of death doesn’t enter his vengeful mind.
The face of his little daughter waiting at home,
smiles in a faded photograph he carries all the time.
He has no time to look at her gleaming face now,
for he needs to march forward to keep his vow.
He is on a sole mission to attack and kill the enemy
with the hands that caress his daughter fondly.
Within his heart that will keep her alive forever,
the embedded survival instinct drives away the fear of death.
For the brave heart, facing the enemy in fierce action,
the message of the grateful countrymen rings in the ear…
‘March forward with boundless agility, dauntless fortitude,
your gallantry will triumph, you’ll get your precious due’.
He surprises the enemy with his tactical courage,
writes the script of profound dedication with his blood,
engraved indelibly on the proud pages of nation’s history,
to be remembered how brave he had been.
Under the seamless cerulean sky of freedom
the flags of glory fly in the breeze of gratitude.
His heroic story of bravery lies alive beneath the cold stone,
solemnly reminding us on the Memorial Day of his sacrifice.
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
Savvy scientists scoff at the soul:
Can't poke it, prod it, pinch it, probe it
~ and clearly can't claim to contemplate...
an empirical, egg-headed, experimental
all-enveloping ecstasy of erudite exactitude
elegantly and eloquently embossed, embedded
~ in its entropy of effervescing exegesis.
Whereas
I know of no one -- nowhere -- nasty or normal
knock-kneed, neck-naped, nose-gnarled
neuron-nitpicked or nucleic-acid-nested
Who
denies indubitably or dubiously, definitely
or deafeningly--deranged, demented,
debauched or denatured -- the sacred
sanctuary unsullied, where sits, serene and
silent, the small, still sound of said soul
swilling, swelling, seeking, sailing, soaring---
sensitively, sensorily, yea sentimentally---
til he sees, then sighs, then seizes
so surreptitiously the serum of sentience
Within!
Entry in "An Inner Knowing, an Absolute Feeling, My Mystical Soul
Self Poetry Contest," sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
The sun dappled patio
irresistibly beckoned
pillowed pad to bedeck
cement spongsbob
square pant sized couch cushions
leapt into field of view
as a posse able a gent
provocateurs silently
conspiring as from
azure heavenly vault sent
thus busying mine hands created
simple bed to cradle this loner meant
as temporary escape from cares
and concerns of uncertain world rent
asunder by craven, frenzied, intractable,
lamentable, offal, rogues hell bent
on up-ending peaceful co-existence
across terrestrial plane where decent
folks (including this writer) live
to enjoy simple pleasures
donned with raiment
acquired thrift-store or yard sale couture
affordable dollar, quarter or cent
thus bagged belongings
comprise wardrobe
since personal preference
to expand content
of body, mind, and spirit triage
in tandem drinking warmth
of solar rays event
like manna to this *****Sapiens,
who when basking
pondered where time went
and on picture perfect summer day
pastoral symphony of nature lent
removed bifocals
to let photons of el sol
this archetype
laughingstock wannabe
of Clark Kent
unaware spouse surreptitiously
snuck up perhaps
to steal a kiss or other pent
up animalistic call of the wild,
which elements of huss style
anathema to a convent
where such nun sense
would be abominable,
but secular mores fervent,
especially when
weather fires imagination
as witnessed by 59+ year spent
mortal male oblivious
to presence of wife
until she planted buttocks and bent
bifocals camouflaged
by matted materiel of a fold-up
metal chair which accent
of Gluteus Maximus crushed
side of frame wear
sole pair of spectacles dent
dislodging right side lens thus
to see in sharp focus
cheeky fate did prevent.
We’re in a “new” trendy neighborhood called Cascade Heights, in Atlanta. It’s lush - hydrangea, musk rose, hoya and blue false indigo are in bloom and there are greens of every possible variation.
The sky is clear and southern-sun bright - shadows are crisp. It’s going to be 91°(f) today and although it’s only noon, the heat is rising.
Leong pointed out the black tubes that discreetly provide air-conditioning, carefully hidden in the shrubbery surrounding the shaded, outdoor dining area. She thought that was very clever and American. “They’re for survival,” I assure her, “it gets hotter and hotter over the summer.”
Leong and I are finishing lunch, savoring a decadent chocolate chai-tiramisu dessert. “Oh, my God,” Leong said, sliding the chocolaty spoon over her tongue, “oomm.”
“So good,” I said, moaning with pleasure and closing my eyes.
The waiter comes over with an iPad, I wave my watch, like a magician’s wand and we’re free to go.
We were going to relax a minute and finish the last of our cold chai-tea, but as the waiter left our cleared dishes, a rando, wino-looking, elderly man came up to the bushes by our table and said to me, “You look sad.”
First of all, I think: NO - and who ARE you? Thinking secondly, OMG, go away.
I didn’t know what to say - but he put the kibosh to lingering. I started having an “eye-contact-only” conversation with Leong. Are we about done here - do you have your phone and purse - shall we go?
Leong and I stand, in unison, pushing our chairs back with our legs, gathering our shopping bags and belongings in fluid motions long-perfected at mall food-courts.
“We have to go,” I say, with a half-smile and goodbye nod to the man, “have a nice day.”
He watches us go for a moment and we surreptitiously watch him watch us go. Charles, our escort, who was at another table, fell in, a short distance behind us.
Maybe the guy was just being friendly, but you can’t underestimate CrAzY in 2022