Long Undercover Poems
Long Undercover Poems. Below are the most popular long Undercover by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Undercover poems by poem length and keyword.
Grey
This place is my wasteland of fear.
There is nothing for me here.
Out there, there is a whole new world to discover.
A whole new land which is at the moment undercover.
Remove the covering, begin discovering,
A whole new home in a place where I believed there was none.
Am I not too far gone?
In here I am polluted by the gaseous air.
Here is where the nothingness grows.
Day by day and night by night I want to be out there,
Instead I am trapped in-between, in limbo.
There is nothing to see when I close my eyes.
I have nothing to say, because all is grey skies.
No artist could make this a place of beauty.
I broke my crown and now I await,
The day of my destiny.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
A true writer when consigned to their virus induced self-isolation
Might want to consider turning over in bed for hot contemplation
Passion cannot be subdued by staying at home for an interim stay
But once you have bedsores you can’t even shop for emollient spray
If you are lucky to share undercover mission with a like-minded soul
Change perspective paradigm and position but don’t fight for control
Poetry is no competition but a contagious need for sharing and caring
Sharpen your quill and be receptive because two scripts make a pairing
When words fail lie speechless and gather momentum for further action
Of mind soul and body until figures of speech gain metaphorical traction
Epic love stories aren’t written in one short night on an immaculate sheet
And when the curfew curtain draws longer do not refrain but press on repeat
28th arch 2020
undercover girl, born and raised in hell
but for undercover not unlike myself
a light snow fell, fine as wedding lace
rooted to the earth, I was, when I saw her lovely face
have you seen her lovely face?
soft as the night, dressed up she's like a song
'wants to do me harm, only turns me on
turning the tides, n'how could this be wrong?
just a little more rough, a little less diamond
more rough, less diamond
undercover girl, undercover girl
undercover girl, are you for real?
hungry now, on the wrong side of charity
from handouts to courting calamity
there are no secrets behind that veil
I want to drive you home, said the hammer to the nail
drive you home, hammer to the nail
Undercover girl, undercover girl
Undercover girl, what's your game?
Much akin
To broken bones
tangible
As sticks and stones
It navigates
Beneath my skin
And permeates
The shell I’m in
It leaves no trace
To show another
Manipulation
It’s undercover
A silent suffer
Is my sentence
In alcohol
I’ve found dependence
A lovely burn
I’ve come to crave
I spend my days
Digging my grave
Though defeated
My soul is bruised
I never asked
To depend on booze
Short term relief
To hush the devil
I’ll take respite
At any level
The itching calms
I can relax
Though not for long
It fills my cracks
Two decades later
I’ve released all hope
To find a healthy
Way to cope
My choice of drink
Is not to blame
Silent depression
Designed this game
Stella Williams was eight years old, living with her widowed mother-
Happily, though a bit lonely, like powder blue skies, sans sunset color.
The Williams lived in a rural area, with no child Stella's age, nearby.
A farmer in the valley, was the only neighbor, like waves of no reply.
Still, school hours were fun for Stella, like rollicking days of summer;
When plum sun, waltzed with stars of glitter, often going undercover.
Stella, at times, threw coins in their well, to wish for a special friend,
Besides the birds and blooms of beauty, and rolling hills of never end.
As faint rays forgive after furious storm, distant family came, finally;
In fancy days of dinnerplate dahlias, of gold, pink, or maroon vitality.
Stella lived in the house of empty rooms, that recollected sunny joys;
There the nostalgic past, argued with hopeful future, making no noise.
A purple path close to their front door, seemed painted with petunias;
In amethyst days of evening sparkle, and sunrises, the hue of peaches.
Numerous nightingales sang at hiigh noon, when new neighbors called;
In notable, precious moments, not ever forgotten-redolence enthralled!
'String of hearts plants,' trailed love petals, as 'oyster plant,' culled gems.
The rich pink, 'quill blooms,' shot daggers, like vexed queens, in diadems.
'Enchanting hostas' charmed summer moon, as 'elephant ears,' harked;
Then 'rising sun redbud' trees sang, with dawn on gloss petals, marked.
Stella still wandered to the well to wish, some afternoons and evenings,
As some yet gaze at mysterious stars, to uncover astrological meanings.
Stella was reading in her favorite spot, on a day of hot, persimmon sun;
And she looked up and saw a girl her age. A new friendship was begun!
Veronica was the daughter of the farmer in the dell, who was divorced;
And she was now living with him. Stella was invited to dinner, of course.
In time, Stella and her mom got to know, their nearest neighbors, well;
For Stella got her wish, when her mother married the farmer in the dell.
'The farmer in the dell.
The farmer in the dell.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The farmer in the dell.
The farmer takes a wife.
The farmer takes a wife.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The farmer takes a wife.
The wife takes a child.
The wife takes a child.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The wife takes a child.'
Twas in a dream on a moonlit night, though bitter cold the stars were
Bright, as i travelled i spied in the light
A witless wandering davosite..How was
He such.? That I should know.? I noted
The glassy eyes, and leather shorts just
So, their shade of pink, looked quite out
Of scene..and the pvc headgear shiny too
Clean..i approached him silently...He
Swivelled around I locked eyes with his
They were like dead fish eyes.' He gave a
Strangled sound.' I did a quick goosestep
Upon the spot, he followed suit ( I said that
Was hot.') I told him I was from Barrosa South Aus, deep undercover he sorta knew
Where that was.' I told hem he was causing
Climate damage ( being so hot.') Would he
Care to not be such a baggage, also i
said i
Had a playt-a-roo..If he'd come i'd show
it him too.' Off we went to a cave i knew, where ice cold stalagtites upwards grew i
Got him positioned..Told him to close his eyes, and he would get an ass-stound-ing
Surprise.' Straight away i jumped on his chest i clung like a koala till his rear end was im-pressed' onto a stalagmite i'd thought best, i got each foot on his shoulders and my seventeen stones drove
That stone icicle, to places better not known.? I patted his pvc helmeted head and told him his planetary contribution was
Dead, on target and dead on time..I was also filled, with peace and relief' that it was his fate not mine.'
Coiled up for winter slumber it had rested the budding pledge
Soil still moist the promise is waiting for blossoms and sedge
To give host to migrating birds returning from busy regeneration
A miracle planted by knowing creation and heartwarming sensation
Swallows circle over hedges filled with daffodils and berry shoots
Below the wild brush with spring in its steps an abundance of roots
Sketch channels of promise faith and nature from deep undercover
As if a cave dwelling hermit is reunited once more with his lover
The vernal seasons blossoms on polychrome canvas and realign
Meaning in the eye of change with perpetual motion designed
To pause for thought reflection silent prayer and humble appraisal
Meanwhile spiders wed on their cobwebs spun from witch hazel
An owl proposes to her mate and sends a call into rustling breeze
Which embraces in gentle caress the unperturbed colony of bees
‘Honey’ they shout ‘its time to leave the hive once more for food’
Jelly Royal for breakfast and wild herbs to improve on our mood
Meanwhile gelatinous creatures awaken on shore lines and beaches
Unaware that we are hankering for freshness and gathering peaches
The serpent claims it is about apples and dates for paradise earth
Gaia watches over an abundance of kindness and reincarnated birth
Soon it will be summer and fields will harvest unless the grim reapers
Call to join crosses and tombstones overgrowing with climbing creepers
The equinox reminds us that we are impermanent and life is quite finite
And that with star dust and good fortune the moment beats hindsight
Past future and present are really synonymous expressions of being
Blindfolds and double vision mistake the moment for the illusion of seeing
Here and now the circle of life spins our short insignificant vital span
Inflated by greed and possessions when in truth there is a different plan
02nd May 2020
Written for contest Spring Rhyme Poetry
Sponsored by Emile Pinet
(I know we're) better together
She said:“it’s cold in New York City”,
and… she’s been thinking of me,
I said: I thank you for your thoughts,
but… why don’t you just let me be…
(yeah, let me be)
She said:she knows she’s the one who left,
and…she’s not trying to second guess,
Now…she understands I’m not coming,
She’ll have to live with her regret…
(yeah, her regret)
Chorus
I said: sometimes I really miss you,
And…I know we’re better together,
I’m just a tired old piece of leather,
and…I just can’t change.
I know that, you’re an independent woman,
and your life you won’t rearrange...
I know that...I don’t fit into your world,
can’t you fit into mine?
Now…there’s a change… I wouldn’t mind
I drive my tractor, through my fields…
outside of Omaha,
The wheels of time, they turn quickly…
and I still feel raw…
(yeah, still feel raw)
And I know that, I still love her,
and all I have... is right here,
she’s the missing piece,
and I’m puzzled,
why she don’t shed a tear…
(yeah…shed a tear)
Bridge
I’m planting crops in my fields…
with my face turned to the ground
Wouldn’t you rather be with me…
and feel safe and sound?
I know, I’m not the kind of man,
who can be a long distance lover
Who keeps his love undercover,
can you handle that?
(Yeah, handle that.)
Chorus
I said: sometimes I really miss you,
And…I know,we’re better together,
I’m just a tired old piece of leather,
and…I just can’t change.
I know that, you’re an independent woman,
And your life you won’t rearrange...
I know...I don’t fit into your world,
can’t you fit into mine?
Now…there’s a change… I wouldn’t mind
Do you know it’s harvest time again,
and I... can’t get no rest,
I don’t have any time to miss you,
this love’s put to the test…
(yeah, put to the test)
I know that something has to give,
and someone, has to take
I know that, we’re, better together...
but we keep making, the same mistakes,
(yeah, same mistakes)
Chorus repeat and fade
Copyright
John Derek Hamilton
May 9,2018
Minutes in, days out, I would succumb
To an electric wave of heat: this once
Tidy dress lined in cotton and quilt now appears
Scratched like a hand-me-down cloth;
My upper ribs tossed into a furnace
While the sizzling smoke chokes this neck…
Yet, Milady is not done with her slew of cuisine.
She tightens my back amiably in fetal position
Carrying jars, kettles, and pans ... with me
As her absorber from the burn of summer;
Her food tester masking like an undercover aide.
Yes, we are both overworked. I observe her
Lounging on a pantry chair inclined to cleanse
My body reeking of oil, grease, and pepper.
O Milady is genteelness, that skin so milky white,
Her fingers patting my dry cheeks before night breaks
While she glides out the door in lilting hums…
And only then can I lie on the sill to rest quietly
Under the glittering weave of tender moonlight.
--
Potholder Contest of Craig Cornish
5/15/2020
God, forgive our love, as we sink in waves of fear.
Unrestrained sizzle and savour, a web tangles us near.
Our starving souls burn, ablaze in glowing ember.
Sparks of fiery frissons, so exciting to remember.
Forgotten promises broken, we choose not to hear.
Thrill of forbidden love, simmers in lively cheer.
Friendship laced touch , takes an amorous steer.
Wanting what we shouldn't, in guilt we drown together.
God, forgive our love.
In addiction of passion, our conscience go unclear,
Moths dancing on flame, we still risk the chandelier.
Erratic hearts yearn and swoon, in captivated tether,
Under clandestine cover, we feel worse or better?
Illicit, they call it, but isn't it also love,.. pure, sincere?
God, forgive our love.
17th March 2019