Secreted Poems

Clinging To My Brow

Veiled by clever branches, limbs
silken strands, protecting me
from the eyes who’re like pseudonyms
beckoning with iris’ clever and wild

secreted beneath gossamers, flowing
in whispers of hope for the morn
risking each breathless moment, unknowing
what to expect with the journey’s quest

shrouded by the strands, elusive
like the moment when I knew true pain
beyond the shadows, so abusive
feeling the fears who reach my soul

concealed from a world who hurries
never allowing my heart to heal
these wisps of melancholic flurries
remember locks who write the songs

unseen by those who might discourage me
each curl, each tress, each quiet tuft
silences the fears who seem to guarantee
expressing myself means letting go 

hidden by the mane who drifts, curving
sinuous and graceful, a layer of shelter
always protecting and preserving
so I have refuge, a haven, a secure home

unseen, my eyes hide beneath the maze
a mane of defense, shielding me from foes
those who might not understand my gaze
only see the pain and never what I gain

The Life and Times of a Stick of Chewing Gum

    A burst of flavor secreted
                               ~ within five minutes deleted

Pearl

“All art is autobiographical. The pearl is the oyster’s autobiography.” - Federico Fellini


Scars, reminders
What was once painful,
Has changed to a special flaw,
Sometimes only a hint,
Subtly secreted, the blame
Beneath a thought, a whisper
Singing to the spirit,
Colored in rose and gentle,
Comforting the heart 
Who listens, the blemish,
Revealing the hidden
Heart, the music of a soul,
Who dances with the light,
Stirring grace, embracing the pearl,
Both significant and surreal,
Emphasizing what is sincere,
The beautiful buried between layers of grief,
Anguish leaking through in dewlike sweetness,
Amazing even the truth
With the beauty of its secret.

As Blood Running Through Veins

Unearthed, their vivid colors bloom as buds unfold
wafting in Mariah's breeze, in hues bright and bold
Beautiful flowers, mere words cannot rhapsodize
Secreted are their roots, from sight of human eyes

Concealed beneath the ground, tangled and gnarled
lies their source of strength, enmeshed and snarled
As blood in a man's veins, roots sustain botanical life
A blow to their vitality if afflicted with human strife

Blossoms would wither and die on each delicate stem
Gardens destroyed in the gruesome state of mayhem
The splendor of a flowering landscape adorns the Earth
but credit the source; the Hand engendering their birth

Blue Ridge Mountains

In these mountains, where I’m from, peace amazes,
With nostalgic beauty, its gentle praises.
Silence whispers to souls, believers know love,
Breathless inklings linger, a calm from above.
         Love this alive and perfect surely blazes.

In these mountains, where the sun reflects, dazes,
Harmonizing with shadows, carefree phases
Beyond the oaks and pines, I found my truelove…
	In these mountains…

As the stars climb higher on twilight’s gazes,
Beyond the moonlit night, twinkling wish raises,
Gentle faith abides, reminding there’s Godlove,
Secreted beneath wonders of the sweet dove,
Within the heart and spirit, His love raises,
	In these mountains…

The Demise of Death

I still see him
Walking slowly beneath broken streetlamps,
Sitting at the edge of the needle-strewn playground.
He seems slower, less busy about his work,
An air of defeat stains his scythe.

I believe he is suffering from “post Covid trauma”
For he is death and death is his
His domain, his milieu, his life.
He weeps as he talks of the pain
Of death stolen, pilfered by politicians
Secreted behind pain and plexiglass
Inflicted upon the living by those
who stole death from death itself
used his ”scythe” to force compliance
hold death hostage without ransom.

Now he sits sorting through the detritus
Of the weary, the wounded, the hopeless
Who wander with him, sit with him
Wondering how death could be so cruel.

A Rainy Walk Home

Walking home with my best friend,
Umbrella resting o’er both our heads,
Wondering, will the rain never end?
Dressed in darkest blues, never reds.

Umbrella resting o’er both our heads,
Plodding along, thunder softly rumbling
Dressed in darkest blues, never reds.
This day, the gentle rain, is so very humbling

Plodding along, thunder softly rumbling
Secreted beneath the cover of the umbrella
This day, the gentle rain, is so very humbling
My best friend is so kind, such a good fella

Secreted beneath the cover of the umbrella
Rain pelts the pavement as we trod on home
My best friend is so kind, such a good fella
Even though it’s quite gentle, it’s still noisome

Rain pelts the pavement as we trod on home
Wondering, will the rain never end?
Even though it’s quite gentle, it’s still noisome
Walking home with my best friend,…

Heart Screams

Raining, silent as the morning’s lovely kiss
Promising “to weep the tears that never learn”
With heartfelt prayers, hopes that love won’t dismiss

Embracing gentle joys who cause hearts to yearn
For the wonder of life that believes in grace
Wearing the beautiful who’ll surely discern

Wherever hearts believe, doubt cannot erase
The miracles secreted just beneath dreams
Lighting the soul with feelings we can’t replace

Wistful as wind blaring through the oaks in screams
Leaving hearts with beliefs, colors of delight
Whispering tender faith through the heart’s extremes
Burning through the shadows, charming darkest night
Kindness like this stirs poetry which I write

Raggedy Ann Ld

I was a Tomboy to the core, 
Went to Kindergarten – hoping for more 
Than merely dolls and tea sets but some things
Like cars and trucks, airplanes with wings
All the things that make a boy’s heart sing
Also brought me to dreaming of every good thing

Despite the tomboy who lives inside this lass,
When I entered the kindergarten class
I was met with a doll, Raggedy Ann - while
This new teacher, with her kindest smile
Offered me Ms. Raggedy – I accepted her
Despite the thoughts that came in such a blur
This is mutiny, revolution… this could create
A uprising in my soul, but patient, I’d wait…

Ms. Raggedy, once I’d secreted her beneath 
My desk - I realized that, once lost, I’d bequeath
Her to my friend – since then, I’ve decided to become 
A poem writer – writing about the lost doll who would overcome
The tomboy who had won her as a trading tool
This lost doll who she’d market became the best in school!

Paradox

The rich man sups his Cognac
As he sits and relaxes
Complaining in his mind about
The level of his taxes,
Congratulates himself 
On the amounts
Secreted away in
Offshore Accounts,
Wines and dines his Advisor
Just to show his thanks.
The poor man shows his gratitude 
For his local Food Banks.
Both profess Christianity
Which seems an oxymoron
Or are the Camel and eye of needle
Out of date and long forgotten.

Night Watch

Miles past the nightstand
over the plastic water bottle.
the Ambien pill dispenser
and the soul-bruised eye shades,
an arrhythmic clock 
ticks like a bombed-out tank.

Of course there is the lampshade
(that lighthouse for the luminescent krill
of submerged consciousness)
that seems attached to my skin
whenever body parts want to cut ties
with a mattresses concave reality.

Secreted like a drugged shark
in the shallow recesses of a snaring drawer
a snubby barrel with six mad prayers
snugs up against a snoring bible.

The raven iridescence
of night-cats prowl a life leaking bed;
occasionally they look up
their eyes shining
as they search for an alien presence.

On its four arthritic legs the nightstand
watches;
its tour of duty still patrolling a far off
conflict of doubt and faith.

Time to turn over the hull of being,
upright any surface 
with a legibly printed label,
then haul that address back in
from the far side of an arm’s reach.

Time to shuck whatever shell
still rolls unopened in the surf 
of the tossed and blanketed.

Chorus

Shore lights buttress the sky's 
vaulted dark and shed
a solemn hush along
the river's reach.
Set upon a calm, 
fishing boats drift
the night towing lines
of vicious hooks.

Below them, the sediments
of lifetimes lay in secreted 
scores cast in a language
lost to the ear. In the quiet
of evenings you can almost
hear the river breathe.
Something rises to speak,
falling silent as if an affliction 
has made what 
dwells there, mute.

In the distance, small fish 
splash the surface pursued
by predators lunging up
from deep below. Then everything
chokes to a quiet.
The river flows on
and on, sealing in mud
the sad chorus
of unspoken sounds.

Time Flies When You'Re Having Fun

Louder than the silence
Heard beyond my heart’s echo,
Darker than the shadows
Secreted where feelings bled
Through the delicate colors
Hues of hopeful, fresh
Young faces in delicate light,
Smiles alive, aware – so bright

Louder than the stillness,
The hush beneath the calm,
Quieting the heartbreak
Feelings bleeding through
The dark, where an echo glistened,
Calling for the earlier times,
The breathless moments
History, flowing in the thoughts
Reminiscing, feelings – flowing
On rivers of childishness, hesitating
To believe – 

Wrinkles, gray hair – tired eyes
Who never twinkle, delight
Gone beyond the starry skies,
Leaving only the whisper of a breathless
Moment when I spoke like life
Would never pass me by, like I would
Be the wonder who would never
See the years taking me beyond the
Hesitant feelings into the future,
Where I would leave my youth behind,
Smiling to the truth who would reveal
Time that had left me with only
A passing memory, old photos, a yesterday…
When I shoulds seen it comin’







I SHOULDA SEEN IT COMIN' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
January 30, 2023

Morning

Kissing the breath
Like music, soothing
Away each regret
With a melody, singing
Peace into the promise
For a new moment, a new dawn
In the kindness of light, reflecting
The calm, the silence, the whispers
Soundless mysteries, secreted beneath
Each tender kiss from heaven, 
Sunlight reaching out in echoes
Caressing even the memory, so sweet
Like lavender skies who touch
Hearts and spark the twinkle in eyes
Who see through the night 
Into the burning passion of a brand new
Sight – the morning who reminds me
To hope, to believe, to dream
Knowing that with these, anything is possible
Anything can be with the promises
Cast by the moon and stars, dusted 
With kindness and wonder, miracles
So alive that they feel like grace, glowing
When the new sun rises to meet the morning!

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