#spies
Weighted
For home, to see any fated
Light, and its heart...?
Worth without, a coping all to start...?
So, waited...
Has a view, of harmony sated
An inclining deem of reason...
Sat in a heat's shadow, to endure a desire's season?
Quiet forces
Witnessing, an acquiring sense of worsens...
Has the youth, for are's demonstration
Poignancy and burden, love, precisely my notion...
The awakening sun
Promising any moment with the truth, won
Twain is a parables pardon
For what cares love, has become...
The sanctified night?
With almost, the belly of always, right...
Sense of a serious less, given a sighs guest to many ways
Are we to dance well under the stars, if a shine of liberty, mays?
May 6, 2025
May 6, 2025 at 3:01 PM UTC
We've been cautioned to surrender
Before jack-boots hit our streets;
It was an open warning
With podium bleats like sheep.
They side-stepped all discretion,
They pivoted 'round masked stealth;
They aired their anonymity
On the media's lips of wealth.
And there, behind the curtain skirts,
Lurking in the wings,
In shadows and back street doors,
They listened,
Pulling strings.
Sep 17, 2022
Sep 17, 2022 at 10:44 AM UTC
Somebody wants,
Sombody needs,
To **** me before I speak.
Because what I am going to say they won't like!
I am paranoid,
Doesn't change the fact,
That they are after me.
I am not crazy.
They have eyes everywhere,
They are watching me.
They are watching you too,
I hope they see me,
Flipping them off through my tv.
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC
a man
was spying
she went
into his
eyes and
there appeared
to shine
with a
lank shimmer
their Byzantine
glimmer the
rings in
silhouette save
iris fell
optic to
opine psychedelia
gone mad
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 3:06 AM UTC
we all knew Monica was Russian spy; she was rich
but lived like a poor person; always desperate money
for corporate lawyers to perform complicated legal
services she would only hint at & that she could
provide to others but Monica wasn't a lawyer; she's a
spy she says b/c her parents are spies; her birth mother
speaks only Russian although she understands English
I was once told & then asked not to mention it to anyone;
everything was a secret w/ her; I always thought her
adopted mother was a lawyer; a power blonde fashionista
w/ a pleasant personality who'd sometimes stop by in a
limousine to take Monica to first run Broadway show;
it was the first time I ever saw a white limo although the
wood paneled town car had a nicer interior finish
the stretch stopping in front of the tenement
Monica trotting out dressed in head-to-toe Versace:
Monica's adoptive parents are Russian spies;
I didn't know spies could adopt; Monica born Natasha
was from Russia & learned to suppress her
Russian accent attending exclusive American schools
across the country; one or two years here & there;
never more than three anywhere so she was raised
in America after spending her first few years in a
Moscow school for the children of spies; I think she
was selected to be the perfect straight-A American
youth; in her thirties pretending to be seventeen
Monica never did homework but it always got
done & she didn't go to any of our schools; we all
went to different schools during the day & hung
out together at night & on the weekend; Monica was
really smart & beautiful & thought by some to be in
witness protection b/c of her lawyer father's dealings
w/ the Russian mob but how can he be in witness
protection when he's still doing business w/ them;
oh those are just my father's friends; your father's
a gangster I said to her one night & she explained
all the secrecy to me;it the first time I heard the phrase
skullduggery & when we asked Monica's ex
whatever happened to Monica ; she mentioned
they were moving but suddenly &the whole family
& all their things disappeared; oh, yeh, he says
I helped them move out overnight; they made me
promise not to say where; u know Monica
& her family her spies he blabbed at last;
oh yeh yeh we all knew that drinking beer &
smoking on the stoop; w/o Monica things became dull;
Sean the kid in the IRA went back to Belfast &
couples got married & the crowd broke up;
no one wanted to get investigated & eventually
we all stopped talking about her as if she had
never existed; her whole family were spies that
acted famous & rich & lived under assumed
names; I heard her father speaking once in Russian
but when he saw me looking he started speaking
forced English about the Yankees; I remember
thinking they always tell u to think about baseball
& figured he was on a Russian ******** line; but
I guess he figured I was just one of the neighborhood
kids & he knew me & he started speaking Russian
again but more pleasantly, smiling & laughing now;
his disguise must've slipped b/c he was ******
at the time; standing outside the building beside
the black limousine on a call w/ a 'client' & yelling
at Monica that her skirt was too short; she went back
inside to change but she never came out; we found
out later that after the prom she & few choice friends
had gone to the new club w/o us in that same skirt;
we even couldn't get in that night; Monica was two
separate people; I mean she was two different girls;
I know that sounds crazy but if I mention Monica to
any of my friends to this day they look at me like I've
lost my mind; I've seen the look before; before they
laugh worriedly & say boy, u've got some imagination;
I must have heard boy u've got some imagination at
least three times like that's what they were told to say
& they'd rehearsed it; friends who never knew Monica
nod solemnly before saying u've got some imagination
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
Data
What will happen to us all tomorrow? Now there are so many topics that are illegal and against the law. Things like racism, ageism, bullying and a thousand other things ending in ing and ism. But what about people being spied on by America? Even their friends and allies. Isn't that bad and illegal? Like social stereotyping by law enforcement using stop and search tactics on one racial group? How did we get into this position of spy agencies siphoning up all our data? Phone calls and records, emails and photo attachments. What next? We're all on CCTV. Next they'll want to know how much crap role we use.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
The fresh-faced youth, dagger on hip,
is possessed of many secrets.
Spy, chameleon, a wolf in sheep’s clothing,
accustomed to the shadows,
indeed, he is not a ‘he’ at all,
but a woman in service to her dauphin.
The drape of her shirt and breeches
hint at her curves, her muscle,
the delicate arch of her feet
in her red court shoes
long and well suited to
slipping across foreign marble
to do what she must.
She has played the man-at-war,
the page boy and the cupbearer,
the mistress and the catamite,
in the bed of men and women both,
their pillow talk treason carried away
while she still bears their bruises and love bites.
Servant of the state, the empire,
her lord and her god-
she is Madonna, Joan of Arc,
a thousand women unnamed,
her king’s blade, steel under velvet.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
This is a second sky, where blue rises
above all else with lucrative secrecy
and darkness lurks beneath the clouds,
a universe where the atmosphere
is the darkest black and space
is the purest of blues. This is an unknown
place where fear and dominance rule
all that was once considered 'normal',
something you can no longer have
when the satellites turn their eyes
on you. Everything real becomes fake,
everything right is wrong,
and all you know
is that you know nothing
and they know everything. The hidden,
black, forgotten web of constellations
spelt out in dusts of white across
the blue night, where the featureless
omens of this reality circle
with crooked, evil wit,
is pulling me in with its charm.
Now, I am yet another fly
caught in the tides of this spider,
doomed to drown in silk.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC
I never did trust this goldfish
while typing.
Its bulging eyes scream spy,
and I won't have it escape,
tell people from wrong crowds
about these secret writing projects.
Circling its crystal bowl,
this goldfish is mine.
A political prisoner
with no chance at pardon.
Call Amnesty International
or protest, I don't care.
It knows too much
to swim in freedom.
(Eventually)
Death will be its liberator:
Its body glistening in the sundown
during the proposed viking funeral;
secrets kept secret.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
*Run.
Faster!
They're catching up,
They're almost here.*
Crashing through the woods--
You can hear their spies
Buzzing through the trees,
Right beside you,
Keeping up easily with your dragging.
You feel too tired to keep up with
The fast pace.
*Pick up your feet.
They're on your tail!
Get up.
Run!*
The spies--
Some darken the sky,
Now a hazy gray,
Their black wings overtake the slower pace.
You can hear their gleeful laughs and cries.
*Don't give in.
FIGHT!
Run.*
You feel your feet uselessly pulling,
They refuse to go on.
They need to!
You let yourself fail,
You can feel yourself fall from exhaustion.
The exertion was not enough.
Crash--
Fall--
Down.
There's no one here--
No one but the enemy.
*No one will save you.
You didn't run fast enough.*
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC