"hideout" poems
I wanna take a time-out.
From all the ******** and all the drama.
Just run away to a hideout.
No one would know.
No one would ever notice.
Just let me go.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 6:02 PM UTC
I climbed the dark heaven to meet myself alone..
To smell all the roses and espy the stone..
Nevertheless, the cloud was frozen and the breeze was calm..
I saw her descending and coinciding with my palm..
Her plain white vesture was contrasting my red..
She was diffusing the divinity that I could not even bled..
Our faces were same but our aces were inverse..
She owned one whole entity while I was a disperse..
The moment was priceless and so were my emotions..
It was indeed the most breathtaking phase to my notions..
My other twin was bounded with a definite time span..
She was entirely a woman with the heart of a man..
*"You don't live inside me, I have never sensed you inside,
Painted with shyness, you rather live like a bride*.."
I peeled up my heart and had the eagerness to know..
If the sun lives in me, then why do I fall like the snow..
She smiled and glared down on me with the rays of her starkness
and told me how sturdily I have been lidded under the darkness..
Holding the flowers, she stands in the island of my soul..
She ponders my echo and waits for the control..
She imparts her colors when my pallet runs out..
but puts on her cloak when my demon comes out..
Surprisingly, I asked "You are my part. Why don't you fight out..!?"
She had an answer. She works eternally from the hideout..
In the midst of the stirring stillness, she reminded that I had to leave..
Ironically, I could not crave for what I had been dying to receive..
The same ladder showed up and slanted me back to my nook..
and the wind narrating slowly what I had given while what I had took..
*I returned to my place which was as murkier as ever..
I sensed the time-It was cursive and clever..
Perhaps I will reap more strength to deflect the chirping into the roar...
to mend every single lapse and bring her back someday on my door*..
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
heavy dark curtains
tired swollen eyelids
hideout under duvet
sound of passing car
-
craving the dulling freedom
in the blurry paradise of nights
begging; let me in
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
The Ravens
On a rainy night so boring
I heard Munin soundly snoring,
I grew tired of my poring
Perched above Valhalla’s door.
“Munin!”, screeched I to the ceiling,
Sending the poor fellow reeling,
“Let’s deal out a joke to Odin,
One that he’ll be falling for -
Just one joke, and nothing more.”
After barrow ghosts-invoking
Odin entered, wet and soaking,
And I started with my croaking
From the dark above the door:
“I’m the first and oldest Volva!
All my secrets I could tell ya,
For the right price I might sell, yeah”,
And I cawed, “Would you know more?”
(He is crazy about lore.)
“What!”, cried Odin, “Quick, be talking!
At the price I won’t be balking.
Searching wisdom, I’ve been walking
Wandering from door to door.
Let my need for knowledge reach you,
All my own skills I would teach you;
Tell me all now, I beseech you!”
Quoth I grinning, “Nevermore!”
(Just a jest, and nothing more.)
Odin with frustration sputtering,
Munin laughing, wildly fluttering,
I was dead-pan and kept uttering
Nonsense about hidden lore.
For his need he found no quelling,
All Valhall woke from his yelling –
Oh, the fun to keep on telling
Him that one word, “Nevermore!”
(We thought it was a joke, no more.)
In the morning ceased his raving,
But that did not end his craving,
And we saw our master waving
To our roost above the door.
“Friends”, he said, “Now I will ride out;
Over Midgard you shall glide out:
Seek the Volva in her hideout!”
- Then it felt a joke no more.
(And Munin, to this day, is sore.)
Every day we must keep flying,
Always for that “Volva” spying,
Acting as though we were trying;
Well, the joke’s on us, for sho…
To escape a rightful chiding,
To this day the truth we’re hiding;
By this tale we are abiding,
And we’ll tell you nothing more!
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
The demons live with me –
They have their own blankets ready,
So later we would go visit the creeks
And they will push me to the water and let me suffocate,
They will drown me in muds
They will blind me so all I could see is dark.
The demons live with me –
They invite me to our special hideout,
Decaying building and magical asbestos
And they will prepare an empty room full of irons and knives,
They will slit me with them
They will kiss me with them 'till I become numb.
The demons, the demons live with me –
They will celebrate my birthday party,
Their presents are bouquet of blights
And they also give me flaming matches for me to light up an inferno,
They will burn with me, laugh
They will burn every sadness I felt.
The demons live with me.
They are inside, they are calling me.
The demons, demons, demons,
THESE DEMONS,
Demons, d e m o n s
are me.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
You kept on dreaming on what we could've never been.
I was forced to live in your lewd fantasy,
but alas, I fell in love the moment you took me in.
Your love for me was pure insanity,
but I must say I had more than one doubt.
You invaded the seams of my white satin dress,
tearing it apart piece by piece, dragging it to your lustful hideout.
Who knew taking one's innocence would be such a mess?
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
got so drunk at their little, ahem, initiation ceremony: drank a bottle of whiskey when i heard we were going clubbing wearing lycra shorts... the man with the biggest bulge and the biggest stick... never understood male group psychology... or any group psychology for that matter... it isn't exactly a throng of noblemen following Henry VIII.
i joined the lacrosse university team
for a bit,
left it when the time came to buy the
equipment - i didn't think getting
smacked by the defenders' longer sticks
was worth it, to be a striker with the shortest
stick - too physical - i thought i'd seek
some other physicality,
got stuck-up on rock climbing, and mountaineering
for a while, nothing serious,
a bit of easy bouldering on the edinbrugh crag,
the one lining the skyline at holyrood park,
the salisbury crag, just west of arthur's seat -
i'm not going to lie about clinging off the
matterhorn or something -
but i did an expedition with the mountaineering
club near Ben Nevis once...
Glen Coe / Coire nan Lochan...
and i figured, with all this talk of light pollution,
well, "pollution", to think that a bunch of
street lamps can blind away the stars of what
former poets spoke of: about the illumination
of the heavens for the blind eye to see...
we camped outside one bothy (basic shelter)
set off fireworks, drank whiskey, played music,
burnt a fire in the bothy...
but to be honest... i was not amused by this whole
theory of light pollution...
i looked up at the sky, and the number of stars
was no greater than the number seen in a bright
lit city... i know they say all those telescopes
amplify the chance of peering into the heavens
at night and see more stars...
but why cite light pollution, when, in a remote
highland hideout the number of stars didn't
increase in number... i've heard a girl from
australia cite that, in the outback she said
more stars could be seen... even without a telescope...
so the scottish highlands are unlike the australian
outback? is it just me... or is it simply ********
this whole light pollution argument?
it was dark out there like in an **** after black coffee
and charcoal tablets.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
I am a silent scream. My soul
Spits at broken glass hanging from the wilting sun
And the moon colors it a glowing red.
A red like the ruby of my lips as I dream they would be;
White dress, ruby lips, black silk lining the inside of my coffin.
Pages of photos litter the ground and
People kick them. Step on them. Those were my memories,
The visions I had, and the world I wanted to live in.
The dust and grime erase the ink and leave
Blackened footprints over the things I once remembered.
The memories were erased, like a sentence in a diary.
Verses written on the page and similes
Raining among the mind of the writer.
And the inspiration is gone.
A blank page replaces the one with images dancing across the ink.
A chill spirals in from the open window and the moon shining
Across the expanse of city lights and fire.
A melancholy sound radiates from the belly of a cat
Perched on the roof of an abandoned house.
The girl is there with her star charm anklet, bolts
And screws still loose in her joints.
Her doctor never came to fix her. She is still as broken as a glass slipper.
Her new hideout devoid of mold and charcoal, but filled with
Tears and memories of the pain lived there.
She reads it.
She find similes in the haunted parts,
Sees the tears as currents in a river
And views the poetry written like leaves in the wind.
Yet everything is dead.
And everything was a dream.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
I sent a message out to sea, through
wasted words it begs for your return.
If the nautical clamor delivers it to you,
we will be reunited soon.
For weeks I wandered this lonely harbor
sunset after sunset and hoped that the coastal breeze
wouldn't bring with it your scent.
I saw your face in my dreams, and
that was almost too much...
I sent out a message in a bottle,
if it should reach your salted hideout, you'll soon
find that your vessel is calling my soul to your sea...
Sunrise after sunrise I wander this dewey harbor
and search the docked ships for something familiar.
And at night I'll sit out on the jetties, my eyes follow the
guiding light out to sea and I'll think of you,
and wish that when the coastal breeze blows east,
you will accompany it back to me.
So I wrote a message, addressed to my love out at sea,
telling of my desires to join you.
I'll leave this port behind and
the sea will be our home.
I sent out the message in a corked bottle,
and hoped the waves will carry it your direction,
and that you'll allow my love to be your beacon
through the rough seas and guide you to shore.
And night after night, I will sit and await
the arrival of my craved mariner.
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 7:08 AM UTC
Isolated in a small mountain range
This is my hideout, my saving shore
This is where I grew up way before
Nothing here ever seems to change
Hills and valleys taking their turn
Meadows and creeks filling them out
A wonderful scenery there is no doubt
Laying in grass without concern
A small mountain range
Hidden inside the heart of Germany
A name most have never heard certainly
It's too little to be known, how strange
It's quite pretty here
A place where the air is still pure
Silence and nature, a stressed minds cure
A perfect place to disappear
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 8:42 PM UTC
~
Vast...
Nigh unknowable
Quilt stretching out over incalculable
intervals and distances…
Pulling. Churning.
Alternating between different frames
of reference
Spinning me nauseas
Look at our local surroundings
Such activity above!
Mere minutes before the untrained eye
Takes notice of
The movers,
Slowly wandering across the speckled expanse
The fire has receded into its undulating
orange-gray hideout
The satellites are so numerous now…
And the red-orange glow illumines
your cheek, your neck, and your
flyaway hair.
A distant owl
A dog’s hollow cry rings out echoing
off of the hill
Sending this gang into high alert
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
Give me the shelter of your warm embrace
Let it unfurl and cover me like the wings of an angel
For its only in such moments that i feel safe
Give me the affable comfort of your light
Let those rays pierce through me and chase away the dark
For its only in such moments that i feel at peace.
You've turned my forsaken shack into a gleaming sanctuary
And given me a hideout that I can turn to when stormy clouds arise
You've turned my hollow hovel into a glowing hearth
And given me a a place of refuge that I can retire to when I am weary
Let me retreat into you once again
There I will dwell
And return to a place that I know so well
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 10:41 AM UTC
Sad corners
Dark caves
Fumed pits
Dark lagoons
Dead reflections
Caged souls
Black forests
Breeze turning
chilled whistles
Possibility of life
Bigger possibility of ghosts.
True that it
divides a face
Vertical divisions
First choices
Its stoppage
before the lips.
A small tear -
hideout of an
entire negativity.
Horizontal division
is day to day living.
A perfect rule -
we divide in different ways
we cross paths
for a cancellation.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 8:43 AM UTC
every
so often
a sequestered
hideaway
is
the best
place
to soothe me
solitariness
is
totally
free from turbulence
Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 8:49 PM UTC
It's my hideout
My cherished secret place
You will know what's about
surprise written on your face
It's where I don't feel lonely
especially when I am alone
It's now shared, me and you only
welcome to my comfort zone
Mar 20, 2021
Mar 20, 2021 at 10:44 AM UTC
midsummer day-
The sun was calling us by the names
Two little brace faced dorks running out her back screen door
To find a secret hideout for the day
With composition books in hand of course
Our Top Secret composition books,
Where we wrote about our futures, and boys (shhhh)
We ruled the streets of Bennington woods
Claiming the oak tree in someone’s yard
Where we competed for height in our cheap foam flip flops
Owning the pine trees of another
Where we spied on the teenagers
Trying to understand their secret language
But it was under an old wooden porch where we pulled out the books
And this time, we’d plan our weddings
We would wear beautiful dresses and pointy high heels
Just like a princess
And most certainly marry our dreamy little blue eyed boy crushes
I even crossed my heart and hoped to die so she would be my maid of honor
Last but not least, we had to choose our wedding flowers
It was the season of flowers; tulips, daisies, marigolds…
Every house was decorated in a colorful array
We ran exuberantly, scanning our options
Then began to pick away
Every flower we knew or didn’t,
As long as we had one of each
We covered the entire street til our hands and books were overflowing
At home we taped them into our precious journals
Sealed forever so we would remember,
These were the flowers we’d have in our wedding bouquets
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
PleaseListen,
TWELFTH OF AUGUST ...
Slipped into my hideout she did
They get to wear shoes because they work
But no one said they weren't of odd tendency
A swan, a vulture, a fox, or a dog
I do not know what she was
But she was on her way out
She came into my room, wasn't odd
But then she said that the all seeing were dead
'I've switched the cameras off Kier
Now do as lovers do dear friend
And this here lover will bring you a pen'
Really didn't want to
If nothing else, crayons are okay
Have no need for lovers or friends
But she insisted, offered again
'Do as lovers do dear friend
And this here lover will bring you a pen'
So I held her hand
But no
She was not satisfied
So she insisted, tried again
'Do as lovers do dear friend
And this here lover will bring you a book
A blank book, a notebook
For the thoughts in your head'
I really didn't want to
I have no need for lovers
I have no need for friends
But wouldn't that be lovely?
A notebook and pen?
So I wrapped my arms around her waist
But, Oh.
She was not sated
And demanded more again
'Do as lovers do dear friend
And this here lover will bring you a key
A key to the door that keeps you in dreams'
I really didn't have to
I don't want lovers and friends
My freedom has been taken from me
But then again...
Wouldn't a key bring that back?
So I kissed her lips
My what surprise
It only deepened her thirst
Then and there
She begged of me more
'Do as lovers do dear friend
And this here lover will bring you a pet
Some pretty little shears
To drag across your pretty, pallid skin'
Really shouldn't
But lovers and friends,
They're far between these days
Didn't really want to
But scissors...really?
How did you know my dear?
That I've been dying
To drop my hide into someone elses hands
So I did as lovers do...
Lovers touch did nothing to fill me
Lovers kiss brought very little joy
But maybe. Maybe lovers gifts
Will help me out of this hole
That's all I have to say
NowTake me away, KIERAN J. CROW
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 2:40 PM UTC
GOD THE DEVIL AND BOB at easter
today it’s good friday and bob delahunty was going to church to have a
hot cross bun feast, and a hungry poor buddhist was going into the church
and asked bob, why do the christians like to eat over easter, what is it all about
and bob said, it’s a time where families, forget about their differences and share
a big celebration, with hot cross buns today after their service and then on easter
they will host family get togethers, where the kids are forced to hunt for eggs
that the parents hid in the garden, it is a very good day, and the buddhist man said
why can’t christians be nice to each other every day, like us buddhists ands bob said,
well, i guess your right, but life hands us problems to fix, like divorce and family quarrels
and battles that can’t be resolved, you see we are always away from loved ones and easter
is a way to keep updated on where our loved ones are, and then the buddhist asked bob
why can’t they scype every night and then bob said, buddy, no person really wants to do that,
actually, it is great to give families fun at easter, like sending kids on easter hunts, how radical dude
and have great hot cross bun morning teas, where we all can feast, yeah, if we did these things every day
we would get so fat, and kids will be so greedy, and we need every city in the land to pop
open the champagne corks, saying HAPPY EASTER DUDES, AND TO ALL A HAPPY FEASTING
you see easter if you add an f, could mean, the annual feaster, but we took the f away to make you feel great
and then the buddhist said, ok but what if you were fasting in a remote country and you had to knock
back the hot cross buns and easter eggs and bob said ok, yeah, if your fasting you must say no, i am on a diet
and the buddhist said, what if you went to a nightclub and got heavily ****** from vodkas and rums etc etc
and get too drunk on easter saturday, are you still expected to roll up to family get togethers on easter sunday
and bob said yes, then the buddhist said, how do you cope, HOW THE **** DO YOU COPE
this is how, you sing
god is the devil and the devil is grog
god is the devil and the devil is grog
god is the devil and the devil is grog
especially round easter time where drinking may send you back and forwards to the sink spewing
and the buddhist asked bob one thing, before he went to tiabet, he asked, is there really such thing as a devil
because every night i drink a whole bottle of wine by myself and bob said, well if the devil was grog i think
i am the devil, cause, grog is my cup of tea
and the buddhist went home and bob left saying this one word, misbehave, everyone who drinks grog misbehaves
and there is nothing wrong with that, bob said happy easter and went back to the devil’s hideout and the buddhist blessed him
saying, the devil, there is no such thing
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 6:11 AM UTC
We’re riding,
feels more like flying,
because this car,
feels more like a spaceship,
used to ride in a hybrid with eyes red,
now I ride a Tesla clean as a whistle,
used to use the pen as a sword,
now I use my laptop as a missile,
sorry I’m not sorry if I missed you,
didn’t intentionally diss you,
just been focused zoning on my poems,
keeping it going with my mind on the mission,
listen,
this is the future,
most are out to lunch better catch up,
this isn’t a **** it sandwich this is blessing dressing,
not an invalid salad but an important portion so pay attention when addressing us,
fck,
trying not to cuss too much,
but what the fck,
sometimes too much isn’t even enough,
probably heard that before,
probably didn’t know that was my line,
see when over a million people have read your words,
your words get rewritten time after time,
rewritten but not bitten see there’s a difference,
and yeah I know that the difference is a line and that line’s fine,
and it’s crossed when the message is lost and the spirit leaves the body,
but it’s not when I hear the words repeated in songs and I know those words are mine,
because when I know other people also know albeit sublimely,
I guess that’s what happens when your work outgrows you,
when you hear words you wrote in songs and quotes,
and it gives you that potent mix of anxiety and adrenaline,
which leads you to speeding by throttling the clutch like a throat,
heading north on America’s most west coast road,
going 100 MPH with no MPG up the PCH,
no MPG because the ride is all electric,
like we are running in this lifelong race,
racin’ with Jaden we ride out to our Topanga hideout,
got a whole 10 acre mountain top up there,
where we go to get ghost when we need to get away from foolish folks,
from their flashing lights Hellish cellphones and all their blank faced phony stares,
riding,
feels more like flying,
because this car,
feels more like a spaceship…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 9:22 AM UTC
Men stop in their tracks when they see me
Become tongue-tied, try but cannot speak
We supermodels are paid for our looks, and very handsomely
They see me at an airport, make an approach,
Chat me up, stilted conversation ensues
Oh well, confidentially, I don't mind as I'm just killing time, on my way to the next shoot in Ibiza, then Italy.
Vanisa is the name; I made it up, keeps me sane
Running down the highway of fashion
In the body that is mine
I cannot help if I was born this way
Sublime, the money I make but, look,
It's not that great to hold a bottle of perfume
Or pretend to eat steak
But, Oh, the attention from the men who cross my path
They dream of me, they say, that's a laugh
If they only knew what a B I can be, they'd think twice about
Their fantasy
Look, I'm a nice person, got a family back home
Minnesota is my hideout from the mishigas I've known
And I read books, really I do
Want to talk politics? That would be cool
Here comes another candidate
Lets see what he has to say
Yes I was on the cover of Sports Illustrated
Yay, he says, then comes his big smile
It's so nice everyone loves me
Makes it all worthwhile.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
They say when you go through trauma
It either kills you
Or you forget it.
They don't tell you what to do
when the options blend.
There's no hotline to call
when the memories you've buried
claw their way back up your throat
like the pills that didn't work.
I am a causality of a war I never fought in.
I cut my hair short so I can wash it in the sink,
For the days when my shower turns into a tardis I cannot control,
A time machine with only one date.
I have grown sick of not finding refuge in this time and place.
When I shave my head,
I think of how impossible it is to pull a buzzcut.
I write the date on every piece of paper,
But I don't really live here.
The present is just a hideout from the past,
The future a threat of going back.
I am on the run.
A fugitive of broken memories and stolen hope.
I lock each door in my house
five times
before telling my mom goodnight.
I check underneath my bed,
Move the clothes in my closet
until I'm sure I can see every part of the back wall,
and leave its door open.
I bend my eyes into every corner and hollow spot.
I will not go to sleep.
I will dream myself awake.
I wake up in my bathtub time machine,
Raise my face through the surface of the red water,
My long hair wrapping itself around my throat like promises from a time when I still felt alive.
I will probably scream,
And find myself back in my bed.
My family won't hear a thing.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
If you are truly mine,
why do I once again feel so crest-fallen
why do you make me feel so low?
If you are truly mine,
why do i slowly feel you
slipping through the crevices
of the walls framing heart?
If you are truly mine,
why do I feel like your hideout?
Are my walls nugatory?
nothing but a shelter
with an enter and exit crevice?
are you that conceited
that you have to show off
about knowing me inside and out?
If you are truly mine,
why does this not feel like a straight line
with only 2 points?
why does it carry the idisyncrasies of a polygon?
YOU’RE SUPPOSE TO ******* BE MINE.
no one else’s…
- d.b.d.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
The place next to her is empty and cold
Without the warmth of his refuge
Sleepless nights seeks his embrace
His chest her heaven and hideout
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 4:07 AM UTC
His poem made some one insane, it was alleged,
they took him out from his hideout and chained,
"Insane with pleasure, remembering soul's eternal mate" he said,
they joked with him and danced; laughed all the way to jail.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 3:29 PM UTC
Hurrying to my work in the untimely shower
Caught my ears the mews but it was rush hour
Must be another kitten born with no luck
Abandoned in the shrub dying on sidewalk!
The day soon rubbed off the mews from my mind
Till my feet trudged home leaving the drudge behind
Once upon that sidewalk in twilight’s grayish hues
I heard it from neath of grass pain’s plaintive mews!
Must be an angel possessed me I did find it out
Picked up took home put warm milk into its mouth
My lady unpleased said our hands are already full
Here you bring another like you isn’t another fool!
But she was the first one to make it a cosy bed
She was the one worrying how it to be properly fed
Yet filled the air its agony’s mews all day and night
She said your taking it here wasn’t all that right!
Its ma must have left the baby in the bush safely hiding
Picking up and taking it home was quite a wrong thing
She must be now crying wild searching everywhere
The baby wouldn’t stop crying till getting back mother!
So the cute kitten I placed back in the hideout on sidewalk
With the prayer it gets back ma wishing it good luck
Leaving it with heavy heart I walked away for day’s work
Sighed the silent sidewalk on my way home after dark!
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC