"hidey" poems
I am a borrower
collecting things that shine
all stashed in cracks and hidey-holes
where the rafters meet the roof
in the basement floorboards
lift one and you'll see
the treasures I've collected
two gorgeous glassy eyes
seven gilded antique buttons
a bouquet of sweetly fragrant lilies
a gleaming jar of pixie dust
three noble barristers
an Irishman netting butterfly dreams
a sorceress of the endless prairie
windmills like soldiers all in a line
the saddest porcelain doll
a small brown bear
trains screaming by on underground rails
a sprinkling of desert blooms
six jack-in-the-boxes so I'm always surprised
the hairless stuffed dog that bit me as a child
a Rickenbacker bass softly riffing the blues
a farmer's Ovation to accompany my woes
seashells that sing the ocean breeze
a merman from the Northern seas
tucked away in every space
packed within each sweet hollow
these simple pleasures I have borrowed
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 12:27 PM UTC
a group who has a cult following
sings about hiding for
solitude
they dedicate nothing to the poet
who did, as they know it
in hiding
but it was inspired by the same CB
I must say a big wowski to
Charles Bukowski
don't think it would happen here
no chance without distraction
little peace, much action
guessing if I became an angry man
ranted, raved and demanded
this type of peace
that would be a living conundrum
or a poet raging as an oxymoron
please leave the ***** alone
and
give
peace
and
quiet
a
chance
meeting
with words that escape
at the first sign of distress
as they undress my day
and see vicariously the
disrepair, oh you don't care...
Okay
I'll go.
To my hidey hole,
to write my pre-verse
in hyperbole ,
"how to get lost"
and what it cost me,
let the silence be
deafening,
no man may be a
poet unto himself
(forgive me I forget myself)
©DWE102013
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
The blushing barn barks
With bleeded hues
Gutted girders
The once held the strict structure
Now hold hollow hidey holes
For all the remaining vermin
While the festering flesh
Of the butchered beasts
Burn the sinuses of strangers
Who walk through the burnt broken building
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
You would love me more
if you knew
the things I don't say
love me more
for the tears repressed/unseen
the thoughts that rise
yet fast sequestered,
virus quarantined,
lest infection spread
occasional
moan groan
an Ebola moon June
escapes,
inquiring ears overhear
and ask...
but quick deflected
with a
** hum,
nothing luv,
pushed back into
the hidey hole of opprobrium
and acid reflux
why why
suppress
if loving you better
the net net of it?
this is not the candy coated,
but the coal glow strife
that cannot be
quenched nor
solved with
anti-pain
meds
so put away, aside,
push back inside
you would
love me better
for the sharing,
but love me enough
for the be I be,
let my roughened edged pains,
be buried with my remains
a love unfettered
will place no obstacle
before you
from within me
love me for the man I am,
just the average man iam,
knowing that not knowing all,
not a deceit,
but a reprieve,
what I share,
strained and sleeved,
tho unrelieved,
it is relief
that burdens but,
only me
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
*Aberration’s child is born as foetus in a man
Thoughts of where and why and when corrupted in the plan,
These aberrations manifest behaviourally where
Normality’s parameters are stretched beyond the tear.
Stretched beyond acceptable, stretched beyond belief
Like when the golden Altar boy becomes a rabid thief!
Like how that fool in North Korea with militarists in synch
With postulated threats has brought us all to nuclear brink.
Like when that freak in Batman gear let loose with deadly aim
To shoot the kids at movie time then claimed he was insane.
Like when the Barons grow the coke to corrupt all our youth
And bribe and cheat and **** and bash, yet call our laws uncouth.
What makes my brothers lie and steal, what makes them want to hurt?
What aberration wields the knife to shred the nubile’s skirt?
Why are financiers predatory, what gearing in their mind
Enables them, with conscience clear, to plot to fleece us blind?
When does this change occur in growth, at what stage does it switch?
How do angelic six year olds at fifteen turn to *****
Amazing that the blue eyed boy who smiled with curly locks
With age became infatuated with a lust for *****
Indecent that good working men who slave to build a stake
Can lose it all to those who use legality to take.
And what of those who plan to **** what trigger in the brain
Determines that they chose this path?
IT’S ALL NOW QUITE INSANE!*
Marshalg
Viewed from my (relatively) safe hidey-hole, Down Under.
Pukehana. NZ
6 April 2013
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:34 PM UTC
The Riddle
One of you has seen my face.
One of you knows where I live.
Stuff. Important stuff,
like the locale of
my hidey-holes.
My email and my
cell disclosed
soon to be
on sale on eBay
for a trifling sum.
So now I must
disburse to parts
more remote,
reappear in a
nouveau identity.
Just a necessary precaution.
Moreover, methinks
you have grown
tired of my waning voice,
waxing ineloquently,
opining too frequently.
feel like a
thick wooly straw
welcome mat,
edges unravelling,
grown raggedy,
roundabout the edges,
or like a
paperback book,
tho well thumbed,
nonetheless,
consigned to the
bye-bye
discard box.
riddle me,
me be the riddle,
when I scribe
under a new
Nom de Plume.
will you recognize,
my signature
hid amidst the
restless words that
still need a home?
are my poems
worthy of a
second glance,
do you predispose
your attentions on
your favorites only,
the newbies squeaking
ignored and unattended,
whose ranks I have
now rejoined?
did you ever meet
a poem
you did not like?
did you ever greet
a poet
with palms
outwardly raised,
saying, no mas,
had enough,
no time for you
and your
clouded clarifications?
need you.
need you to judge me,
without the saddlebags of
predisposition and imposition.
if you need me
just give me a
loud holler
in my sleepy hollow.
tho sadly my
country road,
has listening posts
on the telephone wires,
I will know, when.
you call,
your voice,
I will come,
if you ask,
always.
I'll be riddling
in plain sight,
if you have the taste
for and of me,
you will find me
soon enough.
HOWEVER,
in emergencies
all you need dial,
my digital signature,
911 and
ask for the
Poetry Hotline.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 11:23 PM UTC
"people are afraid to merge"
there's shadows on the walls,
stuck like glue
I've never seen anybody cling
so hard
the way shadows cling to walls
the way lovers might do
with significant others and
away from the crowds;
you're my hidey hole, my safety
my excuse
not to linger round
"come over," they say
not today, not today
they're loyal to these bricks
we made vows with anxiety
paint cracks and wallpaper
rips
but nothing will rip us
from these walls.
shadows, I see them clinging
for dear life
and not living
life on the freeway,
bet that's a fast one.
"people are afraid to merge"
standing out the top of a convertible
arms in the air
yelling, "I'm alive, I'm alive!"
and seconds away from tumbling
over the edge.
when his head hit the concrete
I bet his last thought was "finally"
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
I feel as though i had a soul mate
and i forgot them
Whoever it is, i miss our fun times; adventures, games, autumn leaves and hidey holes out of the wind, projects, enthusiasms, unexpected visits, your wacky plans, a sense of possibility in every moment, as though we could cross oceans
The days before i feared my own freedom,
before my clothes stopped making sense.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 7:49 AM UTC
Another kiss,
sent where the rivers of our souls aether meet
underneath a starfall refracting crystalline rainbows
winding through the cosmos playing hide and seek
riding on asteroid belts,
dancing under the rain of shooting starss
...
remembering the feel of your touch
the night seems less lonely by much
even now when we are lifetimes apart
my day ends and sweet memories start
a shady breath of wind from above
on a hot stagnant journey
you are my shadow love
...
a sweet warmth,
glowing on dark cold winter‘s mourn
a bright smile,
over a miserable sky
a shower of energy and sparks
on a nondescript day
my sane little hidey-hole in this crazy place
how I yearn for that time again
somewhere lost
in the deep shadows
of our space
everywhere I go
your shadow love
whispers
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 6:01 AM UTC
Some days I can’t decide whether to be a modern day poet or not. Sometimes I wake up thinking “butterflies.”, And I decide that maybe I’d like to be an accountant instead, forcing number after number into some poor overstuffed calculator all day. I’d be the talk of the office, “Have you seen that ****** over in cell #2?”, “The one who just sits there looking at her calculator all day?”, “Yes! She just sits around muttering ‘When’s it going to explode? When’s it going to explode’?”
Then some other poor sucker’s calculator would explode and he’d be horribly scarred, and they’d all realize that I was sane after all. But of course by then I’d be off in some horrible asylum by then, having my frontal lobe chopped off. So maybe I wouldn’t make a good accountant. There’s no money in poetry though, that’s my problem, you see? If I could sit around typing lyrical nonsense all day and actually be paid for it, well that’d be cool. However if that ever did happen, chances are I’d be off in some distance land universe writing the holy bible for a bunch of seven fingered goats or something. I don’t like goats. Back to butterflies? No… I have nothing to say about those either. The truth is, although I’d love to be one of the inspiring people who goes around raving about the evils of money, im more liky to be the one chasing after the guy giving that lecture yelling, “WELL IF YOU DON’T WANT IT, THEN GIVE IT TO ME!”
And then I’d store it in some dark corner in my bedroom as I lay on my bed and wrote until I passed out from some disease called life that you can’t put off living just to write in that little hidey-hole in your mind.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 5:06 PM UTC
Hidey-Hidey-Hidey-Ho
Wiggely-Wiggly-Wiggly-Woe
Going out on run, in the full Sun
Helmet on my head, both hands on my... Rifle,
If you said "gun", drop and give your weapon 10 of your best pushups.
If this ain't fun, call you mom, call your dad, at mile ten they can pick you up.
Hidey-Hidey-Hidey-No
Wiggely-Wiggly-Wiggly-Woe
Sound off ...
one,... two,... three,... four,.. one,two,... three,four
I'll keep running when my legs turn to jelly
I'll finish this run, crawling on my belly
How far?
All the way!
You gonna quit??
No Way! Not today!!
Sound off ...
one,... two,... three,... four,.. one,two,... three,four
one mile down nine to go!
just warming up on the road.
Hidey-Hidey-Hidey-Ho
Wiggely-Wiggly-Wiggly-Woe
Don't let your rifle hit the ground,
When you need it most it might let you down.
Hold your rifle above your head
Yes sir, but I'd rather be dreaming in my bed
Sound off ...
one,... two,... three,... four,.. one,two,... three,four
Hidey-Hidey-Hidey-Ho
Wiggely-Wiggly-Wiggly-Woe
Are we there yet?
Closer than we were, you bet!
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
A whisper in the silence,
It's the grass having some fun,
Rustling in the sunshine,
It's only just begun,
So long it's getting tangled ,
In many tongues it's twisted,
For on the breeze it's playing,
Her lies she spreads mischievously,
She tells them to the tree,
Through the green a mismatch of fairy folk creep,
Weaving magic through their hidey holes,
The place in which they sleep,
The toadstools all have frogs on,
They're catching butterflies for tea,
In the midday sun they feed,
Dragon flies are blowing fire,
illuminating summer skies,
While the grass still stands up messy,
Telling all it's lies,
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 10:14 AM UTC
We ran to them.
Achievements GLEAMING.
But the words,
that came back
HURT.
So we found clever ways
to hide what we
really meant.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:59 PM UTC
they took my hidey-hole
the ******* ********
rolling up bass
thumpin to the groove
of a blunt rap.
h'rghroth's testament
to summer tours
and turnin up till four.
the land I love
the most
(....well,
maybe not quite that,
but something.)
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
The willow tree with buds of green,
Doves busy building a nest in her branches.
Early in the morning now, the birdsong awakens me.
I think there is a change that will soon be seen.
Newly green blades of grass are trying to grow in the yard.
The lilac bush in the corner there has tiny buds pushing hard.
Wasps, those evil stinging things, have awoken from their stupor,
It’s time to find their hidey hole and get them while it’s cooler.
Soon, everything will be back in bloom,
Mother Nature will don her robe of newly minted colors.
It is time to awaken from our winter blahs,
Spring is replacing winters cold and gloom.
Warm, sunny days and cool, spring nights,
Gentle rains bring forth petal’d delights.
The hills change from brown to green,
Oh, I am so happy that it is Spring!
3/20/2011, Peggy Montgomery
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 10:23 AM UTC
numb
i live here
a hidey-hole
all my own.
i pull out the blankets
over my scars.
immerse my mind
in fake realities.
saturate my pain
in vicarious compassion.
pull the curtains,
so i cannot see.
the jagged holes you ripped from me.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 3:28 AM UTC
I just want to hide away
To crawl under a rock
Pretend the world was slipping
Apart
Through my fingers
Fists and jaw
From the shock
Of living as us puppets do
From our stings and strands
Our tufts of hair getting in the way
Blocking the Puppet master from the stand
So instead we tune our notes and look
Below
To the hiding space we might crawl
Away from harm
And cold, frozen snow
In hibernation, we turn a cold cheek
To destruction, flame and sorrow
Curl up into safety pins
And ***** those who come too close
Hidey holes are not for sharing
Or so the story goes
But the truth is we’re needles too,
Wrapped up in our thread
We look to mend
Tie knots
And break off loose ends.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Keeping quiet in this blanket of loop holes while groups of snoopers mill round and try to fathom me out,
I've scooped the jackpot in here where I've got my solitude and sanity,please leave me be,let me alone because I have the home I desire,
I require nothing from you and you need nothing from me,but you're determined to uncover and see for yourself what it is,that makes me tick,you make me want to pick up my bed and do the biblical walk,
I am silent not sick,you cut me to the quick with your questions so blunt,it feels like I'm being hunted,pursued,cant lose that feeling that somehow you're stealing a part of me,
I want to be,
alone in my loophole, nursing my lost soul finding my own way,and in my own way I'm happy,I jangle along and even though I can't sing I know the words to the song,
I have a freedom of sorts and my dreams teleport me from those who would try to see and uncover,
unlock the real me.
let me be.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 8:24 AM UTC
ben,
you make me wonder.
i wonder about your ex wife
and how you used to say ***** things to me
before you saw my face
and the innocence in it
you make me think about your kids
and how much you care about them
despite hiding behind a computer screen:
an important man on an unimportant online game
and after you stepped down from your role
when you realized online games are like real life only worse
you sat on facebook and played icon games
for three days
ben
i worry about you
i don't even ******* know you
but i hope you're ok.
it looks like all you did is transfer hidey-holes
...you've beat the icon game finally
what will you do now
why do you have to win everything
and is that why your divorce is killing you
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
One day,
it will be that other day,
the day when clams play tag before
they're collected in a bag,cooked inside
the cooking *** in the sauce of dreams,
and such a lot of sauce there'll be.
Even on the beach where sand runs free and
tides run low there is always someone who
wants to go and **** something,to bring the
dinner home into the cooking zone.
Clams are such sweet cutie pies as blind as bats,
and do they have eyes at all? but
they fall into the tender trap of
thinking thin when in actual fact
they're someone's fat.
That
is such a shame,
perhaps if they played hide and seek
no one could peek into their hidey holes and
they'd become the saviour of their souls.
Do clams have souls or does this question
open up a can of worms and why are worms in cans?
There is a certain charm attached to being a clam
and man would do well to understand
that each and everything's but a grain of sand
upon the beach,
sometimes we overreach ourselves
and shellfish are the things we take to
break upon the rocks of life.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
so i ask you, sage,
in all sincerity
***sage - one who has made mistakes, and would share
the fragrance of his lesson plan, his historic failures and the knowing that fear can never be defeated but it can be
deferred and differed until lessened***
and asks,
how to put aside
a ridiculous pride...a palpable fear
***this I know -
and you yourself have answered:
when necessary, I have made my self an object of
Ridiculous -
and endured the ridicule
and loved
the laughter of the fools,
and harmonized both
for this trite
is the best they have,
know that sages have
bested fear, but never can it be defeated***
to let fly
the asking?
***start with a looking glass,
perforce speaks the truth,
and the answering machine image, undeniably,
is you.***
easy?
no.
i have found no easy thing worth doing
or loving.
i don't want ease
i want l o v e
***love - the rush of trust, the release of the unconditional sharing Can never happen till you
trust yourself to say,
I am afraid***
that i would burn bridges for
a struggle of understanding
that will keep me alive and whole
a sickening rush
worth every sacrifice.
paralyzing terror
because nothing is due me...
nothing should be expected
so nothing can be misplaced
misguided
***EVERYTHING IS DUE YOU,
ROAR WITH ANGERED FRUSTRATION,
AT YOUR FRUSTRATED REFUSAL
TO BE ANGRY AT YOURSELF.
BEAUTY INSIDE OUT AND OUTSIDE IN,
EVERYTHING IS EXPECTED, AND GIVEN
THERE IS NO HIDEY HOLE FOR YOU TO BE MISPLACED ~
BURN BRIDGES THOSE BRIDGES OF REFRAIN AND RESTRAINT!
COME OUT COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE!***
restraint,
restraint!!!
yes?!
yes.
that must be the answer.
for if not restraint,
then earth shaking love.
and if the earth shakes
people might get hurt.
and i might be one of them.
***restraint, restraint,
this is your refrain?
retrain, retrain,
I believe, can you not too?
believe in you,
can you not too?
hard knocks endured, loveless years, disgrace
and more to come, yes love soothes and coos
but who can love but those brave enough to
love themselves first?
but my refrain will never be restrain,
only
unbowed undefeated asking for
the more
you deserve
I drop the BASS on you in your own words:***
cast out fear and man up.
or at the very least
pretend to do those things.
then you might
have something to talk about.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
Your rage
your fears
coalesce into crystalline form.
Wrapped like a chrysalis around a timid heart.
Bruised and Battered
Emotion shuttered away
batten it down again looming threats.
Peering in I ask
won't you come out to play
to live?
The only reply a hollowness of echoes.
Your wounds
your misgivings a hardened shell.
Hidey hole.
I search for a trace of you
the soul that left kisses of blue skies smeared along my breast.
Shouting to you
we were made of stardust
you and I.
Created to dance along clouds of silver linings.
Silence
heavy and dripping.
Humans were never meant to be turtles.
My statement.
My affirmation.
But the only reply I receive are echoes
memories of blue skies.
You are too deep in the shell to hear
perhaps you never cared to.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
Those corners that you turned did not learn you anything at all,
the walls that got bust through,did not open up a whole new world for you,they just created lots of rubble.
It was just another bubble burst,an unquenched thirst and you were left there high and dry.
Have you ever wondered why,the door was always shut,
or the hinges on the garden gate always seemed to make you cringe at night and keep you wide awake?
Was it that you feared the knock
did you hide underneath the bed, because the monsters there were something that you'd rather bear, instead of something that you did not know?
and did you never want to go out and explore or understand those new ideas,or were your fears the boundary fence you would not go beyond to seek,nor speak to passing strangers aware that dangers lurk in buttoned greatcoats and in flowing sleeves?
Life and the struggle to keep alive and why strive at all to stay in darkness,never knowing or going beyond the limits set by limited imaginations which were not at all the creations we we were meant to be.
I see an empty space,a place prepared for those who dared and dare to venture forth to find,
an open mind,two opened eyes and therein lies that great surprise of finding things you never new
and never new you didn't know,
will you go with me to see the dawning of the day or will you stay and play hidey with the spiders and the scuttlebutt that freeze you to the floor behind the door that's always shut?
One more time,
will you come and watch the sunset,get a feeling of the vastness where the deserts here seem much less than the desert in your soul or are you trapped inside the wall where the bricks will never fall in place,where you wait when you can't find a face to face another day?
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
we all have them
hidden in tiny shoe-boxes
in the back of our closets
occasionally we seek them out
hoping for the ***** pleasure
of relishing in the past
the good hurt
as it would seem
but we’re all
ashamed if caught
in the act
in my shoe-box there are many things
women, men,
experiences,
actions
things seemingly innocent in the moment
but warped by the ravages of time
my hands shake as I leaf through the pictures
the bleeding hearts,
the burning tears,
the stupid acts,
the stupid thoughts
ah
but these are only memories
without any true place
here in the present
I put the cover back on my
shoe-box and slide it back
into its little hidey-hole
behind some other boxes
and containers and I turn
off the light as I leave
one deep sigh
the only thing
I’ll give that shoe-box
ever again
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 6:26 AM UTC