"secretive" poems
her hair blows back in the breeze
as she strolls down the sidewalk
between all the trees
with a smile that reveals
every one of her teeth
and the dimples
of her red, freckled cheeks
she's an angel, i think
her divine, secretive lips
shine in their glossiness
begging me for a kiss
i stand aback, watching
mesmerized by her beauty
only able to muster the words
'dat booty''
- jared huskey
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
Mythical Bird, show me your secret
Hatch forth from your shell
Plumage of orange and scarlet
Emerge glorious from whence you dwell
Fiery Bird, you must reveal
Your astounding, magical ways
Where from these lives you steal
Forever reincarnating well into your days
Aflamed Bird, you must teach
How you reinvent yourself anew
With no help within reach
Without aid, effortlessly you flew
Majestic Bird, take me in
Blanket me with your wing
Listen and acknowledge my sins
With all your wisdom and heart could bring
Magical Bird, will you impart?
What knowledge you keep
Only then, I may start
To make my way out from the deep
Enchanted Bird, you have to help
I'm desperate to rise like you
**** your head and hear my yelps
Of all the things I'm trying to undo
Celestial Bird, if only you could know
Intricate workings of this unfounded fixation
Why I seem to always wallow
An eternal target of sorrow's attention
Imaginary Bird, will you demonstrate
Your amazing fantastical flight
Dipping, gliding, in the air you gyrate
Aggressive dance with gravity you fight
Mystical Bird, won't you display
For unworthy eyes, would you give?
Seemingly easy, aloft you stay
Even when you know you'd die before you'd live
Wondrous Bird, oh how perfect you are
I am in awe, I am swooning
How you become one with the stars
Making the best of the short time you're living
Secretive Bird, is it time?
Reducing yourself down to ashes
Ready to absolve your stint of crimes
Reborn perfect, free from previous gashes
Ensorcelled Bird, please don't retreat
Back into your familiar cocoon
I'm uncertain if again we'd meet
Just afraid I might be gone too soon
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 8:50 AM UTC
I just want to write a poem no one ever thought of writing
It must have the same effects as walking on the moon
It must trend faster than a meteor as it hurdles through cyber space
I refused to love any man, who dislikes my poetry,
My man must support my passion ..
not only the warmth of my body
but the passion within this poetess, my secretive mind he must be able to balance:
Without wondering why a woman like me is so naturally secretive
I am always embracing the dark side of my creativity
Dropping little hints here and there throughout the years,
Sidney J. Harris once said something that left pondering thoughts
He said “When he hears somebody sighs,
'Life is hard,' he’s always tempted to ask them, 'Compared to what?'
I would simply say dog-gone it: Compared to struggling poets whose tries to make a living as a writer
While an upcoming rapper like Chief Keef
signed a several-million dollar deal
with offending lyrics in today music industries:
I just want to write a poem no one ever thought of writing,
With lots of intense emotion bursting through each line:
Because a poem can’t exist without a poet's multiple voices
and most of all his divine missions
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
You're as radiant as the sun
You're as elegant as the moon
You're as painful as the sun
You're secretive as the moon
But I love you
Like the sun and the moon
We hide so one of us can
Shine
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
I don't desire to share my opinions with anyone
Too long, have they been bashed upon by peers or anonymous figures
"You should respect their opinion."
What hypocrites, even opinions could be wrong and hurt others
"For the sake of arguing."
It doesn't matter if they humiliate someone.
It doesn't matter if they turn others against them.
It doesn't matter if they were wrong as well
Even if you understand their perspective, they refuse to see yours
I long to be mute
I hate my own speaking voice
If all my words are unheard
"I can't express myself, this secretive awkward human."
If only they knew of the true cynical and diabolical thoughts locked away
Would anyone bother to accept and understand
Or would I be shunned
Isolated like I had been since so long ago
I don't mind singing
The rhythm and flow much better to the accented jumble words
However I'm merely a ghost that no one notice when they have stars to illuminate the room
"Ahhhh.. The jealousy and bitterness will consume me."
"Please see me."
"Please acknowledge me."
"Please talk to me."
"Please hear me."
*I'm fading away.*
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Little Barbie Doll,
oh, how you love to be played with!
So kind, you are,
to offer your services to all;
to not be sexist
or rude,
to not be selective
or specific.
Little Barbie Doll,
oh, how pretty you are!
So beautiful, you are,
with lashes so long;
to not be fake
or plastic,
to not be secretive
or allusive.
Little Barbie Doll,
oh, how active you are!
So mobile, you are,
you'll play anywhere;
to not be restrictive
or exclusive,
to not be immaculate,
or unblemished.
Little Barbie Doll,
oh, how I wish to be like you!
So perfect, you are,
with a reputation of a vamp;
to not be pure
or classic,
to be unclothed
and slatternly.
Little Barbie Doll,
oh, what a ***** you've become!
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 10:09 PM UTC
We dashed from your ally with
Each spring up the hill I could sense
The world abdicate from the unfamiliar
Hand I was embracing my body became hollow as
The wind carefully pierced me we reached the stage the
Lucent lights shone on your lips and my mouth watered while
The cold seized our bodies forcing them to glue together under the
Blanket of stars the warmth soothed the air but we held the cold captive as
A cover to cherish the glow that bubbled us from the city lights and the flourishing
Leaves when the secretive silence stole the cold’s show “so” you leaned in and brushed your Lips off mine and the bubble burst and everything shifted. All because of this. One. Moment.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 5:56 PM UTC
You say I'm running from myself
I guess you're right
Maybe I am
All I know is that the reason
I hear my heartbeat so clearly
Is because my chest is hollow
I am made up of layers
Too many layers
As if my skin
Was preparing to survive
Out in dead winter at the South Pole
I'm annoying
I'm distrustful
I'm stubborn
And I'm doubtful
And secretive
Maybe downright manipulative
But most of all I'm exhausted
Exhausted of the nothingness
That I float around in
Exhausted of everything
That comes and goes
Ensuring chaos
Exhausted of everything and nothing
And all things in between
Exhausted of
living
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
Ocean calm but for moonlight now flickering
the wake of the playful children of the sea
here in secretive parlour they lift their heads up high
and sing profound longing to Orion with star filled eyes
their solemn songs with kind indifference they click and cry
in holy matrimony of cool waters joined with black velvet skies.
By Christos Andreas Kourtis
By NeonSolaris
© 2008 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
i.
Society keepeth their amour' in a box
Hidden, unrevealed, secretive, locked;
Me and mine Jane, shalt be open as a flame,
As on mine knee's I peck upon her toe's;
Again and again.
ii.
In the midday hour's when her back and neck get's sore
Mine fingertip's shalt caresseth her epidermis;
With sultry emollient, from her head to her feet.
I rubbeth in deep, as tis she shalt falleth asleep
As the best massage she's ever hadst,
Put's her into a trance in mine hold:
In peace she slumbereth,
Into a romantic kingdom
Stacked with ourn affection's gold.
iii.
Over an hour-plus thirty minute's,
Mine sweaty Palm's art tender;
Though it was all worth it
To mine queen mine soul surrendered;
Entering in her shuteye, I entered in locking ourn leg's, head's, arm's: closely cuddling-pillow's feathered.
Here at this moment, nothing else in the world mattered.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
July 4, 2015
Grandson Tony and Grandpa went to Mickey D's for breakfast. Grandpa was ready to vacate the premises when Tony barred the door. "Just a little while longer Grandpa." So Grandpa sat back down.
Soon a cake and five of the Mickey D people appeared and sang happy birthday. Tony was apparently being a little secretive and alerted the establishment when we clocked in. Grandpa cut four pieces of cake. Two to take home for Lucy and Grandma. Two for Tony and Grandpa.
Tony then ask if he could give his piece of cake to someone. "Sure you can." grandpa replied. There were two tables with grandparent types and parents sitting 10 feet away. Tony picked up his piece a cake and a fork and squeezed in between the two tables and placed the cake in front of the young fella who eagerly began eating it. Grandpa then noted the boy had Downs Syndrome. The people at the table were pleasantly surprised at what had just happened. A grandmother came over where Grandpa was sitting and express that it was a very thoughtful thing Tony did. The whole thing rather blew Grandpa away. But that's the way Tony is. Full of surprises.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
***
Way to fleece…
A taxpayer
They’ve got us singing the blues
And we’re not down for all that jazz*… leave that to the Sax player
We remain mind boggled by these selfish ‘leaders’
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… ‘Dude! Way to bleed us!’
We’re already scraping the floor for crumbs… are they trying to run our finances into the ground?
“You work for us you pompous ********** it’s not the other way around...”
Midnight meetings in secretive silence
We preferred it when their nonsense made a sound
We’re ashamed and infuriated
But what makes it worse is that we’re not surprised
It’s like they strive to be truly hated… and yes, they've gotten themselves despised
More and more by the day
As each day goes by
We would throw them all out if we could
And our actions would be understood
Unfortunately we can’t do this for they are skilled at defiance
Masters of political science
And at it they are that good
Liars
Cheats
The campaigning politician...
Seducing us with deceit when he comes out on the street
To make his energetic speech
And then...
The elected Member of Parliament...
Only campaigns for his financial gain
Once he’s assured that for a whole term his position is permanent
That’s where they've slipped up, and I thought they were a smart lot
Schemious at least
Such a wrong move in an election year
Do they not fear… getting dropped by the voter?
Two hundred and twenty four MP’s… dead weight in deep water
And can’t swim
Should they have asked for my advice prior, I would have told them to simply cease and desist
“Do not dive in…”.
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
Polyamory
You see,
the poly I am
is different then the poly
I want to be.
For me,
poly is about being free,
but also
not shirking from responsibility.
After all,
who wants to fall in love
with some ape in a tree?
Definitely not me!
So you see,
Poly is about love, for me.
It's about creating an endless sea
Of compassion and connectivity.
But, it also creates safety
For your poly family.
And if doesn't well...
Your guaranteed some misery.
But the poly I am
is different then the poly I wish I were.
The poly I am
is hidden and sore.
Secretive and pale
it seems to only lap gently
along loves shore.
Instead of armor made from belief
I steal bits of time like a thief.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
crown jellyfish,
i want you for my own,
to constantly float and hover
on my ceiling.
it seems to be too much to ask
the transparent glory
the delicate tendrils
the secretive nature
why do you want to hide
in the seas?
predator and prey
instead of being
a distraction for me?
i want you to go against
your nature
remake your breath
forego your nourishment
and glow for me, instead
why is the world
so unyielding,
crown jellyfish?
so inflexible and unkind
sticking to its earthly rules?
for me you would be
a thing of beauty
not just a creature
trying to survive
but this cannot be so
instead i must mimic you
use you as inspiration
and create new
t h i n g s
it's a shame, really.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
secretive and sweet
your eyes are pIeRcInG
slow movements
sensual looks
you know my all
and i know yours
unveiled and vulnerable
your smell is iNtOxIcAtInG
slow movements
sensual looks
you know my all
passionate and rough
your body is eNtWiNeD
quick movements
hungry looks
you know my all
and i know yours
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 3:25 PM UTC
These words are a sock, soft and warm from the dryer
butterknife
palpable
lullabye
maroon
These words are bits of glass, attacking my ears:
Yaw
Ketch
Blurt
Epizeuxis
Jactation and
Mauve
These words are brass-knuckled fists to the face
Mogadishu
Rwanda
Desert One
My Lai
And
Nine One One
These words are a sneaky cat, slithering here and there
Mystery
Secretive
Lurking
Sly
Shadowy
These words are unknown to everyone but me. Private words for private thoughts.
Uiyak
Jackassdom
Nothingofanyvalue
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
six-inch heels abandoned
in lampless corner grimy pennies embedded in carpet
rent's due
wedding band girl "fab polka dot frocks"
waterfalling past knees outta place
on casino bus destined for rest under Ft. Worth stars
now, now ********* borealis speckled dice
true love waits
socialite lip balm and bourgeoisie hips compete
in bidding war over which black face triggerpulls
which black face eyes the ground
passerby the red light the green light
all night diner egg on chin coffee-stained porcelain teeth
"I forgave, I think. I forget."
crowded and paranoid in the left lane the right lane
empty and weak and surrender and soiled underwear in ammonia nursing home
children is a word time is a lie the polka dot and the interstate ain't selling
divorce the consequence of acoustic shadows
reblog undo #sotrue reblog
living through x-ray radiotherapy the dotted gown
never the veiny calves or the blush or the eyeliner
somewhere in North Texas shawtys are in the club
shawtys are backin' it up shawtys are dropin' it down
hit me+hit me+hit me=blackjack mishap
the marvel of the wind and of wind turbines
cognac decade brides the epitome of class and natural elegance
standing like oil derricks and treated like oil wells
so secretive and philanthropic
this taxon remains nameless
casino turned dance hall dance hall skinny ties still a thing
this wine is good. is it a merlot? no. this is purely recreational
for birthdays for weddings and Ft. Worth missionaries
10-50 passengers we've got 53, no 54 #hahahaha #whoops #party
who needs unprescribed drugs? me, me (!)
decomposing mascara sweat on brow the interstate no longer lit
polka dots has got the suicide by Manet pulled up
on her iPhone the financial stress which shudders warm-blooded moms
on her lips every mother a librarian every mother a swing-pusher
but digression next to bitterness the lowest sin
edging the cultural gateway of the old west
miracles in and miracles out of tradition following
the slender bends of middle ancient Trinity River
children a word pattycake a game
and time time a lie we left to museum panoramas
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Beautiful artist
Why do you dance
To entertain us
With a world shrouded
In mystery
Beautiful artist
Men awe at your beauty
As you dance across the stage
Movement flowing
Like water
Clad in layers of silk
Beautiful artist
You capture the facination
Of those who visit
Beautiful artist
Paint your face
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Wife to a secretive world
Both fragile as it is beautiful
So wear the name proudly
Beautiful artist
From now on you will be called
Geisha.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 1:32 AM UTC
"Write what you know."
I want to write about
beautiful things,
but I only know
ugly.
Ugly hearts and stone blood.
Fetid loyalty.
I want to write about a love as pure as honey,
but all I know are the poison-tipped thorns of betrayal.
If I could put the right words
in the right order
at the right time
and explain what it means to lose you,
nobody would care.
I'd like to write about
my happy family,
laugh filled birthdays
and joyous gatherings,
but I only know
fractious,
secretive,
********
I want to touch another soul
make a connection with my words
share a part of my self
and help someone in the process,
but all I have been taught is
taking
keeping
lying
hiding
running
ruining.
I would love to write
like Pablo,
of wheat
and bread
and fields that don't weep,
but all I know are
desperate fumblings
in ******
beer soaked bathrooms,
back alley
drunken
********
by black
barely passable trannys,
diseases and
barely consensual bloodstains.
I cannot speak of such things.
It's bad enough I think about them,
even worse I write about them.
I write what I know.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
Working under a cloud of sadness
Cleaning a mother’s home
After their death.
All the familiar objects
Are so much heavier
Loaded with emotion
Triggered by every trinket touched.
And the unfamiliar
Items never seen before
Not really secret
But secretive
Shed an unfamiliar light
Or a tragic one
On the lost life.
Add some desire you had
For resolution
Or proof of affection
A letter un-mailed, explaining…
Everything, less,
Or adding further mysteries.
Photos signed with a revealing scrawl
In a curious masculine hand.
And flowing in your mind
As you reduce a life to a list
For disposal, dispersal
A certainty
A knowing
That what you see is not the whole
The whole life
There’s something missing
That might explain
Her wistful expression
Her unexpressed longing,
The aura of regret,
You recall it easily.
A perfume of disappointment
Lingering.
And when you finally
Discover her dark journals
Her writing, but reflecting a stranger
A talent, a power, a presence
Never revealed, never known
But rich and sharp
With bright witty language
You understand this is a set of wings
Dusty with neglect
Heavy with melancholia
Unused wings.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Thylacinus Cynocephalus.
Tasmanian Tiger, Tasmanian Wolf,
A crepuscular hunting nocturnal beast,
Carnivore by nature, feasted upon wallaby,wombats and roos,
Caught by female of the species,
Was he a feline or a lupine beast, hyena perhaps,
No, this strange creature now probably extinct was marsupial with pouch,
Female with pouch to grow her young, male had pouch of his own,
Protected his crown jewels within a scrotal pouch,
Appearance of a stripy dog,
Looked rather like a tiger,
Had amber eyes filled with fire,
This diamorphic beast, (Means the chap was larger)
Had four toes on hind feet and rigid tail of kangaroo,
It's gait was rather odd,
Could move like kangaroo, if it so desired,
Strange call, a guttural sound, alerted his family when he was abound,
Shy secretive little creature,
Kept himself locked out of sight,
For in the late 188os, early 1900s these creatures had a bounty on their heads,
The bounty hunters had such fun, left our world with nearly none,
Last beast in the wild as noted,shot by gun by Mr Batty,
1936 the last captive creature died in Hobart Zoo,
Reported name was Benjamin,
Book called The Djin-jum Man, said man, Batty man maybe, was cursed for killing the last of their kin,
Poor things,
Living legacy remains,
On Tasmania's coat of arms, two of these fine beasts support the islands emblem,
Probably gone but never overlooked,
Still being sought but never found!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
This was really difficult, hope its quite accurate!
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
you are the single most difficult thing
i've ever had the curse of caring for
you're confusing and secretive and indecisive and insensitive
and the way you treat me, no one ever deserves to be treated
and at one point i fell hard
so so hard
yet i knew that they were just games
but why did it seem like i could never win?
it frustrated me like hell
because when i compete, i win
what the hell made you so special
that you could beat me in every single battle?
that i was willing to lose the war to you?
then i became angry
i wanted to take sweet revenge
my heart became cold
and it yearned to break yours
...or I thought it did
you're like that stray piece of hair
that never seems to stay where it should
you dont know where you stand in my life
yet you still barge in like you own it
and up to today i ask myself
why do i let you?
you are nothing great
you are nothing special
you are nothing
to me
and i know that i'm probably lying to myself
but you should know that although im a superwoman
whom you're stupid not to love
i'm getting tired too
and you, my kryptonite,
i will soon be immune to
because darling
i think i'm finally tired of loving you
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
The Fatigue
is newly familiar, but familiarity breeds
surrender, not contempt, for its powers
are overwhelmingly secretive, coming anew,
stealthy like evening fog, all encompassing,
departing when it chooses, only by choice,
fearing not day or brighter burn of sunlight,
or even the insistent rules
of the mathematics of a timepiece
it hides within the ordinary, the mundane,
the onerous lifting of the fork, the exhausting
chewing, chewing until sleep offers distraction,
but not necessarily relief, for the chores of
living, are an endless looping, and the fatigue
does not recognize the clock, the body’s rhythm,
only its own schedule, I proud man, am but its
vessel and vassal…
Aug 22, 2023
Aug 22, 2023 at 11:07 PM UTC