"underhanded" poems
Clayton
How I know you
Paternal parenting
DNA infused
Carbon contribution, to my physique
Father
In everything
My skin, eyes toes,
Unfortunately; inside my mouth
Spitting plaster-walled
Copy-paste personality
The same
Intimately
Close-dangerously
Different
Me a bold-faced fraction of ill abated love
Something that didn't work out
Photocopy
Blond-blasphemy of useless flesh
Reminder of her
Mom
Enough!
Teeter tottering
Tip-Toe tangling opinion
Excuses
Words fermented
Rotting-rigor
I know you.
Slit-eyed palefaced ****** of bigot ideas
Bearing pronged poker
Clicking glinting-clawed finger fondling fake religion
Suppressing supplement thought
********
God's love the good life
Living a life to be proud of
Excuse me!
For not being as I am "supposed" to be
Eatting rancid lies
Your reality relative
To kiss-ass preferred siblings
Who like the taste of ****
What you shovel
Hung on lipsucking harlot, hinged hip hung-over
Descending oppressidly upon willing wanton will of man
Letting cracked-cackled toothed
Field Gap-smile
Decide your next move
I know you
I see what you push into hidden corners
The bias, nasty film of your character
Under whitecollar shirttails
Citizen, Patriot
Americas American
I know you
Your oppression
Not new
As underhanded and seedy as it was
And still is
I know you
As much as I'd like not too.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
they've been involving themselves
in all sorts of corrupt deals
and the ICAC
is calling them in
to give accounts
of their underhanded deals
many Labor politicians
have fronted to tell their tales
so have ****** figures
who've left not so tidy trails
the head of the commission
is apprising himself
with the corruption stealth
the shady deals
the money exchanges
those fine upstanding
legislators
caught in the net
rife these practices
have been...
and in time
they've been seen to be
not so clean
dossiers on those
who've had their hands
in the defrauding game
shall have them
well cuffed
and they'll only
have themselves to blame
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:59 AM UTC
Acclimate away you accustom to rabble streets, calculate thy cantankerous beef with another diabolic past!!
Destine connoisseur,
Old things get older while thy love stays newer!!!
What a hope to hope for something!!!!
Bare faced sophomore,
Soporific enducing trips to styles of maxed out galore....
Domineers on every corner,
Where youngest of mourners art ourn own children,
Gravitational to all pull ins,
Guided by ourn own sins we set our own adversities!!!!
When wilt we climb out of ourn own hutch?
Our brittled bunch doesn't think of two but one!!
Jilt all thou will falsifiers,
Killers and liars,
Were all wrapped tight to the same metropolis line!!!
Okaying thyself?
Canst we OK what's wrong and not fine?
Schzoid scribble ******* in,
Undeniable on planet green earth!!!
Underhanded,
Diploma drop ins,
Morphine moratorium so Grey thy sounds are!!!!
Yet thy smiles so beautifully wide!!!!!
Seek as thou finds,
Find all though you mayeth hide!!!
The scorch is over to be bear!!
Where is the opulent Queen who I seek?
Yet hasn't found me yet...
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
The clueless rebel surveyed the situation.
It was a bitter chilly day.
She walked and talked unto herself.
As her being she took in hand.
An underhanded twisted year.
A year that could have been divine.
This rebel without a clue.
The weather changed.
Left in ignorance.
As last year dies,
She's knowing what she needs to do.
However, like the weather she is changeable.
Malleable and playful.
She tickles tigers.
She likes the reaction.
From at least a hundred,
unsuitable attractions.
Pretends to be a vampire,
******* souls from innocence.
While seeking unreal ideals.
Always out to impress.
In fact as the year ends.
She is no wiser than she was last year.
Memories in the dustcart.
Much beyond reprieve.
While once again another starts.
She continues sadly being deceived.
All these bright ideas of resolutions.
Conjured up from institutions.
The tears will roll at midnight.
To kick last year out.
She's the fool.
The one who seeks notice.
And hereby notice is given,
All change.
Well maybe anyway.
The spotty leopard.
Needs to find some stripes.
And maybe a backbone too!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 11:19 AM UTC
The fact of the matter is that you
Choose to believe
There's no reprieve
From this constant, continual...
Consistent deceit
This contraceptive perception
Manifesting what you believe
'What happens once will come again'
From that there's no relief
That which you take heed from
Is imprinted on your skin
As if you can't reach within
For matters intimate
Second guessing and stressing
While vacantly sedated
Placating under false pretenses
-Keeping sated
-Faded
Like you were the product
Of this aftermath
Attacking the apt capability
Of all you lack
-Underhanded
In the most subtle approach
This perpetual cognizant apparition
Of these ghosts
Furthermore
They boast and beg recognition
Putting prescriptions to their name
Like defacing prepositions
Could well esteem their fame
I maintain that I refuse
To be a product of the masses
Drifting whimsically and making victims From my caprices
The end result of my fate
Never created hate
Only this conditioned position
From which I now must escape
I'd rather sit
Listen and contemplate
Than justify my shame
I'll take the pain
Of my twisted thoughts
Before letting them run astray
No one pray for me
Because I've done this once before
And sanction I will find
Within this mind
Before I hit the floor
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
wise men hack through tea leaves. pitch their sermons underhanded.
then wander off. they walk divided. as one. seeking;
they merge into a path, more ocean than open road.
a Stillness, of no roman craft, but deeply engineered;
there
they gather to
disperse pamphlets,
more
steam creased and yea thick
than Answers.
they flock to a star made of Not Orchids, with brittle bones.
they sew bubbles to the souls of their feat
of Reason.
they peter pander
to the crocodiles, ticking in The River.
and salt their crumbs of wisdom
with their
tears.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Backstabbing, double-talking
Collection of crooks and creeps.
Oily tinhorn picks the pockets of
The common man while he sleeps.
Corkscrewing rhetoric
The worst you have ever heard
Spoken so that in the end there is
No meaning to the words.
Sidewinding viper’s nest;
No warning rattles on their tails
Criminals being paid too much
That really should be in a jail.
Four-flushing deck-stackers
Two friends and a stranger.
Dressed in thousand dollar suits
All unrecognizable danger.
Mean-spirited jerkwads
Blather daily on my teevee.
Cutpurses and footpads.
Mostly all the same to me.
Dressed up nice and talking
Smooth like a baby’s ***
Don’t expect me to vote for you.
No thank you, I will pass.
Gutter crawling, bile spewing
Butter won’t melt in your mouth.
Carpetbagging, underhanded
Favorite sons of the Old South
And some forked tongued Yankees
Siding up with traitors and smiling.
Glad-handing, baby kissing liars
Notoriously, falsely beguiling.
In case you find me too subtle
With my message to you and your crew.
There isn’t a whole lot to recommend
Anyone with wisdom to like you.
The only positive use for you
That one can readily foresee
Is to serve as a shining example of
What a politician should never be.
Brent Kincaid
4/21/2015
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
The secrets and feelings all had a spotlight on them now.
Underhanded moves,pretty lies, and twisted words.
They all didn't matter anymore
The game was over.
Blame it on me. Say its my fault. Say I left you all alone with a broken heart.
How was I winning a game I didn't know existed?
You had a number of suspects already listed
And I was wrongly accused
That's usually how the losers lose.
But playing this game was like Russian Roulette
Seeing who would lose to the first bullet.
We both shot at the same time
Same force, and same gun.
That's why none of us really won.
Now your'e on the opposite side of things.
Glaring, Staring, and Whispering into someones ear.
Here I am, doing the same thing.
Were at a stalemate, but were both in fear.
None of us want to raise our white flags first.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
don't choose parts of me to love
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
If:
There were no people of color, they'd pick on redheads.
If there were no redheads they would pick on people with glasses.
If there were no people with glasses they’d pick on fat people.
If there were no fat people, they’d pick on welfare recipients.
If there were no welfare recipients, they’d pick on non-Christians.
If there are no non-Christians around, they'll pick on Catholics.
If there are no Catholics around they'll pic on Christians from any denomination except theirs.
If there are none of those around, they'll pick on college graduates.
Obladee, obladah, yeah! Yadda yeah, the list goes on...
(The same thing applies with Non-Christian bigots. Just change a word here and there.)
Bigots are bigots
No matter what the name
The underhanded tactics
Are all just the same.
They are heartless and evil.
That’s the name of their game.
They are social criminals and
Look for someone else to blame.
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 8:14 PM UTC
They rises and get dressed.
Yes, many officers put on their best blues.
Not knowing if they every return back safely.
The uniform cop serve and protect among some underhanded coworkers.
Then ,don't we all do that?
Some of them afraid and hesitant to admit it.
Many whites scared to govern the black communities.
History has shown they hadn't the knowledge to monitored this sector without racial intention.
Still the uniform cop serves.
Without them the cities be run by thugs and criminals with no good intents.
Notice even criminals calls upon them.
We, who so perfect?
Please stand up?
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 5:16 PM UTC
Take me on this summer afternoon
Sizzling heat cooling off the soon
related factions of the precipice in
my mind
The underhanded broken chains that
whisper in my sleep
that choke me as
I unknowingly gaze into
the face of eternity
Melting together the
bonds of society to my broken
identity
to them this is nothing but
a game
Corner street societies
smokingly gaze at my uncomfortable
place as I try to wriggle free
from the grip with which
they are holding me tonight
Is the night
Such a beautiful night
and they call it
Bella Noche
Undistrubed and peaceful bliss
Wrapped in a bacon strip
greased up in oily fat
that will be eaten by a docile cat
that has no inclination to think about
these things
that bind him to his master
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
A kid with a dark childhood
So **** shy and misunderstood
His inability to understand
Leaves him underhanded
As he tries to draw the line between
Foe and friend
He's heard so much talk and walked a lot
He remembers the rage, one day almost forgot
And ever since then, well never again
Because it was the day he faced his end
What man forged would forge his skin
Into a purple and white ugly grin
Traces it with a finger, trembling and cold
No, he could never forget the days of old
Though being not old himself, a youth he is
Still the saying is appropriate, so don't dismiss
The fact that the one thing that killed him but kept him alive
Was a memory, simply directed to reminisce
A vengeful beast, a loyal wolf
Two sides of the same coin that frequently duel
Contradiction to himself, as if someone else,
Murderous thoughts his mind did dwell
Now picture a teenager, dressed in black
Hoodie and jeans, and a black half-mask
See his cold dark eyes, now tell me fast,
Is he both victim and the one who attacks?
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
They say college is the best time of your life,
But dante's seventh circle, seems serene
A paradise for my spring break, free from this agony.
I find myself choking on my beliefs,
Torn from my heart, and jammed back down my throat;
By people who praise diversity of ideas, but only listen to their own words.
My education has been one of hate,
Hated for my ideas on how to help others,
Just because I wasn't of the same mind.
I can't escape myself, alone, in a sea of self loathing
Drowning in underhanded insults and ostrification,
Gasping for air, refusing to turn blue
My confidence in being loved has been completely shattered,
Afraid of the testosterone that makes me who I am,
My very sexuality offensive and toxic.
I look in the mirror seeing a freak,
Someone undeserving of breath,
And in these, the best years of my life.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
There and here and back again
They say this too shall pass
But April showers bring May rain
Subtler fainter shades of pain
I know that you prefer a lie
Prefer to think its peachy keen
But I see through rose-specs that
Illuminate a shade of green-
An ugly insurrection
That mirrors your reflection
And I feel the need to flee
Like a far-gone beaten wife
But escape is never final till
You **** what keeps you up at night
And what I'm up against
Demands a massacre
And what I need the most is sleep
But no matter how appealing
And no matter how befitting
Requiting you won't make ends meet
Your face has disappeared
Into the blackened void
Just another two-timer
Who's tongue I can't avoid
You've no idea the damage you've done
And it's clear to the whole world who's won
But divided are the ones who judge
Split right down the middle-
With support from a grudge
I could care less about what I've lost
And who you've gained
And frankly I prefer
The dark and the rain
I've always been a different level
Of insane
But I rather burn in hell
Then breathe in this underhanded,
Wretched spell
Made up of all my flaws
And warning bells
And hisses from your cold death knell
That rings of all the ones who fell
And all the souls you chose to sell
And all those tainted wish-you-wells
You thought that I could never tell-
But doers rarely dream
And breakers rarely bend
You're exactly as you seem
To he, she and them
But I see through a glass, lightly
Every single night
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 7:13 PM UTC
They enter our lives with sinister plots that we do not see.
For we choose to be real, and expect others to show the same virtues,
We forget that in our strength of sincerity and,
Stature of what society should've been made to be,
We fall prey to that, far worse than wolves in sheep's clothing.
They be of human form, but we have hearts,
They be the acidic species,
Just there to use,
Just there for their gain,
A putrid lot,
Just there to watch their works erode the effect.,
The effect shown through a simple yet ernest smile appreciating friends,
Wake up! see through their semblance,
They pass off as friendship.
This title they claim be not theirs,
Oh no they are to be of that,we choose to dispose of.
They are of the past.
We will always see more like them,
Who enter our journeys,
For we are free loving,
Giving,
Caring,
Selflessly making acquaintances who should carry the title of My friendship with,
Ardent fastosus.
A title worthy of not much to those who know me not.
But as I value My Friends see their sincerity,
They too see me for the friend I am proud to be.
A title I regard with much dignity for they bless me with their hearts open and call me Friend!
So begone you foul lot of underhanded scoundrels you have no place here amongst friends.
We know the worthy,as we see ourselves in them.
You get in, yes for we do not look out for the likes of you,
I know not how to be that vile insipid parasite.
Rather,we seek people we can look up to.
People we can learn to better from.
Who speak not with intent to harm,
Or just where they are to gain.
Finding joy in others hurt,
No we seek a superior being who is unlike you.
Someone really pure.
Oh just no false pretenses,
Oh and, so this all was not actually about those unworthy no rather,
The contrary!
To them an ode!
A tribute to my Friend's.
Oct 22, 2017
Oct 22, 2017 at 11:51 PM UTC
Carbon slides furiously over pad
Mad as a Hatter only angrier
Scribbling circles and stabbing the paper
It's so obvious, ******* it!
It's right there in front of you!
Look! Can't you see?
You gesticulate wildly
Silently cursing and trying to send the answer psychicly
Pictionary that ******* game
By any other name would not be any less infuriating
And yet we play it every day
When I say "I think..."
And she says "I feel..."
And we wheel around in circles
To get our point past our own noses
Guessing what the other's prose is
Until we think we know and then...
That's irrational!
This doesn't feel right...
So where do you go
When your words makes sense
But your concepts are lost in translation
When your language fails to convey meaning?
There's an old saying I heard somewhere
If a lion could speak English we would not understand it
Without being underhanded you have to hand it to them
Those old timey folks knew a thing or two
About me and you and the breakdowns in syntax
That afflict us on these occasions
Maybe the only answer is to sit with it
Will you think on it
While I come to terms with how it feels?
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
It seems hard
But not concequential
To understand but still neglect the inner meaning
I've been meaning to look at you and understand a man
Mixed signals and arguments
Sacrasm and bombardments
Is all it gets
And I'm sure we have our differences
But I'm tired of it
Their is a void in myself
Where the desolate roam
And more seem to go
Underhanded it may seem but it seems to me
That this won't be fixed
I feel like it's the only way we communicate
My opinions spark the outrages
Now this feeling I'm gauging
Seems Amiss
There is rouble afoot
And the footstep I can't follow
Won't follow
Seems out of place
I guess even a parent is a person
And it's not the worst version
Of revaluations
Can't we relate the more in realize it's a debate
I'm trying
But im done trying
Let it repeat
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
I deviate from the mistakes i make
and take a deep breath,
no secrets kept,
but she bends and breaks,
as i regress from the changes I make,
windswept,
lost in the storm,
progression sessions,
last chance to reform,
She’s torn between two minds,
mine and hers colliding with the world
at the same time.
She's my world so i best change my climate.
Trying,
back to my prime mate.
Lying,
back to a primate.
masquerade like she can’t see through my invisible cape.
mask on my face,
she mastered her escape,
overnight stay,
left to my escapades.
Empty without her to serenade at the end of the day.
The end of days,
she understands me,
but i’ve been underhanded,
and underneath it all,
she can’t stand me.
She’s my plan A,
and plan B,
my baby,
my plan C.
Candid,
she understands my language.
Easily to procrastinate,
but we’ve passed that place,
and soon we can procreate
and make a mini me…
But I haven’t mastered Nate,
in a drastic place,
hanging like a basket case,
leaving a bitter taste,
in the whole vicinity.
Clinically, cynically outspoken,
like a potion was given to me,
a smokescreen,
to hide my identity.
No hope,
searching for an antidote,
or remedy,
to usurp the soul hidden deep inside me.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 6:26 AM UTC
Silly girl
You thought this time it would be different
that an apology would roll off her tongue like drops of honey
smoothing over the bitter grooves of underhanded insults
you thought that she could recollect your virginal heart
when smiles appeared as easily as the love interest in a rom com
days of honeydew laughter and cotton candy clouds
thought she could sit next to you gently
watch the wind roll by in tendrils of nostalgia
rather than throw herself into the dark mess of woods that are your thoughts on a sunny day
instead of desperately planting trees to block the sun as you stood quietly chopping them down in hopes of one day catching a rare glimpse of the light
oh honey
don’t you see that pride is a stepstool?
Low enough that you can still see part of her but high enough that she has completely lost sight
don’t you see that her head is in a cupboard of dishes that were organized by her
the dim echo of your calls bounce off the porcelain and land in her mouth
she spits them out
you leave the room
ignorant little girl
problematic little girl
you tell yourself that she will get better that you will get better that one day
waking up in the morning won’t feel like a broken elevator
stranded between floors
you could press the right buttons
but it wouldn’t matter anyway
you’re already in the wrong place
you wonder if when strangers say that you remind them of her
if they knew how her voice could turn from bandages to blades all in the matter of seconds
how her presence could make you shrink
turn you into a different girl
one with sandpaper voice and jackhammer rage
you wonder how others are supposed to love you
how you are supposed to love you
when everyday feels like peeling up floorboards
feels like wrapping myself in cellophane
feels like never truly knowing what life could be
there will be a day
when she calls you abusive
oh you naive little girl
don’t let the woman whose lips blossom with your insecurities allow you to tell you
that the sky isn’t blue
for it takes a sinking ship
to make cries of distress so buoyant
that they hit the surface as missiles.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
Sometimes, it looks like lenience.
Small passes for big faux pas.
Many believe that it's absolution
Locking themselves in boxes periodically
To cry out, bleeding painful catharsis.
Some sneak it in with charity
Use compassion as a puppet in their mercy show
Throw underhanded in the name of grace.
Some offer it when they're bruised and broken
Spit out blood, then turn the other cheek.
Others give it away with full bellies and warm hands
Either out of purity
Or some nefarious need, pushed down deep.
And I wonder and wander all the while
For I am the fool
Who begs to receive
But can not give.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
the title of king
was hotly contested
by a trio of men who
wanted to be invested
in pursuing the ultimate goal
of regent
only one employed a vying
discontent
wicked tactics were ever
his underhanded style of play
which saw the other two
bulldozed well out of the way
they'd not gain the
throne's highest apex
that position reserved
for his sole Rex
he now wears the crown
of questionable ascent
a king who obtained it
through an unsporting bent
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
When someone opens themselves up
And reveals the depths of their souls
Not even time, the heartbreak's greatest friend,
Will let you forget these parts of a person
That are shown by their actions, and not their words.
So she may have the same name,
Same colored hair, eyes, and skin tone,
Have my legs and my figure,
And even be my friend.
But only you know how to make this underhanded flattery
And blatant attempt of jealousy-inducing,
A way to hurt me beyond my comprehension.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
They shone in the obscurity
of every sunset.
Eyes absorbed every teardrop
that welled in there vacant
tombstone eyes.
But they were more than
obscuration,
within the stages of radiant demise.
They collected the bounty of those that
versed from the sacred paths of hues.
There were those that had feel between
optic blades and the indistinct gleams
that were contentious wounds that were
underhanded shades.
The tinges, neither pure of light.
And those that feel in the eclipse of darkness.
But it was a secret conclave of those
who were fractured between both.
But within the collective of shade
and illumination.
Where those that versed the combination
as a sacrilege to the foundations
of eternities motion.
Everyone but a few colluded to constant versions,
qualified hues had to change,
or the universe would grow stagnant.
And so began the feud between the shades
of perpetual opacity.
As the evanescence shimmers
where all where falling
like dead stars
cleaving within the benighted landscape.
We all glared like life was burying its self.
But they walked between us,
shimmers of what was wanted.
And the reputations of our reflections.
Everything must evolve, even the reflections
that fall between the cracks of life's obscurities.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC