Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 341

This is a poetry blog, but I want to let those of you who write fiction know about an agent one-on-one bootcamp that starts tomorrow morning. It’s an exciting opportunity to get feedback from and exposure to literary agents on the first ten pages of your novel. Click to continue.

For today’s prompt, write a hiding poem. The poem could be about someone hiding or something hidden. Or the process of searching. And remember: There are physical things that can hide, but also thoughts, emotions, plans, and so much more.

*****

Recreating_Poetry_Revise_PoemsRe-create Your Poetry!

Revision doesn’t have to be a chore–something that should be done after the excitement of composing the first draft. Rather, it’s an extension of the creation process!

In the 48-minute tutorial video Re-creating Poetry: How to Revise Poems, poets will be inspired with several ways to re-create their poems with the help of seven revision filters that they can turn to again and again.

Click to continue.

*****

Here’s my attempt at a Hiding poem:

“hide”

if you think you can hide that little secret
you are mistaken
it will eat at you every time you don’t say
this is who i am

sure it’s scary to reveal that little secret
but when it is time
you will find that life is so much better when
you don’t have to hide

*****

Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and author of Solving the World’s Problems (Press 53). Follow him on Twitter @RobertLeeBrewer.

*****

Find more poetic posts here:

You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

126 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 341

  1. seingraham

    ALL IS NOT AS IT SEEMS

    The trick is to seem, at least on the surface
    calm, thoughts orderly, emotions controlled
    Never mind that the voices in your head
    are still vying for the mic – trying to outshout
    each other

    You have been here before, many times
    and know the ropes, how to keep hidden
    those activities that need to be kept that way
    If ever you’re going to leave this place:
    no acting out, or up – no sleeping as if dead

    Select the mask most perfected to help you
    look normal— whatever that might be—
    When you skate near that state, you recognize
    it, even if just fleetingly and have fashioned
    several such looks to keep as memories;

    sculpted the looks into permanent visages
    to fit over your face to help you keep
    hidden that which you don’t wish
    to share with the world – when you
    wish to walk about and be free.

  2. taylor graham

    FEBRUARY CLEANING

    And a fierce welcome in the wind,
    shattering those fattish gray clouds, dirty
    laundry of a week’s plebian weather.
    Wind took the doormat, swept away
    whatever was hiding beneath;
    it scrubbed sodden leaves off the walk
    and polished a residue of shingles
    from the roof till it gleamed
    as of the moon coming up
    full-face silver without a tarnish.

  3. Soulhighcoo

    household
    yawning when to yawn back is an answer
    and the subtle humidity between the dry kiss
    and the corner mouth is the question sweet
    in the cigarette smoke of a late night’s
    incensed breath love is atmosphere
    the broodish little bit of a sense of humor left where the recitation of scars is memorabilia collected among other things all together homegrown, housebroken or slightly unused
    love is atmosphere
    the intimate
    geography
    of a room

  4. shellcook

    Kneel Priest

    There you are,
    a deceiver of innocence,
    hiding back behind
    the boxes of old pictures

    and yearbooks and letters,
    oblivious to the anguish
    you have wrought.
    You, such the wounded man.

    I feel a loathing
    I didn’t think was possible.
    Kneel Priest,
    while i dig up

    whatever compassion
    still lives in my gut for you.
    You abused her,
    and you used her,

    my beloved grandmother
    and my sweet grandfather,
    cuckolded and no longer mine.
    You’d better hide,

    because i know your secret.
    I know the pain you caused,
    because i see your damned
    and condemned face

    in my mirror every day,
    this face that no longer
    looks like the me,
    that is me.

    2/17/16

    1. ppfautsch24

      Hidden Message
      Hidden inside a message the way you feel about me.
      The way you pick up my scattered pages when they fall to the floor.
      Touching me when my courage is hidden behind
      tear dropped clouds.
      My heart drops a beat when you see my hidden beauty.
      As you listen and hear me when I write hidden words upon a sheet.
      By Pamelap

    2. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

      I like this version better. The justifiable anger is there, but the innocence outshines them all, which I think is more important here. Powerful and moving. Kudos.

  5. grcran

    Pre-private-see-act

    Anthr’pologist came on a midden
    Auspices were clear it was hidden
    To dig or not dig
    When faced with a fig
    The question then is was he bidden

    gpr crane

  6. shellcook

    Kneel Priest

    There you are
    You slimy thug
    Hiding back behind
    The boxes of old pictures

    And yearbooks and letters,
    Oblivious to the anguish
    You have wrought.
    You, such the wounded man.

    I feel a loathing
    I didn’t think was possible.
    Kneel Priest,
    While i dig up

    Whatever compassion
    Still lives in my gut for you.
    You abused her,
    You bastard.

    My blessed grandmother
    And my sweet grandfather,
    Who is no longer mine.
    You’d better hide,

    Because i know your secret
    I know the pain you caused
    As i see your damned
    and condemned face

    In the mirror every day,
    This face,
    That no longer
    Belongs to me.

    2/17/16

  7. Connie Biltz

    Hidden

    Crocus buds wait to bloom
    beneath the layered snow.
    Dormant seeds left behind
    wait their turn to grow.

    Bunnies burrow below the shrubs,
    huddled against the wind.
    Frogs retreat to frozen mud,
    submerged ’til season’s end.

    Winter’s blanket covers all
    in frozen, muffled white.
    Then spring leaps out from under it.
    Surprise! Surprise! What sweet delight!

    Connie Biltz
    author of Rainbow Chaser

  8. Jane Shlensky

    Small Things

    A child can fit beneath a bed,
    into a box, a drawer, a cabinet,
    can flatten behind a door
    or bore through linens,
    camouflaged by comforters,
    disguised as a listening lump.

    A skinny child can roll up
    small as an armadillo, bony
    spine hard as a fist,
    can tuck soft underbelly,
    head, limbs, and heart
    to the center, can squeeze
    eyes or mouth shut tight,
    make breath a slow seep.
    Invisible.

    Clothes hang on a wiry frame,
    sleeves pulled into palms,
    something to worry and cling to;
    trousers worn beneath dresses
    hide blooming bruises from
    thunder purple to soft pastels,
    gouges of belt buckle
    a world beneath a band aide.

    Little eyes learn to conceal
    hiding places. Dear God, a lie
    takes up hardly any space.
    Tiny closets store truths
    under lock and key;
    shuttered silences are mistaken
    for shyness, peacefulness,
    a “sweet child with such
    a quiet nature.” Secrets lie
    beneath all faces and forms,
    scary adventures shiny
    in a knot hole, strained smiles
    screaming from old photos,
    the pinched universe manifested
    in imaginings, buried
    treasures where skeletons lie.
    X marks the spot.

  9. G.Wood

    It’s dark in the pantry,
    but I feel through the goldfish crackers
    and gummy packs
    and find the Kisses,
    open one like a mint in church,
    pop it in and crush it on tense teeth,
    slip back out to finish the dishes,
    referee the littles,
    fulfill their wishes

  10. Arash

    Gentle Touch

    by Arash

    To write a poem feels like playing games
    Like hide-and-seek, to speak but make no sound
    Winnicott said that it’s a joy to be
    Hidden, disaster if you’re never found.

    Meantime I hide behind the rhyme and feet
    And hope you fancy me or game so much
    To step beneath the words and reach inside
    To say “I see you”; with a gentle touch.

  11. foodpoet

    Hidden Faith

    Hidden in the dark place
    I seek faith but
    Doubt it can be found today
    Down the tunnel, I find an
    Echo of what I used to have,
    Night after night I struggle to

    Find
    Anything faith, sleep peace
    I search I search…
    Tonight I will pace awake
    Hoping but losing more of myself

  12. seamuscorleone

    Trojan

    His smile is clouds in blue sky
    His eyes firecrackers
    His hair parades in May
    His mouth full of automatons

    The outside is Christmas but
    The inside is Christmas when you’re Jewish

    A gift wrapped box of spiders

    He worms his way into the apple-heart
    Insidious
    Cancerous
    Hollowing

    Chewing up and leaving behind
    Recreating his negative self in a reverse-creation process

    But oh god, when those cotton candy eyes are looking at me…
    Moon Landing

  13. Misky

    A Spent Minute

    when we were small,
    as children are,
    we’d hide like
    deer, like rabbits, like
    lost socks, like cracked
    shells in scrambled eggs.
    we’d hide in the volume
    of noise, and disappear
    like a spent minute.

  14. carolemt87

    “We all use our bodies for a place to hide.”
    Michael Johnson
    “Love and Sex”

    She barricades the doors beneath rippled thighs,
    belly slung low over denim jeans
    taut size 26, groaning.

    A protective friend,
    her layer of blubber
    which causes children to snicker and point
    men and women turn away in disgust
    at her overindulgence
    planked on donuts, pizza, junk food.

    Within her cellulite shell,
    she hides
    no hands will reach
    Up there
    And he won’t force her
    to use
    her mouth
    again.

    She sits in her room,
    watching television
    arms folded across
    fat plated breasts,
    alone, sheathed
    beneath
    a thick tapestry
    of jiggling flesh.

    1. cbwentworth

      Oh, this incites a powerful emotion. Being alone can mean different things to different people and I love how this invites an individual response. As an introvert, this makes me take a deep breath of relief. 🙂

  15. James Von Hendy

    Where Love Hides

    We’ve made of the heart a knot of love,
    its declaration a pounding
    in the chest, the sleeve adorned,
    bumperstickered, emoticoned,
    and arrow shot on cards, a subterfuge
    that hides love’s true workings
    behind the eyes. How much—or little—
    in our synaptic silence finds
    the tongue to tell, the hand to hold,
    the body its yielding
    to the cortex of desire?
    What remains unsaid among fleeting thoughts,
    even to ourselves, what we don’t know of love?

  16. SarahLeaSales

    The Hiding Place

    For some,
    it is their mother’s basement
    with the glare of the TV giving their face
    that 3 a.m. glow.
    For others,
    it is the local coffee shop,
    amongst those too wrapped up in their own lives
    to pay any attention to the pajama-clad man
    behind the monitor.

    They hide behind the faces of others,
    of dogs and old, unrecognizable photos,
    or shots taken from so far away,
    we cannot close the distance and
    see their every flaw.

    We know not their face,
    their voice,
    what makes them tick tock
    like a clock bomb.
    They reveal little parts,
    like trailers to a movie—
    a smash-cut of a life well-lived,
    well-played.

    Under the cover of anonymity,
    they hide behind an alias or several,
    cropping their lives like their photos,
    creating the life they want to live
    through status updates,
    and doctored pictures,
    as if the images were sick.

    They can be as hateful as they want,
    without repercussions.
    Then they must, as we all do,
    go out into the world
    as a fully-functioning human being,
    the face-to-face encounters
    softening their inner core
    of coarseness.

    What one reveals in their unguarded moments—
    the bright screen stripped away like the Wizard’s curtain,
    the keyboard stuck so that all is gibberish—
    is the essence of who they are;
    if the online presence and the actual one
    juxtapose,
    then their identity is lost amongst the virtual rubble.

  17. Sara McNulty

    Outward Appearances

    Grumpy old man,
    Dickens character
    in torn, stained clothing.

    Had he ever married, carried
    a bride over the threshold
    of this house?

    Neighbors wondered. Children
    steered clear of his house,
    for he was known to pounce

    on them with his cane. Never
    saw family or friends visit,
    and attempts to befriend

    him were met with scowls. They
    all thought him a poverty-
    stricken man, too proud to accept

    help. For several days, newspapers
    piled up at his door, prompting
    neighbors to call the police

    who discovered him dead on a worn out bed.
    When they removed him, the mattress tore.
    Stuffed inside were piles of money. Funny old man.

  18. grcran

    Searching for Squid

    We wanted calamari did some squiddin’
    Did in those mollusks oh it was good riddin’
    They squirted ink we didn’t see they’d hidden

    Abiding luck came current-ly colliding
    No hiding as the inky streak was sliding
    Squids’ guiding star low-riding… now… deciding…
    Great griddlin’! Kids say din-din’s fair to middlin’

    gpr crane

  19. Amy

    Hidden Intentions

    What riddles remain
    in the lonely cube-clink,
    the wasted finger of drink
    he left
    while winter howls
    at the walls?
    Silence reinstalling itself,
    downy thickness,
    over this unrelenting
    need.
    The hum of darkness feeds
    an open flame.
    I retain the empty glass,
    the casket of our youth
    will keep me warm.

  20. the.zachjohnson

    Shadow People
    by: Zach Johnson

    I am silver blue
    like winter’s mist.
    The world rewards boldness,
    so I paint myself red
    like a blazing sun.
    Everything about me burns away,
    and I am shadow.

    I am mysterious whispers
    like untold secrets.
    The world is too noisy,
    so I become screaming guitars
    and shouting horns.
    The cacophony drowns me out,
    and my secrets remain untold.

    Putting on masks,
    painting acceptable pictures,
    are dangerous games we play
    for a world that demands all
    but gives nothing.
    Moving through a reality
    that is all illusion,
    worshipping style
    but abhorring substance.

    We are legion:
    The Shadow People.
    I see you are silver blue
    in a sea of red.
    You must change, I cry,
    they will never love you.
    Forgetting that underneath,
    hidden,
    inside,
    my secret is
    I am silver blue.

  21. candy

    Hiding Moon

    gentle moon
    hums a simple tune
    with eyes closed
    hides behind cloudy
    blankets
    thinks I won’t see him
    I’ll free him from
    listening to my
    dreams or my
    midnight screams
    but I know I can
    depend on him
    my childhood
    friend

  22. RJ Clarken

    Can’t Hide

    “Like a church bell, a coffin, and a vat of melted chocolate, a supply closet is rarely a comfortable place to hide.” ― Lemony Snicket, The Blank Book

    ‘Twas lookin’ for a place to hide
    right after one late night joyride.
    But nothin’ worked. Still in plain sight.
    A bell can’t shade a bright headlight.

    We knew we were in trouble ‘cause
    we broke some laws. At least, a clause
    or two. Think they will expedite
    the coffins? Damn! A bright headlight.

    So Jerry tried to run. Not me.
    Was snagged by Officer McGee.
    And choc or closet? Full of spite.
    Can’t hide when lit by bright headlight.

    ###

  23. Stuart Peacock

    Excavation

    So many things shirk and hide
    In the deepest darkest corners,
    Away from the searing obviousness
    That stifles our sense of wonder.

    These are the truths lurking behind
    All of those cold, stony faces
    That suffer those who show so freely
    Not gladly, but with icy tolerance.

    They shoulder the weight of secrets
    And share not the slightest clue.
    They’ll only bear to share their time
    With quiet souls, the great discoverers.

    They’ll be the ones with the patience
    To chip away at the stone slowly
    And find that naked, honest face
    That the rest can’t understand.

  24. writinglife16

    HIDING MAY NOT WORK

    The dust bunny hid
    under the bed
    to escape the
    searching paw with sharp claws.
    Alas, it did not work.
    The vacuum cleaner
    sucked the rabbit up
    anyway.

  25. taylor graham

    LET LOOSE ON THE WIND

    This sudden bluster-wind that’s blowing Spring –
    it’s sparking yellow in the daffodils.
    From all directions loud it’s whispering,
    this sudden bluster-wind that’s blowing Spring
    into the rafters’ old gray shuddering.
    Our pasture’s winter-hidden vigor thrills
    with sudden bluster-wind that’s blowing Spring
    and sparking yellow in the daffodils.

  26. Walter J Wojtanik

    SEQUESTERED SPIRIT

    I am still searching for your ghost.
    It has shaken every rafter of my mind!
    Not allowing me to forget, I boast
    and I am still searching for your ghost.
    It hides deep within me, its willing host,
    truly a ghost I never hope to find!
    I am still searching for your ghost.
    It has haunted every rafter of my mind!

    ** Thanks De!

    1. De Jackson

      Sea Quest: Her Spirit

      It has haunted every rafter of my mind,
      this hollow, hidden want for you.
      I’m shaken up; this spirit is unkind.
      It has haunted every rafter of my mind,
      and stirred so long my wit is left behind.
      There’s really nothing left for me to do.
      It has haunted every rafter of my mind,
      this hollow, hidden want for you.

      1. Walter J Wojtanik

        HER QUEST, HE HEARS IT

        This hollow, hidden want for you,
        it goes much deeper that these words.
        I crave your kiss, your touch it’s true,
        this hollow, hidden want for you.
        And this desire is nothing new,
        it caresses you every time it’s heard.
        This hollow, hidden want for you,
        it goes much deeper that these words.

        1. De Jackson

          His Best, She Fears It

          It goes much deeper than his words,
          the way he puts her on display.
          His adoration is absurd;
          it goes much deeper than his words.
          After all the things she’s learned,
          a restraining order’s on its way.
          It goes much deeper than his words,
          the way he puts her on display.

          1. Walter J Wojtanik

            THE REST, GETS NEAR IT

            The way he puts her on display,
            you’d think she was a statue.
            But high pedestals can surely decay,
            the way he puts her on display.
            Beside him is where he rather she’d stay,
            they deserve a love that’s true.
            The way he puts her on display,
            you’d think she was a statue.

          2. De Jackson

            Confessed: She’s Weary

            You’d think she was a statue,
            sitting still there in the sun.
            She’s got too much to do,
            but you’d think she was a statue.
            She hasn’t got a clue
            of how to try to please everyone.
            You’d think she was a statue,
            sitting still there in the sun.

          3. Walter J Wojtanik

            LOST HORIZONS

            sitting still there in the sun
            she dreams about a distant shore.
            bigger vistas are hers to be won
            sitting still there in the sun.
            as her toes tan, she’ll have her fun,
            a torrid tryst or maybe more.
            sitting still there in the sun
            she dreams about a distant shore.

          4. De Jackson

            Indigo Girl

            She dreams about a distant shore,
            a place her soul can breathe.
            She knows life can be so much more,
            as she dreams about a distant shore.
            She’ll pack her bags and sink her core –
            and then, she’ll never leave.
            She dreams about a distant shore,
            a place her soul can breathe.

          5. Walter J Wojtanik

            OF HEART AND HOME

            A place her soul can breathe
            is the place her heart holds dear.
            It is the home she’ll never leave,
            a place her soul can breathe.
            This is a truth that she believes,
            there is no better place than here.
            A place her soul can breathe
            is the place her heart holds dear.

          6. De Jackson

            Lake Ache

            The place her heart holds dear
            is painted in the brightest blue.
            It’s blurred, and whirled, indigo-clear,
            the place her quiet heart holds dear.
            It pools her hope, and sinks her fear,
            steeps it deep in cobalt hues.
            The place her heart holds dear
            is painted in the brightest blue.

          7. Walter J Wojtanik

            YOUR EYES IN MY SKIES

            Painted in the brightest of blues,
            a sky that hurts your eyes to look at it.
            A vista of the place you choose
            painted in the brightest of blues.
            It gives your soul the best of views,
            quite a scene, you’ll never forget it!
            Painted in the brightest of blues,
            a sky that hurts your eyes to look at it.

          8. De Jackson

            Lake of the Sky
            {for Lake Tahoe}

            A sky that hurts your eyes to look at it,
            this cobalt beauty’s spilled my heart in two.
            A sandy, sunny, silent place to sit –
            a sky that hurts your eyes to look at it.
            The rest of you won’t mind, oh, not one bit,
            as soul is fed, and mind is made anew.
            A sky that hurts your eyes to look at it,
            this cobalt beauty’s spilled my heart in two.

          9. Walter J Wojtanik

            AZURE ASSASSIN

            This cobalt beauty’s split my heart in two,
            broken and irreparable as I stand.
            A travesty of eyes so blue,
            this cobalt beauty’s spilled my heart in two,
            no longer part of a love so true.
            So I sit in silence sadly, a lesser man,
            This cobalt beauty’s split my heart in two,
            broken and irreparable as I stand.

          10. De Jackson

            Survivor Blues

            Broken and irreparable as I stand,
            I wish she’d fully done me in.
            I’m a helpless fish caught on dry land –
            broken and irreparable as I stand.
            This pain is deep and wide, unplanned.
            Patience and pride are growing thin.
            Broken and irreparable as I stand,
            I wish she’d fully done me in.

          11. Walter J Wojtanik

            DONE IN

            I wish she’d fully done me in
            instead of taking me for a ride.
            The way she treated me was a sin,
            I wish she’d fully done me in.
            With her, I thought it’d be win-win,
            now I’ll have to swallow my pride.
            I wish she’d fully done me in
            instead of taking me for a ride.

          12. De Jackson

            Rollin’

            Instead of just taking me for a ride,
            she sold me down the river.
            I’ve lost my scruples and my pride.
            Instead of just taking me for a ride,
            Once and for all, I now decide:
            I’ve given all I can give her.
            Instead of just taking me for a ride,
            she sold me down the river.

          13. Walter J Wojtanik

            THE PRICE IS RIGHT

            She sold me down the river
            for a can of beans and a lighter.
            She’d take anything they’d give her,
            so she sold me down the river.
            At least she could have gotten a “fiver”
            if she were just a little brighter.
            She sold me down the river
            for a can of beans and a lighter.

          14. De Jackson

            Hill of Beans

            For a can of beans and a lighter!
            (Well, to her credit, they were magic beans.)
            They also gave her some apple cider,
            with that can of beans and lighter.
            She pulled her purse strings that much tighter,
            and went off to chase her dreams.
            For a can of beans and a lighter!
            (Well, to her credit, they were magic beans.)

          15. Walter J Wojtanik

            THAR SHE BLOWS

            To her credit, they were magic beans
            much akin to the Magic Flute!
            The spiciest beans you’ve ever seen,
            to her credit, they were magic beans.
            She would secure them by any means
            because they made her toot!
            To her credit, they were magic beans
            much akin to the Magic Flute!

        2. De Jackson

          Heehee. 😉

          Play it again, Sam-I-Am

          Much akin to the Magic Flute,
          I do not like these magic beans.
          They bully, bilious, make me toot,
          much akin to the Magic Flute.
          I do not like them, give them the boot!
          By fox or box or any means.
          Much akin to the Magic Flute,
          i do not like these magic beans.

          1. Walter J Wojtanik

            REPEATING ON ME

            I do not like these magic beans
            their powers do not thrill me.
            I’d rather eat old magazines,
            I do not like these magic beans.
            Feed them to ragin’ Cajun queens,
            and pray that they don’t kill me!
            I do not like these magic beans
            their powers do not thrill me.

          2. De Jackson

            LOL to the title. Clever.

            Pete and Repeat

            Their powers do not thrill me,
            these two redundant gents.
            They really are quite silly;
            no, their powers do not thrill me.
            (I hope the big one doesn’t kill me –
            those fists could make a dent.)
            Their powers do no thrill me,
            these two redundant gents.

          3. Walter J Wojtanik

            COME AND COME AGAIN

            These two redundant gents,
            they walk into a bar… twice!
            To get two beers for fifty cents,
            these two redundant gents.
            The first guy seemed to be hell bent
            of getting drunk, how nice!
            These two redundant gents,
            they walk into a bar… twice!

          4. De Jackson

            Joke’s on You

            They walk into a bar… twice –
            a politician and a rat.
            Neither of them knows how to be nice
            as they walk into a bar…twice.
            They ask for two beers and a slice
            of truth – but we’re all out of that.
            They walk into a bar…twice –
            that politician and that rat.

          5. Walter J Wojtanik

            FRANCHISE WORKOUT

            That politician and that rat,
            standing nose-to-nose without coats,
            the racy demon and republicat.
            that politician and that rat.
            Both on the public dole getting “fat”
            and jockeying for their votes,
            That politician and that rat,
            standing nose-to-nose without coats.

            **Sorry De. Needed to take care of things!

          6. De Jackson

            Winter Woods

            Standing nose-to-nose without coats,
            we shiver in winter’s last breath.
            We’ve miles and miles and miles to go,
            standing nose-to-nose without coats.
            The road we’ve chosen’s long, and cold
            but we’re still glad we’re not there yet.
            Standing nose-to-nose without coats,
            we shiver in winter’s last breath.

          7. Walter J Wojtanik

            WINTER WOULDS

            We shiver in winter’s last breath,
            we are lacking for warmth and heat.
            Moments from a frostbite death,
            we shiver in winter’s last breath.
            So we cuddle closely chest-to-chest
            and rub each other’s feet,
            We shiver in winter’s last breath,
            we are lacking for warmth and heat.

          8. De Jackson

            Winter Shoulds

            We are lacking for warmth and heat,
            but our hearts have a hearth all their own.
            Our shoulders and shivered with sleet,
            and we’re lacking for warmth and heat.
            Some firewood might be neat,
            she says with a loving groan.
            We are lacking for warmth and heat,
            but our hearts have a hearth all their own.

          9. Walter J Wojtanik

            KEEP THE HOME FIRES BURNING

            Our hearts have a hearth all their own,
            a place for embers to smolder and glow.
            For where there’s heart, there’s home,
            and our hearts have a hearth all their own.
            With her in my heart, I’m never alone,
            and our love can do nothing but grow!
            Our hearts have a hearth all their own,
            a place for embers to smolder and glow.

          10. De Jackson

            DragonFire

            A place for embers to smolder and glow:
            the dragon’s breath of fire.
            It singes fast, but starts out slow,
            a place for embers to smolder and glow.
            She sings her song, for all to know –
            a crimson cant of heart’s desire.
            A place for embers to smolder and glow:
            the dragon’s breath of fire.

          11. Walter J Wojtanik

            LOST BOY, CROUCHING DRAGON

            the dragon’s breath of fire
            dances along the path of discovery,
            lost between wrath and desire,
            the dragon’s breath of fire
            burns. you yearn for something higher
            to aid in your rapid recovery.
            the dragon’s breath of fire
            dances along the path of discovery.

  27. Walter J Wojtanik

    PEERING AT HER SOUL

    She sat in silent pose, sensuous and wanton.
    The artist struggled with her eyes half hidden,
    by her fallen tresses the color of autumn’s glow,
    presenting a striking exterior. But her eyes
    indeed were wondrous windows to her soul.

          They flashed her desirous intent, a lilting semaphore
          signaling her rich design. Back lit, her silhouette
          became her melody; her true beauty the lyric
          so sung, love’s lingering lament; an alliteration
          of alarming allure allowing her soul to saunter.

  28. De Jackson

    Something about the word “hiding” always makes me wanna write an Ovillejo. 😉

    .
    A Stolen Sun Dying on a Distant Shore

    When the day’s given its fill,
          I am still.
    Lying here, an untied moor
          searching for
    some remnant of the coast.
          Your ghost
    haunts these shifting sands the most.
      With salty sighs,
      I realize
                      I am still searching for your ghost.

    .

  29. Walter J Wojtanik

    NO ONE KNOWS

    He has returned to the scene; they always return.
    Incognito means ball cap drawn and cheap sunglasses
    hiding calculating eyes. He’s cold, duffle bag in tow –
    unsure how many heads it would hold, but eager to learn.

    That one is Billy. I know because his name is repeated;
    his mother’s screech is invasive. Jeans torn at the knees,
    he pulls chewing gum from hidden places, saying curse words
    to the old man “shushing” in the library. Glue for LePages.

    Just an observer, that’s all I’ve become. In this doorway,
    out of the downpour. Tabulating cars/buses; trusses on the “El”;
    going to hell for my lascivious thoughts. I ought to get work. Just a jerk
    feeling a draft below, not knowing my fly’s undone. I’m cold too!

  30. ReathaThomasOakley

    Hidden treasures

    When finally I had the time the courage
    to leaf through that tattered book I discovered
    the recipe for her famous date nut bread,
    copied from a friend perhaps.

    I imagine she’d first talk a while
    about how good she found that bread,
    she’d never just start out asking,
    treasured recipes require a subtle approach.

    When we cleaned out that far back room,
    we found all those cans, the ones with
    gold lining, the only ones that could
    be used to bake date nut bread,
    cans on shelves I could hardly reach,
    tucked away in old suitcases, in
    shopping bags from stores now closed.

    When did she start forgetting she
    no longer baked, I wonder as I read
    in my mother’s hand, the recipe for
    her famous date nut bread.

  31. Walter J Wojtanik

    BURIED TREASURE

    The love in his heart was a treasure most sought,
    he thought that maybe he could store it up
    and save it for a rainy day. There’s no way
    he would give away the “wealth” he had amassed.
    But alas, love hidden away would decay.
    And to this day he pays for not sharing it.
    He will die a lonely man; his love will fade
    there in his lifeless “grave” where his heart once lived.

  32. De Jackson

    Search Parties

    We never did find Waldo.

    That wily striped shirt guy
    (stupid hat
    taunting us like a bulls-eye)

    got to go everywhere,
    while we sat in un
    -comfortable chairs
    and ran our fingers along
    the glossy pages, waiting
    for the slightest flash
    of red
    (no, that’s a fireman.)

    The librarian knew
    us by name, remember?

    She asks about you
    sometimes
    as I sit in those same
    dusty seats
    and wonder about you
    w a n d e r i n g
    out there in that great
    big world.

    .

  33. PowerUnit

    I am not hiding from the world;
    the world is hiding from me.
    I have all the answers, don’t you know?
    I can recommend actions for solutions,
    changes to improve efficiency and effectiveness,
    and process improvements that are sure fixes
    of the world’s dilemmas.

    I can end unemployment in a month,
    domestic violence and poverty in a year.
    I can reverse global warming in a decade.
    Racism will be a memory with a snap of my fingers.
    Cancer can be cured in my spare time.

    If only the world would stop hiding, from me
    My words of wisdom emanate, if only you would listen.

    John

  34. Pen_and_Paper

    Life Hidden

    Scampering over blankets of Winter
    You seek a treasure you once held
    Stored somewhere underfoot
    But the world is so different, today
    than it was, back then
    When the long locks of Autumn
    Draped the forest floor
    Today, the earth is deeper
    Trees shorter, and fallen limbs lie
    to the map in your memory
    As you dig here and there
    under dimming daylight
    And a chill falls to drape
    your frantic shoulders
    Your acorns wait, buried
    life hidden, so close
    Just out of reach

  35. Walter J Wojtanik

    EVENING IS A SHROUD

    Darkness covers all,
    cloaking everything enveloped in her sad embrace.
    Her face is hidden, masked and concealed,
    not to be revealed in the muted moonlight.
    Even stars bright lose their luster, remaining
    only clusters of distant orbs. Evening absorbs
    and devours, leaving a pall over the crowd.
    Evening is a shroud.

  36. Connie Peters

    Hidden Beauty

    I asked the ocean,
    “Why do you conceal
    beautiful things within?”
    It replied, “It’s because of my Creator.
    Like parent enjoy
    hiding Easter eggs
    for their children,
    He hides beautiful things
    for those who seek them.”

  37. Anthony94

    Habits

    If he came home that weekend
    she’d be sent to check the right
    front drawer, lift the handkerchiefs
    to see if there was the single fifty

    left to get a family of four through
    the week. Changed first at the grocery,
    buying bus tokens, settling up a utility,
    paying on the dentist’s or doctor’s bill,

    socks at the Sears downtown. So
    she took to hiding her money from
    the tooth fairy, those brassy pennies,
    the shiny dimes from her godmother

    that came on occasions taped inside
    a yellowing card, yellower envelope.
    Buried the occasional bill tucked into
    her palm by a doting church person

    until she had the little 8o’clock coffee
    bank heavy in her hand, back in a
    corner of the attic where only she
    could crawl to. Come today, she has

    a battered shoebox in a closet, with
    an advertising envelope: a few bills
    she keeps against emergencies, yet
    separate from her candle money,

    ones, fives, and tens neatly sorted
    inside the swimsuit she never wears
    stuffed at the back, behind the lace,
    all of it hidden like that fifty, away.

  38. Walter J Wojtanik

    ANTICIPATING SPRING

    Hidden in forbidden slumber
    under the onslaught of ice and snow.
    Merely weeks away, the day that spring
    appears we will cheer and revel in celebration,
    joy will be unbridled when it decides to come.
    One
    -by
    -one
    the days pass slow, never fast
    and each seriously in question.
    Any mention of flurries and freezing
    leaves me cold. I’m getting to old for this.
    This is the waiting in which
    we’ve been partaking. There’s no
    mistaking, spring is taking
    its sweet old time!

  39. annell

    Writers Digest February 17, 2016 Prompt: A hiding poem

    Much Remains Hidden

    what is hidden &nbsp:    the search is on      who are you

    who am i      the day brand new      through the day

    i search for you      for me     how do you like your coffee

    what do you eat for breakfast     and later in the day      what do you eat

    do you take a nap      or work right through,     how old are you

    and how will you vote      sort socks into pairs      where does the other one go

    or is it hiding       just out of sight      of course when you decide

    the hunt is hopeless      and toss some singles out      the other ones appears

    you are destined      to have some singles      some pairs

    life is like that      not perfect      still much remains hidden

    February 17, 2016

COMMENT