Richard Jarboe


Spies - Poem by Richard Jarboe

Where we go, they go,
We trade on what we know,
Where we spy they spy,
So we trade and then we lie.

Dealer, who do you talk to?
Squealer, who do you talk to?
Can you tell me what they do in their disguise?
In their disguise, what do they do?

I'm a black bag man,
Black bagging is my trade,
My reputation precedes me,
They say, I'm tailor made.

What's classified is deified-
What's deified is classified,
So we trade,
And then we hide.

Where we spy, they spy
We trade secrets then we lie,
Spies want to know what we know,
So we trade on the go.

'Locksmith' is my nickname,
There is no door I can't crack,
Master of intrigue you dig?
And no trace after the fact.

Dealer, who do you talk to?
Squealer, who do you talk to?
Can you tell me what they do in their disguise?
In their disguise, what do they do...really?

Topic(s) of this poem: people


Comments about Spies by Richard Jarboe

  • Wes Vogler (4/13/2017 9:35:00 AM)


    Whoa, Richard... this reads very well... entertainment which is not too derned plentiful at PH... I shall read on
    almost a villanelle poem
    (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags


Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Poem Edited: Monday, April 24, 2017


[Report Error]