Best Trepid Poems
Joan of Arc
HE speaks, and messengers appear
To innocence of one so young in year
The calling understood, she will not flee
Till France is free of English tyranny
The struggle long, a hundred years or more
An army tired, sapped of strength by war
She steps into the fray, new hope, inspire
Her words believed, the lighting of the fire
Hoorah, the trepid siege of Orleans broken
Triumphant Gaules their spirit now awoken
Battle proved, proud see her banner fly
On to the capital, her new war cry
Though the king be doubtful to her power
Sanctioned he, and blessed her of the hour
There, before the gates and walls so tall
Defending well, Paris refused to fall
Defeated, wounded, weary, drawn, down
Undone, alone, rejected by the crown
Falls into allied hands when out at large
Imprisoned to be tried, on falsehood charge
Religious order sent to set out court
To seek and force the answer that was sort
She, unwavering in her self belief
Her story standing gave them no relief
A minister dispatched to find (his) truth
Then shout her heresy from every roof
A thousand times the question fills her ear
A thousand times she answers without fear
Time was never going to be her friend
None came in aid or cared her to defend
Sent forth to burn in blazing execution
Inglorious was her perfect persecution
True to HIM her love would not betray
For HIM, at the stake, her life she lay
The passing years, gave her soul release
St Joan, now rests in reverence and peace.
I'm new to this language; it baffles me so!
With so many mysteries I wish to know:
Why doesn't 'resolve' mean 'to solve it again'?
And why are 'wise guys' not the same as 'wise men'?
Why doesn't 'extraneous' mean 'once was traneous'?
Why's 'miscellaneous' not NOT cellaneous?
Enigmas that seem to me very unmappable,
Unflappable me has become simply flappable.
"You're incorrigible", my friend Mike said to me,
I said, "Corrigible I'll endeavor to be."
One museum we saw had a fossil exhibit
I asked, "Every bone was at one time a hibit?"
"I don't care for inquisitive people", said Mike.
So I asked, "What's a quisitive person look like?"
He looked at me plussed with a look of disgust,
now I hope I can change it to gust and nonplussed.
"Disgruntled employees", my boss said, distressed,
"are a pain in the neck!" I thought, "gruntled is best!"
He scolds my appearance: "Your hair is unkempt",
so I'm bringing a comb to make sure it stays kempt.
"Avoid work mishaps, and do not act unruly".
"Yes sir, boss. I'll only make ruly haps, truly"
He tells me, "Just try not to look so disheveled."
My note to self: make it my goal to look sheveled.
"Intrepid Improvements" the work poster says
"Avoid trepid provements" is my New Year's res.
"Such reckless abandon" someone said to me
so from now on, more reckful I'm hoping to be.
I've tried to appear nonchalant and undaunted,
I'm daunted that I'm more chalant than I wanted.
This poem I'll write in indelible ink -
…much better than delible ink, don't you think?
He held his detached face in his hand as he trepid into the darkness of an
ungodly aura fermented from the
evil within him.
Masked with so much anger and pain
through his faceless face as it mirrored
into his face like the reflection
of his own blackish image.
Yet behind shut eyes he roared like a lion
sending signals to his comrades as
an invitation to the dance into the forest
of the pitch-dark night.
Fist clanged tightly and mysteriously
as he was trapped in his own wrath
and never to see the light of the day
for it was a dead end.
Now alone, his monstrous black hair
poured out in anger;
don’t drag me into my own hell.
Kiss me when the sun sleeps
when the blazing sun doth rise,
hold my trepid skin timorous
with a requited reassurance
we’ve not been broken
of soulmate incarnate
ecstasy within our grasp
of this comes beautiful
hold me tight, my love
Nirvana’s desaturated shade, awaits
soft pink and warming gray, above
behind a burning turmeric glow
under an apocalyptic sky
brawn banished, lips silenced
after every word is spoken
sanctioned skeletal forms
melded are two mortalities
fusing into one metaphor
birth of man, woman, death infinite’s
earth, wind, fire, water embossed
no diener for dystopia
only death lives in destruction
crimson deserts recreated
ashen corpse servant
no hand his bones shall fall
sealed is our eternal love
our homeland a morgue
ossified cartilage caresses
immortalization in
pulverized sand dunes
touched by the flurries
of vaporized gold dust clusters
opportune eyes fell upon
excavating earth organs ripped open
evil befell the resilient relentless
by all that glittered gold
golden buried stones
by the arid drones
our existence erased
no genogram depiction,
not relevant to treatment
ashen of undying souls
are there more lives,
…what do you think?
Deep inside my illusory dream, I wander
Restless, I roam in the wilderness of want
treading down a capricious path
charted by my heart, sanctioned by my soul.
What I seek is a time and place
where I beseech the sun to undress the stars,
dimming their golden glow long enough
that I might find a love in quiescence of slumber.
A rippling stream, I soon discovered~
my hand dipped into its cool water
when a trepid thought occurred to me...
What is a ripple without its rhythm,
but meandering waves with no place to go
inside this reverie where wild roses grow.
My pulse roused and quickened...
once aware eyes were watching me.
He was here ~ and entering my dream
My cheeks flushed, blushed with heat
I was tortured by the taste of touch
and felt him wake in this rose wilderness
And I ~ a bud ready to burst into bloom
He smiled, asking if I was a forest fae
or a proper princess in need of a noble knight.
It was the fire of desire that was lit in his eyes
that completely captured my heart.
His words, so softly spoken aroused a need in me...
that sensual way when from sleep one wakes
and aches for a tender touch and taste
Captured were my senses... recognition and submission
Pathos paid attention to my passion
Ethos gave credit to love within a dream
Logos ~ what logic is there to devotion?
I returned his smile with eyes matching his desire.
We spiraled through the night.
"Thank you, Sun for more hours of darkness."
Together we were entangled like twine.
Declarations he repeated, over and over until I spoke,
"If I am your refrain, let my name burn on your lips.
for there can be no fire without a flame.
I fear to wake and find you gone
from beside the rippling stream
and you, my alluring, elusive love ~
nothing more than a dalliance in my dream."
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
Shadows come creeping, silence grows trepid
Twilight so stark, not ‘beam of pale lunar
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
My thoughts become smart as my wisdom fades
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
I lone am the wolf whose fangs turned to stone
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Barren confines for this degrade machine
No solace comes for a soul like me..... so
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
I spied too late what I chose to forgo
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
No solace comes for a soul like me….. so
Shadows come creeping….. silence grows trepid.
The Patient Pantaloon
Nick Rush
With your dangling bells, and your trepid smile, your harlequin eyes, burn like coal
With your windy heart, and your unguided fate, beyond sheer truth, lies a lost riddle
With your sunshine oozing through your tempest mask, boulders on both shoulders
WIth your silhouette pressing from your feet to the floor, much colder each day older
With your enchanted soul, and your abstract sight, blocked by shadows, due to rue
With your tangled thoughts, and your addled love, dolefulness heavy, que the blues
With that said you live to fight another day, or fight to live, which way will you sway?
With the glass half empty, still you can sip, imagine there is nothing, not even a drip.
I know the land where the lemon-trees flower
Where dew-drops shower
On the pure lily-flowers!
There flows a glistening life-giving river
On each wave a sliver
Of light that delivers
Glorious warmth that quells trepid heart-aches
Every eve a dawn-break
Every breath a keepsake.
Do you know the land where the lemon-trees flower?
He inspires somber fireside melodies
Children keep a distance,
or whisper trepid greetings
Tears roll uncontrollably
and nights never end
Once,
he could conjure soft rains,
And the sensation of stormy droplets
One after the other,
they found solace
in a joint stream of tears and laughter
But nothing seems to live within him
now
Idle winds hasten with each shallow breath
His halting pulse sliding
along in the ensuing current
It wields acute visions of his remote past
severely depleted by a brittle reality
And a faint rhythm
barely pacing the angry winds
He hears the steady hum
of an ineffable thought
It’s the only song he knows
It rings unbearably through him
inducing a rare prayer
But fading emotions flood the dreary night
He wanders through dreamless crevices
while angels rest
Birds fall silent
when he breaks an intimate radius
They fail to hear the sound of life
Eyes glow incessantly in the dark
A lone candle casting his
silhouette against the wall behind him
He cannot bear his own shadow
Every flicker recalls a glittering past
Every fade, a dimming existence
Spirits scurry in apprehension
He bears a disconcerting cocktail
of impassive eyes and indifference
He offers the spirits a wide berth
But every path leads nowhere but
Past curious owls
and pensive trees
and bewildered creatures
All sensing a presence…
and seeing nothing
They ask questions
About higher beings and broken souls
About our natural order and enduring hope
About heavens, birds, trees
and the spirits that live within
They relate a solemn tale
That his life carries a matching
and constant destiny
Of an equivalent death
and sad parity
And the dawn of a new rebirth
Abruptly it’s ended in a smite act so senseless
The crucifixion of Amy has finally ceased
No more trepid slumbering with one eye open
The cycle fulfilled in a moment’s release
This future no longer a constant wary foreboding
Her fog banked vision burns away in the light
Hope’s power begins it’s antiseptic cleansing
A life tortured in silence was reborn tonight
Contusions diminish the infections have dried
Independence scent barely a recognized trace
Her trust bloodied shards of a pulverized mirror
Self-confidence sprouts at a laggardly pace
Imploring for aid her voice wailed out sheer panic
Praying to God…let this life just be done
From a fist calloused faith when no one came calling
She found her god's grace in the flash of a gun.
Oh trepid specter in the night
Making bold thy cursed plight.
What zealotry provokes thy mournful cry
Allowing thee to linger nigh?
Did Heaven bar thee entry first?
Did Hell itself not quench thy thirst?
And why this fuss and sordid gloom
To foreshadow some impending doom?
Did unrequited love convey despair?
Was the deprivation too much to bear?
Did thou stumble at Heaven's door
Causing thee... to tread my floor?
Was some crucial task left undone
To hinder the setting of thy sun?
Was true-love's knot unlaced in death
Which took from thee... thy final breath?
I know not the story of thy worth
That tasks a Ghost to walk this Earth.
But if such a state is now to be...
Let's hope it's not eternity.
Oh trepid specter in the night
Making bold thy cursed plight.
What zealotry provokes thy mournful cry
Allowing thee to linger nigh?
The End
The Handprint
Sliding down the misted glass the handprint slips away
Left are only the streaks that frightened fingers made
Terrorized by this vision now forever imprinted in your mind
Paralyzed in your position too far away from the exit sign
Your sight is rendered useless blanketed within the vapors steam
The chill within fell way too deep settling in like gangrene
Terrified trepid movement caught by your cornered eye
Death would be an improvement instead of waiting to just die...
05/27/17
A heart’s journey
Into the world of minds
With endless chatter
And careless whines
Prejudices and principles
Counterfeits of beliefs
Drowned in confusion
Lucid and trepid
To prick and prod
Judge every and all
Resolute, Sincere
Or mired in fear?
A virtual universe
Of impressions and reflections
With tradition or fashion
Still seeking salvation
A heart speaks
Through the shadows of doubt
Tender, tolerant and kind
Seeks affinity in the crowd.
His trepid gaze casts downward
locks hold behind his tousled black hair.
I know of his fame, he knows none of mine.
Just my name in a place.
I have stood an arms length away
I have longed in vain.
There’s a life in my mind I’ve lived with you by my side.
Yet you never knew….
I stood an arms length away.
I have longed in vain.
Oh love Oh love
Where do I go to find you, but in the lights?
Only in my weakened memory.
Where in your lurid eyes I turned in dismay.
Knowing no other way but apart.
Liquid swirls slowly at the bottom of her glass,
diving in, she hits the bottom with a crash
another waiting drink, another lost hour
Just like her life waiting to be devoured
A trepid woman used, a trusting woman scorned
She's either second hand, ash in her wake, or alone and torn
At the bar, a seedy man eyes her like a beast
Objectified by men, she's not surprised in the least
She reapplies her lipstick and gets up to dance
In the corner of her eye, the door cries last chance
Her heels click across the room; she takes him by the hand
With no respect for herself, she cannot understand
These men will never love her the way she desires
She's just another notch on their belt to acquire
As the bartender yells "last call", she kisses his cheek
They start to leave together with no words to speak
But before they get to the door, she drains one last ale
Sadly, just like her life feels, it's sour and stale.
April 7, 2012
for And With A Sip Contest (Paula Swanson)