Long Trepid Poems
Long Trepid Poems. Below are the most popular long Trepid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trepid poems by poem length and keyword.
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?
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.
Cold is the tittering of befitted feet
Cold is the meagre meanders of falling fractals
Cold is the twinge of bitter blues upon reeling retreats
Cold is the roiling retch of frostbitten flesh
Cold is the weary wench of an incomplete belch
Cold is the hoarded heath upon a ridiculed roof
Cold is the eerie ebb of a trepid twitch
Cold is the boyish bodice of meaningless man
Cold is the bane of bountiful bone held of chain to vein
Cold is the foiled figment of blustered breathes
Cold is the iridescent icicle of purified pain
Cold is the poignant punch of a sickened stench
Cold is the frivolous fawn of bludgeoned brain
Cold is the enticing ice of roiling rest
Cold is the belted buoyancy of a famished feign
Cold is the writhing wail of fraught forgiveness
Cold is the desolate depth of ailed eyes
Cold is the stringent stain of blotted blood
Cold is the rouged rememberance of pelting prise
Cold is the gaudy gulp of satin salvation
Cold is the harrowing hurry of soiling snow
Cold is the darkening winterous warmth of comforted coverage
Cold is the heeled horn of the sinner's wretched woe
And wretched be the cold of mutilated body, strapped to snow, falling in tow.
And cold be the sorrows of selfish self.
It was my dream to go to the gym.
I promised myself, I would.
Days passed by,
I told myself,
‘I must work, I should.’
Far from work, I took to rest,
As others huffed and puffed.
The mirror mocked, my muscles did,
As people looked and coughed.
‘Nothing’s wrong’, I told myself,
An hour’s walk would do.
I circled my garden twice a day,
The blood in my veins coursed through.
Mother had fought her fear for long,
Our thoughts had strained her nerves.
Bereft of company, my father had left
Emptiness in voluminous curves.
I tried to be that mother was--
to my sister to live it through.
Carried the weight of pain in sleep
My lie was rebuild anew.
(Then) Mother passed to the other realm.
My sister suffered the loss.
I tried in vain, to ease her pain.
Feelings had turned to frost.
Summer set in, with strong disdain,
As I struggled to fill the blank.
Philosophy, logic nothing worked.
My heart, I felt, it sank.
In trepid and unease, I composed myself
With fear still to ruin.
Practice should work in protest, thought I,
and restored the dream within.
Not yet----
Then when it rained and the ground was wet
I charmed myself indoors.
Damsels flashed their figures shaped.
I watched my favorite videos.
My friend advised, my sister too,
Served me food that’s bland.
I gifted myself with a treat sometimes,
Till I got myself scanned.
The reports showed a lot of load
My knees had taken for long.
The doctor advised to shed some flesh.
I felt I’d write my song.
I lived a lie that I was fine,
Though arteries and veins did scream.
Of what is going to happen with age.
I laughed out the pain within.
While I prepped to battle my pain,
A fear lingered to the brim.
I finally decided to give it a shot
And tired myself in the gym.
The promise was kept as authored by me.
A story that could’ve been short not long.
I suffered pain, to keep myself
From the lie that held me wrong.
A lie that said, I was well--
Though in me, I was not.
That flashed a smile, I regret,
The emptiness in me had brought.
The sweat in pain, I no longer refrain
From working my sinews an hour.
Slowly I stretch the muscles of my heart,
Under Time’s shady bower.
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.
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
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."
A brutal murder in portentous chill
A helpless life, under butcher's will
An ominous spade digs soil in till.
Buried in dark secret, an aghast kill.
Corpse stenched, languished still.
The cops nab smite, in strokes of grill..
Shoveled out of dirt, brown bags fill.
The body unearthed, with shovel skill.
Scraping in shudders, foreboded ill.
A chasm of bare bones, lie dead still
Exhumed out promises, none to fulfill.
Playing labyrinth of hell, media score bill.
Dreams of trepid soul, to ash burn until.
Shovel and rake, witness of blood spill
Underneath the field..beside a distant hill
A lonesome weeps, grave in teared frill.
Winter in cold-blood, killed spring of daffodil.
3rd March 2019
SCRAPING OF SHOVELS CONTEST
Sponsor John Lawless