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
I fell upon an open space of love
Of warmth and grace sent from above
Entangled as a worm upon a hook
Nestled in a lovers’ crook
Strengthened by hearts trepid beat
Cajoled and swaddled within loves heat
Crippled now within loves’ grasp
Freedom far beyond my pass
Love love a so wanted grace
Swallowed now a forgotten face.
I Love the Darkness about you
Darkness surrounds you
As spirals of smoke
Wrapping you in myth
And the delineated danger
Of the world,
But your proud defiance
Breaks through with gestures
And chiseled features
To dally with the heavy air
And tilting your face
Out of shadow into light
You flirt with a foreboding
A Newport in your hand
And whisper in a trepid voice
Aware of your mortality.
Such a crumbling beauty
Leaning forward in a skirt
Wisps of black hair shading your eyes
Your sexuality is in your frailty
You are as the motherly moon
Scared but proud
To hold up a starless sky
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
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.
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?
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 rat, a mat, an extra large sleeping bag, and a sofa went to a swimming pool and dived in head first. Never mind the salad dressing shouted the orchestra audience from the balconies. Vast crowds. Vast castle crossroads. Strings, skins and buttons roared in agreement. That tannoy announcement was so correct and ensured gold medals for all competitors. Oh wow and a massive cow. Personified petrified pickle. Sta.singing dingys in questionable quotation queues. And arts of a foremost tongue are felt in the gentle rolling hills which were nevertheless seemingly bright and beautiful. So go bury eighty three times in a swirling swamp. Dig no division dog dream drams. And a crane of crockery is a crocodile in a cradle. Hahah an basket brought boiling broth. Trepid tantalisation terrapins Xxxxx
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.
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.
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)
Wind stream rider high in flight
Far beyond espy steady
Searching clouded obsidian
Peaks of loss and desire
Held closely to my sanity
Erupted in fears adrenaline
Rushing through feral blaze
Carrying that scent within epitome
Stilling me trepid emptiness drains
Into this eddy ripping my voice
Roaring passion inside echoes
Off my skull where solace blankets
Covering bodies waxy marring
My features hiding my dishonor
Whitewashed shame of lasting hope
Carried behind an icy azure
Suavely cold and hotly fevered
Illusions I carry eyes skyward
Probingly closed stifled straining
Catching your voice as you descend
From the heights of Daedalus down
Will I lay my ardors last vigor
Of a promise of eternal love holding
You close as you…
Fall to me.
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.
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