"bashfully" poems
She said,
“My name is a flower, you see”
I said “Lily…it must be?”
She said, *“no, no, no!…
...a Lily…is soooo,
not as beautiful
as me”*
She replies
bashfully and wise
*I’m just as much beauty to the eyes
as I am to the nose.”*
“Oh!…you must be Rose”
She laughed
and cried more ‘no’s’
*“It sounds a little crazy
I know and maybe…
but you must be a Daisy??”*
she giggled all the more
“who knows?”
and winked
“.. if only baby”
Finally,
I put my thinking aside
I tell no lie,
while I, still in my head
wondering
she sighed
*”My names not ‘white’ or ‘plain’
‘Self raising’ “*, she said
”…is my name”.
Apr 30, 2024
Apr 30, 2024 at 5:04 AM UTC
Werewolf stood in front of a puddle.
Four inches deep. Maybe.
Werewolf looked away.
Stickers. Graffiti.
Flem’s Revenge Live Tonight!
The Nifty Nymphos April 24th.
Ballz Deep featuring **** Matikz and Tremaine The Truest.
I’m a long way from Cologne, he thought.
Werewolf knelt towards the puddle.
The wet filth smelled of hot blood.
Exceptionally hot blood, rather.
He spat in the puddle and turned.
One thousand drunk humans.
Ten thousand more, asleep, above.
Not misunderstood.
Cursed.
It’s a very different sadness.
Alexander’s Feast ended.
Rounding out his latest playlist -
Bashfully Baroque.
Werewolf checked the time.
Less than an hour.
He buzzed a buzzer.
I’m here for the Devil’s Cherries.
The What?
The, ahem, Devil’s Cherries.
He’s cool. Let him in.
And just like that, he was let out.
A line was forming for Flem’s Revenge.
While a bright moon reflected in Werewolf’s puddle.
Werewolf shouldered through.
Cursed.
Clutching his score.
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 1:19 PM UTC
First time, commercial coffee shop
overindulgence, over laden with portfolio,
books, purse, and now cup: underdressed.
Far too few layers for a
shower of cotton *****
sticking to eye-lashes and hair.
Journeying from coffee shop
to bus stop; urban miles away.
piles of melty cotton *****
grab at my inappropriate shoes.
Too much milk and water
turn me off to Christmas in a cup
so I stick out my tongue
and allow my taste buds a play date with Jack Frost instead.
A lifetime away
a new place with new playmates.
This time leaves and stinky berries
push me on to my destination.
A new coffee shop with bells on the door
boasts bashfully of the same overindulgence.
This one small, cozy like
a thrift store couch or kittens.
Community and friendship present
me with that first cup of Christmas.
Someone from that other world
whispers the memory to me.
Again, my tongue
experiences the most joy on this memory experience.
Feb 1, 2010
Feb 1, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
If ever a time should pass
Where coincidence reconstructs fate
I would long for a dyadic destiny
With that woman of serenity
I love the look in her eyes
When she looks in the eyes of God
I see such distance in her glares
Yet they draw me in so near
Every joy I've ever known
Reflected in her daze
Every pain I've ever felt
Erased within her gaze
I look at her, as she looks at God
She sees what He has shown
Anything He has ever made
Means everything to her:
Every cloud in the sky, a dream
Every clover found, a wish
Every gust of wind, a guide
Every sound of nature, a call
Every storm of night, a showcase
Every blink of the eye, a masterpiece
All the while, she's lost in time
And I'm lost in her eyes
The simplest grin rests on her face
Yet it overwhelms me to see it shown
And when I tell her she is beautiful
She bashfully concedes
Outside, so passive and sweet
Inside, so strong and deep
Even so, so tender, is she
One misguided word could fold her
Never the cause of another's harm
Always ready to right a wrong
So gentle must I be
With such a pure gift from God
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
Your eyes lowered
look bashfully
at me...
My eyes amazed
at your beauty,
trying to find
words to say.
Your eyes full of longing
whisper take me
I'm yours...
My eyes hungry
explore your body
wondering
just where to begin.
Your eyes happy
sleepy
sigh hold me...
my eyes sated;
drooping,
close as I pull
you to me.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 12:56 PM UTC
An unfenced field
of memories awoken ,
frozen pastel flowers
color fast ,
though fading
on borrowed time
A one-way footpath
disappears unencumbered
between the snowdrifts
leading across
the winter stilled
iced up creek bed ,
coursing a path
of least resistance
destiny unknown
Changing tawny petals
scatter like potpourri ,
fallen collateral
in the aftermath
a beautiful dream's
passing light
Pressed and dried
memories buried
under dog-eared
tear-stained pages
black topiaries
that grow in the dark
Redemption unbid
and unwelcome,
earthen mineral rights
surrendered unspent ,
Natural order
decomposing
reclamation ,
chilled to the marrow
A scorned lover’s
bated breathe
bared ink unspoken,
Unbidden laments
eerily betokened
in an unseen
netherworld ,
undeniable , yet
bashfully remarkable
I see the frosty
fogged breath
that repents
in choral dialect ,
speaking in known
tongue , with
the absolvable voice
of a bitter cold wind
wind is the wind .... December 20. 2016
Dec 27, 2016
Dec 27, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
it wasn't my intention to embarrass you
perhaps i acted rashly
but knowing what he said to you
made me livid, would it have been better to have treaded bashfully
i cannot stand for my friends to be treated so nastily
myself is another matter entirely
i have a problem letting things go
maybe i need to grow
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC
**** near me
with perfection talking blues,
caressing crystal drinks,
promising future sneak,
and blanketed romance,
**** near me
with hissing tape violence,
milking the moment,
snagging the attention of the suit
and the tie,
**** near me
blowing every ambition in the room,
plunging into whiskey,
head first and lonely,
**** near me
sha-la-las and oooh-la-las
slither into my forked crypt,
staining my funeral garb,
plastering my cask,
**** near me
brothers looking for to see,
while sister ***** the poison,
I dare her to keep pushing,
**** near me
the kissing and the clowning,
the nightgowning I soon to go a' drowning,
cockroach in the corner,
**** near me
Miranda owes me fifty,
the filthy ******* creature,
draining me of chatter,
**** near me
hustling for the saddest rent,
sleeping with the butcher,
under Martha's tent,
**** near me
the crows collect seed,
the know-hows bashfully reread,
while I **** near wearied, worried;
bleed.
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 12:54 AM UTC
You'd find the curtains lightly dancing
to the tune of that song,
to which we'd bashfully waltzed
the first time you had held me,
You'd smell the musk
Spreading its wings in the air,
That you once said, drove you
dizzy when you were around me,
You'd find poetry singing softly
Behind the veil of silence,
Reading aloud my verses of love,
Calligraphed on the bare canvas
Of my skin, in Urdu,
Curving and turning shyly,
For you to trace with gentle fingers,
Right to left, misra to misra,
Sher to sher,
The beher of each caress
Matching the stirring of my breaths,
Culminating at its pinnacle,
Into a ghazal, your ghazal,
That would, with demure grace,
Take form and calmly embrace,
The raging fire, the desperate uproar
Lashing at my parched, starved soul.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
(tripping gracefully over her gory visage,
she bashfully, covertly unveils her
untruthful veracity,
invisible in all things seen)
her phantom form surrounds me and
slides her arm between my lips, into my mouth
finger - after - finger;
i slowly swallow her whole
(she leaves me no other choice)
the quick fog forming in my eyes
threatens to spill
(i think it does)
i choke, my teeth grazing her entangled marble limbs.
my once untarnished tower of a neck
now a blemished python, bruised by suffocation
finger-painting, hand-print impressionism in
russian red and prussian blue and palatinate purple
my angry lungs drink her in
the space between my thoughts and veins becomes considerably smaller.
(i am crowded,
i am
o
ver
whelmed.)
exhausted, i gasp for words
but those too have left me a while ago,
when her impact carved that permanent indent on my chest:
i can never rest.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 8:13 PM UTC
In a tavern up yonder, on a hill painted white
Many sought their refuge from the chilly, winter's night
The powdery flakes, lighter than feathers
Made their descent, dulling the weather
As the inn-keeper fed logs to the fire,
Recalled to memory was the glare of a pyre
With wispy tongues swaying ever-so-bashfully,
A brilliant radiance painted the pub beautifully
Barrel after barrel lined the barman's counter
Spewing wine which fuelled the noisy banter
Embracing a lute, a bard did passionately sing
Of life, and of love, and of every weighty thing
And danced they did to "The Piper's Tune"...
With tumblers full, they drank to the moon
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
He danced in light, son of the Wind,
And colored the minds below.
She was too deep, locked in herself,
But he still had inarticulately tried
To convey his longing in light.
When he asked the girl
What her name was, she replied,
"I am the Marianas Trench,"
And he blinked, smashing lashes
In a vain effort
To extract an answer not forthcoming.
She gazed blankly, concealing
Three million dying hopes
Faintly sparkling within her depths.
He bashfully cast his eyes
Downward to conceal his own
Inner turmoil.
"I am the Aurora Borealis,"
He finally yelped as his fingers drummed
Notes in the tension between them.
A light flickered across her
Black eyes, flitting to his own.
Quickly extinguished, it
Carried within it her slipped
Composure and raw yearning.
He drew breath, and the coronas
Of his eyes slid to meet hers,
Blank once more.
Before she could bolster
Her dwindling courage,
He was leaving, taking with
Him all her color.
"Don't!" She pleaded.
Her cheeks flushed magenta.
He blanched, his eyes dark.
But he was far from her,
Shrouded in light
That could never color
The stone walls she built.
Miles high, she hoped
They touched his sky someday.
Until then, she was hidden,
Sound, and he was brilliant, lost.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
Michele Di Carlo became a freak show
the day he climbed up a tree
To his dismay, that rainy day, he fell
and broke his bone in three
Some say, it could have been worse
a deformity for the hard ******
but humbled now, with a wrist to hide
now that his fingers were all twisted
Yet, no shame is in the mangled
Michele dangled no pity in his pain
He learned to show it off in pride
though be crippled or he be lame
When shaking hands with most men
he smiles, offering a disfigured hand
His strength was in his frailty
a bashfully better and stronger man
For on the day of his funeral
photos reveal before he died
an array display of his freakish limb
his best pose by his side
Even then, Mr Carlo in his coffin
requested only one thing when laid to rest
that when they placed him in the ground
they’d lay his hand upon his chest
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 6:04 AM UTC
It's a long way to twilight
With the day refusing to die.
The fiercely beating sun digging his heels in,
Dogged in retreat;
The stars and the moon bashfully hidden
Behind the veil of his blazing glare.
The sky cloudless, no impediment
To the spears of his incandescent beams;
The road, barren, tree-less.
Only the shrubbery of razor-sharp pebbles underfoot,
Kin to the cacti
Without even the saving grace
Of their greenness.
It's a long way to twilight
And the day refuses to die...
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
I fell in love with your poetry
at the very first line
feeling gentle words kiss my lips
rich emotions charged my mind
a title that caught my eye
and it really said it all
when I wasn't even looking
my heart began to foolishly fall
so deeply besotted now
with arranged words that you display
a heartbeat bashfully racing
and I'm left with nothing to say
you'll not even notice me
as you're wrapped up in beautiful forms
but I keep your poems close to me
and can only imagine you in my arms
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
we don't speak no more,
except for in my dreams you're there.
we don't see each other no more,
except for in my memories you're there.
we don't care no more,
except for secretly in my heart, for you i care.
you in my mind, kept me up at night.
the cause of my everyday sleepless nights.
the toughts of you as i hug my pillow tight.
makes me miss you more, nothing ever feels right.
your smile have always made me shy.
making butterflies flap their wings in my tummy, that's no lie.
you look at me, eyes sparkle right at me.
i wish you'd see how mine did too,
as i bashfully looked away slowly.
if ever you know what's going on in my mind,
and what i have for you in my heart.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 6:15 AM UTC
Trust me
Love me
Fight for me as night touches my life
I won't cry when you die
Not because I couldn't find the passion in yours eyes
Because twilight never sparkled when you cried
Be my savior, accept god never caressed me tenderly
Hold my hand, make my fingers tingly
Treat me like the first girlfriend you seen, turning so red and talking so bashfully
Be my soulmate until the end
Be more then a friend
Be the man I want to love
We blend chaotically
We sit unstituated perfectly
Not looking to far from constantly
Also not looking so far from lonely
Nothing is never fixated ideally
7 years of crazy interesting
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
walking so fervently i stalk as i talk
weaving webs of decptions to those i mock
listening for the howling that with my madness
comes. searching for feeling that out my
numbness rubs. id like to say im beyond
greed, my soul ever searching for completion
no the lights flicker in my minds eye.
over realities to my self i constantly lie.
as i relax the colors show through
a strobe of splendors with no absolute
hue. slashes and shapes with magnificient
gapes, pull back the drapes, dont let in the shapes.
abyss so wonderful, a lava lamp beautiful
a lament to archangels, my curses rued by
dark and frilly, lacy things. leather to measure
the desire of pleasure about to gain mould, a
tether by masters controlling desperate hold.
the light my bane, id run if able, to escape
the one true god, so bashfully i fear, as
changes the year, and sprinkles a tear on ground
no sound found, forever bound to this mound, hear.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
His last memory was my cold shoulder, as I with ease severed our bonds
Tears embraced the pain filled face, and nightmarish shrieks took ahold of me
Each step was strenuous, a colossal amount of weight
And it was not as though my body could not move, but that my heart was unwilling to leave
Why does it always rain on those who deserve the sun? Such is a question that has no answer
Perhaps if I filled myself with suppositions a bit longer, it would soon become natural
Regret swarmed my mind and thoughts, I could do nothing but ponder what could have been different
Under the blazing sun, on the smooth warm green grass that hugs us both
The calm delicate face of his hand asks mine for a kiss, and grasp one another tenderly, bashfully sharing warmth
Hazel orbs directed at my own, seemingly pouring inside sweet endearment
Of course, we were not the only stars in the sky, another match made in heaven were joyful right along with us
The blazing sun had duet with he moons, and in the finale the role of spotlight was handed to the moon
As it twirled onto the center the sun cast a spell of light making the moon a star to be seen by all
He lied their imperfect revealing every foible, the thick, viscous blackness oozing out his heart
And surely, I am no better on the inside, sorrow rolling on my cheeks, immortal wickedness enslaving me
Yet a lovely pair sprouted their feathery wings and flew towards us only to perch on us
One drew a smile and unease lifted itself from my shoulders
T’was an exquisite blissful night, and dreamy desires filled my mind
‘Could our love be as beautiful as the moon and the sun’s?’ one whispered
No, it cannot my imperfection will make sure of that
How I adore you who investigates my heart and still intends to come closer, but the closer you are the more we hurt, simply the act of smiling at another can trouble you for days
Being friendly with an old friend summons insecurity and jealousy, and suddenly endearment is no longer sweet
For I’ve cut the both of us too deeply with my selfish love, tis so cruel I always want what I cannot have
My last memory was his hand reaching out to me and his pleading face, as I in tears severed our bonds
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
I wish the words would come
That I could “ring them out like the rain”
Even this one though
Doesn’t end for me
Degraded to online prompts
With the delusional last-hope
That these words
Will bring mine some solace
Three prompts shallow
The charmed one stares bashfully back at me
“Write about something or someone you lost”
I used to write about sunshine
Tattooed into your wrist
My eyes incapable of reading past;
The other prompts fall backward
Blank and dull--nothing changed
The page blurred
I know that those are the only words I feel
Even these words though
And the feelings they evoke
Are empty
Nothing holds anything
No laughter in your throat
I see your pictures
I want to dig it out
From the cave of your mouth
Frantic; I need to find your smile
The words spoken only to me
I miss you
My spirit hinges between yesterday and tomorrow
The present isolated—anything but lived
With that thought
You feel even more wasted
‘Wasted’
Prompts the image:
Me slapping myself
Popping the unspoken word from out of my mouth
Wasted
Black letters laying on the floor
in a white wall room
Staring back at me
Erase this stanza
Grow back my charisma
Where did I lose my empathy
Replaced with sick sympathy
How could I say this about you
Worse even,
Is my silence
After hearing from cold lips “what a shame”
The lose breath hangs
The words replaced with brief and noncommittal reflection
Followed by the shake of a faceless head
Before turning back to its newspaper
The word Shame
Stabs slowly
Only because you did make all of your choices
You did leave us
Still, I keep my eyes from casting to the ground
I am not left someplace dingy
There is no soot covering where my cheeks should be rosey
You are not shame
The words do not come
They sit muddied and sopping
A rag dismissed to the few-days-grayed sidewalk
Rain falls and attempts to take in space where there is none
Even a sponge becomes too full
I miss you
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
The sky's cheeks touched by a dream –
Blushing softly and bashfully, in shades
Of pink.
As our love ascends –
You are my heavens; embraced,
Radiating in soft shades of pink.
Oct 28, 2024
Oct 28, 2024 at 11:46 PM UTC
In the center of the white room with the wide curtain-less windows:
A woman cannot sleep, but her eyes are closed;
Normally it is her eyes that burn, now it is just her skin.
Next to her is a glass of water that is not too far away to reach,
She is just too weak to try to grab it.
For a moment she tries, and she is pulled away from the bed to hear:
“Mama?” Her mother is reading a book by candle light.
The girl has wandered away from the nursery; it is late.
Her mother at first appears frustrated, but her expression warms.
Mama gives her a small slice of treacle **** plenty of kisses, tucks her back into bed.
In the nursery, there is a toy horse. The girl looks at it and
“Father!” The young girl laughs breathlessly,
As her father playfully taps her shoulder, passing by atop of a horse.
The young girl is learning to ride horses, although Mama doesn’t approve.
But Father believes girls should do everything that little boys do.
His face is red and handsome, and on his other side are
“Peter! Little John!” She calls out to her younger brothers.
It is time for supper and her mother sent her outside to fetch them.
She has been inside all day, learning French and practicing piano.
The young girl has very little time to play anymore, but she knows
Her brothers are hiding, begging her to play.
She starts to run and hears a shout from her
***** She gasps, as her older sister pulls in her corset tighter.
Her figure is slim enough, the young girl decides. ***** pulls too much.
The girl is now a young woman and has no one to help her tie her corset,
Except ***** There is a ball tonight because ***** is getting married.
The young woman wonders about when she will get married and if his name will be
“Nathan Smith” the Priest says, smiling down upon the two young lovers.
The young woman looks bashfully up at her groom. He looks full of pride.
She wonders if Father will cry like he did at Sissy’s wedding.
As they recite their vows, the young woman keeps thinking about
What sort of curtains she likes and how she likes the name
“Sarah,” the young mother looks lovingly down at her newborn.
Beside her, Nathan looks once again full of caring pride.
For a moment, it feels as if it is just the three of them in the world.
The young mother is so excited and scared at the same time.
She hopes for a little boy next time and she will name him
Nothing. The baby was taken from her. She did not name the baby.
The young woman does not know if it was a boy or girl.
She trusts Nathan will name it properly, and love the child.
For a moment she wishes Nathan was there or little John or Peter.
But they are far now, like Mama, like Father, like *****
Perhaps it is better this way.
In the center of the white room with the wide curtain-less windows,
The woman is ready to sleep;
Next to her is a glass of water that is not too far away to reach,
She is just too weak to try to grab it.
She does not try this time and she is pulled away from the bed to hear:
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 10:28 PM UTC
I've seen you before
On the same streets I no longer take
I've never seen you since then
Always I wondered if I would ever see you again
One with the rain
Drenched in apathy
Entangled in pain
I confess to you bashfully
Lost within myself
Seems like forever
I think I may need your help
Yearning to be together
If you ever find these words
Please know that they were written true
They were only meant for you
Cody Shull, 2017
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
the mirror plays favorites
she twiddles the beauty queen’s golden hair
she puckers up so lipstick can be placed on her full lips
her hair the perfect length to play with
not dry, but smooth and so healthy
she picks the prom queen’s silky dress with dignity
it’s perfect for her malnourished body
it lays and sits so beautifully
the mirror sees her and appreciates the craft she created
grins, and puts silver and gold expensive earrings on her ears
but when i approach,
she turns her face in disgust
throws an outfit at me; ripped jeans and a tacky t-shirt
she says i’m too fat and that i should keep my legs far apart so people don’t notice how weird i look
she grimaces at me and i walk away bashfully
‘never letting her look at me again’
i say
but
i always come back for her critical opinion
and i accept it
that’s exactly what i am
not beautiful, a fat failure
May 22, 2022
May 22, 2022 at 3:31 PM UTC
My words cannot be professional
actors in a play that I direct,
as child actors are not legally
permitted to work seven
days a week, and such
a production would need
at least that much
rehearsal time.
My words are not yet grown.
They appear at counterpoint
to my thoughts, single notes opposite
the hundred-piece orchestra of my emotions,
bashfully attempting to express the essence
of an eight-part harmony in a simple progression
of notes flowing, one to the next, each
tremulous, uncertain, both
hopeful and despairing.
They are the child trying to finger-paint the Mona Lisa
with the clumsy hands of a toddler -
they do not even have the skill to hold the paintbrush.
I nudge those children paralyzed by stage fright
out from behind the curtains,
up to the center of the stage
where under your gaze, your eyes
as you fill the seats, they
will attempt to act out
Shakespeare in the stumbling
cadence of second graders, to dance
the choreography meant
for a prima ballerina with their inept,
faltering steps, and I will love them for it.
I will love them for their endeavor
to convey to you, my audience
filling the seats of this theater, the design
I had created within my mind.
I will love them for their missteps, the dissonant
notes that were not in the sheet music, the colorful
fingerprints they leave all over the kitchen table.
They have not performed my intended purpose, yet
they have made me happy just the same.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC