"shyest" poems
OPPOSITE my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day.
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet,-
Graceful games and friendly meetings,
Do I daily watch and see.
For these happy little neighbors
Always seem at peace to be.
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.
Soon they cease to fear the giver,
Quick are they to feel my love,
And my alms are freely taken
By the shyest little dove.
In soft flight, they circle downward,
Peep in through the window-pane;
Stretch their gleaming necks to greet me,
Peck and coo, and come again.
Faithful little friends and neighbors,
For no wintry wind or rain,
Household cares or airy pastimes,
Can my loving birds restrain.
Other friends forget, or linger,
But each day I surely know
That my doves will come and leave here
Little footprints in the snow.
So, they teach me the sweet lesson,
That the humblest may give
Help and hope, and in so doing,
Learn the truth by which we live;
For the heart that freely scatters
Simple charities and loves,
Lures home content, and joy, and peace,
Like a soft-winged flock of doves.
11.1k
Cockcrow harbour:
the gulls whining like tethered dogs
about rooftops
paliophobic cars and
grounded vessels..
Look:
on the hoary horizon
a glaucous strip
beguils
with backwater.
Not putting on a show
the frigid sea benumbed..
Easily,
with a tail of emerald jelly
skim a vanishing lane off that
lustrous sheet
and watch
the trailblazing mainland
scuttle.
Now,
Only scattered dreaming is possible.
In it's bachelor pad,
cradling over crinkles,
away from the meretriciosness
of validating the real by sharing it,
THE WIND
blusters off any veneer.
Here,
stale but spry,
fare your way around the inoffensive isle
to it's most shyest of harbours:
a mouth full of silver
saving it's breath.
The windows facing the sea
seem
black & white,
their wooden frames hooked to the wind,
the splattered gulls meow
your name
in a way
that's
personal.
Of course comes to mind.
The pines
are demanding a visit,
They're whispering
so you can hear them,
each as different as every snore,
these pines know
how to grow in the sand
and still reach for
the Nimbostratus with heads in unison.
The spaces
between their trunks illuminating
the blazing needles
raining down
painting the ground
familiar
to your lover's
skin texture:
Feel her closeness
from jilted borderwatchtowers
as she speads her mire
like no one's watching:
weedy and sugared
with bellflowers,
the waves in her shallow armpit
billeting a pair of white swans:
demurely they float
sometimes as pillows and sometimes
as question marks..
Go ask the seasoned locals,
they say the bones she parked
when she let her ice sheet melt
are portals
to her noble underbelly.
Hidden in the woods
reminiscent of your heart,
the red
tank-sized stone
is sealed,
but what the lighting reach cannot
the rain shall sluice apart
dumbly.
And though her hair has
come to be
the moss
black and hoarse
as sailor's beard,
there is still time.
The void says
her noisy neighbour is nothing
to die for.
The theadbear car with absent doors
incites
to drive her
in reverse gear
to the first few
days of holidays:
her golden locks a-blaze,
her arm around your
hind-sighted doppelganger.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
daily provisioning
wallet watch testicles spectacles
cash (single bills) cell phone
bottle of water hairbrush with vanity attached,
personal technology baggie
(earbuds, variety of charging cords etc.)
loose change in order to fall from pockets & annoy yourself
sunglasses (idiot! summers half over) and something else...
pocket tissues!
skin and bone, muscle, all flavors and multilayers,
a language of music only you hear,
the pumping station internal, the gaga motion
product of the palette of body following souled emotions,
the antacid pills after that burrito;
and that strangely named thang called
libido?
your teeth your smile, your shyest guile,
to catch that lady’s hopefully.
reciprocated pearly whites delight,
pen and pad to record being a sad and mad good lad,
a Swiss Army knife if the tube or bus
should (will) breakdown,
your tiny little bottles of
inspiration perspiration and perspective,
that you forgot to
label
the list to do and the list
to add to the to do list
and good heavens,
a serious writing utensil
to fool yourself when
thinking serious thoughts like
these
the last but should be first,
the house keys!!
keys just an enabler
to do it all again
tomorrow
July 11, 2018 10:22pm
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
I saw you on the news again, aiming lies at civilians
You work like a serf to abhor the herd, which was merged by Lords to bore and encore, like a trap door in a dungeon.
What you earth and managed has got me famished, like the dense or pretentious, the meek and the senseless
And type endings to the finest that cry less, the winos that digress, or the shyest who digest
The plate which was purchased, paid to feed liars by the loudest were poisoned by us rebels running incense to the proudest.
Violently passive when distracted, these masses wreck havoc to have their heads handed to them
Sullen sweet to deter, you lure and reserve what is versed or inferred or implied or implored
Like the goodbyed or complied or the ladies waiting with lunacy lining their luxury gowns
Your disheveled and neat demanding appearance has me locked down with pirates and principle pilots
Dulled sick, they spy less, echo with insist, enlist and exist
As terrorists and presidents
Marked with malice making misfits that were mocked and disgraced, maced or laced by daydreams and magicians to assist beggars behind blueprints constructing islands
Which make slaves in to riots that capture journalists under wide tense
To suspend or impend doom sent hell bent by your priestess
You conduct chaos with fast hints, but quit slow when engaged with your conscience
Touched by divine tricks
Decided and destined, best in business
Prince of the wise man
Captain of the compassionate
Comrades with the crack heads singing anthems in kingdoms
We are heartbreakers painting bad graffiti
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
Maybe I'm meant to be a wallflower,
Watching others grow.
Lurking in their shawdows,
Constantly keeping low.
Maybe I'm meant to be a wallflower,
Plucking my petals one by one.
Praying that maybe I'll be picked,
Cause I have never seen the sun.
Maybe I'm meant to be a wallflower,
It's my destiny to be alone,
I think that by now its obvious,
My future is set in stone.
Maybe I'm meant to be a wallflower,
The shyest of them all.
I know that I will never branch out,
I am meant to stay this small.
Wallflowers can be beautiful,
That I know is true.
And I don't mind being a wallflower,
Because I kind of like the veiw.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
The shyest prize
who sings, but lies,
climatically waves
as she bats her eyes.
With her head held high
the sun can shine,
yet within her dismissal
she'll finally hide.
On display, in such-
a courageous way.
She pretends to be
the smile she fakes.
Inadequate- she'll say.
Trembling with fear
you cannot read
on her face.
The shyest prize,
she sings, yet lies,
falsifies the fear,
and pain in her eyes.
Serene- complete.
She only ventures- to be.
Plays this role
nobody can see.
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 6:22 PM UTC
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
"O my dearest,
darling, bijou,
*born the silver
worker's daughter*,
"*how so fortunate
mine eyes
to witness thine
palatial wonder*!
"Mine pleasure t'*would
to take hold and
to pick the fruits
among your vine*—
"*the shyest heart
of rose hips what
has pewter cruxes
bold t'shine*!
"*And as eyes and
I pay credit
to a distent,
nearing nimbus*..
"These gem'*nate
tongues b'twine as
oaken staves—
the Brav'ra Lingus*!"
(..she responds,)
*"Mine auburn falls
for thee*, my dove,
but thy fervence, *once
to mine*, abates?"**
"Quite, my dear..
"tho, *ginger trapped
in tantric bond
what's sweetness*, *rare
n'a boon*, belates!"
*"..well*, *then
please use a ******
she said*.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
You're the muse behind my every song
You're what connects this body to its soul
The darkest of nights find its dawn in you
You are the eye of the most ferocious storm
Oh, love i think it's time
Oh, love, won't you be mine?
Oh, love, can't you just see
I want the world to see you be with me
You're the goosebumps i get in the middle of the night
You're what the stars have been telling me about
The shyest of flowers bloom at your touch
You are the hope that keeps the fragile thread by which my sanity hangs from breaking apart
Oh love, I think it's time
Oh, love won't you be mine
Oh, love, can't you just see
I want the world to see you be with me
You are the brokeness that heals itself
You are the words that i have been looking for all along
The most endurable concrete cracks and sprouts where you walk
You are the love that only results from a great deal of suffering
Oh love, I think i it's time
Oh, love won't you be mine
Oh, love, can't you just see
I want the world to see you be with me
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
I see this city for what it is, Hung over from a drunk night of love and thizz, The scores of underaged mental ****** This city has its dope game sores, The blinking lights of dreams that may never be, And the burnt out saints singing of their misery, The deaf musicians holding for glory days, And quiet actors lips singing future unknown plays, And all the intellects and jocks are buying memories from the street on 4th, As we all look up with longing in the shadow of mount in north Painters obnoxiously using pastels made of broken hearts and deep cuts, While boozed up geniuses look with hope at their pile of cigarette butts, As we all hope for something more, We fail to smile at the witty and ugly ***** The failed nights of that fall cold, And the shyest writers with pros of mindsets that have forever danced away the feeling of bold, We all look up with longing in the shadow of the mount in the north, As we all put down our hands,
And fold.
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
i saw in your eyes
my windowed soul
my naked self freed
alive yet dousing now
joyous tear and burst
of cloud ringing stars
yay i am sure drowned
overboard in lifesaving
blooms wilds flowering
of irises touch so dear
and lay awake bathing
only to dream for sight
with looks blissful keep
the near deepest unrest
and i am fairly held nigh
holy in pagan fairy pools
of skye by sunken lochs
into bluest shyest violets
glowing moons ashudder
what unlived eyes of mine
could nae see ever before
what life held by saving us
ayes set in promising glaze.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
the most saddest people have the brightest smiles
the most shyest people have the loudest minds
the most happiest people have the saddest sobs
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
Aye there son, would you care to hear a tale,
A story less often told, with an impact strong as a gale.
So come and sit beside me and I shall change your life,
You are in my world now, you are in my hive.
There was once a man, only legends told
could bring a rain of fire, could make young, anything old.
He tamed the valiant storms and angered the shyest breeze,
The minds of every blind scholar he did tease.
As his actions were, so was his conscience.
As he could foretell the beyond, all he needed was his magic lens.
So he willingly helped them, those who frantically approached him,
all in a price not according to anyones whim.
Yet hundreds came seeking his unquestionable power,
Those, who wanted to live a fairy tale and a happily ever after.
Some lost half their lives, some their first children,
And others lived their lives under the vicious soothsayer's burden.
And then one day, people wanted this gimmick to stop.
They wanted to live reasonable lives, the bubble they wanted to pop.
And the people paid no more visits to the soothsayer.
And his whereabouts became dead as the cells on the nails of your finger.
Well thats the end i'm afraid. Pretty foggy isn't it?
My vision through this lens has become blur, as the life of any common bandit.
And now you have heard my story, your life will be a worthy journey.
What is the price you wish to pay me?
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
Why is it
That the smartest
The kindest
The shyest
The quietest
Always get picked on?
It makes no sense to me.
But that's what's happening!
It happens everywhere
Every city,
Every state,
Every country in the world,
To all people,
To both genders,
It's degrading.
Who are we to judge?
We're all mortal here.
We all have sinned
We are all flawed
It's merely a fact of life!
Remember this:
No one is below you,
If you consider someone else below you.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
it's strange the way we skirt around each other
like trying to catch a piece of dust in the sun.
it's strange the way we hold each other
but never talk about holding each other.
it's strange that you are such a huge flirt
but are still the shyest person i know.
it's strange that i haven't asked you out yet
but we still act like a couple.
it really is strange.
but it's astonishing
how wonderful you are.
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
As a child I was always the shyest in the room,
I never started conversation for fear of rejection.
Maybe it was because I never had a strong father figure growing up,
I strived to be perfect for everyone I met.
I carefully viewed those around me,
Taking in silent notes of the values, morals, and hobbies they held that were “popular”.
They had the best clothing?
I decided that I needed a whole new wardrobe.
If they traveled a lot, I wanted to travel just as much.
I took all of these things and “built” a better me.
One that I thought people would like.
Every morning I put on that mask for fear that nobody would like the real me,
But I’ve been wearing this mask for so long I cannot tell which is the real me from the imposter.
Which begs the question,
Who am I?
~sdr
Nov 10, 2021
Nov 10, 2021 at 9:58 AM UTC
at first it was pink
the shyest color
*let the feeling sink
you deserve to have more*
then it turned yellow
a happy color
*take away sorrow
plant me smiles once more*
then red came along
the strongest color
*'twas a good feeling
come on, love some more*
you gave me words, too-
stored them in my core
*-not one thing or two
but all hues and more*
but love, as they tell,
may bring tears and pain
*have i gone insane?
this is worse than hell*
and so you brought me
black, white that i bore
*you broke my heart, baby
i can't love no more*
but i realized,
i was hurt and sore,
*got cuts from your lies,
but i couldn't have asked for more*
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:29 AM UTC
Every time I looked at his eyes
feels like my heart wants to explode,
he's all that I've being waiting for,
but am I his?
Every time that I see him around
I only want to talk with him
but it seems that every time he's around
I become the shyest person alive.
I've known all his crushes
and they don't look like me
am I his type?
but certainly I am not,
that's what my brain tolds me.
I've being in love
with only one guy
before I knew him but
with him it's all different.
Am I in love?
could that be possible?
Am I having a crush on him?
without knowing him at all?
Am I?
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
the shyest stick figure,
she held no weight against herself,
walking, she left no print
in my mind
a shallow depiction of a womanly example
but in the weeks and months that followed
realness gathered in clouds around her
and stars began to flash through in the lighting of snapshots of her soul,
like the strokes of a tired artist
curves were drawn around the frame
Color now brightening
lips and hair now red
I could see the pulses of blood and hear the first notes of her song
The beginning of her dance
face now in full bloom
eyes like large drops of dew
and cheeks like stripes on petals
I can finally see a greater reflection
in her countenance
With laughing joy
I make it out
that intricate
signature
the potter’s thumb print
the name of God
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
what if I told you
I saw a lioness with fire eyes?
what if I told you
I witnessed the collapse of a marble empire?
what if I told you
I saw ashes floating from a soul burned by passion?
what if I told you
I saw an ice-cold Phoenix raising from snow?
what if I told you
I saw a canary so joyful its melody charming even the shyest of sun rays?
what if I told you
I saw a golden but poisonous rose?
what if I told you
I saw waterfalls coming down from blue and green galaxies?
what if I told you
I saw honey dripping from a dark heart?
what if I told you
I saw a diamond so rare that its brilliance scared even the lightning?
would you believe me?
would you think I'm lying or fantasising or even creating metaphors of imagination?
but
what if I told you
to look in the mirror?
what if you see
what I once saw?
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 9:14 PM UTC
( Sonnet )
In youth a girl once appeared to me
And joy out made drawn faces station,
Each moment loveliest grant of dream
All days a burst in thirsty celebrations
And for eyes set a buzz to insects flung,
Time lapped its circle of blessed waves,
On shores of pond we made truest love,
Iridescent beyond their sparkling trades,
Wetted lips rapt in late hatch morrows
And the moon lighted the shyest stars,
Never was hint of brood nor of sorrow,
In close after days now raining way far.
O why so fast did she come then desert,
Taking the whole of sweet sun with her?
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
Deep within the woods there is the perfect rock
It is under the tallest tree, right next to a small stream
Worn smooth by years and hours of sitting, by the shyest little girl
For when she was there time would stop, she had no need for a clock
She would sit for hours under the great tree's shade
Reading every book she could get her hands on
Although her body remained on that stone
Her mind was far away, the woods around her would fade
She was a detective, solving the hardest case
She was once a Queen and had tea with those She knighted
She rode a dragon and waged war on the wicked mage
She sailed the giant waves of the seven seas
She climbed to the top of Mount Everest
She sat astride the most beautiful mighty wild stallion
She fought a mighty mid evil battle brought the King to his knees
Yes that stone was very smooth
For out in those woods was her escape
The birds singing there sweet songs, the stream babbling all faded to back ground noise
Those books always her mood and mind could soothe
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 5:22 PM UTC
I dream of a world which is perfect
a world with nothing but respect
where i am a small but important part
where love and joy ain't miles apart
I dream of a world where politics isn't a game
it has people with might and vision but no dismay
Where in every aspect girls are better than the boys
oh, who am i kidding?
They're already better than these rookies
who eat, sleep and both with noise
i dream of world where religion is just a path
where people know they'll reach the same destination
and not a strath
I dream of a world where everyone is just and unbiased
love, joy, difficulties are shared by all, even the shyest
where people die, but are never forgotten
where friendships are never, never rotten
I dream
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
Would you still want me?
If I ruined your skin with my bites
Spoiled your face with my tongue and lips
You would need a new lotion
To wash my love off you
For moments when you hate me
Your life's stability may be shaken
I may bite harder and kiss where you are shyest
You would make the sweetest sounds
I would capture that moment of pure love
And remember our promises of someday
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:51 PM UTC