"trepid" poems
Unsure
Not feeling so sure
Skeptical
Feeling insecure
Bashful
Completely intimidated
Fearful
Absolutely trepid
Doubtful
Unconfident and uncertain
Cowardly
Disbelieving
Shy and coy
Hesitant
Incredulous
Questioning everything
Dubious
Scared to death
Timorous
Feeling so unsure
But will I take the risk?
Sure...
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Watch the trepidation in the swinging of a chandelier,
as its candles choreograph their own silhouettes
on the pallid walls
to the beat of the creaking ceiling.
When the roof caves in,
the walls will stop being a dance floor to ghostly shadows,
the chandelier will crash to the table,
and the song of a rusty, trepid chain will end.
You will have learn to let yourself waltz
to the music in your own head
and you will have to learn let others watch you
because you are a fire, not a ghost
and you do not belong in the shadows you create
when you’re secretly making your pain into art.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 10:56 PM UTC
Be on the side of truth, speak boldly what’s true
Said the father to his son, truth you must value.
One day said the father, son let’s go to a movie
Jurassic Park at the Globe would be fun and groovy.
A little recreation is overdue son, what do you say
No harm will be done, if you are off from school a day.
The lad a little trepid said after a reflecting pause
What dad should I tell the teacher as absence’s cause!
Don’t worry son tell him the truth for from the daily grind
A day’s break of a little boy he wouldn’t surely mind.
So they merrily enjoyed the day, the movie was ****** good
Away from lessons and classroom, found the kid in fabulous mood.
But you know about the good times, it’s in them to always rush
The merry day passed quickly, and the boy was back in class.
What happened yesterday, the teacher’s jaws hardened
The boy had to admit it, with truth he was burdened.
I had gone with my father to watch the Jurassic Park
Was enough for the teacher to show his anger’s spark.
You boy bunked class and now tell it on my face
Get out right now and remain standing till recess.
In the class was another boy without truth placed better
He too like our lad had gone to the Globe theatre
When the teacher turned to him asked him what’s his cause
He said he was down with fever without a moment’s pause.
The truthful boy felt pangs of remorse for saying what was true
From that day he learned the lesson that truth would never do.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:03 AM UTC
Chalance is the quiver in your vivacious voice as you tell them you're fine.
The trepid tear you battle as you proclaim that you don't care anymore.
The leering lump in your throat as you scream indifference from the rooftops.
The murky melancholy you mask with the widest of smiles,
The sinful scars that lurk beneath your flawless ensemble.
The six strategic seconds you pause before you tell the universe you're nonchalant
The word chalant is only as non-existent as your nonchalance.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
My trepid step
has long abandoned
carefree whips of youth,
Thus, gingerly I test
the bridge for traction,
A full beam darkness
buckles back
the harness of my shame
misleading
ever older bones
across this gaunt canal
Dec 18, 2022
Dec 18, 2022 at 4:12 AM UTC
A vast landscape spanning mountains and valleys,
Enter entombed upon the dark marsh and gullies.
-
The trees, all decayed except the weeping willows,
Flattened forests jut up through the hillocks.
-
The call of a raven can be heard betwixt,
The open cavemouth of all silence,
The breeze concerns your cheek’s fine flesh,
And you know inside that God exists.
-
The beautiful darkness that escapes the light,
Shocks as if thunder were having its fright.
-
From the gorgeous hillside at where Cain murdered Able,
To the trepid path leading to Four horses’ stable.
-
The wind’s vague touch clearing fallen leaves,
The spring’s dripping water rids of disease,
Ash of the cremated flows through the air,
Swept up, caught in without despair.
-
Sharing stories around a somber fire,
The warming words do stoke the pyre.
-
The Black Cabal does peak between,
The center valley betwixt mounts obscene,
-
The abhorrent cathedral in gothic fashion,
Does purify in all reactions,
Leaving clean and reborn again,
Remaining free for eternity to gate about Eden.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
MINESTRONE NIGHTS (on the summer of 2018)
Deep in the incubus of fantasy
As torrid painter makes its art
Rips a flash of an epiphany
A plaintive whisper of the heart
Hobgoblin summer full of slobber
Beget febrile reveries unkind
As dance character’s macabre
A three-ring circus in my mind
Each minestrone moldy night
When body craves boreal slumbers
Akin cat on hot tin roof I fight
Dank sog my sleep encumbers
Comes morn aft time eternal
Half charged at start of day
Abscond sodden dreams infernal
Tormenting orb is up to play
I was hot before I even knew
Never really did cool down
Too warm again, for morning dew
Vague slumber’d avec frown
Haven't slept for an age or eon
Cadaver tacky to the tepid touch
Arise, trepid to perspire, like peon
Labour in this broil is just too much
©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 7:58 AM UTC
A pulsating longevity awaits in the longing hours.
Tick.
Tick.
A sulphurous coverlet crawls up to my neck.
Tick.
Tick.
It’s dark at the windows; it claws at my throat.
Tick.
Tick.
Someone, come save me – I can’t breathe; I can’t cope.
The layers peel back, constellations on show –
I sit with this pain while it grabs its dark coat
On closer perusal, a face lingers close
Broken, ugly, no joy does it show
It takes my limp hand in a gentle caress – calloused, hardened, its gaze set on my chest
“Dear girl”, it does say, as the tears linger close, “your being in this world hasn’t quite found its home”
I grasp at this hand I don’t quite understand – it coaxes me forward in a promising demand.
“Make friends with this darkness – feel how it chokes. It has a message to share underneath its black cloak”
Trepid, shaken, I follow its lead
The cracks shatter open and all is revealed.
Oct 14, 2022
Oct 14, 2022 at 5:19 PM UTC
Fatherhood, that long and rugged path made fruitless by the stubbornness of my seed, leaves only the dreams of baseball diamonds, campfires, and knowledge taken with such esteem that you feel false in its exchange.
I fret those years of future promises, a paternal vow rebutted in the headstrong nature that only youth can have, and pledges made to sever the sins and failures of the fathers, father as lessons learned to the son, lost to the dogged nature of my genes.
Held firm by the bonds of man I am a spectator to the infinite rehearsal of our lives, that neither leather lash nor boisterous voice can dissuade us from our course. I can only weep in the hopeful darkness of that trepid future I clutch to so dearly.
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 1:13 PM UTC
*I lay, of my own volition, in a space meant for her:
a confined and achromatic scene.
My hands, malodorous, muddy and splintered,
leisurely rest on my chest, free from labor machines.
Here I rest, hackneyed and discouraged
in a pitifully human attempt to simulate death
I curse my virtue; it chastises back as it
mourns the curious exploitation of my health.
It was meant to last only a minute,
as sorrow chains my putrid despair in place.
Yet I, to this day, cannot begin to explain
how the darkness manifested itself a face.
I attempted to strike a movement but remained still
as the daemon began to smile.
The plan was to endure without oxygen for seconds,
yet the creature stayed my conscience for a while.
In a surprising and trepid consternation,
I find myself in service to mendicancy.
The creature, a devil with venetian red oculi,
salivates at its newest and prized delicacy.
I cry at the fleeting mastery of my faculty,
yet the tears remain inattentive and departed.
Time blesses the creature with a dominant sentence
as reality registers a dialog that I had started.
“Where is my daughter? I demand to know.”
The creature’s smile grows ever wider.
He then takes the form of the stuffed turtle toy
that used to sleep right beside her.
The creature, in a droning and unmelodious voice,
utters a perplexing, yet commanding noise:*
“ATIV ARETLA NI MAN ES ED OLEF”
*Frightened yet discouraged, I aim to find the sense
in the puzzling command the creature produced.
“She’s been missing for days! I need to know where she is!”
The beast speaks again, letting its anger loose:*
“FELO DE SE NAM IN ALTERA VITA!!”
*Suddenly, albeit boundlessly, the stillness was lifted,
and my structure was free from this tenebrous stead.
I raise myself and clasp at the summit’s precipice
after having danced with a beast in this wooden bed.
The vacant coffin remained pristine,
fitted with natural calico cotton lining.
The devil you fear the most is the one you create
and mine emerged with impeccable timing.
The creature’s malevolent ballad persistently tattles
as The Lapse rebroadcasts the “truth” it wanted to utter.
It had told me, “Become a felon of oneself,
and thine own life shall be traded for another.”
I refuse to concur with the creature’s decisiveness
as my unyielding faith will ensure my daughter’s return.
Her weighty and boundless absence must cease
and lead to the terminus of my inexhaustible concern.*
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
sometimes I feel very very small
I am here
on the bed
a cocoon
fighting desperately to be a butterfly
you are there
a bird
big strong wings waiting
to eat me.
I am small
like a loose thread from an old sweater
moving against fingertips
you could roll me into a ball
and you are the smudge on the window pane
that this ball cannot wipe away.
I am the small drop on the shower head
clinging, trepid,
anticipating my great fall
you are the hairs on the shower drain
not going anywhere
stuck
hindering the flow.
I am small
and I am tired of you
I am sick of the parts of you still in me.
I am the cocoon
desperate
-ly fighting
to be
aching for freedom
I break my mattress cage
I crumble, choke, struggle
instead of fly
The feathers in my pillow
are yours
now,
smother me.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
Dear Poetry,
It's ironic at this moment that I'm at a loss for words,
Just thinking of all you mean to me is overwhelming and absurd.
I love the feeling of freedom I get when
the wings of my mind take flight
Releasing to the wind, the secrets I hold inside
I admire your ability to be all things to me
From a star crossed love that last for centuries
To warring hurricanes unleashed on stormy seas,
Or just the simple beauty of long silence and tranquility.
I just wanted to thank you for always changing and
at the same time staying the same.
Turning troubled feelings and trepid emotions
into victorious journeys of mighty triumph,
converting toxic elixirs into sweet love potions.
And I am eternally grateful for the endless journeys
from white-hot desert sands of foreign lands
to the vast expanse of my determined heart.
I have to end because I still don't know where to start.
Forever Yours,
From me
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 12:21 AM UTC
This writer’s block is heavy; it sits on my chest and becomes my test for the taking, pressing my emotions to the point of breaking. Ever taking, ever testing a man’s will to take quill in hand and fight the parchment in a battle of pen strokes, curves and lines. This stalemate enemy in my shattered time holds the battle line and controls the destitute thoughts, controls the ideas I brought to bear. Tear them free from the grasp of this, my enemy, and scatter them lightly across the pages, creating symphonies without a sound in an arrangement of profound rages. They are rambles, rants and raves and nothing more, with no winner, no loser, and no settled score. There’s nothing to be won. Yet here I sit, nervously undone with uncertain hands that shake, for what came so easy to me was so easy to break. So thoughts may move in circles, to occupy the wandering mind for mercy’s sake, to shake the tree and make fall the fruit thought to be lost, thought to be beyond cost, that which was free under the skies. Because the ability to sing of heroes, of villains, of love and of lies was never mine to have, it belonged instead to my soul. A thing once made whole, once broken, that when stirred is outspoken, and bleeds across the lonely paper dolls to wander freely in the halls of lost dreams. Covered in the dust of forgotten themes that seemed brilliant once, though never shared by the trepid heart that wouldn’t dare, for some things are better left unsaid. Unread words of dread that seem to repeat over and over, coming back from the dead to seek their exposure. And I am somewhere in the middle of it all, somewhere lost in my mind and I am enthralled, I can only watch this opera to its final verse, lay my hands across the keys and give control to this curse, like a once proud ship tied to the docks, this is what it is to have writer’s block….
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
Let your words spill out of me
Words that I write alone
On your back in the dark
Words like fruits I pluck from your eyes
Words that shine on the silver
Of your moon skin.
Let them enclose me like your
Arms on a dark street
Till there is nothing else
But words and you and me.
Let your words drown my memories
Lead me to newer lands with shores of hope
Where I find you smiling at every corner
And the trees utter your secrets
With silent words.
Let me be your empty page to conquer
Let my lines spell freedom for your winged words
And I will plant my words
Like kisses on your tired eyes
Watch the tendrils bloom into flowers
And roots fasten themselves down
Into your warm *****
And with words, we will
Paint pictures that speak
Sing our songs to reach the sky
With words, we shall brave
Sliver of serpent tongues
Trapeze and traverse this trepid time
Till there is nothing else
But words and you and me.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC
It is a night like any other.
The room is semi-crowded,
the lights are cool, ambient and allusive.
The music glides and shimmies,
reflectance of electronic symphonies,
with a sinuous pulse to
provoke and tease.
Still, you sense a creeping unease.
You are on your second drink...yet,
somehow, even the 12-year old
Macallan is getting a little too familiar;
its usual savor of spiced plum, dry sherry and
salted caramel dies a slow death
by a cold-water corruption -- its once
robust quaff is reduced to a faint, forgettable flavor.
The dreary day, too, has been flat, predictable,
diffuse in focus and devoid of passion.
Life has been set adrift, on trepid tides.
The dissonance of these thoughts
unsettle your soul and mind.
You feel some kind of reckoning
approaches and is unavoidable.
Under your breath,
you ask in fraught confusion,
"What time is it? Why am I still here?"
The Bartender sees the lingering trouble
in your face and he provides
a moment of empathy, of quiet
understanding.
He reaches for the bottle in response but
suddenly stops and looks past you,
over your shoulder.
A subtle smile forms where
a sober shade once stayed.
He sees something that has changed
the energy in the room,
pivoting as if on a dime,
to a sweeter wave,
a smoother flow.
Someone approaches…
You realize you must turn to look, but
slowly, friend; get your bearings...
Settle your thoughts for a beat or two.
You stand and turn, adjusting focus...there she is.
"....wait. Whoa...
Breathe, brother. Steady, soul!"
Then it hits you:
You realize the sensation you feel,
that unstoppable, sharp, sweet,
seductive suffering,
is the longest and strongest
Of long, lost friends.
You remember
why you are here.
You know the time,
this moment you've waited for,
for so long.
Your heart speaks and
your eyes lock in,
to capture hers:
"Hello..."
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 7:35 PM UTC
A toast that marked an ending,
A toast to bring fresh starts,
A toast to a happiness filled future,
With a brave and independent heart.
Three toasts tipsy,
At the top of those stairs,
In that moment,
you caught me unawares.
A chance encounter is all it took,
Your smile, your eyes.
Your knowing look.
Not quite sure at what we'd found
We took trepid steps upon new ground.
I didn't mean to fall in love,
It was the last thing I was thinking of.
But here in love I find myself,
No desire for materials or wealth.
Future daydream ideology,
Reigned back with an apology.
A sensible and often pragmatic mind,
I hope the future treats us kind.
Together, a future in love,
I hope that we can bind.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
*Some would go so far
As to blemish my name
Carrying simple words on their minds
Spoken as though hoped to affect
When words are little more than
Words
I sit atop a mountain of lust
Soaked in the need for those feelings
But even under these circumstances
I remain a somewhat semi-trepid individual
Look at me and I will often break eye contact
But advance and I will accept
I am not a chaste girl
Shy but certainly not unwilling
I am drawn to the beds and burrows
Admittedly immodest
For I love the way my body reacts
To being taken
One wink can excite me
One twitch of the lips
One little sensation is all I require
Now, would you consider me easy?
Mark me as you will
I love ***
;)
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Trepid, on the edge, I stand
The sky lies below,
Wonder if I'd land
Were I to fall into the hole
Mad mendacity orders light
For monarchs beat my guts
Stars grace my sight!
Though void ever dark
Sugar n' milk barren way
My bitter volition vies
Not to dawn my doomsday,
But vanquish the lord flies
Sudden slip and sudden fall!
Ambivalence catch my hand
I see his strength begins to stall
And look toward the expanse
Soon to be the sky I fly
What waits I cannot know
I flash a smile n'war cry
Then plunge into the hole
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
So you walk
Always the silent
A simple stray
Always the violence
Eyesight is grey
Long trepid treks
Sore necks
And an empty stomach
Strange, familiar sounds
But there is something
Deep inside
Where there was warmth
And fullness
And the memories echo
Here and there
Somewhere
Maybe in a dream
But still
The illness
And the constant will
To move
As if there is
Hope
As if something cares
So you walk
Searching
Searching
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
Forever changing,
Never one thing,
always pacing,
in search of something,
but what? is the question,
this depression is endless,
regressing and trepid,
defenseless,
infected,
hidden words in your beautiful maze,
spoken with taste,
left me broken for days,
hoping for change but the glow in your face,
pokes through the gates of my opening brain,
sold to you,
pain,
is holding me,
caged,
broke through the rain to turn over the page,
hopelessly dazed from the smoldering blaze,
"know the truth...
take..."
I know it's you,
"pay"
emotional waves are controlling me, "slave,"
hold onto the reins in this motionless place-
"focus"
breathing,
"chosen"
seizing,
paralyzed sterilization,
glaring eyes stare through vibrations,
beware, you'll find the stairs to damnation,
my eye sight was taken,
I tried but escaped it,
coming closer to your touch,
every night I try,
I wish I knew what it was,
have I lost my mind?-
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
I Love You.
I still do.
I remember the feeling of love
like a blanket.
Wrapped warm round my heart,
shielding it from the
frigid cold of anxiety,
keeping me sane from the
wallows of depression.
Waking up to you,
sun caressing your face.
When your eyes fluttered open
they shimmered gold
the prize of kings
yet in reach
of my trepid hands,
confident in the glow of your love.
As my towers crumbled down,
castles torn by the
catapults of panic.
Swinging strong,
crashing into my masks,
cracking walls of my heart,
you could not save me.
I never needed a hero.
Just a healing song,
wrapping wounds
after war torn battlefields
lilies growing hope in the wreckage.
Yet your heartstring clung to mine,
crimson as my blood.
Tugged to tightly,
struggling to hold me
as you held yourself.
Shadows nicking your heals,
as they crawled up my body to reach yours.
Some sacrifices are not worth making.
Some people must be left to the aftermath.
Some hearts cannot be salvaged from shadow.
You couldn’t bare the weight of me forever.
So you let go,
You saved yourself.
For that,
I am thankful.
I could never stand to see you drown
in my ocean.
Not when you are still attempting to
tread through yours.
But your lighthouse,
still a sight for my eyes.
I believe in the light,
I love your light,
I struggle to the surface of
the pitching waves.
Crashing on my face,
salt sticking to red flash eyes,
strangling my throat.
I crawl to the top just to
catch a glimpse of you.
Wishing for the days
where you would
sail out on your lifeboat
and hold me in the storm.
Just making sure i could still swim.
Just to see if I was okay.
To answer your question.
It is still hard to breathe underwater.
I swim through waves
steadfast, as they churn
mockingly. They can see my weakness.
But I love you,
that is enough.
I will keep paddling,
listening to my heart,
the beat of my hands and feet.
Slashing through the violet tides,
I will reach shore.
You will never have to sacrifice yourself
again.
I will reach the shore.
I will reach for you.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
*Bending roads beckons me
through trees' trepid shadows
Beyond the clouds, heaven calls me
while the sky swallows my sorrows.*
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
he was the stars,
watching during the day
and shining throughout
the night.
he was firmament and vastly seas
pushed together, the
semi-broken pieces
of existence.
he tells me
every terrible thing he
had done and i kiss them
all better.
he was the wind,
caressing the crevices of
a poorly lit street, whispering
warning signs to
trepid vessels.
he was the sun,
sparing creatures who
are too petrified like an expensive
glass dangling onto dainty
lips muttering never-ending
victorian poetry.
he tells me
about the bad days as if it were
kids daring each other to ring
the doorbell.
he was the safest method of self-mutilation,
cradling lullabies for
unblemished and
unwavering hearts.
he was every nook and cranny,
repeating resplendent lines as if
it was the only way to
utter goodbye.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
The window is a world of view,
a mind is too,
through piercing sun or solemn gloom there is colour born anew,
a mood of positive or negative, still hope remains true,
the spring is abloom with colours prismatic, air afresh with scents,
hope springs eternal in your mind, negativity gone through forgets,
summer blazes wildfire hot, sea scents wistfully play the air,
fun is to be had, as you bloom anew,
autumn comes vividly, somber colours announce impending gloom,
mood negatively paths, trepid you await the cold,
will there be colour, will my world be just the window i look through,
winter comes quick and cold, thoughts of a colourless life bring despair,
yet out of the window a bud still waits, through your window view,
colour is present despite the perceived doom, positivity awaits those who can view.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:12 PM UTC