Best Cajoles Poems
In Ordinary Cups
The blades of winter grind into the ice
like blood on a bitten lip
two lovers spin and twirl
The days pass from teacup to teacup
in the peaceful silence of a solitary nest.
From gentle easy sunrise through sheer white
to the subtle fall of accordion night.
The echoes of childish laughter tremble
across the cracked surface of plaster walls.
Random squeaks in oaken floors return
the footfall of father, coming and going.
Long lost cat's paw prints impress carpet
dragons from Shanghai with ghostly ease,
and every loved and loving one returns
in peace, to rest beneath the tapping fingertips
upon a porcelain cup of tea from China.
11/9/10
Re-formed for Roy the Verse BELOW
The Teetotaler
The blades of winter grind into the ice, flirting
with the rosy cheek of puppy love, snow-crusted mittens
cling, like chapped skin on bitten lips; scarfs twirl; they spin.
As steam rises from the cup, reminisce, the first kiss,
across swamp-grass hummocks, rotten ice, lace tripping
with the rosy cheek of puppy love; snow crusted mittens
cling. Black hair, fair skin, Irish-eyed, he cajoles a grin.
In the steam, not the leaves, she remembers him
across swamp-grass hummocks, rotten ice, lace tripping;
they spin. Assam seeps in porcelain, another cup
she pours. In an empty nest the cup clinks saucer,
in the steam, not the leaves, she remembers him.
From sunrise through fall of white, she sees the mist
falling accordion-like into chinks of memory.
She pours. In an empty nest, the cup clinks saucer.
The recollections of youthful laughter cut, tremble,
across the cracked surfaces of her mind's walls
falling accordion-like into chinks of memory.
Random squeaks in the oaken floors recall returns,
these images mist swirl from the tea-of family,
across the cracked surfaces of her mind's walls.
A long lost cat walks shrouded through silent the scene
in peace, they rest beneath her tapping fingertips
these images mist-swirl from the tea-of family,
Every loved and loving one returns mist-born
within a porcelain cup of tea from China;
in peace, they rest beneath her tapping fingertips.
3/21/15
"Snowflakes Melting before the Diadem"
Winter is coming
and what then?
the dreams frozen
snowflakes falling
we succomb
tongues out waiting
for manna,
pills swallowed
for the diadem
needles of pine
instead of thorns
bedded,
the sweet sleep
is coming,
slowly it cajoles
swiftly it comes
the folded corners
sheets tucked in
the safety barrs
raised, just so,
the corridors
their watching
starched stations
14 in all,
busy with purpose
soft shoe assassins
monitoring our nights,
our energy pulses,
just like veiled brides
more like blue nuns
we sing the
song of souls
like a poet overcome
like a poet finding
new love
bare feet we rise
from our shells
to speak to our
strange astral God
we are now
zephyr
contained as one
some of us
take our time
falling
we are
snowflakes
melting in the Sun
melting
on the lips and
brows of others
we are ghosts
holy and unholy
felt and spoken
some of us
take our time
falling
we sink
into the lips,
and tongues,
the brows
and skin of others
we are
snowflakes
melting
in the Sun
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
via lucis
“It is a song composed by contemplation,
And published by silence,
And shunned by clamor,
And folded by truth,
And repeated by dreams,
And understood by love,
And hidden by awakening,
And sung by the soul.
It is the song of love;
What Cain or Esau could sing it?”
pine. noun.
pine. verb.
stations.
PARALLEL AUTUMN SURPRISES
A ferris wheel of no return, she stood with rosy cheeks so fair; both day and night just wide rocky bridges of light and dark. All she needed was bulb of fresh start.. Three months pass after the love explosion happened, her pillar of strength taken for independence sake. Only candles of hope she has; slowly, slowly losing its glow. Her eyes were a train flood of crystal tears. Her heart jailed from loss but needed to be freed for the sake of a budding life. She opens her door day by day beaming a sunshine in her face. Her chest-buds bloom so graceful. Her tummy grows a robust breathing sphere. Parallel autumn surprises bring her to a sandwich salad showcase. A year passed, in a fragrant natural lair with the light bowing down on them, she planted a kiss on her baby's lips.
Hush... to ... rush...
Hush... to ... rush...
Teardrops held long tumble thunder
listless from her eyes
of rest and quiet
yet, her steady voice whispers
a storm...
Head... to ... toe
Head... to ... toe
Forlorn rose maiden exhaled-
cyclic shudders: wells of regret
like a ruined garden where blossoms frown,
green leaves too, turned brown.
Sun... to... rain...
Sun... to... rain...
Her life blossomed
amidst earthquake break of failures,
true love she finally receive--
it pardoned her wrongs.
Sighs... to... groans...
Sighs... to... groans...
Bright twinkling stars
tended safe the narrow path
as silhouetted liquid moon cajoles
her long bittersweet escape.
Kiss... to ... freedom...
Kiss... to ... freedom...
Her heartstrings strum endless:
her abounding joy!
Upon hopeful eyes mirror,
the sparkles of her infants tears...
______________________________________________________________________
***Haibun Freestyle
08:34 pm, November 24, 2015
WATER FINGERS CARESS
Crystal water fingers caress
stony marsh-grassy lands
its waves cajoles leaving fine pearls
of sea gifts: the bed sands
Above... still azure clouds look out,
running waves draw and probe
shoreless gleam of reeds or fields
ebbing on earthly globe...
___________________________________
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Contest Name: LET ME FEEL YOUR LINES!
...Shoreline...
O.E. Guillermo
10:44 pm, March 31, 2015
A cartridge filled with a horde of shackled emotions, am I,
Trifle feelings loiter within me, until she elicits them out,
Wizened by time, she knows that otherwise I might turn mordacious...
God guides my pen and has assigned her my way,
~ She is the vociferous voice of my heart ~
She knows my malleable moods and masterfully makes magic
By weaving whispers into wistful words,
~ She is the byzantine boon of my being ~
With cogent candor she cajoles me to compose poesy,
She and I share a companionable camaraderie...
In the mystical moondust of Maker's majestic mercy,
I acquiesce to her ingenious genius,
~ She is an efficacious eclectic enigma ~
For sometimes, she plays truant tricks,
Her surreptitious evanescence is a conspicuous conspiracy,
Abandoned, I have to await her august appearance...
The soft stardust of her sartorial splendor,
Renders me a mere puppet of her puissant prowess,
~ She is a phenomenal Phoenix ~
For she encourages me to endeavor towards excellence,
Her alacrity aggrandizes my acumen,
Having faith in her fortuitous favour, I flourish...
~ She is my God-given "gift of grace" ~
Her multifarious munificence is a monumental mystery,
She has transformed me from a fruitless flibbertigibbet
To a fulfilled female fount with her unfailing finesse...
~ She is my mysterious, magnanimous Muse ~
Feeling forever grateful to God for her grandiloquence.
5th January 2023
‘In her eyes, fathomless the pool of sadness’
There’s a sorrow she won’t let go
A melancholy in her that’s taken residence
She welcomes it and nurtures it
Deep down in the depths of her soul
Her heart no longer an empty shell
She welcomes its warm familiarity
Feeding it like a lost kitten
She needs it and it needs her
Soothing and divine she treasures it
She cajoles it and loves it more than life itself
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on July 18, 2019 for contest WRITING CHALLENGE 2, JULY 2019- MELANCHOLY sponsored by DEAR HEART - RANKED 1ST
Egocentric, engaged in games of one-upmanship
I developed a jaundiced and judgmental eye
Over time, losing over mind-body my grip
Belied expectations oft made heart sigh
My reflex response was to put others down
Mocking both the living and dead, saw love die
Lines on face hardened, sarcasm bore a frown
Demonic dreams deepened my dark despair
In images thus conjured, I began to drown
It was a Joro spider that made me aware
When a small sunbird was caught in its net
Defying base instinct, it released her with care
I took this as a message to change my mindset
Enabled simply by melding head with heart
Taking no more, mere rebuffs as a threat
I now mock myself; it is a learnt art
Choosing slow consciousness correction
Simply mindfully and gently, adding love to cart
Soul centric introspection cajoles us to shift direction
Igniting bliss within, paving way for soul’s resurrection
We are dishwashers and bill payers, we have day jobs and night jobs.
Some of us are retired, I am not, because I know too many
who died after they did that.
They lost their purpose, and before they could find another one,
they gave up, and left their earth life.
We do not have any more time than the rest of you,
but we grab it up and use it in full force.
We have chosen a life few choose. We are word players -
writing on napkins and paper plates.
Grabbing whatever is near at the time, jotting down phrases,
rhyming words, and lyrics.
We knew that we could and we can, and we do because our souls
will not let us not do.
We are the dreamers, the schemers, the world lovers,
the imagination people.
We are the ones who invent the new things, and
tear up old ideas to make room for new ones.
There is a driving force that tells us we must.
I call mine Trixie. She is an inner voice that yells at me.
She has crazy ideas. She cajoles me and coaxes me.
She holds me down until I yell “Aunt!” so I follow her lead.
We are the poets.
There’s something about a sonnet that grips
our heart, that cajoles our mind to be still,
even as a song appears on our lips,
of its own accord, in rhythm with God’s will.
We begin not knowing where the path leads
but be this as it may, needless to say,
heart sings a song, just the way our soul pleads,
conjuring a verse, as though it’s mere play.
Breath by breath, soul’s inspirations ignite
flame of our heart, which then conveys to mind,
innate desire to pen in black and white,
soft emotions that seek to be defined.
Save the sonnet, there’s no other technique,
which can into soul offer a sneak peek.
pages of a book
printed, written in all fonts
characters, small or bold, tweet
stories of the world
sketches, images of sorts
facades of all, not cajoles
phases of a book
happy faces on each book
tinged in satin or white trim
riffles of a book
like thumbs skimming on waters
waters of life on pages
This is the story of two lonely souls....
Who found each other, without cajoles...
Neither had ever had a mate....
Yet Jack and Gill decided to date.....
They felt an instant connection....
As both were Chefs and had a fixation....
One for Chicken the other for Bacon....
And so decided to take their direction....
From what they had learned in life....
Party animals that they were....
And perhaps now you can concure.....
Their feelings for each other....
Was so far from any another....
People just didn’t understand....
Why when they walked, it was always hand in hand....
They never strayed and held tight to their ways....
Believing their world was just another phase....
But eventually the world would accept you see....
That what they had was called * “ smaltzy “....
*Yiddish word for rendered chicken / animal fat or a garish over the top fancy party...
Ripples in Space
Entwined with universal mind
Aligned with pulsations of love
Yet what soul seeks, we’re yet to find
Void and form not quite hand in glove
Will of God and our heart, both one
Entwined with universal mind
Whilst we shine like the yonder sun
Wheel of time we cannot rewind
Pulse of oneness, loving and kind
Cajoles us to use our power
Entwined with universal mind
Outpour a benign bliss shower
Why then is our soul tremulous
Even though no fetters now bind
Perhaps ego trace emulous
Entwined with universal mind
21-May-2022
Ago I watched a woman coax
A fellow back from death.
Sand clung to the drowned
Man's shoulder, briny fluid
Dripped from clustered hair
Breath pushed lung to throat
In that moment inelastic life
Crashed back upon the dead
like a shadow tsunami
A curl of pale and bilious gas
Fumed from chimney nostrils
Solidified in black to wight
A crowd appeared though I alone
Observed that embryonic beast
Queasy, shivering afright,
I marked its flight beyond the foam
And with a sudden acumen
retrained my sights on death undone
Anon the surly imp invades
My repose, persists, cajoles
Courses as the Golden Horde
Across the spear grass steppes
Lodges of despondent darkness
Curtains drawn in masquerade
Where to the sopping man, renewed,
Removed I have no honest clue
Yet, with Lutheran conviction:
Beware the mirrored urchin clone
Loosed against our universe
Deceptive doppelganger who'd
Concuss humanity, earthbound
Sedate the benefactor faction
Throwing shade across the globe
Foment a foul and frothy chaos
Their like exists, implicit legion
Homunculi, contrary of the crowned
Words run away
No rhymes now;
Rest in jest
~~~~~~~~~
Love knows the way
Faith anchors hope;
Peace sums joy
~~~~~~~~~
Come what may
Peace of mind stays;
Style knows the way
~~~~~~~~~
Touch of good earth
Orchard of plenty;
Delightful harvest
~~~~~~~~~
Weather forecast
Thundery showers;
Bright sunshine smile
~~~~~~~~~
Old couple here
Parkway bench respite;
Morning exercise
~~~~~~~~~
Walking their dogs
Owners chit-chat;
Suspicious canines
~~~~~~~~~
Early morning jog
Adrenaline rush;
Breezy wind cajoles
~~~~~~~~~
Lost connection
Internet down time;
Ink stains paper
~~~~~~~~~
Emergent light
Dawn hurls swift;
Dreamtime evaporates
~~~~~~~~~
Too much
Too little;
Too late
~~~~~~~~~
Wordplay episode
Clutter desiccates;
Unfinished business
~~~~~~~~~
Birthday greetings
Facebook amalgam;
Discrete overtures
~~~~~~~~~
Too much talk
Missing mileage;
Loose cannon wildcard
~~~~~~~~~
Wild conundrum
Stillness circles;
Creative potential
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
06 December 2016
Singapore
Such sweet sound; soft fall of stumbling stream
like murmur swept along whispered breezes,
this spoilt child, meanders as it pleases
with a wayward waggle of some winsome scheme;
no destiny decided in its dream.
Though winter’s hoary harbinger freezes
still charismatic child cajoles; teases
‘neath icy iron of frigid regime,
but in heavens wilful weep, ire is raised,
temper explodes into thankless tantrum
not content to wander upon its way,
but to leave landscape bedraggled and dazed,
woefully wondering how it could succumb
to babbling brook, who pranced in play.
****Not in Iambic Pentameter