Best Inveigle Poems
MIND AND MOUNTAIN
Life
A climbing process
A gradual, grand ascent to view?
Mind can inveigle such
To go where all manner wild affecting grows
Foothills of some towering height
Mind can spirit one there
Ascent would be steep
Though earnest, determined
Path narrow
With stones of many sizes underfoot
And trees!
Such a wealth of enduring life
Resonating valley view
At intervals
See a meadow
Brook and wild life passing through
At one of these lush spreads
I would stop
Dabble toes in the crystal stream
Then push on
Seeking seeking
A view of the top
And the summit
Hazy through the mist
Well above timberline
Many stones now
Huge boulders
Make faulting my climb
The backward glance, though, faultless, clear
But rare the breath
Weakening the will
At last the top
Ah, the pain!
With blue heaven still afar
Dave Austin
I'm merely mortal, a speck upon Earth,
circumspect of gazing into distant heavens,
spellbound by stars staring back at me.
They inveigle my silly senses.
I strain to hear their pellucid inscriptions
that shouldn't be clear to humans,
but are transparent to me.
I personify celestial orbs, attempting to break
their astral coded whispers through galactic
places that we thought were empty spaces
between each twinkling of starlight.
They wink through invisible portals,
murmuring secrets about us
or whatever stars are interested in.
Each other? Gossipers!
What secrets do they share, or keep?
Perhaps they're more like us than we suspected.
They have names, grow old, eyes dim
and die a cosmic death. I've been wondering...
where do fallen stars go when they die?
Written: May 2nd, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Quixotic quest quiddity
As dusk sapidity emerges,
Casting a shadow
Weeping waves smash
in foamy scatters;
seraphic strophic sojourn
groans in a gossamer gaunt
Arid shadows fade.
In a hazy blur,
emptiness lingers.
Shorebirds console each other.
in epicedes of
velvety whispers
and elusive sighs.
Horizon amid
cinereous graffiti of
tear-stained threnody and
raven blooms.
It breaks my heart, too
with crimson, auric, and
plum, plum, purple wings,
why haven't you
returned
to me in spring?
to our moon-smeared love
& diaphanous elixir
amethyst kisses of
emerald ablaze,
spiraling in seductive
sapphire scarlet sounds,
Your love, a fiery flow
Flames aflame,
with gemstones aglow.
Dark ideas settle in
my head is akin to
a tombstone,
Obstructing—my judgment
early hours are lost
in the fog,
their significance dimmed
I succumb to allure
of nightfall and
I shut my eyes.
Acquiesce to inquiry
in heaven, each flower
boasts a mirror
to inveigle into each valley,
Beneath a sky of
countless clouds;
quaint lodge stands out,
surrounded
by a myriad of
shimmering ponds
capture a vast expanse
of coastlines.
Uncharted shores,
where vessels veered
toward vast seas,
untrodden by any praxis
As twilight falls,
coastlines curve in a crescendo
across horizon.
Cloaking hill peaks in mist.
loquacious verbosity
recognized in wisdom
beyond spectrum of
circumlocution.
In a flurry of
fading flowers,
faith-filled fields, &
fugacious felicity.
Snare drum rotunda
somberly chimes
within a forest,
Its dulcet echos rhyme.
We've wandered down
curious trails
basking in the sun
warm embrace;
In depths of shadows,
We've sought with fear,
an ambient arena,
vast and near.
Unveiling a shore infinite,
In an abyss where
every heart resides.
With its boundless skies
Written: January 06, 2024
______________________________________
Shimmering swaths
of cerulean sea
ionize comely light
purple-tinged sand
strewn with tattered shells
during low tide,
summon imperial thrones,
tartly lovely youth
amid sparkling Tyrian swells,
whilst peering
solace amid
vibrant splendor
of landscape,
as serene slopes
and lucid pleas prevail,
I wait with ebbed breath
for an ethereal grace
to ignite a spark
of hope.
We haven't touched yet,
we're just syncing
over ariose love song,
as warm rain and clouds—bow
"Salut d'amour",
violins string opalescent tones
that rise and fall in pitch,
as a link to ink
an iridescent origami doodle
of a jewel-lit song,
summer nights of
ochre acrylics—a plethora
of fairy flickers and fireflies
amid a flurry of filigree,
to inveigle her into playing.
We draw on our kinship
as we float freely,
over crestfallen ocean
a pen swayed in time,
with an Elysian rim
on my horizon,
I whirl my love whims
and swirl the walnut wood
in disconsolate loops,
In a spice grist mill
sprinkles to spice my life.
Keys and gaunt codes
to demure this dalliance
served with Mirabelle tart
and for the sake of Muscat,
as the breeze tickles
those are my shutters
I fantasize about lying,
over her fastidious breast
as empyreal lee of
a sun-kissed knoll,
should she ever grasp
my hand and our
lips converge,
in an esoteric way
would we fit snugly?
as a dovetail joint in unison,
or would we plummet?
to our deaths
in shattered light?
8th place contest winner
Written: August 16, 2025, for contest by Unseeking Seeker
Line of inquiry:
"conjoined with the whole - we play our life role
exuding a scent - granting love consent"
************
Conjoined with the Whole
Not as sovereigns,
but as sylphlike strands,
woven into a ductile tapestry—
Each act of kindness forges
a bond within the communal consciousness.
Love is not a shadowy incantation,
nor a glamour to inveigle us into isolation.
It is hortatory, beckoning forth...
a rosy summons to convene,
amid the clangor of squalor and sojourn
to supplant the slipshod ache
with a warm intention.
We are not mere wanderers
adrift in nebulous vacuum—
We are emulous embers,
thirsting for the amaranthine,
avid to imbue our days,
with seraphic resonance.
Community is not a chimera,
It is pavonine in its iridescent truth,
multivocal in its sweet sorrow,
edacious for connection
but never laden with avarice.
We do not dismiss the burden—
We collocate it, we share it
withdraw from silence,
and cast aside the Icarus myth,
a tale of solitary flight,
Even the untamed child.
crumbles for the quest of kinship—
Even the weary elder winnows,
the soothing balm of a neighbor’s touch.
Love sanctions its courtliness—
not merely a whispered sigh,
but as a philanthropic deed,
a calyx protruding,
amid the clamor of desire.
To love is to be an iconoclast
to find solace in a gentle embrace—
to forbear the yearning
to anathematize others
to witness the evocative elysian—
in the eyes of the distraught.
We are not aphonic.
We are harmonious,
even in our disconsolate times.
We are evocative, full of meaning,
even when our souls feel drained.
And when we reflect,
We accomplish this together—
in the emollient of shared grief,
in the soothing touch of shared joy.
So let us frolic with abandon,
Let us explore the hidden meadows of our lives.
Let us gather in our joy,
transcendent in our understanding,
Our sense of self is transient.
Let us be love—
not as an elusive dream,
but a tangible act.
Let us be united with the whole.
And play our life roles.
with eloquence
vibrancy,
and grace.
WINTER
old folks
warmly dressed
out with rakes and hoes
try to inveigle
a new spring
Dave Austin
Outside my window is a papaya tree,
loaded with fruits mostly green
awaiting maturity for consumption
while smaller ones ripen from corruption.
One papaya fully matured almost yellow,
camouflaged by leaves and nature 's halo.
Ever noticed that the papaya when ripe
exudes translucent light, dancing to entice?
Fascinated I was when staring at the fruitlink,
golden yellow changes orangey, then reddish pink.
Like space beams unseen by bored bland eyes,
blind to the fanfare and the dance of the fruitflies.
Of courtship romancing every minute of the day,
nature's breath forever throbbing in sexual play,
Vital as of birds, the bees and all God's creations
reproduction is the essence and seeds proliferation.
Incessant intercourse is nature's scheme in union
with foreplay imperative for nectars ripe for fusion.
Mesmerized, the dance of birds honed in on erotic colours,
as fruit blushed, birds stimulated created chaos in palours.
Tweeting, wings flipping, screeching in agonizing pain,
Agitated in delirious arousal, little hearts beating under strain.
Synchronised flying directly at the yellow flirt,
birds eye view they flew, all aiming 'neath the skirt.
Oh! the fate of them which ripen before their time,
sickly, watery coloured babies, pricked and stymied.
Nature's errors, good only as food for pests and waste,
ripen before time so no seed for birds to propagate.
Fallen prey to imitating droning of the bird's courting cries,
greenies inveigle arousing only the Dance of the Fruitflies.
Yours is a horrendous bother
I decode one side, you obfuscate another!
I twist and turn, twist and turn again
Fingers engrossed around your parts, another twist
extirpates the other side! My enthusiasm refuses to wane.
I warp your shifting visage, weave the obliterated wrist,
Only succeeding to dislodge several faces,
I continue defacing your six surfaces…
In my euphoric endeavors to somehow unwind,
The unfathomable thoughts in your wavering mind,
I take manifold cyclical turns, like a brisk walk in fog,
Your complex anonymity refuses to unclog!
My flirtatious advances, don’t inveigle your resolve?
Chances to demystify you, in vain I solve,
I stare at your complacent maze,
you’re smug, with a mystic gaze!
Still in downright disarray
my curiosity, undone by dismay,
You’re unfazed, as you obliviously recline
Further inquests, but you obstinately decline!
I scrupulously ingest your manual again,
And brace for another futile try,
Why am I so smitten, as if to ascertain
If afterward, you’ll still be awry!?
© Maverick Nyambu
For real freedom,
solace, and peace
free of cost,
Come to go there and
let get lost,
For cheerfulness,
beauty of nature and
a nymph host,
Browse at all, here
we go and let get
lost,
For chill, hill,
sill, rill, snow,
flow, grow, and to
bost, (Boston)
All I have or not!
Search and let get
lost,
For a peak, seek,
strive, strain,
gain, glee and see
at most
Tighten, a brave
adventure ahead to
let get lost,
For delight, height,
mirth, birth,
success and post,
Hardness not enough,
fled and let get
lost,
For its theme,
cream, team, thyme,
rime, and rhyme lot,
A Poet inveigle
reader and trap, to
let get lost,
For breath, sheath,
accede, proceed,
freed, from cell
oast,
Go back from soviet
and let get lost,
For yore days, hays,
says, ways and
country to got,
Break the fetter of
Coventry and let get
lost,
And Wordsworth,
Auden, Emerson,
Blake and Saadi to
Frost,
Shahid, impregnate
hardly this all and
let get lost.
Shahid Hussain
Chouhdry
My Mutinous Mum
I thought my own Dad was patient and so cool
And Mum’s temper; pretentious as itchy wool:
For no reason her Temper was hot, so I thought-
Its sundry Duties that respite gave her nought!
Iron Amazon now all gone, ideas begin to show;
Ready pinch and her hot rebuke give me chow!
I remember my late Mother’s indefatigable lips
Disciplinarian of Love’s with relentless whips
And Fast Rules like: “You don’t talk when eating!”
Or blatantly: “You stop eating when talking!”
Iron Amazon now all gone, ideas begin to show
Had I reviled, would I’ve got Life’s sweet chow?
A reason had she to separate Grain from chaff:
“A Rod not spared bestows an efficacious stuff.”
So, like a Cowgirl, she cracked the whiplash
In her usual Marching Drill: Left, Right and Right;
“Boy, sleep well and NO bed-wetting tonight!”
Iron Amazon, now all gone, ideas begin to show;
Had I denigrated her, I’d have missed my chow!
Would I’ve heeded anybody and go to School
Had she not stepped in proving no cosy wool?
Her cautious mind got me into a smart spank
Lavished in porridge when lessons I did bunk!!
Iron Amazon all gone, now ideas begin to show;
Her force to resist would’ve deprived me chow!
Mum in my Dad she had a sweet Boy of a Friend
Yet: “Girls, no!” She called illicit love “Ugly Fiend.”
“Old-fashioned Goat”, I thought, she surely was-
Clap-infected, she proved a Goat eating no grass!
Iron Amazon, now all gone, ideas begin to show;
Would you heed Hot Mum to elude Aids’ blow!
That my Mum was hard to inveigle or to please-
She wanted being wild to terminate or decrease.
Lie to your detriment, she could read lying mind-
Caught, you’d get a tanning on the behind!!
Iron Amazon, all gone, now ideas begin to show;
Had I a hardened Liar, would I eat this chow?
A perfect Teacher in Church at Sunday School
Who, one day made me crawl on fours like a fool:
Acting me a Donkey- though Joseph be my name!-
While a girl rode me like Jesus into Jerusalem!
Iron Amazon, all gone, now ideas begin to show;
Had I not heeded God, I’d have faced Sin’s blow!
JM
02nd December 2013
He is my mirror,
Just what I wanted him to be!
His smile spreads permeating delight.
His storge love is my strength.
My achievement, my smile, my pride!
My upright and infallible child!
His prates, sanguinity, dreams and ambitions,
Are treasures of my life!
He is a wizard who ignites the warmth a family requires!
Yes, he is my caterpillar, my cute little firefly!
This is about 08/02/22.......the day..... …………………………..He turned back and just said NO!
May be my protective spotlight scorched his vibes.
May be I could not hold his hand tight.
May be I did not understand and guide.
May be my preaching’s were just too high.
If the bond never existed, how would it survive?
May be it was a mirage just to misguide.
The anxiety, the exhaustion does not let me survive.
How would I wipe away those sullenly eyes and exasperated goodbye!
The dreadful departure and my empty nest strive.
How would I get out of this woeful sigh!
Closed eyes and rolling tears can’t decide.
Referee the conflict or may I just hide?
How do I bring him back, how do I inveigle?
How long this saudade will survive?
I still stand here or I have just died?
Without him I can survive, no I defy!!
WORD REFERENCE:
Defy: Openly resist or refuse.
Sanguinity: The optimistic feeling that all is going to turn out well.
Strive: Struggle or fight vigorously.
Sigh: Deep audible breath expressing sadness.
Saudade: A sad state of intense longing for someone or something that is absent.
Inveigle: Using dishonest way to convince.
Storge Love: Affection that naturally exists between a parent and child.
Preaching: The giving of moral advice in a pompously self-righteous way.
Exhaustion: A state of extreme physical or mental tiredness.
Permeating: Spread throughout.
Scorches: Burn the surface of (something)
Sullenly: in a way that shows irritation, ill humour, or gloom; morosely
Exasperated: Intensely irritated and frustrated.
Prate: Talk foolishly or at tedious length about something.
Dreadful: Frightfully.
Infallible: Always perfect and right, without any errors or mistakes.
On the edge of paradise,
woeful tears fall, cold as ice.
On that edge where I stand still,
ashen whips jut onto my will.
On that edge you sear my helm!
Kibble it like a spider; overwhelm!
Steering through many an eve.
Conceive, weave, cleave then grieve!
Render and espouse; knight and serf.
Guardian of your tear, gate, and turf.
Enact then re-enact my astral dream.
Put me to sleep, hinder my scream.
Dreary lips given a wide berth,
to unheard hiss that typifies rebirth.
Author my flesh unto caged envy,
yielding my soul: break the levee.
Sail amongst my translucent runes,
your siren of electric moons.
I sing for the breaker to inveigle,
tepid winds I once played regal.
Make me forget and make me pay,
for losing my way and drifting astray.
For getting so close then letting go,
missing the blow, ruining your flow.
You are pandora's quantum prison,
a bounty begging to be riven.
Your pride diverts your nemesis,
resurgent carcinogenesis.
Beshrew the darklight spring,
sustained by your phantom wing.
Slake it inept and enthrall its nectar,
woven and entwined in void-like vector.
Burden of proof lies squarely on the accused’s name;
The filer can exaggerate and overstate any imagined claim.
In Minnesota, Judges are forced to approve nearly every filing,
Driven by social movements and organizations beguiling.
Oft approved ex parte, temporarily, a future hearing scheduled,
This scorch the earth weapon, leaves most divorce issues settled.
Children are torn from their nuclear parent’s loving arms,
Under the malevolent guise they are protected from atomic harms.
Homes change hands before the ink dries on an order penned,
Leaving the respondent in the streets on their sore hind-end.
Given ten minutes under a Sherriff deputy’s mindful and glaring guard,
One can enter the house to take an armful never to return to the yard.
Future proceedings can take many months and in some cases years,
Simple items forgotten will not be given until the MTA clears.
Falsely accused, you’d think it would not ever get worse,
Until one discovers the plaintiff also firmly grasps strings on the purse.
Given days to mastermind and execute the unfolding of events,
The accuser never looks back considering recompense.
The use of OFP’s in divorce is not only legal,
Attorneys are even encouraged to inveigle.
No laws exist to punish use outside of the scope of legality,
Lawyers readily encourage the OFP’s use as a simple formality.
Even when the order is rescinded or released upon first hearing,
The status quo has been set in favor of the plaintiff endearing.
The state says they would like to minimize conflict in divorce,
Out of fear for real abuse victims they simply will not change course.
But, the moral of “The Boy Who Cries Wolf” ends in his grisly death.
Protect real victims, punish the abuse of the OFP use and breadth.
PART THE THIRD
The battle is won,
but the war is far from over.
Still the requirements aren’t met,
and still the fulfillment of inner peace lies motionless in a Chicago gutter.
But the rudiments and metaphysical concepts exist as alive as ever.
Because even after this war, whether it is lost or won, there will still be you, somewhere, someplace.
Because you are here, you exist. Forever, you are permanent.
Like the news you read at the café in the morning
and the wavering smile of the brunette
who pours that wonderful North Dakota blend.
Poetry that offers nothing but callbacks and underlying ********.
It’s all still there.
People come, people go.
Sometimes without even looking up.
But they still are somewhere, maybe even lifting their head a little.
Men and women pass by on the sidewalk,
lives just as interesting as your own.
The world turns and turns without a sound.
We never stop and wonder why.
Completion still is laid out on the horizon, it will be a long trip.
But still, the notion of us being more than people – better than people, steers the ship.
The anchor waiting to fall on the sandy shore.
We’ll be there soon,
the waves are rising for this time of year.
The stars to the east may guide you to that island just off on starboard,
but they only inveigle you to a maelstrom of impurity.
If you’re wondering, this isn’t hope.
But it’s somewhere close.
Yours is a horrendous bother
I decode one side, you obfuscate another!
I twist and turn, twist and turn again
fingers engrossed around your parts, another twist
extirpates the other side! My enthusiasm refuses to wane.
I warp your shifting visage, weave the obliterated wrist
only to dislodge several faces
I obligingly deface your six surfaces…
In my neurotic endeavors to unwind
the unfathomable thoughts on your wavering mind,
I take manifold cyclical turns in your opaque fog
Your stupor and anonymity declines to unclog!
My flirtatious advances don’t inveigle your obstinate resolve
Chances to demystify you haplessly dissolve,
In your complacent maze
and overwrought gaze!
Still in downright disarray
My fortitude, haunted by dismay!
You’re unfazed, you obliviously recline
Whilst my inquest continues to wriggle and whine!
I scrupulously ingest your manual again
and brace for another futile try,
Why am I so smitten, when I am already certain
You’ll still remain awry!