that we act as a signpost offering hope
to other weary seekers trudging along
our poems cajole our soul group to elope
with Cupid humming a melodious song
dancing at the edge of a slippery slope
asking us to discard fear and become strong
to which end if firm be resolve we evolve
as the stillness point around which worlds revolve
Trace me with your sighs,
Love me with your soul,
Seize me with your eyes,
Colour pink my skies,
You, my heart have stole,
Trace me with your sighs,
We have lifelong ties,
I'm yours to control,
Seize me with your eyes,
Give me passion highs,
A kiss, I cajole,
Trace me with your sighs,
My heartbeat implies -
Through life, we will stroll,
Seize me with your eyes,
As one, we comprise
Affection heart-whole,
Trace me with your sighs,
Seize me with your eyes.
Sooner or later the presiding politician
will be pushed off his perch
made to do the walk of shame
on his own and left in the lurch
then marched off into eternity
no matter how loud he begs
with head bowed down low
and tail tucked between his legs
he went on to bomb and kidnap
after his flag unfurled
and became the self-elected
policeman of the world
by annexing Canada and Greenland
he wants to make America large
guilty of piracy on the high seas
blame those who put the clown in charge
he may beg plead bribe or cajole
only to wear on our nerves
but on the whole let's dump the chump
and hope he gets what he deserves
The warmth of your words in morning greeting
leave me lost in solaced slumber waiting.
As I awake to thoughts of you sleeping,
I dream of you in comfort abating.
Through pain and sorrow your thoughts cajole me
with tender voice and word filled emotion.
My soul, released, desires you wholly,
yet, how can I expect your devotion?
My yearning for you grows ever deeper,
as your words stroke true, to my sweet longing.
Such kind release from you, lovely sleeper
until you wake and doubt my belonging.
Dreams dreamt of you, my heart's been forsaken,
as now, from my sweet dream I awaken.
09/05/2024
If words would wear resistance down,
trust me, I would use them.
Fine phrases mollify that frown?
The agile adverb, the nimble noun?
I would not refuse them!
If poems charmed your soul, you
may depend upon it,
I'd eulogize, extol you,
compel, convince, cajole you,
in silken sonnets.
But what can words achieve?
Nothing, I fear, that matters.
Though I would fain believe
the word webs which I weave
can knit again love's ravelled sleeve,
I'm really not quite that naive.
And so I feel I have to leave
this thing of ours in tatters.
My gosh you are the most beautiful women I have ever seen.
Your alabaster skin and the warmth of your heart within
illuminate your face I see when I close my eyes,
and I can take her beauty with me wherever I ride.
My desire, this desire is strong within,
I want your love it's an addiction
And I caught you staring at me once from a distance,
This had my thoughts racing at your beauty’s insistence.
If I were an artist, you are the canvas on which we lay,
If I were a poet your beauty would be at play,
to console and cajole (as you stand below the mistletoe)
you into a lovers embrace,
In the writhing and the sighing of our lovers’ interchange
let us not forget our place
we must honor God by covenanting as one
so, let’s be gracious and spacious
to one another as we step through the portal as up-abovers.
I can’t express this enough and there is more to be said,
I am captured by your beauty to the point of each distress,
so you as a model as this artist looks on,
I draw in all the curves from hill to glen
And think of all the kisses to your supple lips
and the flowers petals as they open
Oh the tangerine
at Turquoise Place.
God’s majesty leaping
out of the water’s depths
or plunging its hues
at sunset. Its vibrations
both calm and cajole.
The half-moon host
is small compared
to the orange outburst.
Little or not,
God uses all,
even and especially,
the wheels on the beach.
During deep sleep, even dream forms recede,
from which we awake joyful and refreshed,
so we existed and bliss mists did breed,
though when awake we’re in thought forms enmeshed.
We cannot use the mind to transcend mind,
thus silence seems to be our sole resource,
that poised in the void, leaving mind behind,
we see our true Self without use of force.
Ego’s the blockage, we are in our way,
since our thoughts, whether concrete or abstract,
in life’s lucid dream, cajole us to play,
which is why with truth, we make not contact.
Thoughts rested, as awareness self-aware ~
With the heart of God, we easily pair
The house whispers
as I awaken
and a dream plays.
My loft breathes as I get up.
The block on the hill
still after the night’s
storm, and a story
plays in my head
remnants of a love
I once had. The cat
rumbling on my chest.
shares the moment.
…
Tires sing as I drive
along the river
as it takes in reflections
of sun. I’ve viewed
the scene many times.
I’m seeing it again.
Public Radio plays
a feature on psychology
and the triumphs and trials
of life, and I cry out
This is me. This is me.
‘’’
In a diner, dishes clink
and patrons laugh
while elderly cajole
their granddaughters
voices filled with promise
about the lives that lie
ahead.
…
I walk away
from old conversations
the pain felt
after someone left for good
and unanswered questions.
…
I stay true
to one thousand voices
in my head.
A new poem I seek.
If I tell you what you want to hear
Will you actually listen
Or silently cajole yourself
That you have converted another.
If I tell you things you do not want to hear
Will you dismiss them
Without giving them any thought
Deny them the possibility of truth
If I listen to what you tell me
And question the efficacy of its truth
Will you dismiss me as a fool
Or engage me in lively debate
Or have your values calcified
Been stilled by an arctic wind
Blowing cold across a frozen face
Unable to smile at its own contempt
caged in form, memory erased
constrained by a fragmented mind
sensory inputs leave us dazed
to light of Self within heart blind
scriptures cajole us to explore
truth of being and so awake
by being still, making heart pure
lust and fear choosing to forsake
with head and heart poised in balance
viewing life like a lucid dream
mood and mode vibrant nonchalance
we sing a song on love’s moonbeam
in timeless time, ego recedes
we dwell in the eternal now
through our hands God performs His deeds
with each heartbeat in joy we bow
with thoughts rested, time too slows down
we recognise space is a veil
at peace within, in bliss we drown
soma nectar our preferred ale
in as ordained, our ego drops
the dead leaf falls off from the tree
the universe fades and time stops
revealing our Self, at last free
living light, shaped like a heartbeat
is who we are, outside space-time
self-existent, feeling complete
in peace it renews heart’s love chime
holy scriptures point out the way
prompting us to metamorphose
that we may see God, clear as day
whilst resting in blissful repose
Kill the Boer, kill the farmer
A song sung in a stadium by thousands
Reverberating a chorus of spine-chilling fear
A call to incite hatred and violence
Tomorrow, we mourn - another farmer
Umshini wami (my machine gun)
Paralysing fear runs through your soul
To wipe out the Boer and the farmer
A call to genocide, they cajole
Rat-a-tat, see how they run
There is no defence against this genocide
You must die, self-defence is a crime
Hundreds and thousands of crosses, erected
For the innocent these numbers climb
The Boer and Farmer in death abide.
my dear, let's stroll
barefoot ...we laugh 'midst jeweled night
my dear, let's stroll...
old stars envious. they cajole--
Maytime taps our feet, to delight
tender the waves, nuptials in sight
my dear, let's stroll...
First Place
I am a merry me frisky fey a tiny man bragged to me
Please join me at my explosive enjoyable revelry
A jollity in his overzealous ambiance was brighter than I had ever seen
Magical merriment and meshugga craziness was about to convene
Are you a leprechaun? I asked the adorable trickster, right away
Name’s McCindlesticks and I’m Celtic Irish, all the ever-loving day
That was good enough for me, being the daughter of a McCormick.
I am a bit Irish myself, and not easy to fool, cajole or trick.
As darkness falls without, it also falls within;
where listless slumber slowly takes me by the hand,
leads me to a place where I relive every sin
while Lilith does foretell what fate for me is planned.
The darkness not yet deep enough for me to drown
the fading light not bright enough to shine the way;
I fear the rabid laughing of the coming clown
as he performs his ghastly, nightly cabaret.
Old Harlequin will dance and whisper in my ear
and tell of all dark things that lurk within my soul;
for these, not those without, he knows, are what we fear.
Come here, my dear, abide with me, he will cajole.
Then, as he ventures forth to give his foul-breathed kiss,
unkindness host of ravens swoop, take out my eyes;
then, slowly I dissolve to silence, darkness, bliss;
another night, I have denied the devil's prize.
Sub Categories
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