Long Coaxed Poems
Long Coaxed Poems. Below are the most popular long Coaxed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coaxed poems by poem length and keyword.
a double-wide?
someone lied: an
inside jokester
what in the hell?
rotten smell in
this shell, yokester
seems that some blow's
on your nose and
it shows, cokester
cat in a tree
cries a plea, comes
to me: coaxed her
fork and the spoon
off too soon, home
by noon: broke stir
chim chim cher-ee
you'll agree I'm
lucky bloke, sir
wanting a plum
uses thumb to
get some, pokes her
poor old man frog
too much grog, fell
off log, croaked, sir
----------
In my world, 'jokester' and 'cokester'
rhyme with 'jokester' and are two syllables.
Maybe this one's a bit more interesting?
Stone stubborn, strictly stuck until struck.
Then mined like gushing gold, loquacious litter.
From hills and dales, from stillness and storm,
fickle muse must be courted and coaxed.
Trickle muse must be taunted and teased.
Tickle fuse must be ignited and conceived.
There are times when she goes undetected,
times when she is neglected,
and times when I hunt her formless hint.
In such moments, I can be a child with my first kite.
In such moments, I can be fragile fall leaves cascading
as their summer luster is fading,
as the fall perennials are persuading.
There are times when I recoil from her caustic truths,
times when her torment lays bare my splinters,
my shivering fractured ruin.
There are times when she pounces and denounces.
Yet, I go on seeking.
Perhaps her rich occasional flavors entice.
Perhaps her chasmic insights steady me.
Why, then, must she hide under shadowy veil?
Why must I prospect for her timid topaz?
Fickle muse,
Perhaps she is just gaming me.
Or perhaps she knows the travail of endless
trials necessary for my emergence.
She seemed sleek and hypervigilant, like a well-toned velvet puma.
I watched her from my corner of the room, wondering about her swing.
Does anyone else ever sit in that swing? I asked her.
An ordinary question that challenged her somehow.
I watched her eyes turn yellow. Black slits in the middle became wider.
A few seconds before I might have wandered, but now
I was frightened into staying in my regular spot.
You may lie down on the couch and close your eyes, the therapist said.
Her voice had a melodic tone I did not recognize.
She coaxed me further, so I spread out, prone on her ugly floral couch.
You may use a pillow, she suggested.
I did not want one, but my hands grabbed one up.
You may close your eyes, she purred.
As my eyes were closing I noticed
She had begun to head toward me
No longer a woman, a puma.
I closed my eyes anyway.
For she had me
in her
power.
Coaxed to Grow
Oh, how wonderfully innocent
and juvenile, 'twas for me.
You, scooting surreptitiously.
closer and closer to me.
Like a soft, gentle caterpillar,
slithering and smiling,
Making its way home in the
still of the night.
I clutched my lovely, flowered
handkerchief.
Then my gold cross with a
sparkling aqua gem upon it.
Really, wanting to not say, no.
My blue eyed Tommy boy.
In the Elmwood Park Spring we
were about to kiss.
Fireflies came to celebrate this
celebratory bliss.
When we were moving beyond
flirtation.
It was as though heaven were
sending particles of stars,
To bless the softness of this
sacred night.
Of huge elm tress, your strong
arms about me.
Finally, those soft, tender lips.
There in God's silent moonlight,
One of my first teenage kisses, did alight.
10/22/2020
Poem 4
Tender
emerald realm ...
lungs of the earth
to span a continent, wide -
jade labyrinth of wonder and mystery.
Like a serpent, its watery namesake winds and slithers,
the strength of its back, untested,
colors and creatures of limitless kind and contingency,
peoples yet untouched by civilization,
and drowned in an ocean of foliage ...
its bounding abyss barely plumbed,
extraordinary species, as uncounted as counted,
and a tangle so snarled ...
that it hisses only at the grand Atlantic,
its mighty meandering coaxed to current and tide.
Beast of brute and beauty,
begotten of the Andes and the heavens, high -
a world begs your precious breath
and bold, boundless breadth ...
dangerous and delicate,
wondrous and wild,
untamed ...
tender.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Wild Country" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Pick A, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Madness has come to get me today.
She whisked me out of the food line, and told me
I did not have a chance. I am a loser, a dupe, a pawn.
She put nails in my head, and drew blood from my teeth.
She kicked me unmercifully in my tenderest parts.
I was shrieking and screaming, trying to get away
But Madness had me pinned, and terrified.
She revered my shrieks, she encouraged me to thrash and scream
"You are noting!" she told me. "No one. A non-thing."
Frightened, I began shrieking more loudly,
Within myself, despising myself more than ever
Hating my inability to boot her out of my life.
"You can do better than that!" she coaxed me.
She tore my skin off, and punctured me with unhappiness.
It was painful, but not the worst I have endured.
A terrifying wolf's howl rushed out of the bowels of myself.
I expected to see madness turn tail and run.
Instead, she laughed, pleased.
No one came running.
I looked around the cafeteria.
No one had stopped talking.
No one had heard my silent shrieking or my wolf plea.
I am alone again, not one of the pack at all.
(for: them who are ever there!)
these branches and roots
that cord to the grave ancients
should be free from man’s swords!
both oracle and priest held for days …
I
Your voice speaks in the silence of the night
To the deep still shady earth
That once held a great zest for our childhood
Here in the once thick wooded land
Where progenitors strewed their rustic huts
Yes! where, sang tho’ unseen those sonorous kin-spirits.
2
Ah! Happy and keen folks were the ancients, then;
But their sons? what a sad lot, now! even
Demented hearts aching from those drinks of dizzy times
Raw anguish, sorrow, painful hemlocks of death-lines,
The slow songs that tune softly to the mirthful graves
That still hold the ancestors like prisoners in the wild caves.
3
O! for your unravished wave of primal welcome,
That bade the sonorous weaver come
To make loud greeting of blue azure with song-fleet
O! for such uudecoded song that for the sagging flesh bear ointment
Secret balm from the rhyming unsteady palm leaves of the winds
That flute clearly to ancestors those eternal silent songs.
4
Known are those festal spirits of your night
From whom many lives readily spring forth:
Mused thru’ the voices of strong mortal compeers –
Priests, priestesses, praise-singers, warriors, dancers!
That with gusto, flounder across the space of time;
O, for those festal moments of flush! o, for the celestial clime!
5
You are the unseen bridge of the world,
Like Nturukpa, that elder amongst our ferry trees;
Your bark exhumes the bright colours of the past;
And carried thru’ the festal wings of your night
We desire to be mused to the ethereal clime;
Of uncurbed equanimity and euphoria of the divine.
6
I now know the anguish of these festal spirits
Who take refuge on the water-void banks
Of the topmost branches and leaves;
I now know the noise of their feasts in sacrifices:
Doleful sacrifices in the gods’ swollen foot!
Then adieu! adieu! from the cloyed humans in advent!
7
O farewell! with all your festal spirits,
Who coaxed to the night of sacrifices, priests,
Priestesses, dancers, praise-singers, warriors of the land;
Adieu! with these cold celebrations and coax-throated songs heard,
Thru’ the voice and echoes of rain’s thunder,
In the day of the panther and his noble twin, the hunter.
Screaming writhing violent
uncontrollable spasms of abandonment
immediately followed her (like Mary's lamb)
where e'er she went
verbal communication attempt didst rent
ear piercing outpouring
barrage heard clearly by vested gent,
a bajillion miles away e'en
stymying the likes of Lois Lane, Clark Kent
or special ABC letter writ agent,
when aforementioned younger daughter
raged day and night without abatement
soon after our baby's birth
agonizing distress self evident
when bundle of joy became a toddler,
which ordinary concomitent
expectant joyful milestones
hoop fully attendant
with hypothetical offspring
aurally learning oral rudiment
basis of language skill
with instructional accouterment
mastering native tongue
celebratory breakthru achievement
acquiring brisk command of lingua franca
easily excelling telly
tubby "FAKE" accent
gibberish with cogent
encoded development coaxed ability
regarding divine acknowledgement
pertaining to obvious delayed development,
when dada decried disabled
doc's "NON FAKE"
dupe forced mine abhorrent
realization upon crestfallen papa,
that our precious progeny
requisite remedial requirement
versed here, viz poetic abridgement
thee youngest of
(deux) daughters afflicted
at young age initial
general consensus genetic accident
engendered ambiguous diagnosis,
cuz forming words absent
purportedly linkedin with
high functioning autism
spurred self blame abutment,
sans cognitive fluke (most
likely inherited) malady immediate adherent
parental duty entailed, promoted
vouchsafed, et cetera
lifelong intervention convert,
a blessed webbed accompaniment
decades later nearly wrought total abolishment
whereat now grown year old lass
defied wildest predictions, adjustment
witnessed thee cherished apple of my eye
metamorphosed since early adolescent
to secure part time employment
attending Bend, Oregon Community College
and coordinating advancement,
where Shana Punim secured plane ticket
and took to friendly skies to my amazement!
“No One Lives His Life”
A quiet face, dark brooding eyes
hiding a quizzical gaze, masked
the mystery within. There was
a wariness about the jaw,
clenched as if holding some
small prey, some bit of information
that must be held, understood,
and dealt with. Age brought little
relief. It did bring greater awareness
of the treasures that had been protected.
The gentleness shared only with
babies and puppies, the smile coaxed
by the warmth of spring sunshine.
A strength, a genuine strength, not
of muscle and sinew, but of courage
borne of tenacity, of love forged on
cold metal, a determination to
absorb and rise above the pain of
life’s meanness. These resided here,
in this “repository of un-lived things”,
encased in a kindness that was unknown,
soothed by a song unheard, loved
by a spirit that wasn’t. These gifts,
these precious offerings, long
defended from the thieves that
stalk the innocence of youth,
wait in this treasure trove of hope.
Honest words of truth awakened,
defiant stance of newfound dreams,
first steps from darkened place of
hiding. A quiet face, dark brooding eyes,
unmasked, freed from living others lies,
for “no one lives his life”.
//Rilke’s Book of Hours//
4/21/2014
Transcendent meditative
ascendance assuaged
deep sleep grogginess resultant
resounding residual REM cycles
profound dreams decreasingly faint grip
fading fast, yet...
after effects heavily linger
courtesy toehold subconscious sojourn
oft times mentally exhausting,
nonetheless requisite sleep
house strikingly vivid dreams
salutary, revelatory truthfully...
unconscious voyage analogous
20,000 leagues under the sea
beheld wide webbed world
only privy to yours truly,
albeit x number
unconscious blinks of shuteye
upon uninterruptedly awakening
post immersion into pseudo
submarine (private Nautilus)
isolation chamber
immediately submerged
foreign territory,
(no matter linkedin
with cerebral minescape - mine)
good n plenti evocations
timed to vanish without a trace
akin to radioactive isotope
with very fleeting half life
fantastic, emphatic, dramatic...
dreams immediately dissipated
anointing emerging wakefulness
unshakable drunken like stupor
meditation coaxed away
comatose zombie state
transitioning me to manageable
lightness of being
allowing, enabling, providing
lucid adjustment beneficial
to handle quotidian
dose of unexpected challenges
honing coping skills
courtesy holistic morning routine,
NOT sitting lotus pose
(this body would vehemently protest,
nor could this fella ever walk again),
thus I become
comfortably numb
merely resting seated,
head propped against pillow
subtly easing into trance
approximately forty five minutes
consciously aware breathing
lightly focusing attention
upon inhalations, and exhalations
effortlessly, fittingly, gently...
shuttering out external noises
ideally experiencing internal
calmness, electrified, fortified, galvanized
heightened mindfulness.