Tauntingly Poems | Examples

A Predatory Tail

I see him there
Hiding
Peering through
Damp blades of grass
Weighing the odds
Wet track
Thick grass
Slick surface
The bauble hangs
Tauntingly
Glistening
In a shimmering wind
Claws clench
Shoulders tense
A final flip
Of an impatient
Predatory tail…

I Always Liked the Rain

I always liked the rain
It’s avant-garde disdain
Encased in every raindrop
Its tauntingly cold chill
Trickling off a drippy nose
Its million centipede dance steps
Puckering the dust, stirring the mud
The child like joy of running through puddles
Popsicle stick armadas attacked by giants
Mud pies with maple twig candles

I still enjoy the rain
Walk more slowly
Savoring its scent
The icy edge of its smile
Its tear like essence
Reminding me
That I now walk alone

Shenanigans

A clatter in the backyard
quickly got my attention.
Curious to see what was happening
I rushed to look out my patio door
and saw a scurry of noisy squirrels.
I'd hung a new bird feeder,
tauntingly, just out of reach,
and they were not having any of it.
Amused by their hijinks shenanigans,
I sat in a chair and began to watch.
Failing to find any hold,
they began to use their wits.
I noted their problem-solving antics;
as they improvised alternative ways
to, ultimately, gain their just reward.
One kept leaping off the roof;
yet it would always fall short.
But that didn't stop the others from jumping,
and soon enough, one tried it from a tree,
landing smack on the feeder with a thump.
And they both came crashing down;
for squirrels, don't mess around.

Her Cup

How daintily she holds her cup
And brings it to her lovely lips!
How light, how gentle, now she takes
Her drink in slow and little sips.

And while her lips are on the cup,
By accident she lifts her eyes;
My eyes meet hers and for a while
I feel like floating in the skies.

She puts the cup back on the dish
And looks at me now with intent.
She gives a little smile, I blush,
I also breathe her subtle scent.

She’s gone. All that’s left is just her cup,
Which she had held so lovingly,
And still has marks of her sweet kiss
That look at me so tauntingly.

March 22, 2023

Mischievous Moon

Mischievous Moon

The moon was in a mischievous mood
This morning before the twilight
Peeking through clouds it had tried to elude
In order to flaunt its golden light.

Full and round it followed me
Up and down the valley hills
Emerging from shadows tauntingly
Knowing how its beauty thrills.

Nestling in a poinciana tree
It appeared to do a dance
Among twisted limbs that seemed to be
Arms of the goddess known to entrance.

And did I detect a soft giggling sound
That came floating to my ear?
Such strange things are said to abound
When the full moon is near.

When time came for my walk to end
I was reluctant to depart
The company of my endearing friend
Who'd graced my day with a delightful start.

Molly Moore

Scalloped

Enamel finger-smeared thick with butter
Yellow onions, yellow butter, floured and browned
Just add cream
From roux to dream
Now spice to glue that hold my world together

The team assembles for its tasty mission
Cheddar, gouda, mozz and more
Thick sheets of ham
Tubers sliced translucent
Layered, latticed, clothed in white bliss
Sealed deep into my black Dutch Oven

Four hundred twenty-five degrees, twice boiling
Every five minutes, I keep checking
Time warps
seconds are hours
Only half done, removing the covering

Top comes off, melting marbarella muck
Gilded golden gruyere
Splattering over spuds
Swirling cheese seas
Miasmic fragrant fromage tauntingly teased air

Beep! Beep! Beep! It's done!
Don't waste a moment
Too hot to taste
Bubbling lava lake
Slowly crusting cheesy skin emerging from the oven

Finally, the soup solidified, gooey cultured cream
Ready for the fork and spoon
Potatoes caked
Ham baked
Reality as gastro-goodness manifested dream

Onto my plate, my fork, my palette, my bliss

A Consistently Poor Wage

A consistently poor wage
Licenses rage:
An ugly fight against the cage,
Steady enveloping of stagnant wage,
A temper warning every wedge,
Rising while lowered with vintage.

Hirers open a sterile page,
Not a complimenting line for a sage:
Reflections of his usage,
Not a half paragraph for his adage…

The low income earner won’t this manage,
Nor life in his fatiguing village:
The vast hum drums sight,
Of farm-tools tauntingly bright,
For all their promises of fast tillage,
Putting The Townie at a disadvantage.

Any hopelessly downsized wage,
Is cash that the teeth sets on edge,
The Hired white with shock
Over Hirer’s heart of steely lock.

Time Tortoise Patience

Cranked a surprise with his jack in the box
            Chained stays my flower in chastity locks
                         Power down, without  T. V
                     Painful night crawled tauntingly
           Deafened by raised legs' rotate inside clocks




30th August 2020

Written for Contest : Fun With Limericks
           Sponsor : Tania Kitchin
      Syllables are: 10, 10, 7, 7, 10

Oh I'M Cursed So

Oh!  How he sauntered like a lord with his flaunt
The bluster and strut so nonchalant
The swank and sway blew me away
And swept me under the table like child's play!

My!  His handsome style
His arrogant modesty was no denial
He beamed as he jilted so tauntingly
Every female around was flibberty-jibberty

Cursed!  As he grabbed my eye balls out of their sockets
My heart in my throat-my stomach an empty pocket
While his prance in tight pants made me dance
Wishing for one real bona fide chance

So!  Afraid of the outcome of dealing with this situation
Argh!  "Get em up scout!" I'm cutting out
My courage is fading to total damnation
By this spellbound swagger sensational "knockout"!!

Invite Me Into Your Heart-

 Breath sweet as the summer roses
Skin as soft as the ivory puffy morning clouds
Gentle are the hugs, that lead to love

Eyes shaped like almonds
Heartbeats rhythmically
Moves gracefully as a deer

Tauntingly your shadow caresses me
Like the sunbeam covers the moon and earth
May I be invited to your heart

Allow me my darling, to fill it with agape love 






6/27/19

written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2018©
Written for project North Omaha Writer’s Group assignment 2019©
Copyright © James Edward Lee Sr. | Year Posted 2019

The Strange and Gray House-

The Strange And Gray House-

Whose house is this? I think I know?
This the strange and gray house
Why does it tauntingly glow?
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch him frown. I cry hello.
He gives his house a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake;
Spiders and mouses, run in and out of;
This the strange and gray house is;
Spooky ooh wee looky;
What's that over there;
Did you see all that hair;
The house glowing strange, gray deep;
As he has promises to keep;
Never then he shall not sleep;
He lies in bed with ducts that weeps;
He rises from his bitter bed;
With thoughts of sadness in his head;
He idolizes being not alive, dead;
Facing the day with never ending dread;
This the strange and gray house is

4/4/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©

The Simplicity of Thought

The Simplicity of Thought
Written: by Tom Wright
6/20/2018

Some mornings, 
Pretentious words arrive devoid of call,

Today, phrases bathe my mind, 
And then tauntingly stall.

Sub-consciously,
 I shall either embrace them, or refrain.

But both have the ability to vanish from me, 
Or remain.

The Last Line

This poem is driving me crazy!
I want to get it just right!
I’ve gotten up quite early.
I’ve stayed up late at night.
It’s haunting me throughout the day.
It’s tauntingly just out of reach.
There’s a phrase I need here and there,
and it’s nagging me like a leech.
I ought to just rip it to shreds
and resume my life as before,
but I’m afraid as soon as I do,
the last line will waltz through the door!


December 10, 2018

Small Town

In the fifties,  I was a child of six
we moved to a small town in what some might
tauntingly  call, the middle of the sticks.

A picturesque Montana town so small,
it was growing into its big boy shoes,
I remember it  as the best of all.

My mother worked in  a fountain - Norm’s News,
right on the main street of that little town.
She earned fifty-cents an hour and the blues.

Time and fate has taken me to places
with crowds, big, cluttered and filled with  change.
You may live a lifetime with strange faces.

A cyber-voice told me they lived in my
same town, Kalispell, and had just been to
to Norm’s News just this May, last month , gone by.

A warmth crept over me and brought tears down.
Think,  it is still there after all this time,
while here everything is changing around.

Constant ebb and flow of society
leaves us feeling impermanent as dust.
Maybe small towns are just the thing for me.

Something New

Yepper-doddle, today I’ll use my own noddle.         
My prized antique frame sustained a despised bust.    
Wanting to show my man the tough dough in my crust,
I found strong glue and told that goo I was nonplussed.    
Next, I grabbed frame, soda and sat on my sofa.
   
Three tries – no prize, so with both eyes quite wide,
I called the glue a boob lube, dumb as a square loop,
and threatened to incise its worthless insides.
I rose, fetched pose and a calming balm libation,
then returned to pestering with less sweltering.

Glue applied, both sides, I made my hands a vice
and, well fries n’ flies, I squeezed degrees of might.
Bullet sweat, my muscles clinched like a barrette,
I pressed longer than tourists eating pullets.
Then when gingerly, tenderly letting go – 

          glue thoroughly, tauntingly offended me - 

son of a bee, ugly as his glue-mom-harlot,
refused to seam my antique frame back to its gleam. 
Past bummed, I stood to sweetly summon my husband,
but my feet stuck to carpet, mucked as a tar pit.






CayCay Jennings
October 16, 2018

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