"cajoled" poems
You’ve twisted
My mind
To a point
That I’m blind
Manipulated
Cajoled
In playing
Your role.
Im battered
And torn
Wishing you
We’re never born,
The love of my life
A nasty witch
Can’t wait to
Bury her in a ditch.
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 9:50 AM UTC
It was my birthday,
Sixty Five years turned to grey hair.
My love and I, and two old school
friends on a breezy Fall day.
Over Tea and a lovely frosted
three layer cake, we cajoled
and joked about our age,
all turned senior citizens that year.
And yet in truth, we all agreed,
none of us had ever been as happy as then.
The cake was sliced onto china plates,
Each piece served flat on it's cut side.
I noticed something then as we all
took our first bites.
Our forks all started at the thinnest corner,
on the bottom layer's side, gradually
excavating the two lower levels of fluffy
cake, saving the best for last, the top layer
where all the sweet frosting remained.
It occurred to me then that indeed life
is like a three layer cake, the last top layer
can indeed contain the sweetest bites.
That rather than gobbling life hurriedly whole
it should be savored more like patiently eating
and enjoying a three layer cake.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
The non-planet, poor Pluto,
Circling far out and forgotten,
I cast my thoughts around you,
Knowing you are like many here,
Too insignificant to be noticed,
And yet, still worthwhile, for sure.
I caress the cold of Neptune,
Her super speed winds whip by,
She has no thought for me, too busy,
As is her sister, Uranus, circling,
Unaware that I, or others, even exist,
Yet, we are made of the same stuff,
Stardust, so exotic, so varied; so us.
My thoughts come leaping back,
Arcing around the rings of Saturn,
Slipping between sparkling icy dust,
Navigating the dark reaching fingers,
Stretching impassively from their host,
Guiding my eye to the little moons,
Knowing that life might thrive there.
I somersault away to King Jupiter,
He used to wander, he battled hard,
Casting out the rogue gas giant,
Clearing the way for the rocky worlds,
Giving life to us all, before drifting back,
Cajoled by Saturn, his anger still rages,
The red spot storm churning, his moons,
Observing, as Jupiter takes on all comers.
And we, the rocky four, so grateful,
As Jupiter snaffles the debris, holds it,
Or hurls it away, so we live, we learn,
Our inner sisters too hot, brother Mars,
Too cold, for now, but one day, yes,
As we begin to bake, Mars awaits,
To welcome us for a million years, or so,
A blink of an eye, universally speaking,
But home has hope, hope offers life,
Unlike our unwanted distant cousin,
The non-planet, poor Pluto.
©Paul M Chafer 2015
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
when i was six years old my whole family went to disney world and being the self-respecting born and bred star wars fans we were, my brother and i cajoled our parents into letting us buy pictures of our little faces photoshopped onto the faces of star wars characters.
my brother? anakin skywalker. and me? aayla secura.
who you probably haven't heard of, even if you're a pretty big fan of the series. to get you up to speed, aayla secura was a jedi knight and a general during the clone wars era in the prequel trilogy, which is all suitably ******* badass, but if i remember right she has roughly five minutes of screen time in the movies and even less in lines. and you probably remember her as that one blue chick.
and if i remember right she was also one of about three or four female options for the pictures. sure, there was padme amidala and princess leia, who are badass ladies in their own rights, but see the thing is that no six year old watches starwars and thinks to themselves, "hmm, i want to be a politician!" you think to yourself, "i want to be a jedi." and the only option that was a girl and a jedi was a background character.
but that's the thing isn't it? being a background character, a love interest, a side-kick is something girls grow used to seeing themselves cast as. sure, we're in the movie, but with half the lines and screen time. never the center of the story. never the hero, just the pretty girl with fluttery eyelashes he saves. too often i found myself having to invent my own characters and stories so that i could feel that i was part of a narrative, too.
and suddenly, more than ten years too late for for six year old me but just in time for a whole new generation of little girls, the person in the center of the poster clutching a blue lightsaber like a beacon of the light side was a girl.
so this halloween as i'm handing out candy i will see myself in every little girl with her hair twisted into three buns and light saber in her hand and the galaxy in her eyes. finally, finally the story is about her.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 11:02 PM UTC
He puts it out there, the Schrödinger’s cat of invitations.
Now, I’m irritated. “I TOLD you I don’t have time for.. involvement.”
“But you have to eat - so eat with ME,” he shrugs. “You can build a friendship with someone and still have freedom.” His observation was casual, as though it were unrelated to anything between us. He seemed to have the intuition that I’d balk if pressed.
“You’re subversive.” I said. “Why me? There are prettier girls, more agreeable, fun girls. I feel like I’m on the edge here,” I look around to indicate the room, the environment, the university. “And I can be a complete as-hole.”
He looked a little offended, “You’re interesting, I like what I know about you and, yeah, we can all be as-holes - we’re in a pool of “A” types, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“What do you KNOW about me?” I ask.
“I’ve read some of your writings,” he looked thoughtful, “I may know a little about how you think, It’s unusual.. interesting.”
I’m shocked and I squirm, “You looked me up?”
“I looked you up.” he nodded, “to be sure you’re not an axe murderer.”
“How much did you read?” I asked, wheedling, my inner-writer engaging.
“Tell you at dinner - YOU name the date and time,” he smiled.
“My idea of “dinner” is walking to a dining hall, picking up a bag of food, bringing it back here and taking ten minutes to eat it between chapters,” I warned.
“I have a meal card,” he says, jiggling his student lanyard.
“We’ll see.” I said. “Have you talked to anyone else about my writing?”
“No,” he answered, “Why?”
“Please don’t, I have to think about it.” I say. As far as I know, no one I know in RL has read me - it’s an odd feeling - like maybe he got ahold of my diary. I haven’t worried over the fact that someone I’m in physical proximity to could look me up. That all this stuff is actually out there.
“Don’t think my misgivings can be cajoled away,” I say, “no more talking.”
He chucked but we got back to studying.
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 10:21 PM UTC
Measure horizon interjecting South Asia
Hammurabi formed Akkadian Nation
Babylonian beast winged lion
upon your cajoled eyes
Mesopotamian feast
a civilization dreaming
under oil fields now known as Iraq
petroleum empowered
How history repeats
in crude circumstances
Assyrian War rages on
Have all temples been replaced by
mosques or filling stations
for Halliburton to gas up?
tanks, projectile convoys
not a winged god amongst them
unless you count Mobil
Babylonia azimuth
combustible tankers horizon
sunrise or sunset
both burn black
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
I've been poisoned.
Tried not to drink it,
this liquidity of hate--
but it seduced me
called my name
cajoled me
enticing me to try
to be the same
as all the others
who were surrounding me--
I fell victim
to believing the lies
that somehow their
'espouted truth'
would set me free--
but what the hell?
How could I not know?
There are no truths
in lies
only pain and sorrow
that so often don't show
until much later
when you look around to see
that you're totally alone
no one to hug, no one to help,
to set you free.
So let this poison do its job--
let it work and destroy
all of me!
I am not needed or wanted
nor am I free--
I am merely someone
others use for their fun
I am no longer human
I cannot claim I belong
for this poison I drank
is far too strong.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
*Darkness was waiting on his hot rod motorbike,
When I fell from grace onto the hard ground,
Darkness was smirking wickedly as hell,
When I sensed it coming I closed eyes,
Darkness was all I had for 23 days,
When I was about to die I bargained,
Darkness was cajoled by my good deeds,
When I almost made up my mind for leaving,
Darkness relented & let some rays enter my life.*
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 8:05 AM UTC
Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within,
The words, waiting, waiting, waiting,
Nurtured, soothed, lovingly cajoled,
Given form and purpose, till they rise,
Coming to life, unbidden, bursting free.
They echo around the globe, touching,
Slipping silkily into hearts and minds,
Subtly connecting with new-born ideas,
Mingling, coalescing, waiting, waiting,
That’s where poetry come from, (yes),
Poetry lives, sleeps, deep, deep within.
©Paul M Chafer 2016
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
Or afterlife I can't remember
*Let's take a trip
Just go for a stroll
Down this hellhole
Old ravaged soul
Fear not my friend,
For lo and behold
You've been here before
Time after time,
Spent breaking the mold
Value of life cajoled
Blindfolded by fool's gold
Then a jolt
of electricity
jots down your spinal chord
Now you're on the threshold
About to enter a portal of some sorts,
No?
Only to discover
You're living the life of another
And the sum of every misgiving
makes you suffer in discomfort
Living the dream
To wake and repeat
Routinely existing
One day at a time
Feel it yes shudder
Over your head pull the covers
Dream of a place elsewhere
But beware your worst nightmares
As a slaughter is awakening
Pharm entrapment for mass brainwashing
It's one global chess-game
While pawns are laid to waste
Archons duplicate an assumed fate
Deception whispers into the hearts of the wicked
For certain they're rendered
by men lurking
shadily behind curtains unspoken of
I'm ashamed
Prayers fall on deaf ears
when a reckoning is ravenous
Assuredly glimmering in extravagance
Whilst you traipse about like savages
Poisoning our brains
Tainting the terrain
Reign supreme putrid filth
For bloodstained money &
Squandered wealth
Lengthening our debts
Molesting children
Who'd like to place their highest bet?
Just stay conditioned
For the daily grind
The hustle and bustle
Stick with consistence
And reminisce of better times
You're dead inside
Is the end just contingent?
Why won't society just crumble
Keep living the lie
Greener pastures
lay just beyond the hillside
Am I right?*
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
He gave a picture exhibition,
Hiring a little empty shop.
Above its window: FREE ADMISSION
Cajoled the passers-by to stop;
Just to admire - no need to purchase,
Although his price might have been low:
But no proud artist ever urges
Potential buyers at his show.
Of course he badly needed money,
But more he needed moral aid.
Some people thought his pictures funny,
Too ultra-modern, I'm afraid.
His painting was experimental,
Which no poor artist can afford-
That is, if he would pay the rental
And guarantee his roof and board.
And so some came and saw and sniggered,
And some a puzzled brow would crease;
And some objected: "Well, I'm jiggered!"
What price Picasso and Matisse?
The artist sensitively quivered,
And stifled many a bitter sigh,
But day by day his hopes were shivered
For no one ever sought to buy.
And then he had a brilliant notion:
Half of his daubs he labeled: SOLD.
And lo! he viewed with queer emotion
A public keen and far from cold.
Then (strange it is beyond the telling),
He saw the people round him press:
His paintings went - they still are selling...
Well, nothing succeeds like success.
1.4k
This anger...
Feels like a ball of uncontrollable energy that spins treacherously in the pit of my stomach.
It is unbound and reaches out forcefully in every axis. It is self-sustaining. And it consumes...
All of me...
It's doesn't want to be displaced, or swept under the rug for the umpteenth time. It doesn't want to be cajoled or calmed. It doesn't want to be coaxed into thinking that it does not need to rear its ugly head because I believe I have a handle on things; which I clearly do not.
It knows me too well and will not take it lying down.
It wants acknowledgement and it wants to speak.
It wants to speak in a low guttural voice for the sheer purpose of intimidation.
It wants grow in figurative size to assert its validation.
It wants to absorb every form of negativity and use it to fuel the fight.
It wants to take the faintest pin-prick or papercut to the most painful stab in the heart and use them...
Harness them and then...
Explode in a hundred-mile radius.
This anger is real...
And it has had enough of sitting on the bench.
Now it wants a piece of the action...
And this time I let it.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 10:49 AM UTC
You..My tangled divine of tender thought.
Deep passions planted as twilight’s homage.
Et al, wrapped bare as Dionysus dream.
Twist we do as sunny side up we are.
And you are, sheltered from the inclement of ever so frosty.
Espalier. Me.
You…Of lush growth, green assured.
and so, cajoled by mindful ****
A peek-a-boo folly as seasons fortify.
Oh that of my ripe full body, dare, gather me.
Plump select as moonlight crush, in barefoot belly dance.
Age. Me.
You…Fine sup you are of blend mature.
That of cork once popped.
de stilled a few times.
Knows yet, that as me…
Were I to put a label on you.
Well…
You would be a great vintage, with just a whiff of attitude.
Raise. Me.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
From two fiery souls, a being was yielded
With their ambitious love, it must be guided
Whose young soul, at birth, pranced at the brink of death
God heard his wish, granting the infant another breath
As the time went on and went by
The same star was the brightest in his sky
Riches do not kiss her feet
But his arms, more comfortable than the finest sheets
He was her protector, her shield, her warrior
She was his princess; To no one, she was inferior
On his shoulders, she stood on top of the world
All was perfect 'til the petals unfurled
She fell off from a bicycle and bruised her knees
He treated her wounds but ignored her pleas
The once loving embraces felt like a cage
Under his gaze, she was a prey on center stage
Goodnight kisses were no longer pure
His warm embrace, no longer secure
What used to be affectionate, now shaky and warm
Eyes that shone with love, now projects harm
Harm to the corporal being, to the efflorescing soul
To sleep at ease, she cannot be cajoled
At days, perturbed; at nights, in fear
She trembles and frets, her fright is sheer
Hands that swept hair away from her face
Left imprints on her skin one can never erase
Lips that pressed kisses on her forehead
Became the source of her every day dread
A princess' skin felt like filthy rugs
Her responses to concern were countless shrugs
Now every time she sees her warrior
Relief vanishes, she is filled with terror
She remained silent, hoped for a change
All done in vain, the protector is deranged
Indulged himself, appeasing carnal hunger
Drowning her in nightmares that will forever linger
No more time for beautiful dreams
For she's awakened by lascivious schemes
The following morning, his lips are stretched to a smile
Forgetting the night, the flower that was defiled
With much courage, the straight road became curved
She took the wheel and hastily swerved
The voice has been found and it finally speaks
A stoppage on his abhorred streak
Knees on the ground, he recites a contrition
The usual alibis, but his own rendition
For so many years, she lived in misery
Mere apologies cannot suffice for clemency
From this point, she can never get far
Why dress her with fabrics of adulterated scars?
I was your princess, your brightest star, remember?
Why did you forget, my dear father?
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
In my arms
She felt so light
Her body against mine
Her head on my shoulder
This place feels like home
Home
This night feels exactly the night before you left
Ambitious,furious, hot yet addicting
I missed this for years
Remember
When after that night you sloped.
I burned my bed down that day
And bathed in the ashes of my broken dreams
It feels meaningless now
Alone
Yes alone I went down to hunt down
My Incessant desire to touch your skin
To caress and pull you closer
I thought the desire died
But it was subtly breathing deep within
Oh you
Your smell is still the same
It still seduces me
It still captures me through and through
I will never get over you
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 2:17 PM UTC
She looked so sweet but she had black eyes
That charming little smile was surprisingly sly
An innocent act she continued to play
There was never a rumor, for there was nothing to say
She constantly, craftily, stole the upper hand
Guilefully cunning, appearing offhand
Triumphant she was when her deception succeeded
Prancing away from the hate that she seeded
Her friends were like puppets, their fate she controlled
A friend to no end, when she spoke she cajoled
She listened wide-eyed, and blinked in surprise
She was begged to help, and begged to chastise
So she fixed the stories in her own way
Discarding the remnants, displayed to decay
Contented and sprightly she talked very lightly
So sweetly and sightly she left ever brightly.
And now you know of the girl with black eyes
With that charming smile that's ever so sly
So don't be fooled by her false disposition
Otherwise, you will find
yourself
in a most
unfortunate
position.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 3:19 PM UTC
My superstitions are pH balanced,
like the apple pickers
and the gardeners with their
fingers entwined in the language
of the landscape, organic and fresh.
But the label says it's going
to happen. Dark, rich life will fall
from the roots of the tree that’s been cajoled
from its nest and perlite, a fool’s gold, will sprinkle
into worshipping hands.
We will stand on that soil and call it a revolution
asking for wonder drugs, stirring them into a cup of good day Earth.
Starving in sleep I will drink from that brew and
my eyes will open to the naked alarm clock.
Coming in from the cold, our frosted breaths will remind us that
at any breeze we could be blown from this rock.
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 4:43 AM UTC
Trees of gold
autumn still hold
winter about to unfold
Leaves of gold
still taking hold
shining brightly bold
Sunlight of gold
chasing the mold
warmth to uphold
Rays of gold
expel the cold
autumn to be cajoled
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 2:29 AM UTC
The form the moon took against a single, silver cloud;
Dog-eared and dumb as a wasteland.
A fretted combination of changing elements
Ships by majestically
Calling time to its slendered oval side
Inundating us from a height
Shepherding tom-foolery with its light
I, oh only I,
Oh lonely lunar Mee,
Looking at the sky to see
The shape of blacksmith's vision
In the night;
The caress of silver on the forehead
From the moon's fledgling smithereens.
I cast a glimpse and
Sense a stray sheet of
Creation above, like a baking tray;
Puffing, shifting, darkening.
Elements in an oven.
Congregation of thought with
Madness on the left and
Silly sickness in the middle
Conjured up-
Sense on the right!
Cajoled-
*** on the brain
Coated in-
Hard leather bush-tights
Plato polite on every oval ***** side
Evilness lurking where goodness hides;
Be a good fellow
- dont be shy
Unleash the cry
- bellow,
HOWL
Say hello-ow-ololo-ow in
- tremolo
Like you're no longer scared
- or yellow
..of instant indelibility
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 1:26 AM UTC
Now in case your brain stem is loose
I'm a big fan of Dr. Seuss
And clearly a few of my screws are loose
at least I'm not crazy like a moose
Now, for those that remember Sam I Am
he heavily endorsed Green Eggs And ham
persistently and though he cajoled And coaxed
the other party wouldn't eat them, not on a plane
not on a train, not with a goat, and not on a boat
not here, nor there, he wouldn't eat them anywhere!
However I'm much older now and now I can say,
that old rhyming story holds truth even today
so put away all your prejudgements and prejudices
Because something beautiful has come by, and if you let that cloud your mind, you'll miss it.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 2:00 AM UTC
SBN.
Why do us poets
always let these jerks
who do not even
have an atom
of creativity
decide the value
and level
of our creativity?
ES.
Given that us
but meek poetic folk
have a humbleness
to our line of yolk
we permit these ignorant jerks
a liberal latitude
to openly express
their aimless platitudes
SBN.
Why do us poets
fall for the trends
and applause
it occasionally brings
knowing full well
it is all merely ephemeral
and what is permanent
is our depression so dismal?
ES.
We are cajoled
by the transient ovation
which resounds with much
brevity in its adulation
thence follows our
despondency of wretchedness
that descends into
a despairing grimness
SBN.
When will us poets
ever decide
that we do not care two hoots
for cheap popularity
and that our creations
are too valuable really
for some **** to **** on them
and make and mostly break them?
ES.
Oh for us true poets
to be admired with a fervent zeal
by those jerks who've
not a scrap of poetic appeal
unto us they can
dollop their excrement pile
for we shall surpass them
with our flash penning style
SBN.
So let us take in our hands
our own poetic destiny
lets write on time's shifting sand
and ensure our poetic integrity
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Oh she!
I now remember
When I saw her dark eloquent eyes
They had a hint of emerald
Oh she!
With her fiery aura
Which had a unique ability
To beguile anyone that comes around
Oh she
Her words were enough
To lure anyone to follow her command
And now
I see her again
Blurring everything around except her
With her same enticing eyes she glanced
No words
Nothing she said
Just came towards me
Once again
Just like before
And I can do nothing but to fall again
But this time knowing the consequence
Again I curl my arms around her.
Again I touch her soft succulent skin
And there is nothing I can do
Nowhere I can go
But towards her
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 2:38 PM UTC
Is love a selfish thing
serving but one master,
each of those coupled merely daffed
believing it is theirs to keep?
But love is its own master,
comes and goes, or does a fickle dance,
though from time to time
may be prodded - poked, cajoled
to do one's narrow bidding.
In the end romantic love will depart,
then best to hope that in its place
it leaves friends that go on caring.
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 8:31 AM UTC