"cajolery" poems
Lying cold and prone in corpescent repose
Stripped bare of all earthly clothes
No flattering gown or suitcoat fine
Nor soul from sightless eyes does shine
All cajolery and wisdom long since fled
Biles and humours and all machinery dead
The fresco of person in living years painted
With frowsty breath and ideas blood-tainted
Has, in joining this burgeoning army, crumbled
As cheek-rouge faded, the persona humbled:
Under wakeful eyes the snail is known by its shell
But the naked and the dead know each other well.
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 6:35 AM UTC
We hide behind words and rhymes
All along wondering what's on each others minds
So it is with this poetry
I romance her with cajolery
Windy blowing the silk sails from the mast
Over the little man in the canoe waves will crash
Then it's bombast
And bomb blasts
Down the halls of this woman
On the walls of this woman
(To take a ride on this carriage
It must undulate during marriage)
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
Carnal cajolery
Tropical and agglutinative brawn,
We shalt make amour' til the morn'
And not wake til the next dawn!!!
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
Often, in the day, the tickle begins its havoc
One where the answers my head rested on
Beget those questions anew,
Begetting more questions, their answers, too
I, with upright, beating breast, am fit to take on such a feat
To sing out fame and knowledge in the streets,
They shall know what I mean,
The truth is all and everything I mean.
Wracked by what seems a natural progression
From confident concreity to existential congestion
And subdued by chiasmatic coughing fits,
Beginning with the first, ending on the last
Confounded by the night where last may come first,
I got to bed discomforted, a few shots in me,
Knowing not what to blame: me or everything,
Who is it that makes no sense?
Staring at the dreamy ‘scape
I can see the algorithmic lynch pin
Taper off and down
Fantasies, angels spread their wings
And marvelous oceans rend
There at the bottom, or there in the sky,
Or in their middle-way
Is the delible surface with wanting cajolery
Written across it, “thou may.”
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC