"coax" poems
in a low silky voice
he whispers ***** ***** *****
he's at the gym
not to far
in the tub
at the spa
come ***** dear
lets have lots a fun
and kiss a while
he licks you some
he loves you so
would you like a big mouse
he has one honey
and its not your spouse
a crazy boy
all over you
drinks you like wine
and eats you like stew
he's not about kids
and going to work
but he washes your dishes
and hes not a ****
***** perfume
the natural smell
don't hide it sweet girl
watch him swell
oh comb it pretty
loves hairy too
spread it like butter
hoochi coohi cooo
don't be shy
and open wide
coax out your ****
and feel the glide
hes the ***** whisperer
calling your soul
loving every fold
melting every hole
summer sweet fruit
hidden away
come on honey
let's dance and play
candy ****
and ***** pie
sweet juicy lush
down velvety thigh
he's got a nice one
its really cool
a big pink stick
that makes you drool
he's the ***** whisperer
calling in time
come hither my love
its not a crime*
meowwwww
May 1, 2018
May 1, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
I wake as your friend You wake as my lover
I speak as your lover You speak as my friend
I act as your possession You are my possesion
I rebel as your cover A means to an end
I hurt for your compassion You live for my acceptance
I injure for your respect Though it's never been withheld
I confide for your emotion You crave my direction
I give and you collect Never will you rebel
This is madness This is Sparta
This is insanity This is the price of exellence
I can't be everything for you I am your everything
You can't be everything for me I am magnificence
You treat everyone the same I am fair and righteous
As a friend, yet as a lover And yet you seek more
And it's a cruel, cruel game Dare you grow capricious
From your twisted love, no one recovers You'll become one I abhor
I am done You are confused
(I am never done) And I will not calm you
I am sick *As I am amused*
(But I'm not tired) As I drop little clues
I will run You'll never leave me
(I won't run) But I'll abandon you
Because I love you You'll always need me
(A better word is 'desire') And I'll never need you
Let me go! My grip is vice-like
(But you're not holding me) I'm not ready to let you go
Bring me back! If I lose you, 'my dear'
(But I never left) I must find yet another 'beau'
Love me only! And I've not the time to put effort
(But you love equally) In little minions like you
Push me away! I've not a care to give for
(Or bridge this rift) You insects I never knew
Please, disappear I am your torture
One day you'll understand But I am your salvation
That the twisted way you love I am your executioner
Could coax death from any human And I am your redemption
Please, disappear! You'll wish me dead forever
Though I'll weep when you're gone You'll wish me dead I know
I know sanity will return And you'll wish yourself deader
And I'll eventually move on. When away I finally go.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 8:25 PM UTC
emotions bounce around
to eventually be transcribed
into beautiful words
a patchwork of thoughts from her mind,
made with fragmented sentences,
allow her to expose part of her soul.
words that coax
images
or emotions
or memories
to arise
in other's minds.
the most magnificent artwork
that changes for every reader
a display of her soul
that will never be seen
in the way she intended it to be seen.
a curse
or a gift?
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
*Such a lovely ring, she said.
It even looks good on my ugly hands.
As if those hands were lacking.
As if those hands –
hard working hands –
Bore no beauty of their own.
My mother’s hands,
That held the soap
To scrub my baby toes;
Whose hands were there
To show me how
To blot my runny nose.
Those hands that later
held my hands
And patiently did teach me
How to tie my shoes -
Then held them once again
To coax and guide my own
To write my cursive name
Until the time when I alone
Could do the very same.
My mother’s hands,
That fed me,
And tucked me in at night;
Who touched my fevered brow
And soothed away my fright.
My mother’s hands,
That all my life
Gave comfort, care and hope.
And when my children came to be,
I watched my mother’s hands -
a new grandmother’s hands -
Touch my children, tenderly.
My mother’s hands,
Yes, weathered by their toil,
The fingers wide,
And aged with years –
and just like her,
Still sure and strong
Yet gentle as they ever were.
My mother’s hands –
She looks, and says they’re ugly
But I don’t know what to say.
For when I see
My mother’s hands
It’s the beauty of
The love they gave,
Assuring strength
And constant grace
All held within
My mother’s hands.
Lin Cava©*
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 5:51 AM UTC
Through an open window, I hear
the Big Thompson's steady music
drifting up from the valley below.
May breezes and gentle rains
coax the snow-capped peaks
to surrender their alabaster cloaks
downslope into gathering streams.
Silhouetted by light from the waxing moon,
a cinnamon bear lopes along water’s edge,
pauses for a draught and meanders on.
A bull elk newly coifed with velvet antlers
folds his legs beneath its belly
and kneels into grasses beside a tranquil pond.
while the Big Thompson rushes on.
Spring beauties, calypso orchids and geraniums
shake off their winter's sleep and
dot every vagabond trail and verdant hill
while fresh new leaves adorn the aspen boughs.
The Big Thompson inexorably presses on
bound for rendezvous with time and space
and tumbles into the always patient sea.
© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 8:57 AM UTC
If memories take time
Then I'm giving them away,
'Cause all I want's the closeness
Of thoughts from yesterday
If you turn your back to a tree
It falls, and you don't see
Is it different when you return to reality?
It remains that the tree is wood
The cores and rings and fibers still good
But I'm sure that doesn't matter
Because it changed the way it stood
I do my best to be unchanging
To coax you when you fell.
For friendship,I'd even let
You chop me down, as well
But you've sunken into shallow soils
Called these termites all your friends
And though it's your integrity rotting,
My memories have spoiled.
So think about that once again
When I've grown tired, and tough
Because height can give you limelight
But it's the roots that give you love
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
These eyes, dark stains left behind by the rivers of coffee
I force past these lips trying to coax life,
Back into a body that doesn't remember what it is to feel it.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 12:19 PM UTC
There is a new fire
in my soul
its curves
wrap themselves
around me
sinuous
like a hot
slithery
sheath of flesh
snakes of pleasure
twirling in my deepest
womanflow
pumping inside
my veins of mesh
Those licks of flames
caress as they spew
they **** in my spirit
spit it out anew
undulating hips
matching my own
a middle east song
igniting my bones
suffusing my blood
with the raw, the bare
filling me up
with sparkling lava,
so rare
This combination
makes for a recipe hot
like a piquant ghost pepper
in my spiciest spot
Now let me weave words
Let me conjure your
liquids
let me drench colors
upon your eyelids,
my spirit's
proximity vivid
Let me drown you in
madness
in frothiest frequencies
of love
let this symphony play out
powers screeching above
and as this vivacity beckons
the soul in your eyes
our stormiest spirals
will spill out rainbow fire
and rise
for as we grow and reach out
there is a death of limitation
as freedom breaks out
in ocean-soaked
emancipation
Our mutual worlds
heal each other's hurts
as my tongue licks
your wounds
rejuvenation asserts
hot springs of
lifeflow
filling up cells
sensations of textures
a ringing of bells
So
as I weave this spell
around you
fear not that you
will disappear or
thine own self lose
for we have only to soar
as we
coax out
the muse
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
The scent of the pollen allured her, hanging in the still air of the morning. She would stop in her travel and visit each flower that she found. The precious nectar oozed from deep within the petals and she would thirstily drink at each one. She would gently land in the scented shade of each blossom and coax the precious nourishment from it. She never gorged, but rather drank from each flower what it was willing to give. Some were full and over ripe and bursting with the honeyed juice. Others had a smaller treasure, but she would drink lovingly of their gift leaving them an offering of pollen as a thanks. Her small, delicate tongue would gently lick and probe the recesses of the flower hunting the sweetness inside. The pollen on her coat would touch with the very deepest innards of the bloom and enter its very core. Her gift, as she suckled each part, was imparted into the scented womb of the softly petaled blossom. Each flower awaited her coming and spread wide it’s scented opening for her to enter. Their swollen pistils would be gorged with the potential for life and their gently glistening stamens would tempt her to feed on their sticky juices. The soft buzzing of her wings caressed the delicate parts of the fragrant blooms with a gentle breeze as she drank her sustenance. She sheltered in the colored shade of petals, hung round her like colored sheets, as she took what each one had to offer. When she was done she would move on to the next, slowly and deliberately milking the juice of life from each one. Every flower needed her and each one did what it could to tempt her in. Some threw heavy fragrance into the air so she could catch their scent while others bared their large and swollen glands so she could see their abundance. She traveled from bloom to bloom, sometimes enticed by the shaded shelter, and other times the sight of glistening pollen. But she fed on each one, large and small, and in each one she left her gift. The pollen that she carried would be imparted on each ***** stamen as she fed. The glistening end of the shaft was soft and sticky and waiting for the pollen that would carry on its life. While she fed each day, there was a gardener who tended to her plants. He took gentle care of them, weeding and pruning and tending to their needs. The flowers that she fed on were his future sustenance and he tended her as well. He would follow her sometimes through his garden and watch as she gently buzzed from plant to plant. She was used to his watchful eyes as he watched her drink from each bloom. He knew that his crop depended on her and he would peer into the bedding of petals as she caressed the sweetness from each one with her tongue. Her long tongue would probe deep into the recesses of the fragrant flower and find every drop of nectar. The gardener watched as she carried on the cycle of life for him and would wait for days to see the swollen fruits of her labor burgeoning from his plants. When she left each flower satisfied with their delicious treat, she would fly off to the next, not knowing that a seed would be swelling in the gorged pistil that she just left. And so it went as the bee buzzed her life away every day. The gardener would be there among his carefully tended crops, watching and waiting as she moved among the flowers. His gaze would follow her as she traveled through the foliage and landed amongst the blooms. Every day he would watch as she coaxed the sweet nectar from each one and left her gift in return.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
Can you coax your mind from its wandering
and keep to the original oneness?
Can you let your body become
supple as a newborn child's?
Can you cleanse your inner vision
until you see nothing but the light?
Can you love people and lead them
without imposing your will?
Can you deal with the most vital matters
by letting events take their course?
Can you step back from you own mind
and thus understand all things?
Giving birth and nourishing,
having without possessing,
acting with no expectations,
leading and not trying to control:
this is the supreme virtue.
__
"Lao Tzu is believed to have been a Chinese philosopher (a person who seeks to answer questions about humans and their place in the universe) and the accepted author of the Tao te ching, the main text of Taoist thought. He is considered the father of Chinese Taoism (a philosophy that advocates living a simple life).
Read more: Lao Tzu Biography - life, name, death, school, book, old, information, born, time http://www.notablebiographies.com/Ki-Lo/Lao-Tzu.html
Oct 22, 2010
Oct 22, 2010 at 11:17 PM UTC
these tempting and tumultuous times,
when the insect bite of attraction nibbles
your cheek, and first blood thickens with
intrigued,
the blood heated by, with a bewildering new sun's glow,
then bubbling boiling
over
with phantasmagorical fantasies,
and one endeavors to coax, to tease,
to preen, to adduce how best to ******
this persona, imagined or imaginary to be,
whispers a silent "no thankee''
and first bloom curls into a deathly brown doom,
you,
chastened by amorous hastening so quick evolving,
and the hither in come here, withers to a ghostly silencing,
one wonders, reminisces, and sadly recalls then forgets
the entreaties so eagerly received, how one wants to be
deceived,
for the once lay-buried-arousals now well recalled,
and quick to appear, faster to dismiss disappear,
and disaster cones and goes with light-speed velocity,
having fling,
now flung,
having crushed,
now crushing,
you caught laughing at your self,
still evolving long past the time
for youthful deceptions and silly indiscretions,
but not unhappily, for it was an acknowledgement
that good love poetry yet within resides, alas, alas,
it reciprocity seeds need replanting, and that notion
is quite pleasing...
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 9:00 AM UTC
The spectrum of colors
carpet the garden
Flowers can mean anything to us
Flowers can be
Hope
Love
Mourning
Joy
Peace
Rebellion
Family.
But in the end,flowers are only flowers
Innocent and oblivious to
human whims
They grow for the sake of the flowers,
and only the flowers.
We coax them and tame them and pick them and give them meaning
but they don't understand us.
How would they?
We do not speak the tongue of the flowers
And if we did,would they have words for human emotion?
They wouldn't care
Anyway
They don't need to understand us
We would still make flowers our symbols
And they would look on
As if we were beneath them.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
I
In the cold silence of the area
Rose a lonesome cafeteria,
Outside of it hooded forms -
Scaly horns -
Perched on white, plastic chairs
Like fifteen owls on a wire.
II
A grey-green bird in the distance
Sang a three-note song with insistence.
He sang on not to the white folks
But to the cold he tried to coax.
He sang to a spot desolate -
Sure thing, he sang to punctuate it.
©LazharBouazzi, July, 2017
Jul 13, 2017
Jul 13, 2017 at 2:00 PM UTC
Sundays are my favourite days,
Beirut mornings to coax a smile
Get drunk and dressed with
Mr. Vernon; light a cigarette
And laugh at the irony
This Sunday though,
I am in a sundaze;
with no full moon to look upon
And only a mournful quarter
rotted with black cloud
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
Ah, paled and faded leaf. of spring agone,
Whither goest thou? Art speeding to
Another land upon the brooklet's breast?
Or art thou sailing to the sea, to lodge
Amid a reef, and, kissed by wind and wave,
Die of too much love?
Thou'lt find a resting place amid the moss,
And, ah, who knows! The royal gem
May be thine own love's offering.
Or wilt thou flutter as a time-yellowed page,
And mould among thy sisters,
Ere the sun may peep within the pack?
Or will the robin nest with thee
At Spring's awakening? The romping brook
Will never chide thee, but ever coax thee on.
And shouldst thou be impaled
Upon a thorny branch, what then?
Try not a flight; thy sisters call thee!
Could crocus spring from frost?
And wilt thou let the violet shrink and die?
Nay, speed not, for God hath not
A mast for thee provided.
4.2k
Black soot
Shrivelled up Cadbury
wrapper eyes
You were not my antidote
You turned a balanced
happy
friendly
spice 'n' all things nice girl
into a hermit with
bloodied fingers, a
self-destructive narcissist
(or did you just
coax her out of her shell)
well
I quit on you
the ****** is the **** spoon
your prose the lighter
your hips the dealer
my heart the coffin.
I cried
I cry
I will cry
Over your constellation swamps
Housing crocodiles
Water-borne diseases
and piranhas
I am naive;
I think my youth protects me.
My youth enslaves me.
Binds me in paper chains.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
Grandmother Willow said
listen to your heart, you will understand
but when it pounds all I want to do is run
my heart says so many things
one minute it's telling me to climb a tree as high as the branches let me
the next it says hook line and sinker
and when I'm with someone beautiful, it says
nothing, it just
flutters and pitter patters
Mulan was always my favourite because
she had her heart broken and still
She Saved China
all on her own
my heart breaks like twigs and crumbles like dry
stiff leaves
in Autumn
and my heart is also a rubber ball that bounces from
one place to the next
too rapidly,
I forget where I am
and where I just was a moment before I ended up
wherever I ended up
my heart is like ice and sometimes if you are the right temperature,
it will melt for you
my heart is aware of fallacy and sometimes if you try to coax it,
everything I ever felt for you
won't exist anymore
a few months ago I was sitting at the back of
a midnight bus
in my hometown,
with a hippie headband on, accompanied with braids,
a long dress and moccasins of black suede
when a drunk teenager pointed and hollered directly at my face,
"you look like Pocahontas, how many John Smiths love you?"
I don't get angry anymore
I just get tired
my heart goes to sleep for days and wakes up at
the sudden gong of recognition
in eye contact
that lasts longer than just a few seconds;
my heart awakens at sunsets,
when I am sitting in a tree alone
and it awakens each time I successfully skip a stone
I've always thought highly of the two
disney cartoons
and it's not just because they can fire a harpoon
it's something like embodying the female
self-assurance,
strength of the soul,
embracing solitude like wind on a stroll
heart strong from a softening,
heart loved from singing just for singing
heart open like eye contact
that lasts longer than
just a few seconds
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
You make the first move
and I rise to meet you
The destruction we agree
is mutually assured
If this love is war
we're going nuclear
I refuse to sign the peace
treaty, to surrender my
lands to a man who's history
rides nations in his eyes
You cannot coax me
out of my shell only
to crush me when I am
most vulnerable
I will not be an
innocent bystander
to your horrors
I will not allow you
to make my pain beautiful
*It is not your canvas
to experiment on.*
(You'll only throw
red at it anyway)
I'm tired of tiptoeing
around the subject
like it is a minefield
Eventually I will
bleed your intentions dry
bandage them with a kiss
and revel in their cries
I will tear apart the lies
deftly with nimble fingers
and your tongue will always
defy you, spitting fire
and carefully lodged bullets
Once your secrets flare
there will be no rescue party
to salvage what we had
Only our ashes shall remain
embers of a past unspoken.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
Clarity has claws
Within her pouncing, padding paws
Laps up goat's milk raw
Grapples a teddy bear to songs
Tied to a robe's string
Well, she plays with literally everything-
Her eyes say exactly what she means.
No **** Clarity is a cat I call to come back
I find myself pleading for her return-
With the promise of a salmon snack,
In exchange for lessons learned,
But I only capture glimpses of her white and black
As she flashes by the doorway,
Always only doing things her own way.
Since her trust is hard-earned,
I coax her cleansing burn.
She climbs up my bare leg
With her razor sharp needles,
First thing in the morning without any warning
Clarity,
Why did I beg you to come near? ! don't tear !
I only wished for your soft vibrations in my ear !
It's so impossible to change your nature
I wasn't bleeding before you were here, but your message is pure
You only come running when you're hungry!
&Would you really eat me if I died?
The way you watch with such wild eyes,
(I'm sad to know I shouldn't be surprised)
Your tapping tail compromises your position,
Your crystal clear intention
To play with your prey before you ****** and eat them
Clarity,
embodying the way her name hides and smiles, pounces for a scream
as if she were mean!
Sneaks off to surprise her next unsuspecting victim
-
Tummy full,
Warm purr, a welcome buzz
She comes, she plays with, she eats my ego, she loves, she kneads, she purrs, she leaves, I plead
ah, Clarity
-Hayleo Liz
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 10:09 PM UTC
There came quiet
the colors of your cinnamon skin,
its taste, persimmon
spread in red syllables
and quicksilver spills
in the folds of this tickled silence,
Laden with prophesy
the white thought of love
leaps through the tamarack pastures,
suet to the shadows of dahlias, flesh
you say, is water
and its symmetry, a penetrating
sound of pure ebullience,
Love, in the pale baton of light
you coax from cognac eyes,
open my veins to every thorn in the garden,
rumors of rain,
say nothing and endure,
Spread over panes of glass
where butterflies drown
in the sweat of our charms
and moths drop from the true color of lunacy,
cold depths lapse softly into my flesh,
I hurt, in that quiet shatter of light,
and from moth-eaten thighs
you soak the ****** of earth
with velvet tears and lavender,
spread its dark balsam to quell the quick faith
with sighs, as reluctantly,
the soul speaks what the body has written,
and gives-in to its asylum....
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
All day panda girl reclines
Exercise she declines
Horsey girl will bring you luck ( U )
Her legs are strong and she drives a truck
Bonobo girl is worth consideration
Taking account of her reputation
Cat girl charms you with her eyes
She chings her claws and claims her prize
Crocodile girl will make you happy
Until she gets a bit too snappy
Dormouse girl may give a peep
Together you'll have a lovely sleep
Turtle girl will be just swell
If you coax her from her shell
Wallaby girl needs some space
To hop about from place to place
Tarantula girl gives you pangs
When she shows her fearsome fangs
Cougar woman's after me
Completing my fantasy
Menagerie
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 1:33 PM UTC
Cotton Candy Man Poem
(6/7/2014)
He was simple sugar,
spun on hot air,
soaked in pink,
a tasty treat.
He was cotton candy.
I would wrap him around my finger,
like I could coax a ring out of sugar and thin air.
To have felt him melt in my mouth,
each time the tip of my tongue got a taste.
He was cotton candy.
He was a carnival with all the best attractions.
but balloon darts pop when you pour enough money into the game.
but a dunk tank is just a plunge into shallow depths, a break from the sun.
but elephants should be free, not tamed by fire and humans' greedy desire.
but a clown without their makeup might as well be a less creepy comedian.
but won over stuffed animals are just like cotton candy,
a squishy substance when you need a stable solid.
Step right up!
Spotlight on the star of our circus show,
see the cotton candy man.
His heart made of sugar,
a toxic substance.
His breath's brevity enough to set off cotton candy's chemical reaction,
scorching hot air against pink paint,
there is nothing sweet about being spun.
Dyed in bright colors to deliver a warped reality,
he was seemingly a healthy vibrant,
unlike the poison within.
He was cotton candy,
and I, a circus ******
craving him, freshly spun.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
I used to be your birdhouse.
I could coax you out from your seat in the treetops
from behind the camouflaging greens
and watch you edge out shyly with the wind ruffling your blush feathers.
You'd cling to me when the spring showers started falling
and I could keep you safe and dry, I could always do that.
I'd be there to hear your youthful songs, and I'd whisper back in a language just we knew
and then I'd hug you goodbye and watch you step precariously from my perch,
flapping in the wind, unsure, unaccustomed.
and I'd be there for you the next day and the next
because I thought you'd still need me.
I never thought I'd see you, the point of a flying V
soaring with your head held high,
not even glancing down at
my tired wooden walls
and faded empty perch.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
612
It would have starved a Gnat—
To live so small as I—
And yet I was a living Child—
With Food’s necessity
Upon me—like a Claw—
I could no more remove
Than I could coax a Leech away—
Or make a Dragon—move—
Not like the Gnat—had I—
The privilege to fly
And seek a Dinner for myself—
How mightier He—than I—
Nor like Himself—the Art
Upon the Window Pane
To gad my little Being out—
And not begin—again—
3.3k
Simple gestures made to flatter us
Quietly coax us
Iron fists of gentle persuasion
A peck of reverence
Upon my dainty hand
Silently apprise me
To get undressed
And when you pay the check
I’m under the obligation
To be a lady
To be a good girl
And do as good girls do.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 1:24 AM UTC