"coquetry" poems
I admit the briar
Entangled in my hair
Did not injure me;
My blenching and trembling,
Nothing but dissembling,
Nothing but coquetry.
I long for truth, and yet
I cannot stay from that
My better self disowns,
For a man's attention
Brings such satisfaction
To the craving in my bones.
Brightness that I pull back
From the Zodiac,
Why those questioning eyes
That are fixed upon me?
What can they do but shun me
If empty night replies?
8.1k
One, two, three, two, five, seven
Rhythmless feet clad in branded shoes
Adventurous, brazen fingers strolling on wide, voluptuous stalks
Towering sunflowers with wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions enticing pairs of hands
Pristine dandelions enticing my pair of hands
And I give in, and I willingly give in
Summer petals weaken the gullible heart
The summer petals abandon the gullible heart
One, two, three, two, five, seven
Rhythmless feet now bare
Adventurous, brazen fingers now dormant
One, two, four, six, eight, ten
Rhythmless feet clad in cheap shoes
Curious fingers strolling on wide, voluptuous stalks
Towering white daisies with wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions spring once more
Pristine dandelions enticing my pair of hands
And I give in, yet again I give in
Winter petals capture the derelict heart
The winter petals emulate mirrors after caressing the ramshackle heart
One, two, four, six, eight, ten
Rhythmless feet once again bare, now calloused
Curious fingers now cautious
One, two, two, two, two, two
Rhythmless feet hesitating to be covered
Vacillating fingers mapping the wide, voluptuous stalks
Pristine dandelions surface once more
Pristine dandelions displaying subtle coquetry
And I stall, for heaven's sake, I stall
Fall petals demonstrate its desire to the heart
The fall petals fall but the bitter heart hangs on a silk thread
One, two, two, two, two, two
Rhythmless feet discovers a rhythm
A rhythm so unpleasant, so abhorrent
Vacillating fingers now curl
Curl into the palm in resistance
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC
The conjugate of idolatry,
The alchemy of flame,
The Astarte of pure harlotry-
And nomenclature'd name.
The lode-stone of sly coquetry,
The compass-stone of hearth,
The balanced stoichiometry-
Broken waters of birth.
The Vestal of impurity,
The perfidy of shame-
My blood in you runs truer red;
This craving never tames.
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 8:03 PM UTC
A governess, a guardian of the young, so known and dear as to be called “Mother” and a noblewoman, just barely 12 by age, named Portia, sit talking as the sun sets the stage for a cool, cloudless night.
“Mother, who invented candlelight and the slow, delicate brush of lips?”
“Some rakish boy, pawning his experience for present pleasure, no doubt.”
“Say true, Mother. If you were a man, would you find this common body worthy of love?”
“You show no blemish child, and display a certain bony voluptuousness - I should think.”
The governess begins to comb and braid Portia’s hair for sleep.
“I saw Portincio this morning, in the courtyard.”
“The boy from Padua?”
“He’s a man Mother, and his cast portents a passion so sweet - it shakes my very frame.”
Mother chuckles, “Even hopeless birds sing in cages.”
“I am not hopeless!” Portia writhes angrily, like a snake about to strike but mother calms her.
“Shoo, shoo, now,” Mother purrs, brushing all the more gently, “I meant nothing of it.” After a moment, she continues, “Love is more than coquetry, little one, and it soon passes - like a parade, or a rash. For now, be happy, you are like the chaste stars - unreachable.”
Feb 23, 2023
Feb 23, 2023 at 10:44 PM UTC
How very lonely HP is,
In the middle of the night,
Reading long ago poems by friends,
Tapping little red hearts,
Only time I'm available,
After dusk; hours before dawn,
Reposting poems, my fingers just as assailable as Moby ****
Or Hansel's and Gretel's witch,
I stare at blank, gray suns,
Wishes I, I had some to use,
To uplift; to free,
All the beautiful poetry,
Even the ones with coquetry,
I rapidly kiss plusses with my right thumb,
Adding to worthy collections,
Of addictive confections,
'Till 2,
When alas I sip hot coco,
Scratch my ****
And fall asleep beside my cat; momo.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
Not that I have nothing to say
my words are meaningless in your presence
I have nothing to give
my worth is ashes around the fire,
the heat-waves around the sun
as you are the sun
I am an entity filled with desire
thousand and one desires in one
My belongings are grains of sand, washed away
at the touch of your oceanly waves
The heat of my soul, the energy in my eyes
all drained - courtesy of your coquetry
Drunken, weak, drained, and indigent
wondering if I stand a chance
silly me.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 11:16 PM UTC
The pale ghost of dawn
A grove of trees
Faded derelicts
Without leaves
A tracery of branches
Bent and twisted
Shades of grey
On a cold, grim day.
Disaffection
Evil minds online
Contempt fro coquetry
Worshippers of perversity
A prelude to profanity
Barely covering
Membranes of morality
On the dark side of the mind.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Taunting
Teasing
Has become de facto
Flirting
Coquetry.
I'm gonna hit on you
I'm gonna smack you a kiss
I'm gonna crush your lips
You don't need a haircut it's perfect
You're such a hot mess
I hate love you.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
Hush my love
Under beds, under beds
The dust bunnies see
Through the rugs.
The cigarette sky
Of smoke and red
Like whiskey kisses
During evening naps,
Interrupted by prose
And denial.
Until the storm ends
Your bed is warm
But my breath wont carry words
The stairs know
They let me go
And I tiptoe out of the dark.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 11:57 AM UTC
„one two three“ go to boulangerie
„four five six“ may be write letter to missis x
„seven eight nine“ my call you deny
„ten eleven twelve“ …i slowly despise rhymes with sheer vengeance..
out of coquetry and out of bravado, i desist our memory, i will turn to enter
in a new day, without prescribed lies and tainted tricks, without whens without whys, without "be blue" commands and daily ****** „luv-syndrome-disease“
& what in particular corrupts the works and days:
without nasty repressive syndrome as consequence of how ugly artistic comradeship can be.
Yah. just depart towards unknown, under guiding of trembling crescent,
to whatever oddness i will might to face..
O it wont be worse i still guess...
something wrong with me?
so strangely i rejoice out of any certain cause.. ?
tis is may be shy anticipation of the delight which the read of some few subterranean poems can sometimes make ?
is there „land in sight“?
is here some flower to breath in?
even if it merely about basking in darkness,
not alone, but with sojourner..
my nonsense, your nods, isnt it slightly utopia?
O b s c u r i t y i s o u r r e w a r d. seem be the single remnants to chant..
vomiting and scolding abundance is what only will remain to realize?
isnt it kind of tryst which satisfy the starving one at best..?
O to large demand!.., but still
towards all of futility my worn heart still embrace
the solemnity of unknown..
wish to inhale the solemnity of unknown..
to enshroud myself with solemnity of unknown..
to chock on solemnity of unknown..
..as long as poetry is yet not dead
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC
what's know as systematisation in philosophy, or philosophical prose as such, is an endeavour to hide maxims... that only surface more like concepts than applicable truths to the everyday keen eye eager to anticipate them as laden with believability... philosophical prose hides maxims, it weaves them tightly like a spider creating a cocoon of a trapped fly in the web that philosophical prose is... it doesn't create a style of aphoristic waterfalls that leave the eyes darting: a moment here, a moment there... the spider required 8 dimensions (8 eyes) to adapt a structure adequate for the haphazard flight of flies, twirling in mini-tornadoes - the spider-web is hardly a chance by-product, but only 8 eyes could have crafted its weaving... and as said prior, the aphoristic style of writing philosophy is worthwhile, i can't deny that, but it's so eye-distracting... it can only be achieved by a life filled where much life takes place, so in the case of la rochefoucauld in the court of louis xiii, his queen anne of austria, and the infamous cardinal richelieu... this outburst of maxims / observations / aphorisms is only effectively produced in such circumstances... other works of philosophy are born in recluse, maxims hidden in thickly bulging tightly-knit prose... they're effectively not as tremendous, piquant... it's the entirety of the composition that loves to hide them, and create yet more prose on the zenith they are produced for... they can hardly be spotted as easily as the sole extraction of maxims... but maxims akin to la rochefoucauld can be easily extracted, esp. if one is placed in situations were the crème de la crème mingle, one can easily defraud situations according to: vanity, self-love, friendship bargains, the passions, fortune, chance, jealousy, envy, virtue, moderation, wisdom, foolery, morality, immorality, a woman's coquetry v. her flirtations... all these things, all these proper summations of the surroundings could never allow philosophical prose for the sole purpose of hiding maxims... such environments are screaming maxims out, layered over by a distant asylum of anguish, adorned with jewels and refinements of fabric... but with skull sockets filled with two coal nuggets.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 1:27 PM UTC
do you see me?
transparent but still two-toned.
conviction served with a side of dripping doubt.
I hear your voice fill up the hallway.
3 years later and I realize
I missed it the entire time.
like a song I forgot I liked.
Always loud but indifferent
you exchange hollow hugs
and I check my hair in the bathroom mirror.
smile 1
no smile 2
no smile 1
Calculated Coquetry.
oh.
you look the same.
but sexier.
Tinged by tribulations I don’t yet know.
I feel curious
and alone.
I wish
I’d worn
a different shirt.
My underarms bleed
evidence of insufficient accolades.
Tiny knots of bright red fabric
build beneath my body’s brutal bane
A brief moment of exuberance.
but could this instant just be fraudulent?
I swear to god you hugged me longer
held me tighter
heard my hunger.
did you see me?
open-ended and unwritten.
T’d up to be submissive.
It took two nights
& endless drinks.
An elongated walk
& high school tricks.
1 year since 3 ago.
I sigh and contemplate your
shaky hands on the zipper of my favorite jeans
your ***** sheets and desperate pleas.
Who was I kidding?
undo my blouse and strip me bare.
I always liked this song.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC
Often times you twist and bend my emotions to your will, I become a caricature and puppet on the strings of the most precious, witty and beautiful woman in all the world. You are my beloved, and there is no better feeling than the fire we create when in the presence of one another. Gazing into your eyes fills me with warmth and splendor that only an astronaut can feel when he gazes at images of space. He knows there is so much that has yet to be uncovered, so much to explore all the while discovering amazing things along the way. Discovering things about himself and the infinitely beautiful, mysterious and deep space. Your beauty is reminiscent of a Swan nebula, but in your case, how fitting that the alternative name be Omega nebula. Both names fitting, you have the grace and striking beauty of the Swan, while maintaining the presence of mind and the calm that is expected of Royalty. Your beauty is reminiscent of a supernova; untamed and bursting with fierce warm energy that is at times threatening, yet baring witness to such an occurrence in nature is an incomparable privilege that few experience. The possibilities are endless, opportunity for unsurpassed success and cataclysmic disaster lurk at each attempt to explore the unknown. Your heart and mind are my unknown, I have discovered so much about you and all that you have to offer, but still, there is an indeterminate amount that I have yet to uncover. You appear innocent and naïve at times and at others distant and cold at others warm and loving. There is an enchanting spell that you have woven within the fabric of my soul and spirit that draws me back to your tender embrace helplessly. Being within your grasp and falling prey to your seduction over and again is only surpassed by the very first time my eyes met yours. Falling for another, could not even compare to your coquetry. Your presence fomenting emotions that conflict while your words assuage these same emotions, making them no less than a welcome breeze on searing August afternoon. You are greatly missed. In your absence, I pine for our next encounter, so that once again our eyes can meet and I can become an astronaut gazing at images of space, eager to uncover the wonders of the unknown, the unknown that I have come to love and revere. An unknown that can only be regarded as the consummate frontier, yet a frontier with depths known to only the cosmos and only willing to share with those who dare.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 12:31 AM UTC
As I lie past midnight
I watch fireflies signal urgently
green-white in the night
"I am here
have *** with me."
And think
of human courtship cries.
On Craigslist,
tentative men want to cuddle
and yuppies want to dine
(and much else besides).
At the milonga,
passion turns to counting steps
for some
(vice versa for others).
In parties, humor reigns.
Not always well.
Coquetry is a competition
and need is a sin...
except when it isn't.
(Someone somewhere's writing a poem
to keep hidden, yet irrationally
hoping to convince.)
I don't have a point.
Only that in our most simple instinct
we are so complicated.
And that despite our disenchantment, still,
it never ends.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 1:51 AM UTC
Subtle, ever so subtle, we meet at the brink of dawn.
Yet, if you were to ask me, to be completely honest this is
a rather brash introduction. No 'How do you do?'
or anything of the sort. It's just all
'straight down getting dirty' as some would call it.
This is the type of dalliance
that most only get to imagine once
or twice in their lifetimes, yet alone experience.
And here I dance with the Devil
amongst a sinful serenade of gluttony,
complemented by a fair overdose of lust.
Feeling a bit violated by the events taken place, I wonder...
What has come to be of the good old-fashioned courtship?
The 'Getting to know you' part, you know?
I really don't want a reputation for being easy.
This arousing ordeal can definitely be rather intimidating
if you must -- but not for me, though. All that is needed
is a tad bit of finesse, and your fair share of patience.
All that goes out the window without having the ability
to deal with her mouth-watering coquetry, of course.
I still haven't budged, and she still thinks me "easy."
That is very, very cute. Those eyes never lie, and
although I know what they want, they can't have it.
Before I make way for her, I'll ask Modena if she's worth it.
Its only logical, right?
***************************************************************
I don't think this qualifies as poetry, but I posted this at the suggestion of a friend. Thanks for the read~
***************************************************************
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 8:50 AM UTC
i do struggle to not make your tongue sour with this periodic harassment & dissonant conceit but i am compelled at last by the scarcity of savages who can see me in this desert. less feral & more clergy, the fabled selves of the world would be sanctuaried from my psychiatric violence. well attired passions always smell of fear & derision, further, & no less vile, arrogance & stupidity are known to capacitate spasmodic unceremonious coquetry. yes my mouth is a scavenger’s, but privation & dissatisfaction by design turn coat on the very messianic puppetry which their compulsory public refusal
had initially engendered. welcoming calamity i prey & arrow from afar & go on proving my self wrong in one last alexandrian charge to certify my renowned demise. no tricks or perversions barring what’s customary amongst outlaw noblesse. oh & do regard this new color on my face, & if you would, please, stop turning yours away from mine.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
One quarter lady:
Hepburn coquetry
-approachable yet
unattainable- and
Victoria Secret
silk nightgowns
handed down
The rest:
a complete
**** show
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
I was all a swivet
As I awaited that special call
The one my friends called kismet
I was anticipating a fall
I thought you were like other men
All the coquetry and then dump me
But to my surprise, I fell again
This time I won't stop me
As we drove, my hair Aealian
First time ever in a fancy car
Can't help but not complain
Because I can see every star
We continued on our first date
Our second and our third
My mind began to wonder, never too late
So much so, it was absurd
I began to dismiss my emotional alarms
My friends began to aver your fealty
You continues to regale me with your charms
Our conversations, serious and heavy
Reason why you're here escapes me
My feelings began to flummox my heart
Taking away the air I breathe
Allowing passion to start
If I thought you were pernicious
I would've dropped you like a fly
But since none of my friends were suspicious
I stayed to find out more and try
You're a very shrewd businessman
But the biggest surprise, you're also a roue
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
As tough as ice she might appears, but still carries a melting heart of snow,
the softer side of this warrior Princess is still left for the world to know;
She carries an attitude that may pierce the heart of many suitors,
& for those who are judgmental her words come as battle *******
Few Casanovas might have survived the attacks of her coquetry and grace,
for others are still lying unconscious deeply wounded in Hurt’s Embrace;
Although it seems she has evolved as a sagacious damsel, all set for a ****
still her humility, servitude and feminine art is hidden under a veil;
Her care for the family n kins is exemplary filled with concerns,
& her stand for protecting them is like sunlight shining on golden ferns;
At times she recollects the sweet memories that r close to her heart,
as maturity replaced d sugar-pie of her innocence with a lemon ****
Although she dresses and dallies like a grown up duchess of shire,
deep inside she’s a still kid longing for a rostrum in this world’s mire;
Her prayers to the lordships are never tinged with selfish material needs,
instead, she beseech only forgiveness & strength for enduring righteous deeds;
We wish her all happiness and warmth she deserves in her life,
may the lord showers her with his choicest blessings that too rife;
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
Bygone days of childhood
I met a pet, a grave and graceful purring cat
My 'Poppy'
Her coquetry
Still sybarite years cherishing
With love
Oh! she
Dusky colour
Bright!
Bygone days of childhood
Still sybarite years cherishing
Bright!
Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 4:57 AM UTC
You are a blissful prerogative,
The vague fantasy of your embrace
now growls at me.
I won't let it go.
Now that I am brimming with poetry,
I will merrily give into its' coquetry.
You are a facsimile,
of the favourite shades of blue that my mind ejects.
You sprinkle intricate longings in my eyes,
and I cannot think straight.
The bitter wind hushes,
I shut my door.
The shredded pieces of our entanglements
lie,bleeding, on the floor.
Shout out to me, swain!
Drench me in all of your disdain.
For every time I pant, you make me gasp,
You would be mine, my words to clasp.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 12:27 AM UTC
Baby O!
I'm drunk in love,
Bleedin with amour.
Geet you are,
With fragrant breath.
More of paramour,
Looting my heart.
Intoxicated with coquetry .
We ought not quarrel.
Terminating this courtship,
Makes me pensive.
Flowers blossom;
But you blossom more
Stock in my heart,
Never letting you go;
For you're mon amour.
Being guilty of your love,
Detained and prosecuted,
By the state of ecstasy.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 2:02 AM UTC
you want to know why i cant help it but write,
because there isn't just any receptacle, all I can do is writhe,
what i want you to help handle is not my poetry,
but it is my pain that can't take a poetic coquetry.
i'd like to run too,
i'd like to scream too,
i'd like to destroy too.
i have taken enough meteor showers,
i have called enough of my inhuman powers.
i would like to now stop and this heaviness i want to drop,
and that's where i want you to help me carry,
that's what everyday i marry.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
Coquetry & smiling
Relaxing & healing
If ain't friendship,
Then It's love...
If ain't magic ,
Then it's chemistry..
Melody throbs
And shink out Felicity
To thy glumly soul.
For thy is too righteous
To be true.
You stranger
If not a dream
Well it's a fantasy
For my lashes blink each second
To your presence.
You stranger
Is it what I see
Or maybe the affection got to me?
It is he who my heart throbs for,
He is the strangest stranger
Strangely possessing my heart and medulla oblongata with strange affection & thoughts.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 6:45 PM UTC