"coyness" poems
Sunlight makes its move beyond the safe Clouds.
Clouds finally let the Sunlight go free.
Sunlight reaches toward the awaiting greenery.
Clouds hesitate to question its judgment.
Sunlight grasps the hands of Earth.
Clouds spy on Sunlight's careful movements.
Sunlight heats the world in a clear embrace.
Clouds meander further away in hiding.
Sunlight ignites passion within the plants.
Clouds rely on an evaporation vice.
Sunlight relaxes in the west, pleased.
Clouds find solace in the salty air.
Sunlight wakes up to the smiling blossoms.
Clouds glare from a distance.
Sunlight gazes at its new abundance of fruit.
Clouds long for a sweet release.
Sunlight notices its once dear lover.
Clouds acknowledge Sunlight's attention.
Sunlight begins to scorch the ground.
Clouds play upon the mountains.
Sunlight angers at the coyness.
Clouds laugh at the needy air.
Sunlight intensifies to torch the trees.
Clouds begin to realize the desire.
Sunlight glances in the direction of its hope.
Clouds gather up courage to make its move.
Sunlight begs for saturated fulfillment.
Clouds glide toward Sunlight in sweet surrender.
Sunlight kisses its precious love.
Clouds cherish its tender caress.
Sunlight probes its worth by revealing true emotion.
Clouds relinquish control and release the passion.
Sunlight holds the clouds so dearly.
Clouds feel peace letting loose all emotion.
Sunlight stares amazed at the Clouds.
Clouds feel the warmth of Sunlight.
Sunlight makes its move beyond the safe Clouds.
Clouds yet again let the Sunlight go free.
Earth can't survive without this temperamental love affair.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Lo, I have loved thee long, long have I yearned and entreated!
Tell me how I may win thee, tell me how I must woo.
Shall I creep to thy white feet, in guise of a humble lover ?
Shall I croon in mild petition, murmuring vows anew ?
Shall I stretch my arms unto thee, biding thy maiden coyness,
Under the silver of morning, under the purple of night ?
Taming my ancient rudeness, checking my heady clamor
Thus, is it thus I must woo thee, oh, my delight?
Nay, 'tis no way of the sea thus to be meekly suitor
I shall storm thee away with laughter wrapped in my beard of snow,
With the wildest of billows for chords I shall harp thee a song for thy bridal,
A mighty lyric of love that feared not nor would forego!
With a red-gold wedding ring, mined from the caves of sunset,
Fast shall I bind thy faith to my faith evermore,
And the stars will wait on our pleasure, the great north wind will trumpet
A thunderous marriage march for the nuptials of sea and shore.
2.8k
*
*Lips glossed by coyness
Love and lust on her tongue's tip
Tempt flesh to flower*
*
Jul 30, 2020
Jul 30, 2020 at 7:51 AM UTC
Though her eyes are jeweled crystals,
She is the annotation of a valid *****
Asinine men still don't envision,
She is the offspring of Satan.
Women see her true form,
Underneath that pallid, limp skin.
With lipstick as red as strawberries,
The masquerade is precisely blood from the virtue.
Animals snarl at her without awe,
Yet she's the carnivore.
Her black crinkling hair covers her coyness,
Only to ****** the prey in the hotel room at dusk.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain.
I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 9:16 AM UTC
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
*But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;*
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
*The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.*
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
12/18/24
I choose fingers,
among the array
of many wonderful
parts on offer,
the other sensory emissaries protest,
but the multi-fluency of fingers,
fluent in all Romance languages,
nay, in every dialect, tongue,
tippling the balance in their favor
for the fingers are wonderful conversationlists, trumping the
cooing coyness of sweet wordy
verbs, fingers defy nouns, pronouns
and are fingers the finest conjunction
that was ever conjured ot conjuncted?
the ears hear poorly when upom it
a long slim finger casually traces outlines
slow~sensually and the eyes shut tightly,
reflexively, the tongue froze to the
mouth roof, muted into inaction
even the the sense of smell lies powerless
should we block the nostrils with but
two fingers, and breathe mouth mightily
we do not diminish the orchestration’s
totality, the blending of sound ‘n sensation,
but the blind and deaf all must bow before the power of fingers speaking to
every part of the bodies totality
Dec 30, 2024
Dec 30, 2024 at 2:01 PM UTC
dusk fell upon us softly
between kisses
that probed and went
across the borders
into the other´s land
to find it strange
yet pleasant
and a little frightening
the whistle for retreat
was blown
and we went out for dinner
but soon grew restive
to resume the wanderings
on each other´s turf
your girlish coyness
made me hesitate
lest a wrong move
turn me into a frog that
thrown against the wall
would not change
into a prince
I hid within my robe
your loving body
hard up against mine
felt beautiful
your kisses and caresses
roused my blood
your loving trust
shaken, at times,
by my exploring touch
made me feel very young
and very old at once
it was not easy
to maintain control
we walked the tightrope
through the night
your innocence protected you as well
as my experience and respect
for your determination
not to lose yourself
and not to join me
at that time
our entanglement
between desire and restraint
was long and yet too short
dawn found us puzzled
words were scarce
the parting kisses
sweet and sad
left memories
unrefreshed
to this very day
* * *
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
*Ready for the wedding in her black attic
Wearing necklace of twinkling stars
Alluring bindi of shinning moon
Her blue wide eyes open with delight
Giggling of coyness from her lips of rivers
Plaited braids with fragrant ***** pine flowers
Night, walking languidly on green carpets
Getting on brown forests of chariot
Passing through villages, cities, towns
Ululation of owl's high-pitched wavering
Welcoming her to the ceremony !*
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
Some women serve up their ******* in coyness
under blouse, purposely delineated.
Others serve them up in boldness
rolling them out and hoisted to
their lips or ours for pleasure.
Still others serve them on the half-shell--
a teasing delicacy, but are they FAKE OR NATURAL?
Alas! Sometimes it's a ****** tough job to tell!
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
'This is the room one afternoon I knew I could love you/and from above you how I sank into your soul,' Jeff Mangum croons through the crackling speakers
...similarly simple,
like the coyness of corner smiles,
I am exposed
finally
to your bedroom,
and the snug universe you've built within.
Cross-legged on your bed
I hear your nervous, careful stories.
Spoken into fidgeting fingers, silken wrinkled
bedsheets debauched and re-washed--
your words fall into them so easily
like you've found benevolence in their silence--
their softness as language.
Imbibing every ounce of you,
I wish to endure
like the canvases that span your wall.
But I dissolve back into winter
as you regain your right mind.
The ascending stairs creak
hungover and meek
like me
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:09 AM UTC
it's too much.
these beds I made.
my skin is so heavy.
I am under this
parachute of
coyness, but now
it's falling down
around me and I flail
in the waves, choke,
cough and toss.
remember how they said
don't wish for a thousand
coins because they'll all land
and crush your body?
I think, it's probably
best to be careful
for what you
ask for, whether
it's forward
or backwards in
time. because once your
grass is green,
you have to roll
in it.
whether it tickles
your collar
or not.
Dec 29, 2010
Dec 29, 2010 at 9:47 PM UTC
(I want this poem
to voice a kind of intricacy
that is currently inside me)
I fear failure
I fear obstacles
I fear death
I fear that all of this
is just a way for me to learn
to settle and accept
I fear that God might whisper
for me to remain
abide
My depression
my troubles
my paranoia…
Have I not had enough?
Have I not moved on?
Have I not been caged–
What are you going to do to me?
Why can’t I make peace with
my anxiety?
Should I alter my perception?
Am I only trapped
in my mind?
This shouldn’t be an excuse
to make a run
‘tis not comprised of my exhaustion
but I’ve read
I’ve bled
and I’ve dreamed
and I know my departure
is to see
not to flee
Am I just convincing myself?
What is this coyness?
What is this pretense?
What are you going to do to me?
Why can’t I make peace with
my anxiety?
I beg you
and please, I plead
for you to remind me
The reasoning behind my leaving
is to see
and not to flee…
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
It is never enough to share a fence.
Each day I spend my time taking down its boards
one by one
until only our frames are still standing.
Yet we will still collide at the gate
and let our eyes speak our minds.
Until that border is gone
we will remain seated
like stepping stones.
Separate and lonely
and only as close as we allow ourselves to be.
Listen.
When I tear down that wall
your breath can ease deeply again.
Our skin may not touch often
yet my aura has gleaned a dose of your glow
and is deliciously infected
and will kindly keep it for you.
Until the sweat of my palm and the still of my brow
work through the fragments of coyness and blushing
and the razor shards of heartbreak and despondence
your love will be safe with me.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
Like a drumming crowd
who scream and spit
and shove and curse
they force on through.
Clutching with craze
a stolen view of the
street brawl ahead,
the ****** confusion
that all have said
is the life of my life,
the death of my death,
and the end of my faith.
Did it change of late,
or was it as such
since pre-time arose?
Me a bad actor,
my life a bad show?
The tickets are sold
but all can see that
no story's been told.
And still I roam
with rhymes that
wither and fade
under eyes of scorn.
And in good times,
no eye at all.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
~
A sliver through leaning elm
lattice branches disguise and distort.
Speckled with yellow, green tree frogs
took the shine as an omen
and sang for lovers with feverous desire.
The goddess of night stirred me also
as I peered deep into the wicker…
I sought a more clear view
but her coyness combined
with the angle of twig
and left my gaze unsatisfied.
Low in a north/ south canyon
barely able to see the sky
I shed a tear for her passing
while wishing for every singing frog
a bright and inquisitive mate. /
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
the root of sea is dead
our sky is still unreal
which deep it may reside
your parching gentle tear
a rain of sleepy draught
on cheeks of silky night
in blush of coyness thin
we start a fresh new life
a life same as we dreamed
now born in lap of time
in cradle of our love
as blooming summers prime
as nursed by tender joys
sweeping as twilight red
echoed by tranquil breeze
in arms of roses spread
scrambled and lost tonight
brood over freshest hues
amidst gleeful snugness
we kiss our moment true
may million pains which shall
try douse and dim this flame
or crawling creep our souls
spread foul revolt our faith
let them brew up a storm
summon a herd of beasts
while world fogs out our day
remember darling please
if root of past be dead
and future sky unreal
our love shall ride us through
wildest waves my dear
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
I want to be pretty.
Not in the way magazines do it
where everything is tucked, twisted, tuned and polished
because I am not an ideal.
And I will never be the Mona Lisa
with a coyness that leaves people wondering
what I've smelled, touched, tasted in
every moment of my life,
because I am not a treasure.
I want to be the kind of pretty
where my little sister can see a galaxy of pride in my eyes
and know she's ten times more beautiful
than I could ever be
(or at least she'll know I think so.)
I want to be pretty in the way that
strangers don't know if I'm kind or
powerful or
manipulative
and are timidly curious that maybe I'm all three.
I want to be pretty in the way that
I am all three, and so much more.
I want to be pretty
so that when I'm older
I can be half as beautiful as my mom.
I want to be pretty so that
my friends see honesty in the corners of my eyes
and security in my fingertips
and hold my gaze with evenness as my equals.
I want to be pretty,
the kind of pretty where you bring me home,
we reflect each other like lighted mirrors
and your mom will smile that knowing smile
because in three years you'll want to see a ring on my finger
and she knows her baby will do it in five.
And I want to be pretty so when my hair is damp,
my eyeliner cakes my face like charcoal
and a towel is wrapped around my body...
When I look in that mirror I see fireflies and lightning
and not an abandoned house
in a quiet street
with the attic light left on.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
Layer by layer,
a support system,
and safety coverage,
much like
an encouraging armour.
I piled them on,
layer by layer.
Coloured cream,
every inch,
every corner,
explored by the wisp of a soft brush,
caressing and comforting.
Stroke by stroke,
black ink on tapered brushes,
forms a full pair,
and prominent curls that
softly flutters.
Such lovely coyness.
Stroke by stroke,
a staining motion,
softly presses,
while trailing a curved path
with eyes lowered.
**Truly,
the cheapest thrill a woman has.**
Hands running through,
pulling yet gentle,
of soft brown curls.
A spritz from a glass vial,
neck daintily stretched,
eyes contently shut.
The light fragrance flirts in the air,
a flowery scent,
musky and sweet.
An over-sized pullover,
cotton hides luscious curves,
drawing eyes to every inch of
skin exposed.
A shiver contained,
from the ruffling of the material,
and intense flames behind watching eyes.
A deep intake of air,
eyes meeting through the mirror.
As though gears clicked into place,
an indulgent smile displays.
"Come here," he said.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
These drops fall carelessly
dropping down and rolling
like clear beads
on the laminated surface of infant leaves.
Lazing about underneath its shade
I look up through dark lashes
to catch and keep
a glimpse of you
before
you ****** my gaze away.
That single drop of days old rain
dives
leaving vibrations on the leaf's tip
to 'plop'
on your forehead.
I watch you let it run its course
sliding down the connection
between eyes and
the precipice of your
nose.
With a timid curved finger
-my longest-
I feel my caress on your skin.
with your eyes fixed to mine
I abandon all coyness.
the collision of our lips was inevitable
our teeth clink like
wine glasses in celebration
While our tongues undergo construction
sanding down passions rough exterior.
together under the pale sun
we are stationed
shirts pulled and
wrinkled.
Faces flushed with
memories.
Our breath steams out
slowly
and our eyes avert from the others
to the sky
clear blue
watching God.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 11:15 AM UTC
I'm naturally a ****** fool
Who’s an earnest tool
As I burrow through my coyness
Strangers leer upon me
I can feel there sorrow eyes daut me
For my precocity of intimacy.
For I don't lack legitimacy
I swear it to be.
I won't be the fool,
Who is the tool for the fool.
I just need to know if I'm minuscule to you.
Or am I more than I molecule to ridicule
I just need you to overrule my angst
By telling me what am I.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC
Vague steps on an
Unfamiliar path,
Sweeping the vulnerable
With the winter winds.
I have not known
Spring to ever meet fall,
Love to ever meet war,
Or the sun the ever meet the moon.
Crys in the midnight gore of
Passion,
You and I met.
Laughter in the late night
coyness,
You and I loved.
Regret in the early morning
Hate,
You and I parted.
I have not known
Summer to ever meet winter,
Hate to ever meet peace,
Or the moon to ever meet the sun.
Vague steps on an
Unfamiliar path,
Sweeping the vulnerable
With the winter winds.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
Oh ***** mind ...
you are into my mind ...
my ***** mind...
I had a naughty dream about you ...
never got before ...
always wished to have you ...
and dreamed so and so ..
and finally got you ....
got you there ...
there into my kingdom ...
into my bed ...
among coyness candles ...
watched us with a shy eye ...
happily to see what we do ...
till it danced at our heart's beats ...
to give us it's warm breeze ...
to start our mission that we are for ...
to mix up the milk and chocolate ...
my milk which you asked to your chocolate ...
to melt them one to the other ...
to get that sweet honey ...
to irrigate our souls and bodies ...
till we melt both ...
through a happiness that we wished from long ...
OH ...
oh sweet girl ...
yes we did ...
as i said ...
so ***** into my mind ...
and you're on it ...
we were as sword and it's sheath ..
joined that no one can go ..
yes sweet dreamy girl...
we had a naughty dream ..
slipped between your lips...
while arms are around you..
pushed my middle finger so deep ...
deep inside you ...
made you feel as it mine ...
made you beg me with your moan ...
do it ...
what you are waiting for ...
do it need your more ...
more deeper inside ...
suddenly ..
the sun slapped my face ...
to woke me up from my dream ...
my naughty dream ...
which i got you there...
hazem al ..
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 8:18 AM UTC
Don’t give me some dark, inscrutable muse
With faux chaste coyness and misleading smiles;
Give me a memory that I can use
To carry me through the endless gray miles
Of venal ensigns on a windswept deck,
Days sighed away under monochrome skies.
I’ll recall a broad (and she’ll let you check)
With the fleet’s emblem tattooed on both thighs,
A bawd who can take a beer and a shot,
Who’ll let you wear the dress, if you prefer.
She’ll let you have even if you have not;
God bless those sailors who sail in her.
Who needs some girl who’s all cashmere and class?
Give me the **** you can grab by the ***
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
ah, the anonymity of virtualization. a place where words are broken into bits and therefore harder to trip on. if only I was so eloquent in meatspace. some have achieved a subtleslick lethal elegant, a fluid flowing smooth-like-butter love affair with words. writing, like seduction, takes practice and street smarts to master. my relationship with words is fragile-soft shy. young love, cautious and sweet. a virginal coyness; the words maddeningly slip through my fingers like dreamsand. I chase after the right words through hyperbolic forests, slay dragons, kiss her (what else would Language be?) soft and hard, love her wrong and love her right. but girls leave you, always, starstruck and drunk with love or infatuation or lust or all three. Even language. even language.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC