"enticed" poems
Lipstick kisses,
we're both wearing red.
I motion her over and onto our bed.
Blood red smeared across our lips.
I keep her enticed, I straddle her hips.
Seductively playing,
I'm touching my lips.
Long acrylic nails,
for us never fails.
I show her a ***** and
she gently wails.
She's waiting,
my sweetheart,
I lust her so much.
We **** we're on fire
and I wonder,
which of us holds the power.
I, in all honesty is hoping it's her,
'cause then I'll continue this life
in her beautiful blur.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
#*I saw a path and ran ahead
I nearly lost my way
Your mercy caught me by the arm
To Your side You bid me stay
I put my hope in my own plans
Which soon around me fell
You stopped me short upon that road
And said, "Rest and all will be well."
I'd surrendered all, but to my foe
Enticed into the briars
You turned his evil schemes instead
Into refining fires
I couldn't see my helplessness
Until my legs were broken
Till Shepherd's hands caressed my wounds
And healing words were spoken
You picked me up and carried me
And made me feel Your favorite
You held my head against Your chest
Until I grew to savor it
You tended me with gentlest touch
Then soothed all thought of fears
You sang forgiveness over me
And washed away my tears
There is no one like You, Lord
On whom I can rely
In loss, in danger or attack
You hear this poor sheep's cry
It's You Who keeps me from real harm
Who watches my coming and going
You shield me with Your strong right hand
From darts the enemy keeps throwing
You said to all who trust in You
You would give perfect peace
Enough for mind and heart to rest
To let all worrying cease
So, Lord, I trust You with my life
Your Shepherd's heart is pure
Your purpose for me's guarded well
And Your deliverance is sure
Please teach this sheep, Lord, how to wait
And strengthen me to stand
To put my hope in Your desires
And to love Your sovereign plan
You lead me into fields so green
Where streams of life are flowing
Where healing winds blow oft' and strong
And choicest fruits are growing
You set me free to hear Your voice
To follow at Your call
And even through the dark, cold nights
I'll know You've arranged it all
Yes, storms will come with battering rains
With hail and gusts and thunder
But these are meant to beckon me
To Your wings to pull me under
For it's in the darkness of the storm
My grip's most apt to tighten
And when my heart beats next to Yours
All earthly burdens lighten*#
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
I saw a path and ran ahead
I nearly lost my way
Your mercy caught me by the arm
To Your side You bid me stay
I put my hope in my own plans
Which soon around me fell
You stopped me short upon that road
And said, "Rest and all will be well."
I'd surrendered all, but to my foe
Enticed into the briars
You turned his evil schemes instead
Into refining fires
I couldn't see my helplessness
Until my legs were broken
Till Shepherd's hands caressed my wounds
And healing words were spoken
You picked me up and carried me
And made me feel Your favorite
You held my head against Your chest
Until I grew to savor it
You tended me with gentlest touch
Then soothed all thought of fears
You sang forgiveness over me
And washed away my tears
There is no one like You, Lord
On whom I can rely
In loss, in danger or attack
You hear this poor sheep's cry
It's You Who keeps me from real harm
Who watches my coming and going
You shield me with Your strong right hand
From darts the enemy keeps throwing
You said to all who trust in You
You would give perfect peace
Enough for mind and heart to rest
To let all worrying cease
So, Lord, I trust You with my life
Your Shepherd's heart is pure
Your purpose for me's guarded well
And Your deliverance is sure
Please teach this sheep, Lord, how to wait
And strengthen me to stand
To put my hope in Your desires
And to love Your sovereign plan
You lead me into fields so green
Where streams of life are flowing
Where healing winds blow oft' and strong
And choicest fruits are growing
You set me free to hear Your voice
To follow at Your call
And even through the dark, cold nights
I'll know You've arranged it all
Yes, storms will come with battering rains
With hail and gusts and thunder
But these are meant to beckon me
To Your wings to pull me under
For it's in the darkness of the storm
My grip's most apt to tighten
And when my heart beats next to Yours
All earthly burdens lighten
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 12:57 PM UTC
An urge too strong to resist.
Once enticed.
Can't resist.
Go ahead and try to;
I insist.
End up.
Face up.
Go ogling; ***** so you can read **** **** like this.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
. **_ _
/ /
/ /
||**
enticed by \\\ the alluring
promise of everlasting sweetness•i had
shed all trepidation to indulge in this lone
songstress•hanging on its own, just enough
within my arm's length•seemed so easy but
a formidable test of strength•i had reached
and plucked without in mind, the doubt of
myth•held it for an instant before sinking
in my teeth•it's the sole mouthful that
had brought about this perpetual
racking cough•it's the apple...
that i should've never taken
a big bite out of...•
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
Was with a salacious witch
with amazing quick silver tongue,
Confidence personified
she challenged me to chase her,
If I so wish, not in words.
Her liquid eyes and gestures,
made me mad with pleasure
by the time we reached the peacock hill.
Peacocks, big blue eyes painted on feathers,
each, was in love with her, it seemed.
Danced vying with each other,
to please her, while she winked at me.
As if to say"They'll **** each other
to get my glad eye"wouldn't I feel jealous?
Helpless, I did surrender to her spell,
like others in the line, in my front and back.
When just one touch of her index finger,
would evoke magic, I'll get
Transformed to a young peacock
of exquisite beauty, with blue green plumes
none have ever seen before,to flaunt at
others of the ilk, on seeing it they'd back out.
Such a witch is one of a kind,my mind
whispers, it's she who assures me this,
On the full moon night, due in a week
we'll fly to the far away hill where
She'll be with me helping to build a nest,
turning to a peafowl herself,
She'll lay a dozen eggs,
yes, in to my ear, she says, this is only later,
h
When, she with index finger will
gently touche me and proclaim, thus:
"This is the peacock I enticed and
with my witchcraft ,bound for life"
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
Pain or pleasure?
A poison picked,
A moment missed.
Ingested,
Until you're sick.
Every measure,
Enticed so quick.
Embraced,
Brick by brick.
Oh,
Hugs of concrete.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC
Coming from unknown shores, arrived these Western boats,
with disastrous as well as deceitful tactics they took our gold,
jump to the modern era, they are the ones' promoting ***
they bare minimum death rates due to *** and Aids,
while African's lives in bitter ruins as the notion of "safe *** seems perplex.
*** promotion misconstrued as our kids continue ****** the old,
Such consequences were never told,
when they sold us back our own gold.
Systematical control is now the definer of societies
Africans not taught of Qamatha but tested on Socrates,
African souls enticed into materialism by paper and cheese,
while Western supremacists economically ****** African Identities.
African child, fight back please!
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:14 AM UTC
in the heart
of the night
a slice of moonlight
cascading
beckoned
i rouse
its mesmerizing lure
gently stirs
a hazy
remembrance
entranced
from shadows i emerge
hearkening its echo
you’re dreaming
awaken
its shimmering light
engulfed me
prying open my stubborn eyes
in the onyx
darkness
its silver glow
enticed me outside
i stood silent
whilst glistening dewdrops
danced on my toes
a sterling lunar crescent
enlightening midnight
softly
serenades
me
wake up
life’s a trance
you’re
hypnotized
mesmerized
in an ocean of emptiness
i heard
a celestial orb
calling
and ne’er slept again
©2016janetaylor
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
She heard that he’s a poet
and wondered if he would write a poem
about her.
A wave of her
shoulder length strands of pleasure
should flag down nearly any man
with an ounce of testosterone.
She wondered if she had a poem in her hair.
She spoke a few soft words
layered with one of her smiles,
the kind most guys adore
because they don’t know if it means
to come closer or to leave her alone.
Perhaps a poem rested in her smile.
If she had cleavage like Jayne Mansfield
surely he would
form lines about her in his mind
and feel compelled to tell the world
how she captured his lust.
She wished for ******* with a poem in her cleavage.
She touched him.
He seemed open to her arm around his waist.
A poet felt like any other man.
She pressed closer;
perhaps he sensed a poem
in the warmth of her lean figure.
Later in bed,
he stayed close, their legs entangled
unlike anything she could remember.
She wondered if there had been a poem
in her *****
She wished she smoked
and noticed that he didn’t.
Perhaps if they shared a cigarette
he would be enticed by the drift of the smoke from her lips.
Was there a poem in her sensual exhaling?
He seems so Hemingway,
mysterious, yet open to each moment.
Her mind played his movements
like a video tape recorder.
She wondered if she should write a poem about him?
Was there a poem in this experience?
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 9:23 PM UTC
Your tall body has always enticed me
Your long arms have kept me safe
Your scruffy beard makes me smile
And your smile makes me melt
Your hands hold mine and make me feel loved
And wipe away the tears
Enough of these superficial reasons
Your love has comforted me
Your humor has made me laugh
(Until I snort)
Your words have made smile
And cry
But always out of love
Your generosity
Has never left me empty handed
No matter how much I beg you
To keep your money for yourself
Your caring heart reminds me
I'm not alone
Somehow you stopped the shaking trembling in my anxious thoughts
You brought me back to reality
You stopped me from dying
You stopped me from hurting myself
You stopped me from starving
From expelling the contents of my stomach
But most of all you gave me hope
A reason to carry on
A reason to fight my mind
To tell the mirror it's a liar
To throw my blades away
And eat whatever I want
A reason to keep living
And to love myself
I know you don't feel good enough
But look at all this evidence
Change the criteria in your head
The requirement of "good enough"
Should only contain one thing
You
All you have to be is you
To be good enough for me
Because I ******* love you
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
School days in winter
Were such fun
Without a care,
When we were young.
At recess we'd slide
On ice,
Build our forts,
Duck and fight.
The firemen
Beneath starlight,
Would flood our schoolyard,
Whet appetites
For hockey games
Between senior classes;
We'd skate and shoot,
Fall on our *****
Such joy and fun,
And no one lost.
The bell would sound,
Then we'd toss
Our wet socks
On school room
Rads.
His and hers
Like banners waving,
Drying, hissing,
Choking, aging.
Impatiently we'd sit and wait,
Do our math
And conjugate;
The clock's hands,
Frozen,
Watched from
The wall,
At last the lunchtime
Bell would ring,
And we'd get bundled
Once again.
Before heading home
We're enticed
To slide once more
On hard, grey ice.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
What do you want from me?
I ask my memories,
Wondering why they’ve come out to play,
Tap dancing across the wood floors of me mind,
Creating a cacophony that echoes off my skull.
What do you want from me?
I hear them when they respond, “We’re trying to make you safe.”
I know they’re attempting to prevent tumbling off the same rocks,
Trying to ensure I don’t crack bones on the same hard places.
They are telling me to avoid having pieces of me stolen again.
I couldn’t protect myself at thirteen or sixteen,
So I stumbled down the same dark alleys until I was 18
And paid a grander price in an even darker cave at 19.
I’m 22 now, and I’m still picking up the pieces out of the mouths of men,
Men who cut me down until I was a conglomerate of bite size, fuckable pieces.
I was taught not to scream when my pieces were being consumed.
Who needs to be a whole human anyway?
If tip money went into my pocket,
If he told me he loved me afterwards,
If I was alive to see the morning light,
Who was I to complain?
And when I stopped wanting to see the sun rise,
They gazed upon my pieces
And berated me for the wreckage.
What do you want from me?
Is a question I only know how to ask myself.
I have never dared ask those who stole from me
Whether they came to me in good faith,
Never had the wisdom to lock up what was valuable.
I have never demanded of anyone what their intentions were,
So I ask again: What do you want from me?
What am I expected to provide?
Am I allowed to be a whole human here?
Or will you require I be bite size again?
I am desperate to be safe in the same flesh that once enticed those who hunted me.
What do you want from me?
I’ll tell you what I want.
I want to go home whole,
Knowing my skin is all mine.
May 10, 2022
May 10, 2022 at 12:50 PM UTC
Im not addicted
Im obsessed
And my drug of choice
Is one of the best
I owe you everything
And thats exactly what you took
The moment I met you
You enticed me with your look
I was dying to try you
Now im simply dying
Cause they took you away
And my insides are crying
You kept me safe
And always confidant
Now my friends are afraid
That I've lost my common sense
But if you got high
You'd put your morals aside
And if this brings me closer to death
I think im ready to die.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 5:13 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
The flickering lamp in your hand
sways as if to swim in peace to me
the lily scenting a warm ponder
ripples from the apple of my eye
and bobs across to bid approach
blooming with a soft absorbing sigh
which enters an essence close to reach
Your touch colludes in a light lashed usher
enticed to where my heart will sing
of finding lithe spirit mute from flesh
I slide into choral waters with longing
for the wonder of a parting life wish
Drumming soft
as butterfly strokes
swishing in the night
so close
and so remote
she could vanish
into poppy fields
at any moment
but will never leave
my sight
fluttering
I swim onward..
I swim
out..
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:32 AM UTC
Crumpled on a ***** door mat,
left by the cats -
the owl is just a loose bag
of feathers now - empty talons curled,
and one fierce eye turned
over its shoulder.
"What soft flesh enticed you to the ground?"
Lifting the mat, I remember
waking at night to the trilling call – a silvery vein
wrapped in the dark energy of hunger.
“All things die and too soon...” I say aloud,
my own eye sinking into that inky well. The
vacant perch leaning over my shoulder.
"What is to become of my flesh, my soul?"
"It's the waking that counts," I think, "and the meeting."
For a moment I wake again - grateful for the living.
Tom Spencer © 2017
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
1573
To the bright east she flies,
Brothers of Paradise
Remit her home,
Without a change of wings,
Or Love’s convenient things,
Enticed to come.
Fashioning what she is,
Fathoming what she was,
We deem we dream—
And that dissolves the days
Through which existence strays
Homeless at home.
4.9k
I think in statistics,
and you in heartbeats.
I am. You are. I am. You are.
I am chemical-based, you are a meaningful scar.
You explore,
covet,
and hoard,
anything near you.
While I am
stuck,
looking at my addiction,
through a lens.
I am forever cursed:
to skim for importance,
to look only at the bigger picture,
to glance only with logic's borrowed eye,
but you are here beside me, and you take in every little detail.
To me, blood is but a fluid,
yet in your eyes,
it is the fuel for lovers and the ink for poetry.
You are feather pens, I am erasable chalk.
The insomniac that is so filled with dreamer-talk.
So enticed by the world, that you couldn’t close an eye.
My mind is logic, reasoning, and your complete opposite.
Every word has a different meaning in your perspective
and every syllable holds a secret—
one you must find out.
I am textbooks and punctuality and schedules.
But you, you are the only person I can wait on.
This is a cycle with ragged edges, bizarre.
I am. You are. I am. You are.
We are combined; a marvelous oxymoron.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
I am torn in two.
My head pulls one way
My heart pulls the other.
I am torn in two.
I am drawn by the future I should want
And enticed by the one I actually do.
I am torn in two.
My mind follows the plan of the man who loves me
My eyes follow the man who never will.
I am torn in two.
One half is content with the way things will be.
The other half yearns for the lives I will never live.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
I'm facing the horizon, reclining in the cool grass, staring deeply into the pink and purple sky.
It is an exemplary evening and I am enticed by its extravagance. I contemplate existence.
I contemplate all our lives:
The gnat licking sweat of my brow,
You,
Me,
That tree across the street,
Your dead friends, my ancestors, that hot Latina chick that works at Panara (not that I really eat at Panara).
The undercover cop that won't stop eyeing me.
I watch the pink fade into purple fade into nothing at all. The clouds disperse, becoming nothing more than disconnected particles of dirt and water suspended in midair, and the sun goes down.
I **** the gnat and go home.
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
She was the glittering fairy
In the books,
But those who knew
Of the fairy
Tinker Bell,
Told another truth.
For hook was never after Pan
He was to hook a fairy,
Was his plan.
She had them hooked
On Dust,
Each morning
They would snort the glitter,
Then once again
Before dusk.
Those of weak soul
Could not take the toll,
Blood would seep
from there,
Eyes
Ears
& nose.
Feed to the croc
With a clock ticking,
Also addicted to
Lost boy flesh
Glazed,
Glittered,
Eyes,
Of a hunger untold
Peter Pan
He flew to our world,
Not for
Friendship
Or for fun,
But to replace those fallen
Dismembered,
Hacked,
carved,
All by tinkers wand.
They were
Feed to the croc,
When all were asleep
High on dust
They never did ask,
Where the others had gone.
Enticed by a far away land,
Those who were taken
Never again to see home.
The lost boys
In a far off Land.
Peter her protector,
From the man,
The one with a hook for a hand.
Stories sing a different tune,
For it was tinker bell
Who magically removed
This limb called hand,
To quench its hunger,
Fed it to croc
Now the beast has a
Taste for the man.
No ill does hook hold
Against Pan,
But a sword
Must be put
Through this child,
Who thinks he is man.
For hook is the only one
Who can rid this land,
Of the twisted dealer
Of dust,
Who wishes
To enslave this land.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC