"teases" poems
The radiance of the star that leans on me
Was shining years ago. The light that now
Glitters up there my eyes may never see,
And so the time lag teases me with how
Love that loves now may not reach me until
Its first desire is spent. The star's impulse
Must wait for eyes to claim it beautiful
And love arrived may find us somewhere else.
33.3k
In the place where the moon meets broken shadows, it begins with the swelling of my eyes
Tears roll across the scars, that no one else can see
A phantom’s curse
Only this place can release my from this dystopian enchantment
The sweet smell alone entangles me with feelings of safety and wonder
For a reality flooded with forest flowers and a throbbing wind
It teases my subconsciousness, it trickles down to my soul
Like a an agonizing murmur
The hypnotic web forms
In this quiet place clouds hurry across confusing shadows
Shivering in the delicious sunlight
My immaculate hour of rediscovery begins…
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 5:18 PM UTC
In India pongal is the best festival
It is not a mere ritual
We celebrate it in January
It is very very customary
It lasts for three days
Bhogi,sankranti and kanuma are the days.
On the first day we have a holy bath
Thinking that it sets us on the right path
Early in the morning we sit around the bhogi fire
Thinking it is the demon Ravana’s pyre
We put on a new and attractive attire
Dreaming life is a joyful boat shire
Children make wreaths of cowdung
Throw them into the fire like a gold ring
The villages are full of colourful bullocks
We sing folk songs taking neem sticks
The bride groom leaves for the mother-in-law’s house
The bride waits for him wearing a new saree and a blouse
Father-in-law gives the groom a costly gift
Mother-in-law makes a sumptuous feast
Younger sister-in-law teases the groom
The bride and the groom confine to the room
Mother prepares delicious dishes and pickles
Father goes to the farm worshipping the sickles
On the last day we go to the temple fair
I hope I made the happy pongal very clear
Yours sincerely,
JVL NARASIMHA RAO
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 7:32 PM UTC
he is not heaven. he is not a deep breath of fresh air after being
trapped inside for so long he is suffocation. when his saturated fingers
touch me I am filled with a never ending fire that keeps me
awake until two a.m. and makes me question everything I've
ever believed. he likes to swear up and down on the metal cross
around his neck and pretend he is God when he looks at me.
his kisses are never filled with love they are filled with narcotics
and taste like a bittersweet kind of hatred. he smokes quietly and
slowly inhaling every toxic fume and making clouds
big enough to convince you that they are skies. everything about him
screams shades of cool he is blue he is black his smile is gold
his eyes are grey and he is the color spectrum at its darkest.
he speaks quietly and laughs loudly and cries silently when
he thinks nobody can hear him. I wake up every morning to the
sound of tiny bullets of water scorching his back but he
likes the burn so I do not say a thing. he loves the way I sing
and teases me endlessly and whispers ****** things when
our friends are around because he is an exhibitionist.
I do not know what this is. I do not know who he is.
but at the same time I do not know who I am either,
we are cataclysmic together and wreak havoc wherever we go
but there is something so beautiful about what a disaster
we are together that i do not want to say goodbye.
he is the lover I never have to worry about loving back
and that if nothing else matters
(h.l.)
11.25.15
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:21 PM UTC
Pearls
From afar I see beauty comparable to pearls
It shines brightly out in the open
But your clam like heart forever teases
Open and close...
Every time I approach
You shy away and remain tightly closed
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 2:29 AM UTC
I wanted to know the sighs
Of mercy. On the bed she lied,
Laid bare in the shocking light
That twitches, as she rolls
I hover and cage her in question,
With moist eyes, abandoned
By loves interrogations,
I stab at the untruths and confusions.
I wanted to hear the supplicant
Murmur of indolence and shame.
With windy caresses I break
Her arms, she ropes me red
In tangled hair and I struggle
To let go. I wanted to taste
The twin defeats of victory
And indifference, when in the light
Of darkest night there are cries of yes
And no and false accusations,
There is consuming pain and excruciating
Pleasure and as we squirm
And seethe, she teases,
Goading me and then,
I loose it.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 10:25 PM UTC
Hailstorms with big winds, trees writhing in breezes
Coyotes howling in moonlight, dogs when they sneezes
Alloys and carved toys, stone gargoyles with wings
These are a few of my favorite things.
Skunk smells carried gently on nocturnal breezes
Sly double entendres and tickley teases
Beautiful salmon colored sunsets that make my jaw drop
Smell of pine 'n cedar in my sauna and wood shop!
Dolphins and doggies and toddlers and mooses
Saunas and cold plunges and honking V-flying gooses
Small mutts and storytellers and Pixar cartoons
Crazy call of the Maine dark of night loons
These are some of my nurturing tunes!
Volcanoes with lava and magma all oozing
Cross country skiing just gliding and cruising
Receiving massages unwinding and unbruising
I love my collections of adhesives and strings
These are a few of my favorite things!
So when the wasps sting
When the bored people whine
Wen I'm feeling dispirited and sad
I just think of a few of my favorite things
And I don't feel…so…bad!
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
Do you remember me?
I am fed up, strung on night
And closed in by time.
When I dine with dearest
Friends there is always a place
Set for you, there is always
A story, untold to them,
But not for strangers
Who know even without saying
What you never said to me.
My eyes are cracked dams
Above the flood plains,
My heart is dented brass,
Bent, out of gear and turns,
Mournful, dried, pocked
As rust, tarnished red,
Petrified.
If I look at the diamond moon
I am hooked.
When the flower brushes my calves
The lifting scent caresses, teases,
Rising with my memory of fire and stone.
If I travel to the balm Paris
Of the southern hemisphere
La Belle Époque is wearing your
Dress, the pampas fires and undulates
Like your hair, the Polaris star
Points at me, dreaming
Of you, dreaming,
My jewel, my,
Little moon.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 12:02 AM UTC
A restless hunger
teases my tongue
whenever I sense
your scent
my mouth
waters
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 11:58 PM UTC
Cucumber mornings and coconut breezes
Embracing the moment
As the wild wind teases.
Painted red roses and stunning green eyes
Surrender your heart
To harmless white lies.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 8:35 PM UTC
Shucking peas on the back steps
Maureen and I watch her Mum,
My Aunt Grace,
Arguing with Aunt Edna
In the kitchen
The narrow kitchen
Of number 84 Truro Road
As they whip a Sunday lunch into shape
A test match drones on the radio
The aroma of mint on new spuds teases.
It’s a modest roast
Served in the tiny parlor
To nine of us!
Eating elbow to elbow
With yellow handled knives and forks
Down to the bare porcelain
Waiting for the apple pie
with Libby’s.
That crust, with sugar sprinkles
Is a lifetime goal for me!
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
(To my sisters and brother)
I will always miss …
Our sunset ending quarrels
Our never-ending teases
Christmas’ shared carols
Warm hugs
Through sweet gazes
The sarcastic smiling faces
The growing-up races
Revenge taking chases
Greed over goodies to be hidden
In unpredictable places
And I will always miss …
Competitions and crazy bets
Singing hilarious duets
Of made-up songs in the shower
This innocence
Of our childish humor
Screamed from a room to another
That art of tricking eachother
To cleverly stay in control
Or wrestling over the remote control
And I will always miss …
Decades of shared history
Amplified joy and divided misery
Bursts of laughter on old tapes
Creatively imagined games
Of whirlpools in drapes
And goalkeeper leaps
Random costume parties
Daily role-play stories
Sega sagas from dusk to dawn
Alliances and conspiracies
Sisters, my lovely sisters
Wise, you have become
Loving wives, caring mothers
Soon, you will become
Make sure your kids relive
What we used to live
Their uncle will make you proud
Just like you fill him with pride
Brother, dear brother
I secretly looked up to you
As I grew older
I kept resembling you
It doesn’t matter
If you’re a little far
Brotherhood’s a matter
Of unbreakable bond
And I will always admire, respect, love and cherish …
Every single one of you
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
Just like your handwriting
You’re a mess
You hide yourself
By cunning words
Trying to disguise how you really feel
But that’s okay
I see right through the facade
You are the type of guy
Who sometimes cries alone
In his room
The type of guy
Who teases and messes with girls
Making them feel awful
Because it’s hard to express how you really feel
You are the type of guy
Who never shows his inner thoughts
You don’t believe anyone will understand
The chaos in your mind
But that’s okay
I see right through it
I am the type of girl
Who’s willing to put
My heart out there
However
You are the type of guy
Who never sees
A girl like me.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
People say they want to live in a small town,
but when I look out my window
all I see is
Zero.
I look out my left window,
Zero.
I glance out my right window,
Zero.
The daily routines,
an Act Without Words.
We go through the motions in a small town,
get up, smile at people we hate,
hope for something more,
repeat.
In a small town
you bite your tongue,
just to keep the peace.
Did you bleed today?
There’s no point in asking
how someone is
because we already know.
Each new piece of gossip
strings us along,
Beckons
teases.
The small town will hold
anything over your head.
It will dangle a divorce
suspend a separation
and hang up a hook up.
In a small town,
the space between people’s teeth
revealed by their fake smiles
serve as cre-
Nells
People rave about the
fields of grass, and the trees.
In each patch of green
lies un lucky Clov-
ers
The fresh air is fetid.
The stink of the town’s
***** laundry is
enough to make
any argument for the town Null.
Zero.
It’s almost genetic,
the little Nagg-
lings in the school yard,
slicing, dividing, cutting
people like cake.
Settling for small town life,
is a fate worse than Hamm-
lets think about it.
No excitement.
No privacy.
No trust.
Zero.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
He lets her touch him intimately, without emotion
when in some pretext she is alone,
in his cubicle with him, discussing things inane,
a software environs need not be concerned
some times when she passes through,
her longing crosses limits, these days
it has become frequent, to the extent others to notice.
she found silly excuses, fifth time this morning
but he can't hurt her feeling, a team member valued,
she contributes to his success, as the team leader
He can see her need for comfort,
under her tired eyes dark shadows of sleepiness
lay curled like a depressed mongrel,
yet another duel she had with that nincompoop
she calls her husband, all through last night;
a sudden pang he feels calls his wife
asks if she is fine, to ease his guilt that raises
its head like a snake from under the cover of grass.
"A housewife has a thousand things to do, why don't you
find a buxom colleague to flirt, if that is the need"
she banters and teases him on his illogical concerns.
Through the glass parting he discreetly watches her face
heard a murmur arising inside,"the ***** plans the next move"
panicked he tried to concentrate on the screen
that looked frightening, the deadline getting nearer and nearer
by each hour, he heard the heavy foot fall
at that moment he heard a thud, as if something fell down
everyone was running towards her workstation.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
It drips, it teases, it moans my name,
A wicked desire I cannot tame.
Its scent seduces, deep and bold,
Luring me closer, my senses unfold.
Each bite lingers, slow and sweet,
Juicy, tender, pure carnal treat.
My lips embrace, my hunger sighs,
A pleasure so deep, it melts, it glides.
No wipes saves me, let it spill,
The taste, the heat, the aching thrill.
Tongue tracing every sinful trace,
Savoring each indulgent embrace.
And as the final drops dissolve,
A fizzy burst, ecstasy evolves.
A feast so perfect, craving no more,
Surrender to passion, give in, explore.
Choose wisely. Choose Wendy’s.
Mar 30, 2025
Mar 30, 2025 at 10:38 PM UTC
once in my sanctuary
it came in a loud gallop
followed by a wallop
my sorrowful lumbar
detaching the fear
of a clumsy blunder
shifted away from
the law of physics
an emptied vessel unmoved
like a sealed vacuum
certain a final curtain
pin drop in code of silence
light time alliances
whooshing me into
ethereal plains
a sublime hemisphere
of infinitesimal space, time
an indescribable beyond
gentle breezes
feathery light teases
soon a star-gazing eyes
darted through a
zero gravity galaxy of an
endless empyrean expanse
a’turnin spherical sight
orange white stripes
rosely red spot
churning roiling clouds
speckled dusty rings
what beauteous it shrouds
why am I here
a knowing voice appeared
melodically close but I
can only behold afar
of an ethereally existential
interstellar manifold
questioning mind
told of convoluted ways
as seen and heard
the rhymes and seasons but
for one and the only reason
mankind's whisper'd words
entrance to the portal
as did my dawned immortal
met a peaceful assembly
I lay in days, this rapturous gifts
what divine effulgence of
a truly cosmic lift
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 10:24 AM UTC
She keeps asking what he does,
though his answers are recycled:
French bulldogs, paintball,
a seventh-grade broken nose.
The basket of fries between them
feels like an interview.
She teases about sweat-stuck bangs,
neon-laced Docs,
his faux leather squeaking when he moves.
Her smile forgives empty stories,
softens each silence.
Condensation slips down her glass,
her knee brushes his,
a spark he does not catch,
his throat working like a valve.
The door opens, closes,
a draft carries smoke and cedar.
distant wildfires.
Outside, a truck unloads shrimp.
A box bursts on the pavement,
pink shells and thawing ice
sliding into gutter water.
Curses flare into the alley.
Engines idle.
Hydraulics hiss.
The stoplight clicks red to green,
green to red,
its metronome louder than either of them.
Somewhere past Brockway Summit
a ridgeline blooms orange.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 4:52 PM UTC
A box teases me
But aching limbs say, "Beware!"
Macadamia....GO!
Sally
Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
Ebb and flow, back and forth;
A story six years told.
To and fro yet never settled;
This friendship's getting old.
He lies and teases all the night,
Though gentle is his heart.
She knows all this, but far too well,
And so decides to part.
He never gave her reason why,
But still he told her lie 'pon lie.
He chased her til the morning dawned,
And then the bird did fly.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 7:25 PM UTC
Digging down deep is difficult
So many things these days only skim the surface
Or what we are capable of
No one dares to look inside
Afraid to shovel out the bones buried in the graveyard of memories
Afraid to be paralyzed with the fear that is ever apparent
Cry the tears that are ever evident
Be struck with the burning lightening of anger
Or the shallow mallet of loss
We bury them all so deep
We believe nothing can touch us
There is no way any being on this earth can touch this stone cold iron heart, no one
Then someone comes along
And without knowing, teases out little bits of that heart
Melting it slowly
Leaving us vulnerable once again
Exposed to others
What we wished to avoid in the first place
Sometimes, the person tosses the glass heart aside
Shattering it into a thousand sharp pieces
And other times, they cradle the masterpiece of human desire gently between their hands and place it on a shelf only they can reach
And toss you theirs for safe keeping
A gamble of emotion
An exchange of hearts
Love it is
Feeling all
Embracing all
Fearing not
Love it is...
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
**Moving past the shuttered mind
that shuns imagination
I seek a stimulating thought
a cause for exhultation.
It hovers there
like hummingbirds
whose entry I deny.
And yet
I see the imagery
and heave a heartfelt sigh.
It teases me
and mocks me
as it dodges
every grasp
Laughing at my efforts
to retrieve it
with each clasp.
Yet empty air is my reward.
My snares are all in vain.
I close my eyes and meditate
for inspiration's gain.
An empty net
a vacant trap
the target still eludes.
Perhaps tomorrow
try again
away from darker moods.**
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
It's too soon to live in memories
I try to convince myself
Years don't change everything
I try to convince myself
This is no prison I'm living in
I have the keys, the locks are not broken
I try to convince myself I have a reason
For not using them
Grab a pen and some paper
Some of these are important
I just know they are
These are the things that made me what I am
Aren't they?
The sum total of all my experiences, right?
I need to chronicle and catalog
Separate the wheat from the chaff
This will set me straight
Or maybe not...could be a waste of time
Time takes them away, one by one
Teases, bringing some back
Then snatching them away again
Despite my best efforts
To hoard them
Years don't change everything
The cruel workings of time
Are eternal
Of this I am convinced
I've sacrificed freedom
To live in a cage
To settle for memories
For fear that hurt would break in
And make itself comfortable
Quick to remind me of the memories
It helped make
I'm convinced I have no reason
To break these chains
An empty house, alone
Is better than such bad company
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 8:26 AM UTC
She came floating in
Her presence felt by all those around.
She tosses her hair and teases her fans.
This past love of a love of mine.
Dances from place to place
On the affection of her loves,
Never looking back
Not believing in mistakes.
Feathers of turquoise and emerald
She holds her head high,
For she is a great peacock
The past love of a love of mine.
I am but the swan in the lake.
A body of white, a beak of gold
Some say graceful, other say gauche
Though I have found my Neuschwanstein.
Everything I am is for him
So now I am sure
She will only ever be
A past love of a love of mine.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 7:53 PM UTC