"complaisant" poems
I am stuck in the same place
At the same pace
What's wearing thin is my patience
I don't have any time to stay complaisant
I need to find my placement
Put myself first, not in the basement
Some may not know what it meant
I however hold no sentiments
This is what I have to deal with
No one actually making things better for me
Instead I bleed
My marrow creating blood just abundantly
Just to keep the stream from weening
Disallowing the life in me to die out
Oct 11, 2021
Oct 11, 2021 at 1:16 PM UTC
A poem is like a naked person,
That needs redemption and mercy,
And every expression to impress,
And comitted like a press.
Every expressions are specious,
And rhythms ostentatious,
Poets with their dulcet lips,
Giving vulnerability to your hips
Poets use one's Achilles' heels as
Leverage,
With many diction and language,
Their words can't be insipid,
So they play the cupid.
Poets seems complaisant,
Tantalizing those counts,
She said poet are killers,
But they claim to be healers.
Poets take their hyperborical expression
To the peak,
Making all your bones weak,
She said Poets are liars,
Oh! Poets are murderers.
Poets will make your soul tremulous,
With those words, sounding mellifluous,
Poets take you to the imaginary world,
Perhaps with just a word.
But Poets change their environment,
Releasing the truth from its confinement,
Chastising the revolts and destroyers
With mere pen and paper.
But she wouldn't agree,
Not to any degree,
She said Poets are liars,
Oh! Poets are murderers!
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
You’re a book
A book with a convoluted plot, sometimes it’s hard keeping up
I’m slowly trying to learn you
I tread ever-so-care-fully
But when you are naked you are much more complaisant
It feels like we’re on the same page
In the penumbral light of my bedroom I climb on top of you and begin to kiss you
Under the sheets it is as if we are pigeons in the eaves, safe and cosy
Two souls coming together via flesh
My hands reach out for your *******
They reach out for love.
I see you in a new light.
I see you waking up with me in the first light of the morning
White bed sheets and sleepy smiles, your hair tousled
Your eyes plain, your lips unrouged
You’re skin is soft
We make love and have breakfast outside.
My muse.
The sun rises too fast
I find myself looking at you,
Perfect white teeth and a symmetrical face.
I’m way too fond of you to notice flaws
But if I did, wouldn’t they just serve to particularise your beauty?
It’s alright this, isn’t it?
This kind of connubial life we’re living.
Words are all I have.
I am a poet and you like my tongue
This very tongue that holds the small space between your thighs and makes you tremble,
This very tongue that, you say, sounds very unAfrican-
Why don’t you write like an African child?
Well, it is because of the way I grew up and the where I grew up and the who I grew up with.
Like that? Does that sound African enough?
The first time I took my t shirt off in front of you, you said I was thin
No, no,
I remember exactly what you called me: tubercular.
You are bold. I like that a lot.
But also, you’re kind of a *****
I am in love with you, the whole of you.
You and your nice smelling hair.
You and your dreamy brown eyes.
You and your half-hearted ********
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
you
you're just a thought in my mind
and i
i'll be fine
without you
( daydream )
you won't hear my calling for
anything at all
and now when I redo us
i'll bust out my big guns
and it'll be nothing like before
cause nobody trusts that
it's done with
i spit it out with my left lung
my third rib
and i finished it off
quivered
cause most of the time it's just like
t h i s
quivered;
but even the shaken warm again
and i'm fine until then
i'm being p a t i e n t
i'm being complacent with the situation being placed adjacent to my observation
my loss of sensation; inspiration
or the strange complaisant state I relate and stay in
or the location you placed on every plain of our sensation
creates my saddest frustration
that we're past tense
d o n e
I erased it
that at night when you bite down
hard
you still taste it
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
I gave you the steel -
Hopes, thoughts, fears,
Reforged,
Honed to jagged spears,
Turned against the flesh
From which they were wrought.
But blood won't flow
From the piercings
Anymore.
The corpse, complaisant, yields
From a lifetime of wounds.
Those razor-edged words
Drained joy
Like the ******
Of a shattered wine glass
Once cut painful and red-
Nails pressed through skin -
We veiled those marks
From family and friends
While I learned to hide
Behind vacant eyes,
Mute lips,
Mind dreaming of water
Running from oily feathers
Off a duck
Imagining words were rain
And ears coated with
The magic stuff
That would shed the pain
If only I believed hard enough.
Tomorrow
I could find another smile,
Know
The world hadn't really changed
Much,
Find new words to alter
Anger to love.
How did psyche falter -
Those few unshed drops
In incidental increments or
By catastrophe,
A failure like a levee
Rupturing, leaving land awash -
Doesn't really matter.
Frame now basks in your cascade,
Absorbing and accepting,
Soul long lost now wandering
Wondering when will body follow,
Missing the mate with whom to share
That steel from which love
Should be made.
Sep 13, 2009
Sep 13, 2009 at 8:06 PM UTC
(Quickly. Inspire me)
Or I shall opt to fly in my dreams.
Where my heart controls my flight
and stops my fall.
I loathe these monotonous days
When I am complaisant to routine.
But where am I to go?
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 7:11 AM UTC
not enough time
god it's going by too fast
can't count the days
count the weeks instead.
years pass as you complaisantly count
too busy worrying about wasted time
to do anything
worth living for.
Oct 21, 2021
Oct 21, 2021 at 9:36 AM UTC
Summer days
Inconsistent in England
An old train from Piccadilly
To New Mills
Sweating up a steep hill
To a blistering barbecue
Bearing brownies
To share with older brothers
Spaced and complaisant
Sedated in the sunshine
Overlooking the opposing hills
With an ex copper in our coterie
So pleasantly surprised
By the sun and situation
But it's not summer anymore
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
My heart isn’t broken.
It’s rotting inside.
It’s blackened to the core
My veins mucked with lies.
I’ve locked them deep
Secrets hidden in my center.
Now they’ve grown roots
And flourished
Like ever green forests
Thriving in cold weather.
You took my skin
So yours wouldn’t show.
You robbed me my voice
To feel less alone.
You stole thoughts from my brain
To drowned out your own.
How does it feel
To live under my bones?
My soul hasn’t shattered
It’s always been vacant
I was just a child
I was supposed to be
complaisant.
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 10:21 AM UTC
1
To suspend
A summer day in glass.
Complaisant green,
This blade of grass.
2
To give away
Grief, unfeel a caress,
Nourish a hunger
For emptiness.
3
To insinuate
to love’s unanswered skin
syllables of desire
pricking in.
4
To build
a terrace of form,
inside the weather of confusion,
a private storm.
5
To wander
through rooms of the mind
searching for enchanted objects.
What do I have to find?
6
To mark
against the slippage
of another year
that we are here.
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 5:32 AM UTC
Halfway empty
Constant frustrations
Supressed thoughts
Devastation
Hesitating
Found purpose
Losing myself
Under tears
Staying complaisant
Forgetting myself
Starving for life
Mar 25, 2024
Mar 25, 2024 at 10:06 PM UTC
Walking alone in the mist of deceit,
Heavy breathing billowing down to my feet,
The one I trust is someone I cannot keep,
Willfully complaisant in the role of a sheep,
Giving everything on this battlefield too steep,
I'm enamored to be courting, but now I weep.
Arms stretched, mind benched, legs drenched, body wrenched, my portrait of a family, a pursuit of forbidden fruit.
Her lies in thickness I can't recognize,
My cries to rid this sickness compartmentalize,
I've accomplished the impossible knightly,
She destroyed the possibility frightningly,
The children shielded of being scorn admirably,
Family perturbed and overwrought widely,
Friends preserve and safeguard concisely,
Triangulations throng her presence authoritatively,
The grimness overtaking the air forever nightly.
One domino regressed to the fallen,
bringing the collapse upon all of them,
Irony of the first domino on top,
The rest are outlined in chalk,
Holding them all up I fought,
But the pain never stopped,
I fall over plopped,
I can't walk.
Never able to achieve the masterpiece,
My soul in fleece is slowly released,
The devil has poached me from the crease,
I'll never be able to restack any piece.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 2:11 AM UTC
Fable XIII, Livre I.
Un lièvre avait son gîte auprès de la tanière
D'un maussade et vieux hérisson.
Chacun, de son côté, vivait à sa manière,
À l'abri du même buisson,
Quand une taupe y vint creuser sa taupinière.
Entre les gens de certaine façon,
Nous savons tous qu'il est d'usage
Que le dernier venu dans tout le voisinage
Promène sa personne, ou tout au moins son nom.
En habit de velours, notre taupe au plus vite,
Fait donc au lièvre sa visite.
Après la révérence, après maint compliment,
(Ceux des bêtes, dit-on, ressemblent fort aux nôtres)
Après avoir parlé de soi fort longuement,
On parla tant soit peu des autres,
Et du voisin conséquemment.
Quel esprit ! dit la taupe ; y peut-on rien comprendre ?
Est-il rien de moins amusant ?
Est-il rien de moins complaisant ?
Savez-vous par quel bout le prendre ?
Il vit toujours triste et caché ;
Une sombre humeur le dévore ;
Il blesse quand il est fâché,
Et quand il joue il blesse encore ;
Et c'est pourtant chez lui que je cours de ce pas !
Madame, dit le lièvre, assurément badine.
- Et le bon ton, voisin ! - Et le bon sens, voisine,
M'assure que vous n'irez pas.
Plains et fuis, nous dit-il, ces personnes chagrines
Qu'on ne peut aborder avec sécurité,
Et qui, même dans la gaîté,
Ne quittent jamais leurs épines.
354
rose alone, cannot grow.
my hand on your hand,
the twilight of this
inner whirlwind.
palm brushing off the dust
of a dream,
your tear on my cheek
slenderly needing all of my rivers,
is your reflection,
my tender night,
rose alone cannot grow.
i watch the tiny hands of rain
fritter back to your breast.
i witness everything seek its
asylum, in your arms, where
no love breaks, only sings,
laughs atremble,
and i see all the roses, alone yet together
in all-consuming silence, needing
your transmissible voice to
make resonant, the day or
the bend on our roads,
like saltwater, like complaisant
air meaning only one word
through all the roses that
spring in the field
of the ephemera: your
too sudden image claiming
no sound yet all of my language.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC