"complementary" poems
Two cakes
Both on my behalf
Carrot cake with a twist of lemon
Crunchie cheese cake
Complementary flavors
What a blend on the tastebuds
A birthday surprise
YUM YUM
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
A designer ******
A nip and a tuck
A trim of the curtains
A tightening up
A complementary adjustment
A tidying of bits
Matches the uplift
You had on your ****
So 6 months it took
To create the perfect ******
Only to find he's left you tonight
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
What did you do to your hair?
It is not fashion or regarded as a
good sight, for sightseers whom fight
for the best sight to see.
Nor is it complementary to your main meal face,
no condiment would ever accompany you,
let alone a boy in a start of the month, moon-a-new,
relationship-race.
It is not natural, nor be it an attempt to
blend into your surroundings at large,
as a red and blue fringe
will never be camouflage.
So, what did you do to your hair?
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 11:05 AM UTC
Love on my toes, love in the cabinet, love jumps off balconies
it is an eighteen year old succubus offering spinal taps.
Bring the gentlemen their evening numbness before next
morning’s nightmare and ******** are scheduled on God’s map –
he just steps out for a moment, settles his sleeping mask on.
God is so unhappy: he understands nothing of love.
Get this recipe recited so we shall feed them pink and blue pills
which knobs can sting boys in the *** a fleabite or bow
soon our leather heels chime through their ears like hooves.
The master may question their nutrition so hold out a paper cup
sloshing in female nectar, our vaguely cerise saliva
sustenance that comes from between slits carved for such –
these acids are love, love, love. Love from cavities, love pearls
knotted in the roots of a mother clam, fallopian love tubes.
Every shoebox offers warmth, complementary wakeup calls
a petite blonde to peel him out of his pajamas, too –
lay your husbands down into the doll-case if he has no love
as God is not watching here. Oh, how happy our gentlemen are.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
allocation of supreme alliteration illustrates perpetual contemplation and concentration that dictates a maligned mastication of federal incarceration of elongated complementary probation leaving you cuffed and based on baseless accusations conducted in aboriginal abbreviations masked task force concluding a course of brevity conducted in coordination then coordinating and copulating condemnation for a homeostasis of thought bought scolded eroded and shot inefficacy perpetrating cultural holocaust irrelevance somersaults galactic static of mathematical bombastic smack addict glued shut in a craft attic floral resurrection gartered section of ****** selection she moves fluid through unaltered perfection of cosmic bypass past the point of extemporaneous infinitude reciprocating fortitude of sinews congregating fabricating visuals of vitality soldering axonal membranes on the cerebellum and cortex simulation of sensual vortex demented fusion more blessed I am that which stands to understand the incomprehensible unconsidered options of racial conflicts the screaming round of unaltered copper fiber severing life from the living only now can we debunk the years
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
"...Motus autem veros ex eorum causis, effectibus & apparentibus differentijs colligere, & contra, ex motibus seu veris seu apparentibus, eorum causas & effectus, docebitur fusius in sequentibus..."
D. Isaaci Newtoni.
There will be a sequence of unexpected statements. We understood, that this was said which likened the beginning to the continuation. It was the orchard from which delicious fruits displayed their love for the taste of them, the meanings. Seeds were harvested through the dimly perceived writings of ancient scholars.
{ [ c exp tan r ( x ) d w d r ] / ( d x ) }
= { [ ( k , h ) tau int g ( r ) d w d t ] / ( d f d v ) } .
Visited in the course of evolution, all realized the implication, that seasons would arrive from which the meeting of machines would be complementary like the force of a sports team. The objects gathering into droplets included the growth of sunlight transforming ashes; yet the dictionary is not to change.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC
Sing me a lullaby
Put these thoughts to rest
With the best high
The warmth in your chest
I knew you before
But not like this
Did I open a new door?
What did I miss?
I've seen another galaxy
It's just for you and me
It could not have happened
If this were another day
Wouldn't, couldn't, but did
Work out this strange way
It was perfect, you see
Led down the same path
We stumbled blindly into each other
Our galaxy was born, alas
Calm, crazy, hot and happy
How could just one night
Make me feel so right?
Ah, tread swiftly, softly
For our galaxy is just that:
Ours.
And they will not understand
They will pull back their hands
And curl them into fists
Or damage their wrists
We are their light
They are our shadows
Crouching tiger, hidden dragon
We lie awake til’ our sun shines on
The curtain will draw once more
Never to be closed again
And sun will pour over our bodies
Like an orange being squeezed
Fresh from the trees
It will weaken our knees
It will engulf us instantaneously
And we will be swallowed
By the humbled body of serenity
Left lounging on cloud mounds
Left with each others'
Complementary company
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
fed the birds.
fed the birds a
book about
my dead
weight.
fed the
birds a heavy.
fed them from
my thin
hands. The words
that live.
The birds ate.
The birds ate words that
lived and always
lived
in
separate
houses. if...
and i mean if
and only if
they
could afford
it.
if these
clever pagans
ever had
a dime.
they found
it boring rich
folk to
death.
i fed the birds
my indigenous
nomads. they dined
in high style...
dined black and
fancy
on
shabby
addicts, as they
hopped
trains . i fed the birds
my
swarthy tribe.
and they supped.
i fed the birds
a monologue
with trains of
thought
the words i fed
them... the vagabonds...
hopped
trains.
of thought.
I fed
the birds.
i fed the birds just
outside.
i sat
and fed them
black light and Harmalade
fed them blackly
fed them with
piano keys; the black
ones, the ones
that radiate
i fed
i watched them. watched
them fancy peck. and peck
and fancy
pluck.
i watched. they dined
on serene defeat
by technicality.
it was surreal
to watch a blackbird
pluck from black
keys - peck
a morsel of glum
from
the black rays, yes.
the black rays with
opposable thumbs
and a
lifeline. the only one i
know forbidding gypsies
with three eyes.
an open
palm.
a paranoid
black radish
white dwarf star
with piano keys
for black rays
of
nimbus, yes
mine is the hand that bites the hand
that writes the book
it wants
to ban, that ain't
a fan
not at all. just an appendage. a pen dirge ? What ?
i fed the flock lots
I fed
the black ones -
with dolls'
eyes...
tucked
under
wing.
i fed them, yes.
a book
about the size
of any welcome
malcontent.
i fed
them sorrows
and ellipses with
adjacent lawns.
wutherings in
stately manors, squatting
on either side
of memory
lane, like
a bourbon and
coke had
practically crawled
across shards
of hard
things to break,
with a drink
in your
hand
and crawled, well blended
down the hatch
of enormous, well appointed
gothic frogs, that -
were mostly refurbished toads
with odd columns.
i fed
the birds,
broke out the
Good
Chi
na
hang the tantrums !
yes
One should expect
a rich metaphor to want to
watch you
eat it's every
word
or
by extension;
lick the toad with 15 rooms,
three stories, unfit for children
and a full staff
of Adjectives,
highly trained
to
short-sheet the Bedlam, and fluff the pillories.
one should sip the liqueur
off the floor, inside the huge
and tipsy
gorgon
and be thankful
for the dank
and
the solid gold flyswatters.
they're complementary. take one
as you leave out
thinking
" toads, eat flies.... so it follows...."
apropos of nothing, on the
' Good China ',
now in the belly of birds, well fed
an unwell.
a book about
my dead-weight's
dream
to eat fewer
flies and
more
steak.
to grow wings.
yes.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC
Inadequate to the task
Humbled by the enormity of our love,
The perfection of our joining,
Where are the words kept that sufficient
Honor and portray what we have achieved?
You seated, beside me by the bay, finally,
Two old adirondack trees side by side,
By the sheltered place you bequeathed me,
Where poems are raindrops, so numerous,
And you, if not the subject, the source.
The waves rolling in, mirror the
Fluidity of thy dancing,
Fluidity of the adaptation,
Two lives, now one bay blue colored,
The merging, the unification,
Many waves, but one bay,
The Bay of Us.
Yet so different.
We are cloud worshippers,
Does not the Skye's Tableau inconstancy,
Mirror our ever changing form, individuality,
Yet, one sky,
The Sky of Us.
So many times have I lain be-sided
Even as we this afternoon sit now a-sided,
Tears welling up, above and beyond control,
This man's steady nerves, constant on patrol,
Our secret open, visible, un-hided,
Your are my Magi
My Yogi,
i.am, your, obedient devotee, shaped to you please.
This is the birthday present my words present.
Words, unremarkable,
Except for the contentment
That lies within them.
Let me love you more,
Recklessly abandon norms,
Kiss you at the supermarket, at the opera,
Unashamedly, take you in my arms
Wherever wonderment and wandering lead us.
T'is so very hard to compose
When tears flow upon my writing tablet,
To wipe, blot them away, I refuse,
For tears are joyous emblems,
Salty badges of love,
All compliments of our complementary beings,
The Tears of Us.
The soaring music we gather in.
The shimmering sparkles upon the bay,
My gift of natural diamonds better, this day,
Than jeweled glitterati I hide in the refrigerator.
All this treasure, part and sparkle of
The Treasure of Us.
T'is truth,
I know not, forgot, your age nor care,
The day the time the year,
What matter they to me these artifice markers,
I weep carelessly, undone, overcome,
Every day, but this day, most, united joy.
Need-No reminder,
I am a survivor,
From a concentration camp
That slow programmed to destroy,
Perhaps the kindness you claim
As the hallmark of my fame,
An inadvertent gift, from the devil?
You shook my hand on our first meet,
Don't think, have I ever let go?
Let me be your driver, entertainer, your only poet,
Let me be whatever you need,
Even as now, I laugh-cry, your tissue carrier.
For t'is I who weeps and keeps
These tissues as part of our history.
You are the first,
Who has ever read
The Words of Us.
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
the film plays
a 1950's film
I am lost for a moment;
dancing to the blues and looking into the eyes of a lover -they're grey.
grey eyes. grey skin. grey lips. grey ballroom.
grey. grey. grey. -everything is grey.
But his eyes are a deep grey with light specks,
and the tiles on the floor are patterned with different shades,
and he is dressed with dark grey attire
-but he is the most colourful thing I have ever seen.
In a colourful world you would think things would be complementary;
but the more colourful it appears, the more black and white it is;
the carpet is red, just red, the walls are white, just white,
his eyes are brown. Just brown.
but in this film his eyes are grey -light, grainy, grey.
There's grey in his eyes,
and there's grey all around me,
but my, I seem to have gotten lost;
his eyes are the most colourful things I've ever seen in my life.
the film stops.
(Nicole Joanne) all rights reserved
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
Carrot and coriander, why are you so pally?
With your 'c' sounding names and you both being edible,
Well I've got news for you boys,
I think you're absolutely terrible.
Carrot and coriander, why are you so pally?
Just because you both like soup and a little bit of season,
It doesn't mean you should be so close, it's not a good enough reason.
Carrot and coriander, why are you so pally?
You hang around in cardboard cartons, talking trash about other ingredients,
Well its just not acceptable boys, and I'm really not feelin' it.
Carrot and coriander, why are you so pally?
People think you're great, with your complementary flavours,
Well I'm sorry boys, think you're tasty? Do me a 'kin favour.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 5:41 AM UTC
Van Gogh wanted to mix a material rainbow of colors
From primary red, yellow and blue in the sense of divine.
In the Holy Light, the love time of the flower clock discolors.
The empty glasses on the tables lack the Holy wine.
The ideal round tables assume their infinite regress,
While huddling down in a stupor the lonely men around.
Their eyes do not see the sense of life and true noblesse.
From a corner view, silent colors search for the sound.
Tables for awakening, for life and for the fate's game.
In life, a complete circled awareness needs time.
In many forms, the epitome of tableness is the same.
It keeps a purple silence for the painted mother of thyme.
This irreconcilable demon -woman hung on the left wall
Needs that freedom engraved on the emerald green door.
The watch on her hand shows the time for a masked ball.
Destined never to meet are the parallel lines on the floor.
Love is for completing the time as pink is for the emerald green.
In the mirror, this nuance of green reflects the sadness of life.
Against the red, pink and white, in games, the cue tip can lean,
Because all the main complementary colors are at strife.
The white coat of the waiter is a symbol in the glow of the lamp.
The perspective looks somewhat downward toward the floor.
Extending to new dimensions, Eve sits or she just up to vamp.
The flowers wither and the life disappears after an endless war.
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
That magic summer where we first met and wooed
fades further from us with each passing year.
The words we spoke are gone; the words' tune lingers on.
We'd tasted love--
sweet, imbalanced, temporary--
now longed for the same only more complete,
more complementary.
Intimacy comes easily to some.
Others store their feelings up:
treasure for those who can rightly claim it.
We met at a party for new students,
drinking strawberry daiquiris.
For me, the attraction was immediate;
a bit slower for you, you say.
We were wary; our trust grew quickly.
And we, in the confines of this serious trust,
at last could be
our own childish, playful selves.
We went to movies, plays, folk-dancing;
walked in Crystal Lake Park;
ate; watched your soap opera;
touched each other constantly;
fought; made up elegantly.
And then, as we sat on a warm stone bench
on top of that underground library,
eating lunch,
--heart in throat--I said:
"The pleasure I have known in being with you
for these six weeks is something quite unusual.
And if the same is true for you,
if this's a love which could lead to marriage,
then I will try to find a job nearby,
where I can see you frequently.
But if your love is of a lesser sort, then I
will cast my net this great world o'er
and go where Fortune takes me."
Then you,
not hesitating a single moment,
flooding my eyes with your radiant smile,
replied, "It could! Oh yes, indeed, it could!"
Much has happened since,
but I say it was then, that summer, that moment,
love reached the final, high plane
where we, though hardly conscious of it now, still dwell.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
When a Compliment is genuine,
it can do more harm than good;
it can be fuel to the Fire of Ego
or it can be a humbling affirmation
of one's practice and discipline.
So, please, if you get a Compliment,
do not take it as an Ego trip
and likewise do not ignore it;
for someone has gone out of their way
to share their impression of you with you,
which, for some of us,
can be rather difficult sometimes.
The same applies to Critique;
someone has cared enough
to bring a thing to your attention
that you may improve it,
sometimes people criticize
lashing out from their Shadow,
but heed them not,
for they are lost.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 4:04 PM UTC
From Chicago to Atlanta on the 5:45
I contemplate the fragility of being alive
I sit on the wing with a view of great breadth
While I dream about life and wonder of death
The sun has just set, the moon kisses the sky
And the atmosphere echoes its exhaling sigh
As darkness sets in, the graduation emerges
So I, in the sky, view its majesty in surges
The window is a frame of the moon as a crescent
And I spot a town way down, like a queen to her peasant
There is life, there is motion, there is somewhere to be
There is conflict, there are problems, and then there is me
I snap out of passivity like a casual thought
To locate the flight attendant complementary cart
Since her mobile vending machine is a couple rows down
I return to pensivity and stare at the ground
The tail lights of cars pulse when my true focus starts
As if they were red blood cells exiting the heart
There is a conversation I over hear from 27 E
The girl has dreams of studying alone in Italy
The man has a daughter and he rocks in his seat
They talk like old friends even though they just meet
There are young men in the Navy, and business folks
There is an air of community, peanuts, and hope
As my ears pop constantly and we climb higher
I think of my future and to what I aspire
And I wonder if there's anyone I'll see here again
Close and far away strangers, a view from a plane
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
My eyes are glossed,
I can not see.
I'm just as lost,
As a rootless tree.
Young strong ambition,
Brought down by the evils of humanity.
A good life was once my mission,
Now I question my sanity.
I feel separated from the world.
Reality is a fragment of my imagination.
What appears straight is curled.
Light is just a mere imitation.
We seek justice that is always blind.
For our laws are rooted in discrimination.
Greed serves as the currency of our kind,
And profit the sole motivation.
To see the corruptions of our society,
And sit outside and observe.
Brings a cold chill of sobriety,
and feeling of atrocity to my nerve.
My eyes are glossed,
I can not see.
I'm just as lost,
As a rootless tree.
For every beautiful creature,
There is complementary predation and blight.
For every miraculous feature,
There is a parallel of war and spite.
You can choose to accept things as they exist,
Or be the person that brings in change.
But if our current circumstances persist,
Our decedents will learn nothing but rage.
A wise man once said:
"Be the change you want to see."
So peace and love I will spread.
And live by the same decree.
I will use my tools,
Given to me by my Creator.
To make wise men of fools,
And make the common good greater.
My eyes are now clear,
And I can see.
I no longer appear,
As a rootless tree.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, inspiration: favorite book---Invisible Life In A Miserable Age version two :>
Henry
met her at the library
rasped the portrait in ancient poetry
booked her love in print of coffee calligraphy
vanished curses of September from the entire history
remembered eyes bared and fell at feet so complementary
one-eighty degrees the fine line supplementary
deviled angelic
marveled hurdled
seven freckles and stashed in memory
celebrates venus and mercury
-----ravenfeels
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 6:00 AM UTC
Our dreams do not mix well
mixing purple and green only
makes brown.
The painting would be dull.
Over time our dreams may
change colors
Evolving to red and yellow
to glow orange and never fade.
Experiences will provide vibrancy
in our lives. Situations have the
ability to bring us back together.
Until then my love will whisper
so my screams will not keep you
from pursuing your dreams.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 8:39 PM UTC
Day and night are just opposites,
yet complementary ad infinitum,
sans any trace of discord, perfectly fit;
everything one comes across in life
is uniquely meaningful, let's not forget.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC
My allegiance to be a leader
Leader of my culture
Vow to righteous cultivation
Raise my right fist
And I tell you this
I will never quit
Low souls I will always lift
My determination is greater than or equal to my liberation
Truly in the past I've gotten content
Bent
Ripped
Torn
Hesitant
Forgot why I was born
I ask for your forgiveness
While I'm a realest
I know I have to be rigorous
And stay consistent
Because now days everyone who's put in position loses their coherence and fear the consequences
Like why work so hard to be a star?and get everyone to witness,
Get everyone's attention
...
But don't have a mission!
PUT A CAMERA IN FRONT OF ME
TAKE A MILLION PICTURES
MAKE A DOCUMENTARY
I CAN BE COMPLEMENTARY
GIVE ME ENDORSEMENTS
I DON'T EVEN WANT THE PROPORTION
I'LL GIVE IT TO THE DISTORTED
MAKE ME A RAP ARTIST
AND PUT ME ON THE RADIO
LET MY VOICE BE HEARD THROUGH THE STEREO
I hope I don't speak this into existence
Because all I need is a microphone with my voice coming through the PA system
It's a shame that I might need security
But it's not strange that I might need security
If I attract too many brown faces and people who come from unfortunate places
That's where they draw the line,
Speeches for memorabilia
But my work will be erased
Hope I don't sound incredible
I would not sound ridiculous if you remember our intellectuals
They don't accept anyone who's exceptional
They don't want to see anyone who has a big dream in their retinal
Hopefully I can manage with
About 30 plus years of residue
Give up?
Naw that's just what the rest will do
Fight for our lives
And take a chance with my life
Whatever it takes to restitute
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
A red bird has flown soaring in the great height of the
purple sky. The thrilling scream was as a shrill cry on
the soundtrack. The bird has disappeared into the sky,
and all it could be heard was the sound. That cold sound
became fluid in the ears. A forked green lightning following
a zigzagging pattern appeared from an antimatter space.
The eyes fixed wide-open up, and the mouths kept silent.
A ship has left the dock to disappear in the mobile horizon.
It seemingly disappeared and reappeared based on where
the eyes were looking; the eyes were not able to leave the dock.
When the ship could not be seen, a prolonged blast could be
heard. Finally, the ship disappeared in an antimatter space,
where cold could illuminate and beat the heat to burn everything
as we beat the heat with icy cold neck wraps. The eyes fixed
wide-open toward, and red screams grew from open mouths.
The sun lost its strength to become redder than it was before.
In the twilight, its disk disappeared below the mobile horizon.
Its power was in the spirit and the matter of the freezing cold.
The eyes were unable to see where the sun was going. In the
soft and purple mist, they looked like little amethyst stones.
The violet light slowed down in the water much more than the
red light refracted. The waves of alternating strength in electric and
magnetic fields moved around the Earth in the tick of a clock.
The mouths murmured, but the anti-sound made them all be quiet.
From an airplane in the sky, the eyes could see two rainbows with
colors in opposite order forming a complete circle. The eyes could
move up and down to see the red light that refracted out of
the droplets at steeper angles than the blue light. The mind could
imagine another rainbow made of complementary light wavelengths
such as green, blue, violet, red, orange, yellow-orange and yellow. The
sea shone brightly as a sky full of red and bluish comets having
tails like trains carrying hydrogen cyanide. Strange, sharp and
cutting words wounded the mouths stopping the thoughts to breathe.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
I am not
the prettiest girl
or the sexiest
not the smartest
or most talented
but I am a unique
array assembled
of whozeewhatsits
(razor blade analogies
fluorescent petal lips
coloring book flips shifting
hues and lines in real time
intense passion pigments
softened by maniacal sillies
black glitter, tears, tongue, teeth
synaptic syntax screams
billowing belly cavern
sacred swallows swimming
serifs seeping thru sweat
into fluffiest warm cotton
pinksugar dewbloom)
that will render
equivalent yet opposing
inverted complementary
juxta pair of anglepants
exquisitely speechless
with sheer me-ness
hallow mirrors blinding
four egoic eyes igniting
incinerating the dim
and in that stillness
I will feel their them
and feel it feeling
my me
betwixt twisting
our empty brimming
with eternity
...
or maybe
that happened
already
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
You were born the sun
I was born the moon
You taught me to smile
And I taught you to cry
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 7:37 PM UTC