"complements" poems
It all begins
With pronouns
I becomes the subject
Of my project
Adding you
And collectively we
I choose you and me
And I exclude the he and the she
Until I am certain of we
You and I pick verbs
actions
Inflect them to match
fit
begin narratives
Transitive verbs take objects
You touch
tickle
tease
taste
take skin
*******
lips
me with words
Words have become a clause
But still a simple construction
So, you tickle me where?
For this you need a preposition
To position your tickling ammunition
Do you touch
tickle
tease me ON my *******
*******
thighs
buttocks
****
Do you feel me INSIDE my mouth
****
soul?
Positioning is envisioning.
Then you use adjectives
To modify descriptions of
Sensory inscriptions
So, gentle complements touch
Soft and passionate kiss
And you become superlative
And adverbs elaborate experience
expression
exploration
You fill me deeply
thoroughly
violently with all that is you
But adverbs can also mean time
Not sweet or cursed time
Or time denoting age
But timing is always important
And grammar dictates
That
Time adverbs are placed
As a beginning or an end
Like a lover's embrace
Thus,
This morning, you woke me with
A demanding "here and now! " and I will reciprocate this, tonight, I vow.
Conjunctions are sentence connectors
And sentences behave like detectors
Bodies balancing with and, but, or
Otherwise subordinate
And the scale tips towards
Conditioning hypotaxis
Making actions a complicated praxis
(before my mind can connect, you will have to pursuade it /pursue it)
But we coordinate conjunctions
Equally
I touch you
You touch me
Exploring
Exploding sensory functions
So, together we cry imperatives
Completing our ****** narratives
Moaning
Whimpering
Begging
Yelling: Please... bind me!
touch me!
bite me!
take me!
come!
Oh! Please, come!
I love the English language... ;)
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
Cute
Pretty
Beautiful
****
While most women love hearing these words from the lips of their lovers for the evening,
I don't.
They aren't simple complements, they're ways to make me vulnerable.
Now I just sound like a white girl with issues, yeah I know.
But the truth is that everyone who has told me those words as only wanted what's between my legs.
And half the time, when they got it, they left.
I'm tired of men seeing me at 8am with no makeup or heels
Looking at me as if I had lied to them
Because I'm obviously looking for love in the wrong places
One night stands don't make hoes into housewives
But they will certainly turn housewives into hoes.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
She was silent, misused, and manipulated.
He was Brave. He was her hero. Brave sauntered over to Silent.
Silent was sick with manipulation and was covered head to toe in the ashes of those who misused her.
Brave raised her up out of the ashes he wiped away the disrespect and eventually gained her trust.
When trust was gained Brave became how she built her self-respect.
Brave saw beauty, intelligence,someone to love where she never did.
Soon Silent became Bold with the help of Braves ways.
Before long Bold was able to stand with Brave grasping her hand above what used to be ashes.
Together Brave and Bold vanished the ashes by binding their love.
In a short time after a river of complements flowed for anyone who ever felt silent could go.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 1:19 AM UTC
She doesn't think she's beautiful but ugly
It's strange to me
Its hard to complement a girl full of insecurities
She hides her pride behind her eyes
Those ocean blue eyes
The ones full of love
They shine when the sun kiss them
I swear I get a glimpse of heaven
I feel like I'm floating, no flying
But then I crash
She says I don't make her feel pretty
And it's silly of me
To fail at a such easy thing
My attempts fall on deaf ears
The words "your beautiful"
Never reach the top of her hills
Her insecurities stop them cold
Like the steel around her nose
That finds the sun an shine bright
My complements hides in her blacks streaks
In her golden blond hair
The hair she uses to hides her face
As I brush it away
In that one second our eyes meet
In that one second she looses her insecurities
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
Poison Ivy,
red rash on my limbs.
To the Doc I go,
a shot will do.
It grows on trees,
but they're immune,
their limbs aren't itching.
*Thanks ~timothy~ for a new style.
This is a syllabic poem in seven lines 4/5 5/4 4/4/5
Unrhymed
Lines 1 and 2 INTRODUCE the SUBJECT
Lines 3 and 4 AMPLIFY what is affected by the image/subject.
Line 5 thru 7 Focus on NEW SUBJECT that complements and provides a meditative conclusion.
Shanzi may be Titled*
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 5:23 PM UTC
smile…… Manipulate…..complements ...... Manipulate……act interested……manipulate…..show some tears….. manipulate…….white lies….manipulate…..it’s a drug, to manipulate….flirt and manipulate…. escape pain or consequence…manipulate …..socially acceptable to manipulate…to get what you deserve…manipulate….to get what you want….manipulate……to change some one’s mind manipulate…..to be successful manipulate …..O i hate manipulation! i rather have paid every speeding ticket, stood in every long line, gone to jail, paid more than full price for everything, not got the job and been broke…..never been kissed…failed at everything….then to have ever manipulated in my life! O God i hate manipulation and it’s subtleness.. a quiet vice…a secret soul killer…. Call it what you will….swag….cleverness….success…..it doesn’t matter manipulation wears any Word you choose…it’s all self-centered…. me me me me me….. hehehehe…..stop!!!!…. Manipulation must die! Especially in its most subtle and acceptable forms. Even if i have to struggle…even if i lose everything…it must die…”those who save there live will lose it, those lose their lives will find it…………Christ guide me
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
You don't make me happy. You are my happiness. The difference between the two is simple, but important: You see, if you only made me happy, just the thought of you would be enough. A picture of you would suffice to keep me content. But it isn't. You are my happiness, embodied. So when you're away, my happiness is gone as well. Thoughts are not enough. I don't feel complete when I'm not with you. I need you. All of you. I can only hope that you need me, too.
I always thought of love like puzzle pieces. I know that metaphor's been done a hundred times over, but this is a little more specific. You see, everyone is built in a certain way. We are all pieces. Some people are whole pieces unto themselves - an entire picture, clear and beautiful. They don't need another puzzle piece. They're complete as they are, which is fine. Most people, however, are parts of a whole. They need other pieces to help them make sense, to see the whole picture. Some people have a lot of spaces and gaps, and it takes a lot of other puzzle pieces working together to keep them happy and to make them feel whole. Most people are halves. They are half of a picture, searching for the other half of themselves. However, these are puzzle pieces, meaning not every piece will fit with another. The pieces have to be the right size, the right shape, the right color. Puzzle pieces are complex and dynamic. Each one is special. Even if a piece is shaped really weird or has odd edges and angles, it fits perfectly with another piece somewhere. They just have to find each other. No one is wrong, and no one is unlovable. They just have to find the piece that complements them.
Somewhere, there is another puzzle piece out there that will help you make sense of yourself and see the whole picture of who you are. I always liked to think of it like that. I like to think that someday, someone as unique as I am will help me create a beautiful picture, a whole picture of myself, that we can both understand and be happy with. And I will do the same for them. Just like a puzzle.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 3:15 AM UTC
Your nouns are spread
On sheets
Of white impeccability
Attached complements provide
Detail
Description
Of beauty
Excellence
And we both inflect
Flex
Our verbs
With precision
In perfect concord
We take specific (pre)positions
Towards me
Around you
Inside
In out in out
Up
Upwards
Denying every possibility
Of negations
Conjunctions
Limitations in scope
And we end existence
In a loud
Exclamation!
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
We worship the net
We understand the reason why google starts with 'go..'
We give the 'd' while praying in our inboxes,
The only place we think under, these boxes.
I was blinded by the Jozi city lights,
Chasing false fortunes,
Got lost in people's comments and complements.
Last time I closed my eyes I was somewhere in South Africa.
Today am somewhere on google map,
Planting trigo-station every time I get high.
If you find me standing before the burning bridges,
Show me a path leading to the South Africa Mandela was talking about.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 3:32 AM UTC
#*He is quiet and confident
Always does what is right
Quite a conversationalist
When relevant
Believes in keeping to himself
In a place of unknowns
Knowledge and wisdom his strength
Diligent and optimistic an achiever in life
Simple and good at heart
Understands and complements mine
Loves romantic songs
I am just the opposite
Can’t stand any
Retro is the only station, we listen to together in the car
Has little understanding or
interest of what I write
Yet, always listens to/ reads my scribbles
Our choices and tastes opposite as can be
Not, when it comes to matters of heart*#
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 1:48 PM UTC
My whippet ran
as fast as the wind.
With a cheetahs gate
he could catch all.
And now he rests
his race is done,
all rabbits happy.
*Shanzi is a syllabic poem in seven lines 4/5 5/4 4/4/5
Unrhymed
Lines 1 and 2 INTRODUCE the SUBECT
Lines 3 and 4 AMPLIFY what is affected by the image/subject.
Line 5 thru 7 Focus on NEW SUBJECT that complements and provides a meditative conclusion.
Shanzi may be Titled*
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
I am no back burner girl
I better be taking up the whole stove
I want what we are cooking to feed a multitude
I want it to be good enough and big enough
to share and pass around
I want my meat slow cooked and laced with butter
Dripping and falling off the bone
Everyone seems to be looking for a microwave meal
Which really is just being afraid and settling
Scared to not get that home cooked meal right
But here is the thing about a slow cooked meal
You get time to reverse your mistakes
You get to soak some things in
And the warmth it gives you
Surpasses all your desires to be right and perfect
Allowing you to just surrender into what is
Giving you understanding that the bitter complements the sweet
That it is just as necessary.
So I want to have fought with you before we had ***
And when we do get there
I want to break upon each other
Because we are practicing letting go
I want to know what happens when you blackout drink
And I liking knowing how you kiss other girls
I hope you know how I am when I am thirsty
I want you to know what it looks like when I am careless
And how it goes when I pick myself back up
I need to know the exact flushing shade of your shame
I want you to know how I hide mine
I want to know what it is to doubt you
I would also like to know what it is to forgive you
Or for you to have to forgive me
I don't want you in the bar bathroom
I don't want to be bent over holding the wall up with eyes closed
I wanted to be so deep in your eyes that it truly feels like we are one
I want you in my bed
Completely naked, physically and emotionally
With sunlight pouring through the window
I don't want to be ******* for an ******
I want to meander and explore and be fascinated
I want to be so in tune with you that when you opened yourself to me
I get to appreciate every beautiful
and even ugly molecule of it.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
The soft edges of femininity,
Round, ******* complements,
Heels, ***** of the feet, sockets,
Soft eyes, soft hearts, soft hands
Tinkering, thanking, crossing, legs.
Girlhood is enclosed in a silver box
With mute pastels and a heavy soundtrack of strings,
Strings which bifurcate, dissect, divulge,
Horrors, bells, instruments and lush melodies.
Girlhood smells of iron, hot animals, heaving,
Converging, pin ****** the sharp alacrity of Knowing.
Eyes are wet, armpits go black , round edges
Protrude into a potbelly, grow and stagnate,
expand and collapse.
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC
At first I only saw you
You, your brown hair,
your acne covered tan face,
your smile
just as it was
Then more of your personality started to show
and I fell in love you
Your silliness,
your sense of humor,
your sense of fun
But then your image changed to me
I didn't just see you
your smile
your hair
or your face
I saw someone extraordinary
the cutest smile
acne that complements beautiful skin
adorable curly brown hair
But then you said you didn't like me
And that destroys me
but i can't stop loving you
G o d , s t o p l o v i n g h i m
j.b
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
An emporium full of visual delights, moonbeams bounce and dance, around a pitted cloud clear site.
A shooting star shining, a whooshing sound if heard, lights the sky as it blazes bright, starting in the east, accelerating, disappearing out of pleasured sight.
Stars blaze illuminating dark, the galaxy forming its magical map of horoscopes in this glorious orb, Its North Star guidance for some who navigate upon our planet earth be it on land air or under the sea, a million or more miles the distance should we achieve the ability to or want to go see up close these glowing planets of rock, gas and ore.
Dying stars growing in their brightness, as if, a last attempt of holding life,
Glowing brighter than before their internal charges disperse, fading no longer able to ignite.
Dancing colours in the north and south, painted great abstracts wide and far,
Hues of fusing reds oranges yellows greens across dark blue,
Spectacular moments for those with time to sit, observe and view, these magical electrically charged special dancing hues.
Reflections distorting down below, hues shading, appearing blushed as oceans gush and light rides upon a moonlit magnetic heaving tide, a tide awaiting, a stage set for two
Only you can see the magic being created in front of misted, barely woken if open eyes,
Only you can see the rising spirits coming up to play upon the core of sphere,
Under the kaleidoscope twinkling melee filled bustling sea and sky.
Rise up, a beckon, a call to you, come join this light filled orb of invisible tunes,
Where a piano plays a serenade and the orchestra complements with
Soft sounds of Trombones, cello’s, violins, tuba’s, drums and flutes
A tempo set to sweep excited people off their seat and on into their dancing shoes
Rise up in your sparkly dancing dress and shoes for you are floating Imagination growing with every timeless move
Twinkling stars blinking approval, reflections in the agreeing tide as it ebbs and flows.
Rise up, move, dance, sway, step and jump to those imaginary magical tunes
A prince of darkness, a dreaming queen
A loving scene, a glory electrically charged night time dancing dream.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
*So we often look for a love that will supplement us.
Don't!
I hope you find a love that complements you.
Adores you.
Respects you.
I hope you grow to realise that only Jesus Christ can supplement us.
He will complete us and make us whole.
So I hope you find a love that complements you.
Complements every bit and part of the imperfect you.*
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
The rain keeps falling
As dry as a drought.
“ *Rain drops heavier than water,
When it’s laden with doubt.* “
He said,
“ *The ground simply can’t hold it
… So it must go without.* “
*” You’ve never known water to stain,
But you’ve never felt this kind of rain.
It’s thicker than your skin.
It stains your clothes and what’s within.
It sounds like hammers as it pounds -
And yet, the ground won’t let it in.
So it flows like a river that only gets bigger;
It runs like a force that knows no remorse.
Despite endless efforts to stop it -
It still runs like a faucet…
With nowhere to drain. "*
But if the ground holds no plants, is the water so vital?
Is the rain’s sole purpose this lifeless recital?
The ground stays so strong.
It holds fast, like pure stone
But can one stay so long when one’s so alone?
When one is forced to move,
Will the ground or the rain?
And when the first one has gone,
Will the other remain?
For now, they coexist,
Each facing a challenge it can’t resist -
Both unstoppable and immovable,
They hopelessly persist.
As complements, they combine
With the product of a flood.
But the water that’s collecting
Has the consistency of blood.
There’s a heart behind this water.
It pulses, instead of flowing.
So you turn to the only man you know,
for parting words with danger growing.
And he says, as you leave:
“ *I wish you luck where you are going.
My son, you’ve only seen the rain . . .
. . . The winds are not yet blowing*.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
I’ve memorized my ceiling.
Every unruly pattern
embroidered to the plaster,
ugly and confusing
constellations in the shadows.
My fatigued brain can no longer
differentiate between dust motes and sunlight.
I want to destroy something beautiful.
Some things need to be
written between heartbeats.
To appreciate nostalgia
you must forget it comes
in soul crushing waves.
I want to sleep for a hundred years
arms of silence winding around my head.
My fingers are slow to curl,
every limb weighs me down.
I’m faced with a puzzle
What is origami.
Where can I burn paper cranes.
A relaxed *** of tea complements
the tide that inhales the sand and
all the possibilities
that come with blackberry brambles.
Something about blue
makes you fall in love with the sky.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
You lit my way to this place I never thought I could glint.
When I got cold feet, you're all thumbs; giving me a lift.
You let malaise rotate 180 degrees,
Which turned into thousands of exuberant stories.
I was perturbed when the lights dimmed.
Wanted to go on your way but it is winding.
Determined hands tried to reach,
Throat was screeching but your ears were stitched.
Can't define what you have-
Complements the colors of my well-being;
Spur this mettle and ebb away tides
Albeit you're deadpan at times.
Why can't I ***** out and snuggle somewhere without you?
Maybe the reason is Y.O.U.
11-04-11
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 5:00 AM UTC
In another life, I was born a painter.
Gliding colors over canvas to imitate emotion.
Stepping back and marveling at the impressionism or the modernism or the realism of what I just created.
And people could look and gawk
and give gracious complements.
In another life, I was born a dancer.
Helplessly allowing melodies to transfuse my blood and move my limbs the way ocean waves move water.
Elegance in my bones, loveliness in my tendons, beauty in my ligaments.
Boys would leap toward me
and I would jeté toward them or grand jeté away from them.
In another life, I was born a singer.
A voice of gold and diamonds
that people love to eat
and bathe in.
Like summer sunlight in the springtime,
snow on December 25th.
Things people love to experience.
But, in this life, I was born a writer
so I live with what I must.
And I'll paint with my words-
give them color and life and realism, with just a hint of impressionism.
And I'll make my words dance-
across white pages, dressed in black, the smell of sweat and blood soaked within their skin.
And I'll make my words sing-
sing the ballad of my heart and the ballad of my mind and, maybe, even the ballad of the world.
Words are not inadequacy,
even in a world of painters, dancers, and singers.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 1:39 PM UTC
When good hot tea
Encountered cream;
When passioned truth
Met passioned dream;
When all the sky
Met all the sea...
And I met Katie;
She met me.
When good fried fish
First met with chips;
When longing lips
Encountered lips;
When squirrel once
Met silver fir...
Katie met me.
I met her.
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 5:49 PM UTC
Your slim figure & stylish cloths,
complement your feminine & **** figure.
The white of your big brown eyes,
complement your pretty white smile.
The fullness of your shiny red lips,
complement your long black & silky hair.
Your long eye lashes & darkened thinned brows,
complement your beautiful skin.
Your soft & ***** voice,
complements your hypnotic .
My heart yearns to save you.
I worry for your very life.
Your perfectly manicured fingernails,
disfigured by the burning, smokey cigarette.
The order of on your cloths & breath
distracts from your flowery perfume.
Your shortness of breath,
accentuates your asthmatic conditions.
Your strong & intermittent coughing.
worsens by your addictive habit.
Your persistent & consistent.
Slowly deteriorating your body from within.
Why can't you stop?
After many visits to the emergency room,
Why can't you stop?
It doesn't make sense!
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
My hair and I don't talk anymore.
It's really quite sad because we were quite insightful together.
But now, the long mop is growing awry.
He no longer complements me.
He's made a mockery of my style.
My hair, I can safely say, hates me.
We tried counseling at the nearby parlor,
The counselor goes by the name of the barber.
he chopped at the problems and tried to make things right.
But the difference grew right back.
My hair's indifference to me is blinding.
I mean, I literally can't see!
We decided it was time to spice things up.
Bring back some excitement. By bringing another in the equation.
The gel, our saviour. The hero of our time.
This ********* was love unlike any other kind.
The moral of this story, is still a bit hairy.
Sort of like why beauty fell for the beast.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
My Whippet gone,
now dust once again.
I've given him back,
from whence he came.
To run again
in cosmic fields,
waiting to be born.
*Shanzi is a syllabic poem in seven lines 4/5 5/4 4/4/5
Unrhymed
Lines 1 and 2 INTRODUCE the SUBJECT
Lines 3 and 4 AMPLIFY what is affected by the image/subject.
Line 5 thru 7 Focus on NEW SUBJECT that complements and provides a meditative conclusion.
Shanzi may be Titled
Harrogate, TN November, 2014*
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC