"suppleness" poems
It was you, Atthis, who said
"Sappho, if you will not get
up and let us look at you
I shall never love you again!
"Get up, unleash your suppleness,
lift off your Chian nightdress
and, like a lily leaning into
"a spring, bathe in the water.
Cleis is bringing your best
purple frock and the yellow
"tunic down from the clothes chest;
you will have a cloak thrown over
you and flowers crowning your hair...
"Praxinoa, my child, will you please
roast nuts for our breakfast? One
of the gods is being good to us:
"today we are going at last
into Mitylene, our favorite
city, with Sappho, loveliest
"of its women; she will walk
among us like a mother with
all her daughters around her
"when she comes home from exile..."
But you forget everything
3.5k
You have worn your skin
and never asked where it would end.
In rooms made larger by the Old Masters,
your spine also has learned to bend.
The stalk resides inside of you, the joist
fanning through you with the suppleness
of a willow bough.
Don't you know?
The last ink of the day is written with a green pen.
Jul 5, 2011
Jul 5, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
dear spider of the blue depths,
i fell for your suppleness;
forgive my inability to reciprocate,
your eight pronged embrace.
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 7:08 PM UTC
The soft machine is my body, said Sonia, it gives pleasure to men. I sit in my bath, rinse away the touch and feel of them, while in the other room Dimello lies upon my bed, gazing up at the ceiling, smoking his fat cigar, singing between puffs some song he thinks I like, some verses he’s remembered from some former times. Mi máquina suave, he calls me, his soft machine, supple, malleable machine. He knows little of me; his mind is of lower things, of orifices and ******* of ***** drugs and ***** deeds. He knows nothing of my needs, my little wants and desires. I lay back in my bath, let the water soothe me, my ******* sit upon the water’s skin like dolphins about to skim the waves, but these just sit and wait, two small whales, my fingers touching them as if some lover had felt and loved. Sometimes I embrace this soft machine, my hands around me as if some secret lover held me close, or I kiss my arms with my soft lips, mocking Dimello with his damp thick lips, his ***** breath in my ears, his words like pinpricks on my flesh. Besaré la máquina suave, he says, I will kiss the soft machine, he repeats, his smile oily, his eyes dark as prunes. Last night he made love to me, his body like some pounding shark, his teeth nibbling my flesh, his fingers entering, feeling their way in the dark, his coarse voice mumbling his words of lust and love. My uncle loved this soft machine, he would tickle and touch in the summer days when I stayed for the holidays when my parents were away on their business trips abroad in other climes in my childhood times. Nuestro secreto, Uncle said, our secret, none must know, he would whisper, his hands seeking smooth my flesh, to soothe my troubled mind and me. The water in my bath grows cold; I hear Dimello singing from the other room, his head on my pillow, his cigar smoke invading my space. I arise from my bath; look at my soft machine, my body, with its suppleness, its litheness, its agility. I know each inch of this machine, feel it with my finger’s touch, hold it in embrace, kiss it with a self-love, a tenderness lacking in other’s touch. Dimello calls, his patience lacking, his lust returned. Apresure mi máquina suave, he calls, hurry, my soft machine, my body awaits your return, he says. I want him gone, want his body from my bed and home. He does not love as I wish to be loved, his love is of a lower kind, his wants and lusts feel me with dread. I look out of the window and see the morning sun, see the day coming with its freshness blooming, the birds singing from some nearby trees, and Dimello singing like some strangled cat, his voice echoing through the walls of my one roomed flat and lowering my lips I blow a kiss to the birds in flight trying to forget Dimello and his lustful night.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
Can the skin of my lips touch again the soft suppleness of yours?
I like the euphoria that races down my spine and spreads through me like fever;
Weak and lightheaded, I am painfully vulnerable to its effect.
Giddy like a child to know you feel it too as we linger pressed together.
Can we meld again our faces and make our tongues dance?
I crave the taste of the mint that still haunts your house;
With eyes closed, I greet the endorphins with playful giggles.
Your hands clasped in mine, we brace for the onslaught of our zeal.
Can we again have our souls collide within the envelope of our breaths?
I long for the dizzy heights aloft of my infinite love of you;
Your arms around my neck forcing my head to meet yours with haste.
My hands cradling your backside, drawing our bodies yet closer together.
Can we repeat again the wordless speech, the slow mind coition?
I fancy my heart a metronome escalating a beat in syncope with your own.
A little nibble, a teasing bite, a nosh if you will, as if your silk lined set were food stuffs with gravy.
I suckle the lower lip as if it were an areolar protuberance feeding my infantile psyche.
Can I again passionately conjoin your mouth with mine, and hold you there in my thoughts?
Can I dare evoke the feelings I so wholeheartedly embrace, and return them to you with fervor?
Can we share each other in spontaneity as a hello or goodbye, again my love forever?
Please...!
Can I kiss you again?
-----ChawzzyScript
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
spelling backwards through time,
stroke by blurry stroke
a maiden's coal-black hair regales
the flattery from her lips... and so the doom
-- and boon of a crimson warrior's arm --
was drawn from speech a flame,
and kindled mind to burn away for lust,
one speaker fed and doubly fraught
by goddess's
invention brought
to give away his name and trust,
for doppelgangers' games
and beauty
to consent~
that trollish abysm our aching selfhood
deems unworthy, war can celebrate:
iconic genius symbol may encourage,
it may remembrance windows of our history~
but only breath, and inner sight so keen
on solid strength of living fact
can triumph in the plain!
some semblance of an older wisdom
strains to orate still, and lust itself afar,
but brawn and tested fibrous body build
must turn the page of time;
and this, to know the truth withstood
that vision
of a perfect youth
forever,
one start and line without an end,
a floating dance of pulling under waves
that never waves as being surely does
like no ancient-honest country-prophet ever saw--
thus, remnants of the wisdom from a fallen mind;
and so he fell to her and had not her for long...
she had a wider window, immortal panes,
this temptress
suppleness of limb to shock
and shake the bones of foolish learning,
that thinks itself imbued with everlasting fame.
it was a mossy light
of eyelash shine
and sheen
to woo
the wisdom out,
electric sense to lure the hapless sap
into a brutish trap: to learn alone the
atheletes pathos, relearn the heart-race
from a chest of seemless vigour,
from lungs of endless winds
and legs of trunkish growth the
channels and the prism of an empty skull
instead of learned ships and foolish mimes of finer times--
he does the bidding of her will.
.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
You came to me, sat facing me
Not knowing one another
Trust hovering waiting to be earned
Stem straight backed with suppleness trampled
Vulnerability would not escape
Your bud delicate, yet tightly closed
Time favoured us with consistency
Week upon week we met
Tracing the weave of your emotion
Winding through tangled threads
Tears buckled up and fastened
Your well was empty
Warmth began, seeping into us
Cushioning your jagged edges of pain
Tears pooled and slithered silently
Your lips their channel to taste
The salty trickle, identifying
The gradual thawing of your soul
It quenched your parched heart
Nourishing its wounds, opening up
To tender shoots growing, searching out
The warm back of the sun
Melting your resistance to change
Rallying you with self discovery
Fresh strands of hope poked
Into daylight asking for direction
Roots began to soak up, trusting
The food of life, reaching for air
With the breath of self acceptance
And the prize of freedom blossoming
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
I do not understand Pordon when she says
your love makes her “tremble with me
in paralyzing pauses,” nor do I understand
Cummings when the texture of your fragility “compels me
with the colour of its countries.”
Too often poets confuse some high,
a drug-induced elation, with a testament
of love. But it is not some contrived intoxication
that makes me see your beauty as divine
or your voice as some thrill to be craved.
Your touch does not electrify my skin or send me
into the light-headed ecstasy of a common drunk.
But the simple warmth of your center, the smooth suppleness
of each padded fingertip does elicit euphoria in me because it is you,
my earthly lover, who possesses them, and in so possesses me.
Your kiss does not make time speed
through the highways of my mind like
an amphetamine, blurring physics into philosophy.
Rather, your mouth points out the geometric precision
of time compared to the fluidity in
the organic bow of your bottom lip.
I am not addicted to your glances like some aesthetic ******
because your gaze does not make my heart race
like the hummingbird pace of someone needing a hit
of your rainbow-prismed eye. Instead, it is the complex brown,
turned honey in the sunlight, that stills my heart
whenever you turn from me, because it is that familiar liquid tint
that I love more than any other.
And the sight of you does not commit me to profound
epiphanies on politics or sociology, because, I admit,
you are my favorite distraction, and I prefer looking at you
to some wild hallucination, since I am struck momentarily dumb
by the weighty power of your sudden presence,
left in myopic gratitude until you leave again.
So understand, dear reader, that it was not some chemical
fixation that bound Petrarch to Laura or Dante to Beatrice,
but rather the arresting truth that the million colors poured out
by the sun, the duck fluff softness of the rowdy dogs at your feet,
and the explosive, joyous giggles of the neighborhood children
will continue to exist in heart-breaking beauty tomorrow.
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 4:36 PM UTC
In unconventional form my thoughts are not restrained,
nor is my curious charm, for neither shalt be tamed,
and those unchained thoughts fairer are
when incongruently arranged; and wilt be perceived by
sights power and the apprehension gained.
Therefore, against all burden I resist, and readily carry the
suppleness of my worthy bearing
-here where I literally speak no words in a
wordplay tryst unerring.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
I envy you
your suppleness of body
tuned muscular perfection
poised between
a creature of land
and a creature of water
shimmering with almost naked
beauty, you dive a perfect ten
into my imagination
Aug 8, 2022
Aug 8, 2022 at 7:56 PM UTC
Educate our hearts before we speak our minds.
For it is we who keep our shadow company,
not our shadow ours.
I try to catch the latest news,
Lest otherwise,
I become rolled over by it.
And I heard the hiss
Of venomous spinners,
“We must arm ourselves to the teeth...
**** them all! Bomb them all!”
Such comely pundits,
coated in makeup and gloss,
to read incendiary scripts from teleprompters,
to incite and heap bricks of lead
to tip their side of the scales of Justice.
Smoke speaks before fire,
then soon after comes the flame,
and then the wind of sentiment
to fan the inferno.
But who will speak low and soft of love?
Where are the healing eyes
and empathetic ears of poets past
who dipped their feather pens in compassion
and caressed messages, as
balms for our wounds?
Why do we taint the inherent scripture of mankind
with rhetoric and reaction
by those who seek to study the chaff
and not the wheat of a communal harvest?
Our great leaders have gone softly
into their nights…
battle weary
and brittle by war.
So if a bomb explodes at the Café I plan to visit today –
who will avenge my death
and who to see to the seeds I'd sewn
for compassion and peace?
Pray not these men and women on prime media payroll
and those of privileged wealth
and inherited power
who climb the backs of soft singing nightingales
to cackle the message of crows.
I’m none of these.
I was born of the womb,
and crawled to a walk, and thereon
through forests, and mountains, and shores,
shared with all things visible.
My heart rises and falls and races with beauty
and aches with darkness.
I fade, feeling the color run from my hair
and the suppleness of my skin
to dry and wither.
I watch my children quiver
like green leaves on the lithe limbs of youth –
fearing their fall,
but adoring their verdant energy.
All man is by nature equal
before the rise of knowledge –
and as the kingdom rises within each human being,
who will he take for a sage
and who for a fool?
Lo' we must focus the light in our hearts
before we speak from our darkening minds.
For it is we who keep our shadow company,
not our shadow ours.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
Will you be loving me ‘til time is naught?
Your fingers only know of suppleness,
will they not flinch to touch skin wrinkle-fraught?
My beauty withers, cup reached emptiness…
Your love has set my heart aglow, renewed
‘tis ev’rytime your words lave over me...
Like soothing rain on desert sand subdued,
I soak it in, drunk for eternity
Do forgive me, for ever doubting you,
this pain has ravaged me, yet you’re still here.
‘Tis I you love, this I now know so true,
please stay with me, for death creeps in so near
Let saccharine lips meet for one last time
The windows close now, yet leave love sublime
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 4:39 AM UTC
Her expectant cordiality locked her away from you.
Where she looked
finches blossomed from the aisles.
His cigarette **** errantry froze him before you.
Where he looked
children dispersed like smoke.
Her gloved discernment hid her suppleness
like a moon in passing,
she had only to reveal a wrist.
His improvisation boredom fended off the breeze.
Where he looked
there were no women left on earth.
*
And on all these passersby,
as when one holds steady the barrel of a gun,
I have steadied my gaze.
And it is for you to know that weight.
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 7:03 PM UTC
Shine
Upholds
Pristine bliss
Pairs us so close
Love begins to croon
Even trees and birds dance
Nature and you when so close
Every thing else become footloose
Sweetness brings lingering peace to soul
Shine upholds pristine bliss, pairs us so close
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
His lips are plump and magenta like raspberries.
They require a certain delicacy when being kissed,
So the one kissing them can feel the suppleness of the skin;
And instill enough trust in him that he opens them like a tulip with the morning sun . . .
So the one kissing them can taste the Nectar of the Gods.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
An imbecile
Knows their limitations
Often
As a cantor
Of the ancient rites.
i have
Released
No spells
In the measures
And cuffs
Of my simple suppleness.
Once i whispered a chant
And as a result
A family
Of sparrows took
Up a nest
In my unartful throat.
Throat singing--
My ears
No longer hear
The notes
Of the stars.
Only
My heart
Is luminous
With the beats
With the chirps
Of those beings
Who disturb our sleep
With simple sublimity,
Of inward infinities
Of words.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
Lovers Dream World - a Villanelle
Katie could put her feet behind her head
Or do a grand plié, position two,
Her suppleness magnificent in bed.
I strained my lower back, and Katie bled,
Only a little, doing what we could do
When Katie tucked her feet behind her head.
Her torso was a C-cup'd figurehead,
Wearing below its navel a tattoo
That writhed in suppleness upon the bed.
As love led on to love, love's goddess said,
"No lovers ever ****** as ****** these two!
Katie could put her feet behind her head!"
When Katie came she never stopped. Instead,
She came, cried "God!," and came, this dancer who
Brought ballerina suppleness to bed.
She curled her legs around my neck, which led
To depths unplumbed by lovers hitherto.
Katie could tuck her feet behind her head
And by her suppleness unmake the bed.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
I remember when you told me
you'd always
be there and comfort me.
regardless of words
actions always spoke louder
and it was apparent
that your hormonal needs
were far more important
than my emotional needs.
do you realize that broke us?
everything that we stood for
diminished the moment you said
"I love you"
because naivety and suppleness
took over my body
like a demon
and told me to be sure of the words
we spoke to eachother.
little did we know, it broke us
and I'm glad.
because it was all a lie
and all you wanted was intimate "love"
that I refused to give you.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
As you entered the room
stirring air with suppleness of walk
waking up the stillness with jingles of cymbals
making curtains dance to the sound of bangles
aroma wafted into air from canvas and copybooks
my paintbrush grew restless
and pen became enraptured
my eyes, hands and other parts
became electrified.
My heart spread rainbow in the room
like colours of youth and
lilts of life's melodies.
You who are sitting before me
have the power to
change my consciousness
into painting, poem, melody
or anything else!
I know you'll speak no truth at this time.
I've to be guided
solely by your silence, your eyes and
the inaudible appeals of your heart.
I've to settle before I lose the presence of mind-
whether I should use brush or pen
or my eyes, hands or something else
and create a unique
composition
all in you.
-०-
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 6:16 AM UTC
as haunting
as the rigidness of your back
or suppleness of where that straight line leads
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 6:14 PM UTC
watching her black
dress lying gently
-so that I can just make
out her ***
if I stare
or pull it over-her
head gets stuck-
as she wiggles
every dance
done at Spring festival - by
harvest fire
that first awakened young boys
to her calling
them to manhood
door ajar
that first peek
held there in bright
film noir
holding
her like Humphrey
Bogart -
15 years later
a promise of Summer in
late August
drug her down
into the open earth
ran her down
hands feasting on suppleness
captured nymphs
sink ships
wrecked upon
loose lips-
wrapt-
lashed
to tortured mast
lower-lip bite
cigarette drag
skirt pull-twist
caress of the inner-thigh
those *********
**** me" eyes
- cut my neck -
the blood drains
from my mind
she is God
i am devil
wrapt up
in cosmic struggle
snake skin oil
rub cool
coil
my hands
twist - roll -
caress
finger-tips
lips
rattlesnake - she bit -
fell upon my
shoulder winking at
existence
-
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 5:27 AM UTC
You, my love, are the fleur-de-lis.
The offspring of innocence
The embodiment of purity
Silk are your eyes
For they look on with such suppleness
The lustre of your soul is reflected through those windows
Fair is your heart
For it reverberates much passion
Much tenderness; much hope
It loves profound
With the suave movements of your heartbeat
Another tender petal falls
A touch softer than a summer's evening breeze
Warmer than early morning's first rays
More comforting than a new-born's first motherly embrace
A touch more hauntingly beautiful than nature's grace
Une petite fleur, merveilleuse et vraie
Fragrance of divinity
Simplistic beauty
Constantly blooming; forever beguiling
You, my darling, are the fleur-de-lis.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
Beauty hides from itself
seeking shelter from the doubts
even as the world attests
splendor stated in the flesh
goddess walking in plain sight
this glory is granted to the few
is bequeathed without regard
to acknowledgment repaid in turn
a waking dream of loveliness
enough to launch a thousand ships
disregarded by the one
directing fantasies of the heart
sham daydreams evoked by curves
lines conflating with desires
suppleness leads the urge
to recognize comeliness
ruby lips deny the claim
to the body that puts to shame
the vast majority of their kind
only fair in contrast
this belle exclaimed by the crowd
I’ll lend my voice to the cry
the reluctant may forget
perhaps they’ll recall through this poem.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180916.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC