Best Complimented Poems
I seen the potential in you when they didn't, I knew what you were capable of, I envisioned you as a queen, helped you to realize your worth when you were blind to it and inclined your self esteem, complimented your beauty and motivated you to complete your goals, dreams to acknowledge your pain and did my best to not treat you the same as they had done, showed you the true definition of a gentleman, and let you witness a one of a kind love, I was there when no one else was, others would turn their back, not me, I never gave up, because I believed in you the most, I felt as if you were still trying to grow and be better even after all that you been through, so I never lost hope, a cheerleader, me, minus the skirt, It was all about you, I told you that time after time, but I must admit I'm proud of how far you've come and what you've accomplished, you won the race that many don't even attempt. The fear of failure gets the best of them, although now it seems as if I am no longer a part of your team, someone else is now the MVP, but you go girl you keep on going, I knew you could do it my support stops for nothing, and I appreciate the opportunity you have given me, peace, love and God bless... Oh, and thanks for leaving me behind!
spring walked the red carpet dressed in a suit
of blossoming colors that released a delicate inviting fragrance.
summer followed in a scorching hot vibrant green piece
accentuated in bright yellow gold.
autumn showed up in antique shades of reds and orange.
a striking shawl dropped beneath her shoulders.
winter was the last to arrive and appeared in a pure white evening gown.
each and every sequence unique and separately sewn in.
as each season complimented the red carpet
all life showed up to marvel.
Sponsor: Rick Parise
Contest Name: Any Poem 12- line MAX
Daughter of the King
Young woman.....
You are
First and foremost and always
A daughter of the King....
Molded and created with
delicate architecture and
infused with notes of mystery
and beauty,
Fiery passions and gifts that
slowly unfold
Like a flowers petals opening in
due season
With the right amount of
sunshine and rain
You bring vibrancy and color
like lilies to a valley.
You are a daughter of the King
Designed with the remarkable
ability to give birth to life
A life that is every part you,
every part of a man, and every
part a unique creation
You are a daughter of the King
Designed to shine and bring joy
Your strengths to compliment
and your weaknesses to be
complimented
You are not an accident
You are not your past mistakes
You are not cell tissue
You are not what people may
have called you
Labels they have contrived
Or grave abuses you have
survived
Your name is not Stupid, ****,
Good for Nothing, Prude,
Pathetic, or Weird
It is not Loser, Lunatic,
Incompetent , or Waste of Time
It isn't Drama Queen,
Desperate, or "be seen but not
heard",
Your name is Fearfully and
Wonderfully made
Though
You may feel lonely at times
You're not Forever Alone
Because you are Never Alone
You may feel weak at times
But you are not your
achievements or your failures
You Are
A daughter of the King
You do not need to hide the
delicacy of your femininity
behind callous walls of
protection
The King will watch over His
kingdom
And He will fiercely defend and
provide just what you need
He knows every hair on your
head, every desire and every
dread
He knows and sees every tear,
every frustrating sigh, and
smiles at every victory.
You are a daughter of the King.
You are beautifully and
intricately woven by the same
hands that put the atoms and
the universe in perfect order...
You are the apple of the
Creators eye
Never duplicated
Though some may try
Failing to see
That they too are carved in
uniqueness.
You are in this world
But not bound by it
Given wings to take flight
To soar among the heavens
From where your essence was
breathed from
You are
A daughter of the King
She was like Bordeaux,
a tall drink of spirit
He was more a hopped
pale lager like Pilsner,
both gorgeous and
super gingered flavors,
although clashing mid
respective savored aplomb,
one so refined the other
rowdy after hours,
yet they complimented
each other in the way
they blended their
drunken demeanors,
intoxicated by mere
existence of nature's
essential complexities
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
But only elegant people can have beauty in their eyes
Only great people can compliment another
And bad ones see with eyes that is sly
Trying to judge using their own ways on others
Seeing not any compliment no matter how you try
But nice ones have eyes that see further
Knowing what the empty page implies
When complimented, know the complimenter is excellent too
Because he's seen through the hue
She's left the spoilt and picked the good
Only a thieve can predict a thieve
Clothiers best know the quality sleeves
And only weavers see through the best weaves
Scorpions never compliment but sting
Empty barrels only tink
But lovely people give you wings
thanks to Dalia for the inspiration...
She plunks down a plate of egg rolls
Man, oh man, do these greasy pieces of heaven take tolls
On my heart, dear Mama
Shows me love with food piled on tables that never end
Iced tea, Pho, spaghetti, rice and pork chops
Sternly setting bowls down in front of you and encouragin’
To take pieces of buttery garlic bread and mop it up
Love, bestowed upon us in showers of peppered chicken
Spending hours in the kitchen
To prove some affection
In saucers of soy sauce and dumplings that went on for miles
She’d put adoration in soup, spicy reflections
Of passionate motherly love
Mama, she never smiled
Unless someone complimented her style, the swagger
Of her intimate cooking skills, the way she swung her dagger
Of specialties, killing hunger, cravings
All her meals ending with ravings
Of the best kind
Scraped knees and broken hearts are cured with warm chocolate cake, suede
Smooth, mending them better then when they were made
Mama shows fondness through ice cream and steak
Warm dinner plates
Her “I Love You” was a big portion of lasagna
Nobody says “I Love You” better then my Mama
My favorite Poetry Soup poet, the most honorable L Milton Hankins
His avatar is predominately on the home page, he’s the big tamale
Obey grammar rules and suggestions or you’ll get written spankins
No matter who you are, or where you’re from, the U.S.A. or Somali
A great mentor; informs us about syntax, if you know how to spell well
“Addicted to unnecessary words” superfluous on any subject, in all forms
“Sasquatch” to stirring “Apple Butter” renowned for his fav—the villanelle
Painting lovely scenes in the City of Lights “Christmas at Paris” he adorns
Says it’s so nice to be complimented, it always makes his innards squirm
Distracted by a miserable bully, while enjoying his time here at the Soup
I only get three stanzas, otherwise an essay I’d write like for a mid-term
Or I’d tell you more of the poetess dishing out nasty like a nincompoop!
Have you ever tried at something
And failed
Have you ever not tried at something
And really prevailed
Have you ever not listened
When listening was a must
Have you ever been all ears
When the conversation was all gossip
Have you ever ran
When you should have walked
Have you ever been quiet
When you should have talked
Have you ever laughed
When you should have cried
Have you ever given up
When you really should have tried
Have you ever sat
When you should have stood
Have you ever been bad
When you should have been good
Have you ever been alone
When you should have been with another
Have you ever criticized
When you should have complimented your brother
Have you ever said something
And wished you could take it back
Have you ever listened to rumors
And did not realize they were not a fact
Have you ever left
When you should have stayed
Have you ever been lazy
When you should have prayed
Have you ever tried to prove you were right
When you knew you were wrong
Have you ever been weak
When you should have been strong
Have you ever needed a friend
And no one was there
Have you ever not been a friend
When someone needed you to listen
While their problems they shared
Have you ever been funny
When you should have been serious
Have you ever been predictable
When you should have been mysterious
Stop and think
We have all been there at some time or another
And we have all experienced
“have –you-ever”
By: charlene solitario
March 1998
I remember the days when I was small,
obedient and too young to be alone at a mall
Mama would let me go out and play,
with my bare feet on the sand; building shapes with the clay
All day long it would be the same ,
but it all changed when Sunday came...
The comfortable sandals converted to buckled shoes,
that definitely did not reveal my toes
My bright coloured shorts replaced by a white dress,
Oh. My mother dearest forbade me to mess
Then there were those navy blue tights,
itchy, hot and I couldn't put up a fight
Mama would fetch her hat, all decorated with sequins and lace,
she thought it complimented her feminine face.
Baba would stay comfortable on the couch,
while off she went to fetch her pouch
When we arrived, there they all were identical in their Sunday-gear,
hugs and handshakes were exchanged everywhere,
then the service would start with its exciting atmosphere.
What I remember most, was when we got home,
Greens, oranges, reds and rice
But my favourite was always that roast chicken with lots of spice!
What is woman to you?
A womb with legs to bare your children?
Perhaps, a second mother to nurture you?
Sick, vile man.
You have corrupted me so much.
I wish to be free of anything womanly to you.
I shall remove the breasts which tender to child
And remove the greatest sin to exist: my womanhood.
I shall tear from me, my womb which makes me mother.
For I have no intent on giving myself to you.
I shall burn my face with acid and gouge out the eyes you call pretty.
What else remains, but the deformed remains of woman?
What else must I remove to stop being woman?
These smooth locks of hair, sit too idly on my head,
Perhaps removing them will make me un-woman.
Ill remove all curves and bumps known to make me female.
For I don’t wish to be touched by you.
I don’t wish to be complimented under the pretense of lust.
I would rather burn in the pits of hell, for you disgust me more.
Even Satan’s vile tongue seems sweeter,
And god’s love seems gone.
My sweet little hands are deliciously pretty today.
I looked down and I complimented them in a big way.
They laughed, giggled, tittered and twirled, so decidedly gay.
Glad of my admiration, thrilled with a little love, they play.
I wish I would do this more often. It really would pay.
They deserve so much more than they get each day.
They give all day long. I admire them in every way.
I may have a parade in their honor at two; can you stay?
In my day, the mail carrier was called the Mailman.
However, I don't recall any women choosing the profession.
He came to our house twice a day.
Once in the morning,
And once in the afternoon.
Time went slower then
and he had time.
He could deliver the mail
and talk to us kids a while too.
Once when he came by
we were playing mumbly-peg.
He asked what we were doing
and we showed him.
He got out his own knife
Balanced it on his finger
and ka chunk, it stuck expertly the first time.
His blade stuck in the ground every time.
Mine came a little too close to my toes
but stuck. He complimented the risky landing
then folded up his knife and put it back
in the mail bag draped over his shoulder.
The leather, old and very worn
gave way on the edge where he reached in
for the letter that needed to be delivered next door.
Leaning into the weight of the bag,
he was on his way.
I opened up the daily yesterday
and turned to the obituary page.
A friend of mine looked back at me from there.
He'd died at ninety years and one of age.
I cried out with surprise and wondering.
How can this world survive if he is gone?
Capsuled was his life in a few columns.
"How can this be?" I ask, as I read on.
He'd lived his whole life in this small valley,
except when he was stationed in Japan,
during oft forgot war of Korea,
in battles never mentioned by the man.
We met when we worked at the county fair.
He was the manager and I a clerk.
He always treated me as his equal
and complimented me on my fine work.
Until retirement he was a banker
and in that role met everyone in town.
Without good reason none were sent away
and there were very few that he turned down.
For seventy-five years a Grange member
and served that time in all capacities.
An usher in his church for forty years,
he lived his life the loving Lord to please.
He even owned a small menagerie
and welcomed throngs of children to his place.
I know that God will have big jobs for him
as he arrives with smile upon his face.
Iambic Pentameter
Under the wrought iron arch and gateway
crawling with both wild and deep red creepers
complimented by evergreens.
The fall colors are splendid.
Most of the flowers are giving way
to the chill, and the swans are graceful and content
with the breeding season now over
Walking slowly along the narrow drive,
spots of color scatter around the green grass.
What beautiful yards,
each house made of stone,
granite - marble - sandstone.
The foundation of the earth
Dark stone black, pink, white, gray, burnt umber, rose
beautiful houses inviting you closer,
please see my name.
I was here many years ago.
Cholera came to me and took my spirit away.
But I was pretty and young and full of joy.
For a little while.
Old stones to the early 1800's.
Stones with angels guarding a lamb
baby tears fall, in time giving the stone soft edges.
One from yesterday.
Come see me in my house. Mausoleum strong and tall.
Handsome and successful.
Each as individual in death as their homes and places were in life.
Over here, I fought for my country. Me and all my buddies here,
laid out under each of these many white crosses.
Hello, don’t forget my free spirit ... riding high over the houses
touring where ever the wind wishes.
Swirling fine invisible ashes through the trees
sparkling in the late closing sun.
A town’s history. Natural, tragic, sickness, murder ... all here
The history wraps around the casual visitor.
Keening out not to be forgotten.
Calling, we were important pioneers.
The end of day sun setting on their windows
Aglow with the spirit of yesteryear.
Dragon was watching the nature channel, and decided that…
Communing with nature, is where, IT must really… be at!
He wanted to know: What nature is. What part is he? Is he more than that?
You’d think he’d start at home, but NO! He went to the park, of course!
The park with it’s mowed lawns, and yes, where the pigeons are, in force!
He ran to an elderly man, feeding pigeons, from a bag, on a bench, of course.
The answer: we’re all part of nature, just nature prime, cause we’re smarter.
Each one’s unique, walk in others shoes, and the answers are there to garner.
Either, he didn't know the trouble he’d stir, or wanted a new story this week.
I glimpsed a paparazzi camera, partially concealed, that he did quickly seek.
Dragon immediately chose the pigeons, and I knew this wouldn't be good.
Especially, when a wild pack of paparazzi suddenly and very quickly stood.
He picked pigeons, cause they fly like him and are slow at getting away.
Plus he’s banned from the Nature Area, after his flames burned it one day.
First he followed the pigeons and checked out everything they did eat.
He wasn't too impressed as breadcrumbs and birdseed were their treats.
Then they flew to the 5-tiered fountain for a splash and feather bath, today.
But they had to leave when Dragon joined them, toppling it clear away.
The commotion took them to tree limbs, that broke under Dragons’ weight.
The park benches fared much better, as they toppled backwards, I must say.
The bronze statue looked more hopeful, till the Park Sheriff came his way.
The Sheriff of Crazyland fussed and shouted, till they all flew quickly off.
But now, Dragon had perfected the pigeon technique: of drop a load and fly.
It as a shame the Sheriff of Crazyland, was waving and shouting so close by.
Gee! I never knew, that the Sheriff could blow steam, like our Dragon can.
Tho, apparently, Dragons’ is much hotter as the statue arm, melted and ran.
But Dragon complimented him on his steam anyway, as he deftly flew away.
I just stood there and shook my head… as there was going to be heck to pay!
Now… you know why the Sheriff and Dragon simply will never get along.
For the Sheriff has now made it possible for Dragon to commune with...
‘The New Leash Law’.