I apologize for the late start today, but I’m on vacation. So I got up early and worked a little on a new chapbook before taking the boys (all four of them) out to the park.
Anyway, for this week’s prompt, write an opposites poem. The opposites could be polar opposites, opposing opinions, or the opposite of whatever is expected. Feel free to play opposite day for the next week.
Here’s my attempt:
“Whatever”
There are times I feel like I’ve done
everything I can do. Checked
the oil level and air pressure
in the tires. Changed the wiper
blades. Washed the interior and
exterior. But then a noise
reminds me that I’ve forgotten
to change the transmission fluid–
making everything nothing.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Organize Your Family History!
Take advantage of a great offer from Family Tree, the experts in geneaology, with the Organize Your Family History Value Pack!
HERE IN SUPERVILLE
A statue stands in place of the tree.
While the tree stood –
leaf-wild imperfectly leaning –
the sun played sleights-
of-light, shadows in forest.
The forest’s gone. In its
place this statue – fist raised
(when, how will it fall?) –
a marble clock. No more sun-
light’s play. Time is serious now.
WAITING FOR YOU IN THE PARKING LOT
A truck – 4WD, slick hubcaps, not many MPGs – sits idling beside me.
The noise makes me nervous. I think of wasted gas, energy dependence,
air pollution. A lady sits in the truck, fidgeting with some
electronic device and listening to the radio.
More noise. There was a blackbird in the sycamore
but now it’s gone. The truck’s engine idles,
going nowhere, a grumble-moan.
I leave my parked car and
start walking to
silence
Partial Attempts
In my way, I asked for responsibility -
Work:
Shown.
Thoughtful.
Planned.
Engaging.
I got:
Excuses.
Dashing Eyes.
Sorry words.
Half-done work.
The pleaded -
Time extensions beyond all possible notions of reality.
HI – not sure if this is the right place for this, but I’ve tried to submit for the 2013 Poetry competition, but your email address not working. I tried several times to send to robert.brewer@fwmedia.com and I keep getting an error message. Help! Deadline is Monday.
Thanks – “B”
countersync
by juanita lewison-snyder
i want a cat
he wants a dog,
i cherish independence
he’d rather have loyalty.
“this will never work,” i said
“for we differ too much
on the important things to
ever become mutually blissful,”
to which replied he,
“what a great team are we,
compensating one other’s weaknesses
with varying strengths.
if your hiss doesn’t deter
then i’ll bark and give chase,
and one way or another
we’ll make this peanut butter
and chocolate work!”
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
CRISIS IN THE WEST PASTURE
As if overnight, from tree-line to dry
creekbed, nothing but turkey mullen. Prickly
weed the sheep can’t eat. Pioneer species,
dwarfish colonist that drives the good grass
out. Invasive predator of soil.
On hands and knees, I rip it out, obsessed
to save my land. Commuters call me
“crackpot!” out their windows. My fingers
itch and burn. How can I protect
what’s mine? After an hour, I’ve pulled
only a pound of mullen by the
kitchen scales. Surely cyberspace holds
the answer. I check a dozen dot.coms.
They promise no release; forecast
my futures in turkey mullen.
trying to catch the last train:
***
Rolling stones
Downhill
Turn into flowers
Of crazy yellow
Strangely striking home
Until they forget
That they were
Opposites
At all
***
http://phoenix-em.com/mariyakoleva/2011/08/opposites-pa-wednesday-142/ – if you check my blog, you’ll see the poem goes with a photo, that is how it makes more sense.
Cousins: Brothers in Blood
Dyson Douglas and Iain Douglas,
brothers of different mothers; sisters
bearing together. Whether you can tell
or not, we’ve got a lot of commonality.
But the reality lies in our disticnt differences.
He is tall, I, verbose. His vacant stare, distant.
Mine closer to the vest, a chest full of white hair
matching the window treatments. He, a store-bought
couiffe (more handsome without). I bear the family nose,
he, our predisposition for the distilled beverage.
Ambition brings me closer to my dreams,
but it seems Iain dreams throughout. Not a lout
by any stretch of imaginings. Generous and caring,
I’m wearing the shirt off of his back. But, I have a knack
of romanticizing our connection. It’s for his protection.
Iain is ravaged; dementia his executioner. He remains
on this plane lost in someone else’s brain. His smile
takes the circuitous route to expression, brief as it is.
I am pained in the witness I must become, but feel
all the love for my brother, my comrade, my friend.
In the end, isn’t that what cousins are?
Two Faces
My poker face
a facade of the ultimate cool
calm in the face of excitement:
danger
anger
embarassment
My message corked up tight
for only the right person to open
eye in the storm of excitement:
love
lust
obsession
I enjoyed reading all the posts! Unfortunately, it took me nearly a week to register and have it work.
I’ll wait until tomorrow’s prompt before posting again.
Hi to all the familiar poets on the unfamiliar, but snazzy site. Great reading!
Burning Embers
White
curtains
of snowfall
freezing against
the icy window.
The chilled air racing its
way toward me, bracing cold,
chasing warmth and embracing heat
against its breast, thinking opposites
attract but they destroy, then recreate.
Daughters and Exes
Daughters bring joy.
And any boy who dreams,
yea, even schemes to abscond
with my darling lassies
had better love and care
for their needs and welfare.
They deserve no less, the best
life could offer in petite packages,
the ageless continuance of my being.
Long after I’m gone, I will find life
in a grandson’s smile, I will delight
in a granddaughter’s wile; she will hold the cards.
It is hard to imagine their mother
in their genetics. No frenetic rant
comes forth from within;
it would be a sin otherwise.
The spectrum spans wide,
and I can not hide my exuberance
at their contrary existence.
Da loves his girls.
My ex, not so much.
Crossed Continents
My nomadic existence takes me,
it literally makes me pick up
and move from time to time.
A well-worn traveler, an unraveller
of the fabric of my making.
An undertaking that take me
down under, a wonder in its own right.
A forth night from Melbourne,
an unborn yearning to make
my presence known.
North to south, hemispheres
exchanged and it is a strange feeling.
Stealing moments to enjoy this escape
until my longing heart starts
to pack and leaves for home.
Opposites
Writing poems: doing nothing.
As opposed to, like, poeming…
Forty hours
lost nights she logged on
watching as
errors stacked
flat, without success again,
again, until now.
Jane Shlensky
I finally made it though a crack, like a summer snake looking for a cool piece of ground. Yay!
~ Eager/Meager ~
I want to sudy hard
to feed my eager mind
But when I study too hard
I overfeed my meager mind
I want to play hard
to use my eager body
But when I play too hard
I bruise my meager body
I want to love hard
to soothe my eager heart
But when I love too hard
I behoove my meager heart
I want to cry so hard
to free my eager soul
But when I cry too hard
I freeze my meager soul
To make up for the missing poets, let me add a couple more ;D
~ Emptiness/Happiness ~
Emptiness
is an unmet need.
Happiness
is no unmet need.
Thanks Viv, and Marie Elena!
Coming late to the party. Wow sounds like a lot going on here! Whew Hew!
I’d like to join the party, but my contribution says “awaiting moderation.”
To the Tea Lions
You may not want to rip out my throat.
You only desire to nourish your own young
and teach the young of others: how to vote,
believe, and think your thoughts in your birth tongue.
All disagreement is a will to Wrong.
It pains you to destroy the ones who fight.
but you will: you must. And you give yourself the right.
Hoping my symbols will cooperate here…
~ Equal Opposites ~
∅ = ∞
A contradiction?
Au contraire!
Death = The End = ∅
and Death = The All = ∞
⇒ ∅ = ∞
∴
* * *
btw,
∅ = “empty set” or “zero” or “nothing”
∞ = “infinity” or “all”
⇒ means “implies” or “therefore”
∴ = one of the mathematical symbols denoting “end of proof”
* * *
Colette, your intertwining of math and poetry always intrigues me!
Colette D:
J’aime le Francais!
Tres bien!
Very creative.
Peace…
Colette! My favorite Poet Mathematician Ever! I can remember early, early days of being delighted, intrigued and utterly, beautifully befuddled (my brain only stretches so far in math world) by wonderful you!
Thanks, you’s guys! I’m glad you didn’t let math anxiety get in the way. Benjamin, you are onto something. Mathematics is a language like any other. I hope to make it more accessible to poets everywhere. Maybe I should write a mathbook… I mean a chapbook. ;D Thanks again!!!
I Enjoy the symbols in with the poetry. Very Well Done.
Compatible
He sat opposite me in the corner booth
of the popular restaurant
stirring packets of sugar into his Diet Pepsi
because his blood sugar level was bottoming out.
He sucked the soda through his straw,
emptying the glass with one slurp.
I sipped an ice water.
He shrugged his shoulders and smiled at me.
I shook my head and frowned,
my eyes shifting focus to the menu,
where I considered every item
carefully.
He never even glanced at the choices,
his mind already made up:
prime rib, medium rare, with onion rings.
Having my usual difficult time deciding,
I settled for a garden salad, dressing on the side.
The ditsy waitress noted our orders,
clearly recognizing our oppositeness.
She laughed,
He laughed,
I laughed.
Ridiculous as it may seem,
as he sat opposite me in the corner booth
we could not have been more compatible.
LBC
I had a ministry, a God-given ministry –
Better than sacrifice upon a rock.
My ministry was heavenly ordained,
So gracious it wore a golden frock.
Secrets and hidden destinies were revealed to my heart,
Beauty I longed to come true –
But under the weight of heaven and earth,
What I thought was purple and gold was really only blue.
My ministry faltered,
Its blessings were not cherished,
Second thoughts, God must have had, and -
My heart with it, perished.
What was once promised to me
Has gone aloof –
What was set in stone has cast opposite,
For now, I only seek the proof.
Compatible
He sat opposite me in the corner booth
of the popular restaurant
stirring packets of sugar into his Diet Pepsi
because his blood sugar level was bottoming out.
He sucked the soda through his straw,
emptying the glass with one slurp.
I sipped an ice water.
He shrugged his shoulders and smiled at me.
I shook my head and frowned,
my eyes shifting focus to the menu,
where I considered every item
carefully.
He never even glanced at the choices,
his mind already made up:
prime rib, medium rare, with onion rings.
Having my usual difficult time deciding,
I settled for a garden salad, dressing on the side.
The ditsy waitress noted our orders,
clearly recognizing our oppositeness.
She laughed,
He laughed,
I laughed.
Ridiculous as it may seem,
as he sat opposite me in the corner booth
we could not have been more compatible.
LBC
Tick-Tock Body Clocks
I’m awake at dawn
at my very best
come morning light.
you sleep, a twitch
of your eyelid
reveals dreams
behind slumber
as I make breakfast
and coffee moves
you to grogginess.
More poetry at MiskMask
Morning people suck.
Just kidding ;D
…and good poem, too!
Thanks, Colette.
Love the image of “coffee moves you to grogginess.”
Nice… I enjoyed your poem and title Misk..
Speaking of coffee, I missed mine this morning and am a grumpy bear!
Many thanks, Benjamin, for your kind comment and for reading my poem. I hope that you managed to find your cup of coffee at last.
Seasons
Couch potato meets samarai.
Postman meets iron man.
Administrator meets sanitation worker.
Contrasts in physical attributes.
Perhaps lifestyles, philosophies, sanitation
Relationships, goals,spirituality.
Achievements, awards, recognition.
There’s a lot of grey area for some.
For others, a rock-hard stop where they stand.
So what is the great evener?
What shows us all that we are the same
When it comes down to it, in the end?
It’s the rhythmn and the constancy
of the seasons. They come every year,
putting nature, and us, at their mercy.
So what of us? Are we too big, too anything,
to defy the forces of nature?
A little philosophy about opposites and resolution…
http://gsb3.net/2011/07/26/848/
Yay! You made your way to the new site! Good to see you here, Gordon!
Guilty as charged! Beautifully put.
New to this blog, and I was busy on Wednesday because it was my birthday but the writing prompt was very helpful:
Turn 40 Happily
Play at the zoo
Watch pandas devour bamboo
Swallow strawberry popsicles
Wander Rock Creek Park with deer
Ponder the Nationals pitching
Enjoy hot dogs without condiments
Cuddle on the train home
Call a cab
Happy Belated Birthday! If you did all that was in your poem… sounds like quite a pleasant way to celebrate!
Thanks, it was great fun;)
Opposites
I try to avoid politics but sigh
Opposite idiots
Pose their
Painful points
Over and over not caring always
Shifting the blame to the other side so are we
Idiots who sit back and watch
Thinking surely they will come to an agreement
Eventually they will after
Shaking ever more out of the middle class and now even the rest of us
With Fingers Itching
Every morning she tells me her dream
as if I’m some witchdoctor guru
sipping tea at the top of a tower
ready to pass oblique judgement on them.
I listen politely, hands at rest on my lap
and turned away from the computer
lest I be distracted by theories on writing
or cats with amusing captions
but quite honestly
I care not a jot for her teenage dreams
of acceptance and wish-fulfilment
though her readiness to kill her peers
with magic spells is noted for use
in the next novel I write.
I smile and nod and give murmurs of encouragement
and pretend to be the good stepmom
instead of the distracted writer.
Rachel Green
Brilliant! Love the first stanza especially, and the way it moves so easily into the wry humor of the piece… oh, those teens.
Teen dreams are usually not coherent enough to appeal to adults! But we must humour them, encourage them, show them they’re loved …
This is the link to Amy’s site and the poem posted above.
http://sharplittlepencil.wordpress.com/2011/07/29/yeah-like-thats-gonna-happen/
AN AMY BARLOW LIBERATORE POEM
I posting this poem for Amy Barlow Liberatore, who despite her best efforts can still not enter this site!
Yeah, Like That’s Gonna Happen (an acrostic)
Over at the bar
Posturing like he’s all that and a bag of chips.
Poster boy for the Stud Club. The exact
Opposite of what she needs.
Staring at her like she’s a prize filly
In need of the right rider, or at least his
Tether. She’s got her act together,
Easy to say “no” to his line of
Shit.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Tell Amy to log in to this link and bookmark it:
http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides
Or she could visit Robert on FB and he has posted the link there.
;D
I will pass this information on to her. She and a few others seem to have encountered a hitch where they are awaiting WD approval as I understand it!
Late as usual – I only just finished reading the stushie about the move and found my way in here. So my opposites poem is inspired by that furore.
Opposites
Oxymoron says it all
change versus stasis
I’m getting to like it here.
*
Ease of Worpress
versus frustration of Blogspot
WP wins every time.
*
Nested comments
replace
discouraging confusion
*
personalisability
makes for variety
in blogging
*
Comfortable familiarity
will soon return
after the mammoth upheaval
Love this, Viv!!
~ Go Leave ~
Life on a limb–
summer’s flighty fest
Limb on a life–
winter’s empty nest
Oh, Colette. I LOVE this. It has the weight and feel of an adage or well-worn weather warning…yet so poetic. Wonderful.
Thank you, De! So much of your poetry is more so wonderful. “Well-worn weather warning?” Hubby LOVES this! ;D
~ At Opposition ~
Summer Triangle
Northern Cross
oppose my southern
Scorpius
from a dream:
THE HUNGRY CHILD
(a fairytale)
A woman who never bore a son stood
at her window, looking out. In the far distance,
armies aligned to cut down farmers and weavers,
harpists, tradesmen, anyone who created
anything; armies ready to burn crops and cottages,
whatever remained of the world.
A young eagle swept down
on golden wings fanning the air –
natural angel with no
discernable halo –
yet the woman understood its tidings,
she must bear a daughter, a diapered queen
to lie swaddling, screaming on the throne
of infant helplessness nursed by
mothers too old or poor or sick to give
suck; born angry to save the world.
“born angry to save the world” WOW! powerful line and truly a wonderful dream of compassion and empowerment
Plus & Minus
There is plus and and there is Minus
Like a blanket and that boy Linus
Cozy Carl and Anxious Amy
Put em’ together?
Not if you paid me
Simple Simon and Complex Carrie
You stay here
I’ll take the ferry
Conservative Cathy and Sammy Spender
This is a definite fender bender
Pessimistic Penny and Carefree Chris
How long do you think
They’ll put up with this?
Messy Mike and Tidy Terri
who would’ve thunk
these two would marry?
For every rose there comes a thorn
For every plus and minus born
Like with the rain there is the cloud
Beside the humble there is the proud
Like Happy Hank and Sad Sally
With every peak there comes a valley
For every right there is a wrong
For every tear there is a song
And a wrong for every right
Like a day for every night
There is simply balance in everything
and in everything there is balance
There is a plus for every minus
and a minus for every plus
Thus they cancel each other out
And then,
there is nothing
I pray for balance in life! I enjoyed your poem, Benjamin.
Fun read, filled with wisdom. Nice work!
Hi guys….
Gettin’ used to this new layout. Interesting.
Haven’t been here in a couple of weeks. I think the muse has been on snooze again.
But here goes nothing…
Opposites
means we
oppose it
one fist
against it
one fist
there for it.
FUN, FUN, FUN!!
Way to go, Bruce! This was sure a FUN way to start my day. Smilin’ all over the place. :>)
A Fool in blue motley arrived
and saw himself mirrored outside.
He capered and preened,
enjoying the scene,
unaware that a glass has two sides.
Attraction
You’re my North and I’m your South,
You’re all action, I’m all mouth.
You’re my sun and I’m your moon,
You’re my eagle, I’m your loon.
I’m your winter, you’re my spring,
I’m your junk and you’re my bling,
I’m your pawn and you’re my queen,
I’m your fat and you’re my lean.
You’re my Laurel, I’m your Hardy,
I’m your funeral, you’re my party.
I’m your biplane, you’re my jet,
You’re my dry spell, I’m all wet.
I’m your lion, you’re my lamb,
I’m peanut butter, you’re my jam,
I’m your denim, you’re my lacy,
You’re my Hepburn, I’m your Tracy.
You’re my water, I’m your oil,
You’re Saran wrap, I’m your foil,
You’re my strike, and I’m your ball,
I’m your nothing, you’re my all.
Bruce, Of course we missed you, and here you are with a wonderful poem of opposites.
“I’m your nothing, you’re my all” – Says it all.
My FUN, FUN, FUN below was meant to go right here, Bruce.
I agree. Fun! Love the line “You’re Saran wrap, I’m your foil.”
Love it! This could be a song from the 20s – in the best possible way.
I was singing along with this (Your the tops….) A much more positive approach to opposites than some.
Just wonderful Bruce! Cannot help but smile and yes sing along! Terrific
Opposites Poem
I hold my breath
I take a breath
All is forgotten
I think of you
The sun rises at night
The sun sets in the morning
I think of you
All is forgotten
Hot in the winter
Cold in summer
I have forgotten you
I remember
Born into old age
Die in youth
All is forgotten
I think of you
Wow! A confused lover. Brilliant take on the prompt.
AN ETHEREE
Ships
Ships
sailing
opposite
directions may
pass in the ocean
without ever seeing
the other as they sail on.
They circumnavigate the globe
with a cargo hold full of treasures
and head toward separate destinations.
By Michael Grove
Perfect, Michael!
Love this!
You sailed through that, Michael.
Rough with the Smooth
It’s the yin with the yang
the black with the white
the good with the bad
the salt with the pepper
the ping with the pong
the give with the take
the pros with the cons
the ups with the downs
the rough with the smooth
that make the world go round
that balance our lives
and make acceptance
worth rejection
Iain
I love the balance of your poem, Iain, and especially the conclusion.
Thanks Nancy
The flat opposite
It’s hard to get much education done
At the best of times, in a cell laced with
Pheromones, testosterone and flop sweat.
But when a couple in the red brick flats
Opposite our classroom drew back the blinds
To stand hand-in-hand in the morning sun,
Resplendent in their fresh post-coital glow,
Not even the threat of detention could
Distract us from this real-life a-plus-b.
It was the best math class we ever had.
opposites
sullen shadows pool purple and sulk
long morning yellow disturbs
shadow ripples remain, saturated
comp colors
sunshine knife
shadows sliced
purple dyes
yellow light
Lightly Shadowed
In the sunshine
skipping
circles
barefoot
in the
fourth
summer
ever
sundress
flashing
pink hearted
panties
accepted
as invitation
by the guy
in the shadows
still hidden
Attraction
Haste makes waste, he said,
sitting back and watching
as she scrambled about the room,
straightening stacks, fluffing
pillows, ready for guest.
He who hesitates is lost,
she replied, scurrying on.
Take care of the little things,
his father always said, and big
things will take care of themselves,
he told me as she shoved little things
out of my way, ready to tackle
the challenges in my way. Strange,
she replied, mine always told me,
If you take care of the big things,
the little things take care of themselves.
Why read the book when you can
watch the movie in two hours? he asked,
not looking away from the screen
in time to see her shudder, diving back
between the covers of my book.
Get rid of those ridiculous tattoos,
he shouted at the man on the news,
the one whose daughter is missing,
and she thought of Mike, sitting up front
in her ten o’clock class, gentle giant
with shaved head and sleeves of ink.
Opposites attract, no doubt, but set
side-by-side, they resist, always
pushing away from one another.
Why did no one warn her?
Love this one, Nancy.
Yellow-flowered field.
Beautiful sight. Mow them down.
Lawn of ugly weeds.
From hatred to love… my tale of a banana:
Ripe
yellow
banana,
my nemesis
of pubescent years,
who offended taste buds,
distressed my sense of smell,
quashed my appetite for dinner:
then suddenly, all defenses fade!
wonderstruck, I eat my first banana.
A tiny be-curled girl
sits size placed
first row
first seat
first school
week finally
here
waiting
in new shoes
even underwear
stiff with newness
piano echoes a chord
dust motes float
in sun lighted shafts
silence ripples
as Principal
descends the
stage stairs
to stand center
aisle close
enough to
inhale her
talcuumed musk
the mothballed
antiquity of her
black skirt
her high neck
starched shirt
as forms
icicles from
dusty lips
under dead eyes
and the tiny
girl sparkling eyed
grips the seat
until tiny fingers
drain of blood
as she fills
with the sudden
profane possibility
seeing herself rise
in her
seat to smack
with her hot
damp hand
life into that
sullen,
parchment personage
threatening
promising
to obliterate all
excitement
vowing in bored round tone
to rip
all vestige of
individuality out
by the root
unless she is
stopped by a
tiny hand loosening
Are there any teachers left like that? They were becoming history even in my school days 60 years ago, thank goodness. My grandson’s teachers are all marvellous, sparking creativity and curiosity.
But it’s a great poem, nonetheless.
She is the “anti-teacher” actually a principal …. symbol for whatever you like ( but a polar opposite to the new little student sitting with arm’s length. Delighted you enjoyed. Thank you.
Cliche,
but true.
One girl and
one boy; unique
entities merged to
become one. Parallel
lives established with “I do.”
Side-by-side, with a transversal
or intersecting line, hoping to
avoid complete perpendicular loss.
Nice line and unique image..”.avoid complete perpendicular loss”
Your etheree fits the prompt succinctly and well.
~ Coriolis Effect ~
Flushing gets the action out.
Swirling helps the action out.
Which direction it will go
all depends on where you go.
;D
It’s just a myth though, don’tcha know? The Coriolis Effect does not actually apply to toilet-swirling direction. ;D
Layers
Black and white
darkness fading to light
misty or clear
craggy to smooth
confusion segues to clarity
mystery reveals knowledge
snow becomes spring
can all be known?
Love the line “snow becomes spring.”
I haven’t read any posts yet, but here is another:
Opposing Sites
Somewhere in the United States
on a Main Street
in the United States, Goldblum’s
Kosher Deli sits with pride,
while on the other side
of the street, a sign reads,
Halal Meats. Jews visiting
Goldblum’s look askance
across the street. Resenting
Halal Meats, they tsk, tsk.
Arabs purchasing meat
from Halal’s market point
out the window and say,
what a shame to have
a Jewish deli on their block.
If one person from each
side crosses the street and steps
inside the enemy camp,
it is a beginning.
Interesting sweet concept…what a sandwich could potentially be made!
I missed you, Bruce! Hang in there, use some of that vacation inspiration, and step onto the new platform.
Anyone miss me? Three issues have kept me away lately: (1) Lack of inspiration, (2) vacation, and (3) the new blog platform (is that the right word?) – I’m not good with change. Will try to crank out a poem this week.
YES we miss you! Will watch for your poem. It’ll come.
Of course you were missed…not alone in luke-warm feelings for new design. Haven’t seen you at PA Friends, ( that small group of regular contributors to the original site).
I’m with you Bruce. I’ve been out of pocket (on a wonderful escape. My family is tired of hearing me talk about it). I too resist change–even in appearance. I’ve fought so many other technology issues lately that I’m just not quite up to this one. I like the idea of having photos, for instance, but don’t know that I’m in the mood to deal with it. In two weeks, I head back to school, and I know they’ve also changed our online site Blackboard there too. Here comes the learning curve again. Maybe I’ll get out a long yellow legal pad and a fine point black pen and write!
Thanks for the BIG smile you gave to me! I had been given a new IMAC for my birthday in April….seems family members thought my Dell was annoying ( I never complained…on fact I enjoyed watching the turning wheel as a gentle warm up). The new Word program that came along, the giant screen that no longer fits into the cubby where my previous ( mind you only 4 or 5 year old) monitor nestled…will never become an extension of fingers and mind….IN MY ENDLESS COMPLAINING I TOO HAVE LONGED FOR A STACK OF YELLOW LEGAL PADS AND MY FINE POINT GOOD BLACK PEN….I WILL EVEN TAKE A PACK OF GOOD OLD BICS,!
Bic. cakes. blue globs
smeary nose
cheeky blues
streaky chin
bic cake blues
zebra moleskin
fool smiles
WHAT’S LEFT
Her right
to freedom, bound
by fright.
What’s near
thus far, close call
dark star.
What’s here
(or there), neither
foul nor fair.
What’s finished
from the start:
warm hands,
cold heart.
this is a subtle little gem, or perhaps a shiny giant jewel, and such a nice tempo, suitable for dancing (or simply listening)…a good candidate for Buddah’s phone line
SO “de!” I simply cannot avoid commenting on all your work, De. I have never read anything of yours I haven’t wished I’d written myself.
This one just keeps jumping out at me… beautifully done.
Thanks so much, gang.
OLIVE-DRAB UGLY
Woolen army-surplus pants,
winter-weight, lots of space inside
for holding body-warmth –
a size or three too large for me;
suspendered so I won’t lose
them, crawling through manzanita
thicket in December-sleet,
verge of snow. Searching for a
Christmas-tree hunter
clad (they tell us) in feather-
light ripstop-blue raingear,
top of the line; stylish.
At end of shift, we searchers
stand around a bonfire,
warming fingers. Who’s your
tailor? someone in polypro
asks me. That’s my
secret, I say, as others
shiver, and my OD wool-
pelt steams.
Always, always enjoy your work, Taylor. Nicely done!
“Who’s your tailor”? “Someone in polypro asks”? Hee Hee so clever! Love it
Enjoyed this!
I’m always curious to see where you’ll go with these prompts, Taylor, and have to admit, this was certainly an unexpected direction. Loved the scene in this one.
Great: I applaud your stance for comfort over style. That is my philosophy, too.
A-HA!
He
glanced my
direction.
He drew me in;
charmed me with banter
as I fumbled my words.
His confidence, alluring.
My shyness mesmerized him too.
Our opposing styles were attractive.
Unfortunately it wasn’t enough.
2011-07-27
P. Wanken
~Paula
Excellent Etheree, Paula!
Not crazy about how this one turned out, but it’s the only opposites thing I could think of that worked. Feh.
…
Art Appreciation
Candles line the bar where we sit, me with my ginger ale,
you with a double of 99 Bananas, while you try convincing me:
Rothko is God’s gift to art. Not that I’ll dispute his talent:
he was the Frankenstein of limpid color, bringing to life
those pretentious words we save for poetry.
“Carnelian” and “cerulean” and “vermilion”, layered into
great quadrilaterals of shimmering paint. But leave me
my Monet, I say, for where would Rothko be without
someone going slowly blind before him. And you say,
you just don’t get it, with a sneer dropping from your lips
like a great, vicious jewel. (We pause for a moment.
Piano standards swell their strings across the room.)
We move in different circles: yours is a small fierce
lesbian tribe, with tattooed wrists and modern tastes.
Who hate Monet. Who hate the way
he grabbed light with his bare hands, dipped brushes in it.
Who tasted and felt their quality, in the end.
But you are preaching the Gospel According to Rothko,
and there is no room in it for me. I’m a willful infidel:
I’m singing along to Billy Joel while you tap your fingers
impatiently. And I believe in the shoulders your giants
are leaping from. We get along well enough,
most of the time, until your face is flushed and I have
angry drops of 99 Bananas dripping from my glasses.
But I think, on this occasion, we must agree
to disagree. The museum
will take our rumpled dollar bills all the same,
and never bat an eye.
“… he grabbed light with his bare hands, dipped brushes in it.” LOVE IT!
Joseph, my talented poetic friend…pleasepleasePLEASE write a novel. I will buy it, and cherish its tattered, well-worn, often memorized pages for many years to come.
Poem shimmers as liquidly snd light filled as a Monet. Nice.
How could I not love a Monet person’s poem? I do.
I really love this poem.
Whether or not people find their way over….the uniqueness of this site has been effectively neutralized. If that was WD’s intent they have succeeded, for the first day in over three years I could write and post but furl no joy in doing so. This being said, there is a group of people who have found their registration has still not been “approved”. I feel very badly for RLB, who was willing to work through a life-threatening health crisis to keep his vision alive.
Change is hard, but I’m sure once Robert is back in the saddle (after spending dedicated time with his beautiful family), he’ll be able once again to make some tweaks and make it his own. And after all, we come for the prompts and the encouragement, the ability to share our work. Once everybody finds it (wouldn’t surprise me if Robert finds a way to link the old URL when he gets back), we’ll all be running strong again. A new typeface and a few log-in glitches can’t hinder the camaraderie we’ve found here. Hang in there!
Or how about: “he’ll once again be able to make…” Hellooooo, grammar. And I are an English major. Yeesh.
The good news: easy to keep up.
The bad news: where be everybody?
Such a bummer that the old link doesn’t redirect, and Google is befuddled.
Hoping everybody finds their way over…
BIZARRO
at the snap of two fingers
what could have passed
or dream morphed into reality
a bizarre world without exits
where all that once was
now was something else
as if a giant mirror hid the sun
and all who sought reflections
found dark facsimiles of former selves
the grotesque saw beauty
the beautiful saw caricatured
once pretty button noses
now a sloping hills of flesh
those pearly whites
dark-forest green, crooked pegs
those eyes that before the snap
sparkled now sputtered dimly
evil men preached of God
holy men cursed hidden skies
the hungry were sated
wealthy barons swollen-bellied
dreamed of rice and water
lovers who thought
the world was theirs to keep
hid behind trees in Lovers Lanes
waylaying the laughing sorrowful
With sharp daggers to the heart
Welcome to Bizarro
Cried one who’d never spoken
We’re gonna have a heaven of a time
#
My favorite for the day! Interesting, imaginative, well-written … very”Sal!” =)
Fabulous, literally, thank goodness!
The new layout makes it much easier to read the longer poems. I’m enjoying reading all of them, for a change, instead of skipping!
He Never Dared to Dream
All these treasures,
the beautiful, devoted wife,
the mother of his children,
on the deck of the hilltop house
overlooking his adopted valley
against a rainbow sherbet sunset,
and the Delfonics are playing
off in the distance
as the Yorkshire terriers
gnaw and wrestle at his feet,
and he is overcome with giggles.
All this,
and he gets to sleep with her too.
Giggles is perfect
Mosk, this is just perfect. I hope your beautiful bride gets to read it.
Ditto!
I love the image “rainbow sherbet sunset”.
“rainbow sherbet sunset” – how stunning. Love the poem.
Opposites
We need opposites; this saying is true.
Where’d orange be if there was no blue?
Would we appreciate water without a drought?
Or have confidence if we knew no doubt?
We wouldn’t begin if we’d never be through.
No pleasant hello without and adieu.
Cheers aren’t as fun lacking a boo.
We’d have no with if there was no without.
We need opposites.
How could you catch if no one threw?
There’d be nothing on time if there’s no overdue.
We’d only whisper if we couldn’t shout.
We couldn’t go in if we had no out.
And there’d be no me and you.
We need opposites.
Absolutely!
fun and probably true!
Contrary to What You Believe
no one fell for you (on the field, and perhaps more)
for turning fumbles into scores
(we were impressed, perhaps more,
but impressed
isn’t falling)
and
no one fell for you (when you stopped us, grinning)
for your puns and subtle, flirting banter
(we laughed and blushed, feeling perhaps bright and perhaps wanted,
but feeling good
isn’t quite
falling)
and no one
no one would fall for anyone
for their dark brown eyes, or such a mouth
(no one would want the slightest glance to stay longer;
or imagine a kiss, perhaps more,
or the feel of those hands
and those arms; or more)
and no one
fell.
Barbara, I simply adore this poem. Reading it feels like falling. Which of course, she did. Wonderful.
Unmistakable Barbara style. =) Good stuff!
I’ll agree with Marie Elena, this is solidly Barbaresque. Love the repetition and – dare I say it – parallelism?
Barbara, Beautifully written.
Not quite – two sad words! Clever poem, form and words.
The Opposites
He loved every sport
that involved speed.
She loved reading
curled up in quiet rooms.
Action films quickened
his pulse, dulled hers.
Enthralled by beauty
of old masters, she stood
gazing at paintings
displayed on white walls
of museums. He waited
on benches, checking
his watch. Both thrilled
at their eager libidos,
they married. Early on
they discovered the attraction
of opposites lasts
for a brief time.
Wonderful crisp images, and a truly memorable last line
Thank you for your appreciative comments, Dr. P.
Sadly too often true.
Thanks Marie.
haikued couple
Intense, passionate
heart pounding at falling sun
world spins in beauty
Calmly collected
sees shadowed newspaper
moves toward dinnertime
Love the “mood” this portrays.
I must second Marie’s comment. Just lovely.
Thank you!
Here We Are and Here We Go
Well here we are
and here we go
seeing if we can
take this new site
slow
Opinions
here
and
Opinions
there
posting
simply
with so far
unsullied
care
=)
Something Opposing
there is something
opposing
in opposites
a tension
that can
bring
romance
or
a black eye
Thank you, Linda and Marie. Loved yours, Marie. And Dyson, I love this line: “I wanted the freedom to write my weary heart.” And of course the last line. Love the battle of wills throughout. A beautiful, sad piece.
Robert, I do love the ability to comment below individual poems. A nice change. : )
Opposites
in the senate
in the house
country
city
scurry
mouse
No Sameness Remians
We carried a vision jointly.
We wanted a cottage in the countryside.
We wanted children and a dog.
We wanted to travel to far of places,
we wanted our faces to meet with every fleeting moment.
We wanted to grow old together and
we wanted our matching rocking chairs side by side.
But inside, a different story emerged.
I wanted the freedom to write my weary heart.
She wanted independence to placate hers.
I wanted to purchase more of a footprint on this old sod.
She wanted to wait and see how we worked out.
I wanted her to be happy,
she wanted that too.
She wanted the cottage in the countryside.
She wanted the children and the dog.
She wanted to travel far away from our union,
She wanted my face to meet her barrister.
We wanted to grow old together but
she wanted to keep her youthful arse far from that rocking chair.
I wanted to work things out.
She wanted to divorce.
She received the cottage in the countryside.
She took custody of the children and the dog.
She bannished me to a place far from her,
she wanted my face to suffer in pain.
She got everything she wanted.
Anyone wishing to purchase twin rocking chairs?
Oh my. So incredibly sad. Well written, Dyson.
Tears…Great poem!
Dyson,
What a sad but beautiful poem.
The well-written story of so many lives, messed up by opposing desires. If this is autobiographical may I wish you a clean start to enable a move onward and upward.
Good one, De. And so quick!
AMEN! My goodness, she’s quick with the quality!
Robert, SO glad to hear you are taking the word “vacation” seriously. Enjoy!
Here’s mine:
Polar
Chilly in here lately.
Both equinox and equilibrium thrown
unknown,
Equator’s slightly off kilter
filtered sun diluted
by both forest and trees
No breeze, only
black
inking, inching back
into empty dark spaces
longing to be filled.
Here
frozen, unspilled
my heart hibernates
awaiting light of day.
Amazing quality spilled QUICKLY to the page! GO DE!
Hey, De, this new format will allow you to find comments on your work much more easily than the old.
Yay!
” heart hibernates” nice image in a “chilling” ( lol) poem
I like that very indifferent line at the beginning… it belies how bleak the rest of the poem gets. Very frosty indeed.
What are you talking about, De? This sounds like you already have spilled your heart. And a very sweet heart it is.
;D
Thanks, all. : )
Opposites attract,
or so they say. Yet often
they simply don’t meet.
Great way to get us going:)
Thanks Shannon!
Thanks Robert! Glad you are enjoying your vacation!
Happy Vacation, Robert. Enjoy.