Editors Blog

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 142

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:


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.


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185 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 142

  1. taylor graham


    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.

  2. taylor graham


    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

  3. cstewart

    Partial Attempts

    In my way, I asked for responsibility –

    I got:
    Dashing Eyes.
    Sorry words.
    Half-done work.

    The pleaded –
    Time extensions beyond all possible notions of reality.

  4. B. E. Wanamaker

    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”

  5. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    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

  6. taylor graham


    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.

  7. Dyson McIllwain

    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?

  8. RobHalpin

    Two Faces

    My poker face
    a facade of the ultimate cool
    calm in the face of excitement:

    My message corked up tight
    for only the right person to open
    eye in the storm of excitement:

  9. Kim King

    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!

  10. MiskMask

    Burning Embers

    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.

  11. Dyson McIllwain

    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.

  12. Dyson McIllwain

    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.

  13. Jane Shlensky

    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!

  14. Colette D

    ~ 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

  15. barbara_y

    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.

  16. Colette D

    Hoping my symbols will cooperate here…

    ~ Equal Opposites ~

    ∅ = ∞
    A contradiction?
    Au contraire!
    Death = The End = ∅
    and Death = The All = ∞
    ⇒ ∅ = ∞

    * * *

    ∅ = “empty set” or “zero” or “nothing”
    ∞ = “infinity” or “all”
    ⇒ means “implies” or “therefore”
    ∴ = one of the mathematical symbols denoting “end of proof”

    * * *

    1. De Jackson

      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! :)

    2. Colette D

      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!!!

  17. LCaramanna


    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
    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.

  18. Justine Hemmestad

    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.

  19. LCaramanna


    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
    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.

  20. gsb3


    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?

  21. lisahelene

    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

  22. foodpoet


    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

  23. leatherdykeuk

    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

  24. DrPKP

    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

    © 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

  25. viv

    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.


    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
    discouraging confusion
    makes for variety
    in blogging
    Comfortable familiarity
    will soon return
    after the mammoth upheaval

  26. taylor graham

    from a dream:

    (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.

  27. Benjamin Thomas

    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

  28. house fool

    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.

  29. Bruce Niedt


    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.

    1. SaBlonde

      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.

  30. annell

    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

  31. Michael Grove



    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

  32. Iain Douglas Kemp

    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


  33. Andrew Kreider

    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.

  34. DrPKP

    Lightly Shadowed

    In the sunshine
    in the
    pink hearted
    as invitation
    by the guy
    in the shadows
    still hidden

  35. Nancy Posey


    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?

  36. Elizabeth Johnson

    From hatred to love… my tale of a 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.

  37. DrPKP

    A tiny be-curled girl
    sits size placed
    first row
    first seat
    first school
    week finally
    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
    parchment personage
    to obliterate all
    vowing in bored round tone
    to rip
    all vestige of
    individuality out
    by the root
    unless she is
    stopped by a
    tiny hand loosening

    1. viv

      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.

      1. DrPKP

        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.

  38. Shannon Lockard

    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.

  39. SaBlonde

    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.

  40. Bruce Niedt

    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.

    1. DrPKP

      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).

    2. Nancy Posey

      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!

      1. DrPKP

        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,!

  41. De Jackson


    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.

    1. ely the eel

      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

  42. taylor graham


    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.

  43. pmwanken


    glanced my
    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.

    P. Wanken


  44. Joseph Harker

    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.

  45. DrPKP

    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.

    1. De Jackson

      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!

  46. SalvatoreButtaci


    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


      1. viv

        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!

  47. Buddah Moskowitz

    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.

  48. Connie Peters


    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.

  49. barbara_y

    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)

    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 

    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

  50. SaBlonde

    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.

  51. DrPKP

    haikued couple

    Intense, passionate
    heart pounding at falling sun
    world spins in beauty

    Calmly collected
    sees shadowed newspaper
    moves toward dinnertime

  52. DrPKP

    Here We Are and Here We Go

    Well here we are
    and here we go
    seeing if we can
    take this new site
    with so far

  53. De Jackson

    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. : )

  54. Dyson McIllwain

    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?

    1. viv

      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.

  55. De Jackson

    Robert, SO glad to hear you are taking the word “vacation” seriously. Enjoy!

    Here’s mine:


    Chilly in here lately.
    Both equinox and equilibrium thrown
    Equator’s slightly off kilter
    filtered sun diluted
    by both forest and trees
    No breeze, only
    inking, inching back
    into empty dark spaces
    longing to be filled.
    frozen, unspilled
    my heart hibernates
    awaiting light of day.