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 Joined: Oct 2010
 
	
	
		Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month.
 
 Topic 21: Write a poem inspired by opposites.
 Form : any
 Line requirements: 8 lines or more
 
 
 Questions?
 
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
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 Joined: Oct 2017
 
	
	
		Limited Number
 The opposite of zero
 is infinity, apparently,
 or one.
 
 The opposite of zero
 is True.
 
 Context is everything,
 but everything is not
 the same
 as infinity.
 
 So...
 Are truth and infinity
 one and the same?
 Discuss.
 
 
 
 Today's question
 (Supplementary):
 
 What is the opposite of;
 a 71 years old,
 75 inch,
 white/orange male,
 weighing 239 pounds?
 
 (Answer in writing
 within the next 926 days)
 
 
 .
 
		
	 
	
	
			just mercedes Unregistered
 
 
		
 
	 
	
	
		Your Egon Schiele colours set the rightambience of decadence, like bruises left
 glowing and putrid, highlit by black
 exhaust fumes, or clouds of chimney white.
 You are every sad face on a subway wet day,
 the blind eyes of orphans that stare from the night.
 
 You’re the thorns on the treasures that wind through the night
 like corpse-gas from graves when conditions are right,
 night flowers that fold with the coming of day
 to hide the ravine where nothing is left
 but the gaping of wounds, lines powdered white
 to define all the edges, to hem in the black.
 
 Your background is scumbled, all South Side and black,
 red stage lights and flashes of blue through the night
 where your mother’s for sale in her nightie so white
 and the scent of gardenias. From the church on the right
 comes the chanting of flagellants, offerings left
 on the altar of excess that mounts to the day.
 
 No cocks in the city to thrice call the day
 but you need no reminders. Betrayal is black
 and addictively sticky. No dragons are left
 unchased through the foils of gas light at night
 but your mother retreats to the nunnery, right
 as you start to dissolve in her veil so white.
 
 All the walls and the sheets in the hospice are white,
 you can’t hide from light, you’re marooned in the day
 and your mother is dead, too late to make right
 what you stole and you squandered. The Jesuits, black
 in crow suits, still wait at the edge of the night
 to lay claims on your soul, or what portion is left.
 
 All that sound, and that fury - just what is left
 of a life when the pages are reset to white
 and the lines all dissolve back into the night
 that gave birth to them, nurtured them? Hidden by day,
 the shadows wait patiently, curled up in black
 edges on everything. Nothing looks right.
 
 And you’ll always be left, at the end of the day,
 in the White Hotel by the ravine, black
 roses of nightmares. And that feels right.
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
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		opposite 
it´s all just theory 
there is no real opposite  
in life, this universe 
keeps boiling down 
to common grounds 
there is no real opposite 
cos if there were  
we´d just annihilate each other 
instantly, but no 
we´ve been at it  
for centuries, millenia 
there is no real opposite 
except for death 
there is no real death except  
inside our heads
...
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
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		White Hat Universe 
Matter and anti-matter differ 
from other opposites so much 
it would almost be better 
to name them something else. 
Love and hate, as we all know 
turn easily into each other 
if they can even be distinguished 
in their natural state. 
Fascism and anti-fascism 
for that matter, seem 
indistinguishable aside 
from the antis slinking off 
in masks to hide 
instead of flaunting uniforms. 
With matter and its anti- 
it’s more like computer viruses 
and anti-virus: 
for a stable universe to result 
one side has to win; 
in our case it’s 
the one we don’t call anti.
 
  (04-22-2018, 01:58 AM)vagabond Wrote:  opposite
 it´s all just theory
 there is no real opposite
 in life, this universe
 keeps boiling down
 to common grounds
 there is no real opposite
 cos if there were
 we´d just annihilate each other
 instantly, but no
 we´ve been at it
 for centuries, millenia
 there is no real opposite
 except for death
 there is no real opposite except
 inside our heads
 
Aha!  This time I blindly stole *your* metaphor.  Apologies   
 Non-practicing atheist 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
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		Socks
 On the right,
 white crew cut,
 looks new, bleached enough
 to cleanse any discolouration,
 and easily replaced by buying a new pair.
 
 On the left,
 red athletic style,
 obviously worn, but scrubbed
 by a mother's hands,
 the matching one lost like the revolution
 
Time is the best editor.
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
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 Joined: Jul 2014
 
	
	
		 (04-22-2018, 06:36 AM)dukealien Wrote:  Aha!  This time I blindly stole *your* metaphor.  Apologies  
 i just used it, too, and didn´t look up if it was patented by someone     .
	 
...
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
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 Joined: Nov 2013
 
	
	
		Elemental
 
 Mercury works like dirt about its orbit,
 Saturn much like stone -- and the Moon,
 so fluid and so cold,
 
 like silver lava down
 a parched heart, a hungry mind.
 It reeks, it reeks of black
 
 scratches on the ceiling, rot
 climbing up the invalid's digits
 
 which yet continue to type,
 Mercurial to work -- Saturnine to the end.
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
	Posts: 2,360Threads: 230
 Joined: Oct 2010
 
	
	
		I find that when I'm trying to catch up on prompts the part of my brain that comments on other's work shuts down. I did like this one quite a bit, Knot. It was very clever. Oh, and to your supplemental question, to answer: I would need to know the size of the subject's hands.  (04-21-2018, 09:54 PM)Knot Wrote:  Limited Number
 The opposite of zero
 is infinity, apparently,
 or one.
 
 The opposite of zero
 is True.
 
 Context is everything,
 but everything is not
 the same
 as infinity.
 
 So...
 Are truth and infinity
 one and the same?
 Discuss.
 
 
 
 Today's question
 (Supplementary):
 
 What is the opposite of;
 a 71 years old,
 75 inch,
 white/orange male,
 weighing 239 pounds?
 
 (Answer in writing
 within the next 926 days)
 
 
 .
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
	Posts: 2,360Threads: 230
 Joined: Oct 2010
 
	
	
		The Left Side of Harvey
 There is a certain hubris
 in shining too brightly
 for the sun will always burn
 its imitators. They
 say he changed that day,
 but they were wrong
 and right. Etching
 can only be revealed
 when bitten from the metal.
 
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
	Posts: 703Threads: 141
 Joined: Oct 2017
 
	
	
		 (04-26-2018, 11:04 PM)Todd Wrote:  I did like this one quite a bit, Knot. It was very clever. Oh, and to your supplemental question, to answer: I would need to know the size of the subject's hands.
   
Supplementary supplement:
 
Despite the detail you requested being conspiratorially redacted 
from RDML Jackson's report, for the purposes of this calculation  
you may use a value proportional to 'small ', which is to say 'not bigly ',  
though of course you will need to factor in PGv - where v  is velocity, 
G  is 'rate of grab' (and not, as is commonly misunderstood, 
the Gravity of the Situation) and P  is  
Time remaining 923 days.
 
Do remember to show your workings.
. 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
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 Joined: May 2014
 
	
	
		The Absolutes
 The absolutes of black and white
 are gone, debunked, depolarized,
 and gray by day and gray by night.
 
 When right goes wrong and wrong feels right
 the ego unlearns how to size
 the absolutes of black and white,
 
 and justifies its short of sight
 with wholesome truths turned half-assed lies
 that gray by day and gray by night.
 
 And stars by trillions mock the night
 so who am I to empathize
 with absolutes of black and white?
 
 So bring your bark and bring your bite
 and bring your once-blue, puppy-eyes
 that gray by day and gray by night,
 
 and come at me with truth and light
 as if I didn't realize
 the absolutes of black and white
 go gray by day and gray by night.
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
	Posts: 751Threads: 409
 Joined: May 2014
 
	
	
		Sympathy for Bizarro  (for Todd)
 Jesus, people,
 my newsfeed's a sinkhole.
 
 Call me cubed
 but I can't get around it.
 
 I'm thinking about throwing
 a cape over it
 and skipping back to the bright side.
 
 Lois says I should go
 with my gut,
 
 says I'm a good man
 and will know what's right.
 
 She thinks she's coming with me.
 
		
	 
	
	
	
		
	Posts: 848Threads: 232
 Joined: Oct 2012
 
	
	
		Joe 90
 I cross the threshold into another poem
 as Grandads chair rotates clockwise,
 head back in the spin,
 picture-rail portraits merge
 into a single familiar face.
 
 Ornaments and brass carriage clocks
 blur streaks of colour
 on tobacco brown walls.
 Gas fire chrome lights up green
 as my brothers hands
 slap to increase the speed.
 
 Recovery is only a moment of laughter,
 never long enough to breath
 before the chair goes anti-clockwise
 and time is undone, the transfer complete.
 
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
 
		
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