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Best Opposite Poems

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OPPOSITE WE ARE by Dutta, Anisha
Opposite of This by Horn, James
Polar Opposite by King, Aspen
Opposite Views from the Middle of the Universe by Forshay, Matt
Opposite Attracts by Strauss, Lei
opposite of opposite by King, Marty
4-19-77 OPPOSITE HILL SITE by Paul, Wm
You do opposite one by Harrell, Toquyen
Opposite Walls of House by Sangwai, Neelam
Opposite Choices by Vialpando, Aaron

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The Best Opposite Poems

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Reflection of an old man

As I gaze upon a frail old man opposite me He looks at me and a smile appears on his face I decide to stop and talk to him for a while To reflect upon those years gone by Old man, where has your life gone? Time has flown by, doesn't life moves so fast Can you remember when you were younger? Handsome man with long dark hair, the ladies loved, but its all gone now, not even any grey patches A gleam in your eye just like James Dean, but your face is old and wrinkly now Your hands were so strong, but now shake and shiver Like a stallion, your strength was of legends, but through the years you became so weak and fragile Do you remember all the loves? All those hearts your broke? The one that broke your heart? I know she skips through your mind from time to time Such a beautiful woman, full of class, you thought one day you would marry, have lots of children and die happy. Funny how life works out, how it never goes to plan What you have today is never what you thought it would be Do you remember all those who hurt you? Through time you learnt to forgive, life is too short for grudges I know you miss your real beloved, your precious mother, who sacrificed her life for you Who held you so close the day you were born, sadly, you lost her so young Life was hard with so much poverty, and I know you wonder what happened to your childhood, but you got through and learnt how to spread love You didn't let the demons defeat you, because your were drawn to the angels Think about all the happiness you brought, how many tears you wiped away and how you listened But what about those dreams you had? Do you have many regrets? Or is life too short for that? Do you feel you have left behind a legacy? I see loneliness in your eyes, everyone you loved, has left in the end. Are you happy with what you will leave behind? Do you like what you see in the mirror? As, I turn away from the mirror, and tears roll down my face I think to myself, what happened to the fun and the adventure Whatever happened to all those passengers? What happened to me? But, then I remind myself, life is what it is and everything happens for a reason Some you win, some you lose Life is too short for regret It's good to reflect, but also good to be content... The Silent One 24 September 2015

Copyright © Silent One

More great poems below...

Details | Opposite Poem | |

I Think Of You - After The Fall - 5

I could have cried like a bride at a funeral
Bled out, dry. I could have but I was already

i think of you

I wish someone could turn the 
moon back on, turn the dimmer back up
on the stars. I can't stand these dark 
black nights void of even one tiny ray 
of light. I am tired of walking blind through
the evenings of my everyday life...I

i think of you

Yesterday I dreamt the night sky exploded.
Bright white pinholes of light appeared .
It was as if an invisible hand was holding a huge 
Fourth of July sparkler against a waterfall of black gold.
I watched the oil well blaze. The whole Earth was on fire.
The world was burning hot. Without fear I walked through 
the flames warm, comforted as if I was being held in his light...I

i think of you

Still in the grip of my sleep suddenly an ocean appears.
its water rises and shapes itself like the head of a dragon.
Its neck is shaped like a Chinese silk fan. At the same time 
it is just a huge wave. The kind surfers expect to find in heaven.
There is nothing threatening about this apparition.
Quite the opposite like the fire it feels as if it is a part of me...I

i think of you

Do I miss you? 
Miss you? I died with you! 
There's a knock at my door but I'm not here.
Life's going to have to wait. I'm in hiding.
I feel safe inside my walls. In reality my bedroom light
is all the outdoors I need. It is my Sun. I hate here without you. 
So I lie in my bed motionless starring into my nothingness and I...

i think of you


As time passes...introspective...I begin to understand.
The earth, the air, the fire, the water all the elementals are him. 

(I begin to thaw!)

He is with me even in my ignorance he has never left me. 
You can take the lord into your heart without a word by accepting his light.

(Slightly cold!)

A deeper, purer understanding. A trust that rejects the dark no 
matter how black. I am a part of all, a part of one as you are. A part of me. 


I open my the dark exit
hurried as love rushes in. Firmly in his hold...I

I think of you...

Once again with you.
Fully! We...the power of one...I 

I think of us.

The Beginning!

March 25 2015

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Until The Sun Rises

No trick or treaters on the street
     they're all in bed now, getting sleep,
Candies piled high upon the floor
     collected from each neighbor's door,
Smoke rises from the pumpkin's grin
     the day's magic still burns within,
Restless spirits are set free to roam
     and find their way back to home,
An earthly reunion until the sun rises
     with those who've met their demises,
It's time for October's farewell scene
     on the final night of Halloween,
The harvest moon is setting low
     opposite the rising sun's gentle glow,
Wandering souls leave us for another year
     and say goodbye and shed a tear,
Because, they surely miss us, too
     their tears become the morning dew,
To stain the leaves a shining gold
     and welcome in wet November's cold.

Copyright © Kelly Deschler

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Sand Dollar Dreams

It's quiet here - quiet in a way that catches me off guard. The tranquility is almost tangible, something I can touch and hold and wrap around myself. I can hear the pulse of faraway waves, the faint hum of the wind, the nonsensical call of distant seagulls. I can hear my own heartbeat, pounding along with the waves. 

As I kick off my sandals, my spirit steps out of my body, leaving behind the material baggage of city life. The sand is soggy beneath my feet and I know my footprints will disappear when the sea rises, as if I were never here at all. 

It's low tide, that magical time when the sea recedes to reveal the ocean floor. Grooves of sand catch pockets of water that are half-buried mirrors, reflecting pale blue sky and slices of violet sunlight that glitter like chipped diamond. 

a vocal seagull descends toward liquid skies – reflections ripple
At low tide, a second beach emerges, stretching all the way across the bay to the opposite shore. I walk slowly, tasting salt on the breeze as it runs invisible fingers through my hair. Strands sweep across my face, catching in my eyelashes before fluttering free once more. The beach is a dream catcher, snagging small treasures when the sea withdraws. And I am a child again, fascinated by the hermit crab retreating into his shell as I approach. I spot the dimpled surface of an urchin’s shell peeking out from wrinkled sand. Other shells are scattered across the beach, some upside down, exposing smooth, pearly souls.
a tiny starfish drifts beneath placid water – lost constellation
When I find a sand dollar, my breath catches. It’s perfectly whole, with smooth, rounded edges and clean, ivory skin. It’s heavy and light all at once, the flawless design at its center subtle and brilliant, like a delicate floral tattoo. How many hours had I spent here as a child, searching for this transitory coin? My eyes fill with unexpected tears as my vision wavers behind distorted pools of grief. I’m half-blind until I blink, releasing salty rivers down my cheeks. Even then, my sight is murky. My tears taste like the ocean and I think, suddenly: Whose tears fill the sea? Written: November 4, 2015 For Charlotte's "Creative Haibuns" Contest

Copyright © Heather Ober

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Like a Rock

I carry my mother 
like a rock in my pocket 

that I just can’t seem to throw away 

It serves me 
no purpose, 
it just weighs me down 

When I first found it, 
when I first picked it up 
and started carrying it with me, 

I thought it so beautiful – 
I could look at it for hours 

But, like my mother, 
it never looked back at me, 
never grew warm under my loving gaze 

For the longest, I was blind to that, 
Blind to anything but the beauty, 
blind to the cold, hard, 
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
my stone


I carry my mother,
a thought without weight

And she’s heavier

and she’s colder

than all the stones
there are

By the time I recognized her 
immutable, emotional unavailability, 
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –

But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart

Could not stop
that one day this stone,
my mother,
deep inside my pocket,

Might just become
its own opposite –

Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm

But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water

When my mother
stops being
a stone

Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Salvation comes with a far greater sacrifice than blind faith and car-wash fundraisers

Travelling to a foreign land,
engaging in a cause not rightfully yours to join,
illegally taking up arms
with a desperate desire to save baby orphans
(only to dig them into the ground anyway);
is a life-altering experience.

There is an old line which goes something like:
"A part of my soul died on that cold, November morn."

But, such an experience can have the opposite effect entirely.
Yes! An experience such as this
can re-kindle a passion within,
so that every single particle,
every minute of each passing hour,
feels like a sacred gift -
the most sacred gift imaginable.

Yet upon returning home from such an experience,
after being grilled by Internal Affairs,
threatened with charges of International Treason,
Subterfuge and Espionage(but in the end,
you were only trying to save baby orphans
that you had to dig into the ground anyway,
so Internal Affairs drops the charges, telling you to scram),
you are inevitably slapped across the face
with an inescapable new reality....

....everyone appears to be whining and complaining
about the most trivial things,
as if everyone simultaneously feels wronged.

And this is wot you feel compelled to do:
you want to take these whiners,
transport them one-by-one
back to the foreign land with you.
After they see living skeletons
drag themselves across the dirt,
moaning, groaning, pleading for a drop of clean water, 
a miniscule morsel of food,
you hand the whiner a gun,
point toward an ominous dust-cloud on the horizon,
and this is wot you say:

"See the dust-cloud moving closer towards us.
It is filled with psychopathic horsemen.
These psychopathic butchers are wielding bayonets, machetes and Kalashnikovs.
If you and I do not successfully kill these mad horsemen,
they are going to chop apart all of the baby orphans
congregated in the courtyard over there.
Do you see the beautiful baby orphans in the courtyard?
Yes, those are the orphans.
And if we do not successfully defend this camp,
yet somehow survive with our lives,
we are going to spend the rest of the night
digging the baby orphans into the ground.

So, it best be high time you wipe the tears from your face,
stop worrying about how so-and-so called you a loser or wotever,
how your retirement funds appear to be shrinking
and so you won't be able to play as many games
of hitting the little white ball across a course 
fed with enough water to run an entire city.
Forget about your little boo-boo.
Pull-up your chin, straighten that spine,
and start squeezing the trigger like there's no tomorrow."

September 25th, 2011

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Crescent Waltz

She slants her shining, golden glance
Across desert, mountains, rivers, plants
Greets her rising, true romance
In the purpling, opposite skies

Her lunar love, her heart’s delight
Soars to ever darker height
For each, the other’s perfect, right
It’s on their wings time flies

She seems asleep within the night
Yet always, somewhere, she’s brilliant, bright
Motionless in constant flight
Each day its own surprise

They’ll never meet – there’s not a chance
These partners in eternal dance
Of darkness, light – they both enhance
The world with their long goodbyes


As their crescent waltz achieves crescendo
Sans artifice or innuendo
Young children start to play Nintendo
While adults stir and rise

Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson

Details | Opposite Poem | |


                       EDGE WALKER 

Waking up to the depth beyond such things every day
One day I choose to walk and become Queen of Mandalay

In the depth of my ocean mind
I Find my soul diving and trying to unwind

Peer pressure can not handle all the empty space
Avoiding the world's relativistic mass by the human race

Overusing the power giving to me
Sleeping at times disappointed by humanity

I walk in darkness to help you reach the light
I twist the darkness to give you a better sight

Walking at the edge of all things with the ability to precept
Using logic to compare and intercept the emotions we can not accept 

With the emotional picture of a fast heart beat
Wiping out the brain waves with a mood in heat

Giving enough flow to the power of intuition
Exceeding the knowledge without the book of Revelation

Receiving the pointless pain in persons chest
A wreck who ignores the emotions to digest

A mood string of self-manipulation eating away at the mass of reality
Some viewers are so unperceptive, a low self-esteem of stupidity

A curse a gift with ability to know everything, illusions of feeling it
with an emphasis so useless you can not admit

Trusting one day came with a price, alerting my ego on strong
Using my energy to direct the purpose of the wrong

Walking like a tool throughout the world's philosophy
A weapon of thought not meant for the mindless or monstrosity

The hidden riddles of life are the ones before your eyes
Grasping the concept with the attention of ending lies in our lives

Proceeding the ethics of the center of one's endless layer
accepting the birth of all responsibility, over the edge of a mind player

I gave the thought with a natural twist of a moving spear
Expanding the horizon of the hemisphere

Edge walkers down and broken standing without
Walking straight forward with the same God and Devil in doubt

Simply looking through "rose colored glasses."
Chaos from the ugliness of avoiding the large body masses

Balancing out the change to allow the flow
follow logical emotions, that destroys a mind blow.

causing the opposite to any action
effect the law of any equal reaction

expect to accept the unexpected, a dull way of life
connect the keeper of the masters weapon knife 

with religion  comes the weakness of not standing tall
with the strong perception of life even one can fall

Standing without the generations of a crawler
living as a shadow he or she who believes the edge walker

                       by: P.D.   June/6/10

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Opposite Poem | |

A Love Story

The girl is an ultra-modern scholar, 
Belongs with an upper-middle class family. 
Looking very nice, smart, gets angry suddenly. 
She reads M.A in English at Presidency University. 
She is assimilating to the ideas of Shakespeare, 
Shelley, Keats, Neruda, Byron...
Fluently speaks English, loves cricket. 
Shoulders are shaken by expression.
She cries alone, laughs with everyone....

The girl is very good.

The boy is a post-modern educated son of a lower-middle class family.
He studies M.A in Bengali at Calcutta University.
He is assimilating to the routes of Vaishnab literature,
Ideas of Bharatchandra, Rabindranath Tagore, Nazrul, Jibanananda...
Writes poems, sings song, loves football.
He walks on the high-street and observes people.
He laughs alone, listens to everyone...

The boy is very good.

They are attracted by the opposite personality!
The  girl wants that her lover will be a modern man.
The boy thinks that his lover will become as the mind of his. 
They are changing silently
Losing individuality.

Time flows.
Love goes to another address... 


Copyright © Sandip Goswami

Details | Opposite Poem | |

True God

Awakening morning darkness falls heavy clouds
walking outside stretching in deep thought 
Firstly alone dreaming in freedom love 
Looking into the mountains a prayer

Faraway winds howling cry out
snow capped peaks cold reminder
a silver chain running down the face 
The truth always shines its light in the end 

Heavy rains wet upon the brow 
why has life been so cruel to me 
I never chose this path holding  no demons 
condemned in lies with pain and suffering

All one showed was the face of good 
even helping people in the streets 
who almost destroyed my home 
I had forgiven everyone as God is my witness

D-day looms heavy 
the Devil spits his lies 
yet sitting on his fork one will find truth
How could another human be so vile 

To condemn someone 
on a story that has just been made up
never have I stolen from anyone in my life 
in fact the opposite money root of evil I see

Living humble and meek 
has taught me wisdom of my ways 
nature talks to me in winds whispering 
Some walk this earth to be persecuted in the wrong

Proof that justice sometimes fails the innocence
we all are sinners looking down 
at the cold face chiseled in truth
but to bear falsely on someone 

Somethings I will never understand 
You saved me Almighty Lord 
When tortured pleaded in your Heavenly name
Saved my family from Hell

A miracle of life you gave back to me 
I began writing expelling my demons 
Now judgement day is falling upon me 
Oh Heavenly Father save me in my innocence 

And the tears keep falling 
for the love of truth 
what is wrong with this world 
sometimes they are bind to the facts 

Copyright © liam mcdaid

Details | Opposite Poem | |


Inexpert at rhyme 
or singing in time
I bray like a laryngitic donkey
my artwork's inept 
I'm ham-fisted except
when doodling things that are wonky

Of style I'm bereft 
my feet are both left
splayed in an opposite direction;
'tis little wonder
I blindfully blunder
into despair and abject dejection

My mind is a bog 
of gunk and cheap grog
my gray matter's shrinking, I fear
today is a haze 
yesterday a maze
and everything's clearly unclear

My dress sense is eish 
and fits not my niche
nor do my shorts, come to that
my flip-flops are worn 
my t-shirts all torn
one boob is fat, one is flat!

Despite many a flaw
I'm not an eyesore
though ungainly and lacking in style
with my stunning good looks
I easily hooked
your soon-to-be-ex with my smile

Copyright © delysia hendricks

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Tidal Lullabyes

The man in the moon
changes position,
showering my eyes
with a moon dust of
tidal lullabyes.

Slumber takes hold,
dreamscapes unfold,
and the girl walks
towards an edge
I cannot
reach, before
stormy waves
grasp and

is stored
within two
flights moving
in opposite
directions, as
once again, we
feel the distance.

I wonder if in
another lifetime,
we find tickets for
the same outbound flight,
soaring towards dawn.

March 28th, 2012

Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Breast Cancer Awareness

This is a short piece for Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I lost a close friend very talented, very young to breast cancer. I also lost my cousin recently to the same disease. I hate that ugly "C" word. I just wrote this story to highlight the relationship North American men have with women's breasts. I hope it is taken in the spirit that it is written. 

I don't have to try not to look at a woman's cleavage, I love looking into their eyes. I love listening to them talk. I enjoy listening to a woman's point of view. It enlightens me. It gives me views of the world that I would otherwise miss. I appreciate their nurturing nature. I like how soft they feel. Hold a woman's hand? That is sure to send shivers up my spine. Lock lips? If that is not what heaven feels like send me else I'll take my chances there. There is nothing like that first kiss. I can walk all day with her as if it were a minute in time. I float on air. I am a romantic. I adore women. I love the way they walk the way they smell. Hugging or spooning it's all good. The opposite sex is very special. It is time we listened more and appreciated more. Women can lead us to the proverbial Promised Land. No! I'm kidding. I like staring at their tits.

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Strange Beauty

 sijo (Visual 4)    

Tolerance and empathy between people of opposite stance
could take a lesson or two from the English countryside.
There single hedges fuse the best of holly, hawthorn and yew.

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Musings , Wishes and Life

Musings , Wishes and Life

The Fire burneth while our world turneth
yet the rose still holds it's red bloom

The mighty Oaks stand majestic and tall
while man's glory hardly rates a call

The cold Wind bloweth so surely we know
angels bleach the whiteness in the snow

The Forest lives to give beauty and art
wildlife and earthly souls stand far apart

The Sky singeth and the sweet earth reflects
Natures beauty opposite man's many defects

The Soul endures and stays the greatest test
that prove kindness and love serve us best

Robert J. Lindley, 06-26-2014

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Opposite Poem | |


101  POETS

I want to thank 101 poets, when words have no limit.
All 101 spots full of flowing imagery and spirit.
Nathan Dilts my #1~writing for him was so much fun.
Nikko's, words are like a shot at roulette~smoking writes like a cigarette.
Writes of fashion from Michael J.~Compares nothing to the writes of Chris A.
Linda our Sweetheart poet~the opposite of Sidney the Mad poet.
John Loving iii, your voice and heart are nice~Through God your words are like advice.
Gert Knop, Dr. Ram, and Robb A. Kopp, the inspiration is none stop.
Andrea D.~her poetry can sure teach me
Sara K., Doris C., Karen O' Leary, Carol B., Deborah G., their all okay with me.
What if I left out Billy K., and Royal T.~how rude would that be.
Harry H., Frank H., Robert L.H., Daver A., and Ravindra K. K.,again how young are they.
A special hi 2 Mattew A., Wilma N., Gerard J. K, Sharon Rubel, and Marycile Beer.
Anthony N., Amy Sulivan, and Anthony B.,~three poets who's poetry are a hit  with me.
Ryan E., Dakarai C., Jayne E., and Juan P.G. thanks for always remembering me.
Lynette C. where the H3!! are you~ don't U know we miss U.
Ruben O., John R., Thivia S., Tahera Manna, Katherine S, and Felishia Murphy~hello!
Heather Hill, Joe Maverick, Joy Wellington, Chuck Keys~smile and say cheese.
Audonus T, James P., Cecil H., Diane C., Celene C., Nicole S.B, and Susan Palli.
Kimberly H. Constance, Kevin S., Shelo Morbid~ write poetry that makes you think and hurt.
Delilah V. Jani-K. V., Debra Eckstein, very suave along with Grace E. Song Lee.
Michael G, Anderson T, Taha Effendi, Margeret Bailey, Mia Nuranti~ yes even you Francine.
HI! Sandra Stefanowich, Catie Lindsey, Emily K., Emilia R., and Carrie R.. 
James(JIMBO) ,Valentino J., Kelechi E., Randall S., Yasmin K., and Nette O.,hello!
Linda Milgate, David B., Jamecia B., Kris W., David Smalling, & Sylvia C., hi to all of tee.
a.k.a Lil Princess J, The Rockstarr's Princess this line is all 4 you.
Connie M. W., Daniel C., Daniel L., Sasha M., Kay'Sha T., and Raskin B.
Peter K., Bulinya M., Scarlett W., Ralph T., Larry B.,  Sharon T., & Sarah H.
Teresa S.,  Sydney P., Earle B., Ryland M., and John Freemen
Mike Butler, Rinki N., Joyce J., Robert A.D, Milton T., Pyhllis B.,~are all sweet 
Guy-A.D., Zera M., Hintendra M., and Don J.
Every poet on the soup inspires me in every kind of way.
Might as well add my #1 Nathan D., all over again.
Don't think I forgot about Skat,~ We're like Siamese cat.
To all my poet friends who love paper and pen.
101, profiling friends. 

LOL*** P.D. 

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

Details | Opposite Poem | |


We read each other so perfectly
two minds with a single thought,
when we combine, baby it's explosive
chemistry like ours cannot be taught.

The electricity gets me jumping
and attacks the heart's beat,
this experiment you concocted
has revived the frog's feet.

Like a volcanic lava lamp
an eruption of emotion flows,
the heat welds me to you
our bond that nobody knows.

We met inside this classroom
where my opposite attracted to yours,
like magnetized paperclips 
we were linked right from our cores.

We're closer than Dr. Jekyll was
to his hidden self, Mr. Hyde,
but, I can take you by the hand
as we go along for the ride.

Copyright © Kelly Deschler

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Scars of Love- A True Valentine Story

War leaves scars. They are emotional. They are physical. They are spiritual.

My brother had proposed to my sister-in-law on Valentine's Day, and so it was on that fateful day, 12 years later that his and her lives would change forever.

My brother had invited his wife to the posh Phonecia Hotel in Beirut for a cosy romantic lunch date while their three kids were in school. They decided to sit at a table facing the window so they could see the beautiful view outside. They could see the azure sky touching the Mediterranean in the distance.

At first, they sat opposite each other, but feeling amorous, my brother asked Pam to sit next to him. She was facing the glass window. 

During the meal, as they chatted, little did they know that a very important government official was passing on a street close by and that this event would mark them forever. 

"On 14 February 2005, Rafic Hariri, the former Prime Minister of Lebanon, was killed, along with 21 others, when explosives equivalent of around 1,000 kilograms of TNT (2,200 pounds) were detonated as his motorcade drove near the St. George Hotel in Beirut."

This was only a short distance from where my brother and his wife were having their Valentine meal. The glass window imploded when the car bombs detonated, and my brother and his wife were thrown off their chairs.  They were soaked in blood and for a while, found it hard to see or know what had happened. They were in a daze. The extensive bleeding was caused by the shards of glass they had been peppered with as the floor to ceiling glass imploded. They looked at each other and the ghastly sight was more than they could take. 

In the mayhem that ensued, they were able to make their way outside the building with other injured people. Eventually, an ambulance rushed then to the nearby American University Hospital. It was nearby because my brother taught in the Business Department of the American University of Beirut, so they had decided to have a quick lunch in the nearby vicinity.

Extensive work was done on both their faces. My sister-in-aw had a tooth knocked out from the force of the impact as she was thrown to the ground. Her injuries were more obvious as she had been sitting facing the glass. Up to this day, my brother sometimes has pieces of glass make their way to the surface of the skin on his face, and he has to pull them out. That's how deeply they became embedded.

When later asked if they wanted cosmetic surgery done to cover up the zig zag scars on their faces, my spunky Canadian sister-in-law replied, "Why should we? This is part of our history, of what we have been through, and it gives us a great story to tell."

I wish I were as brave as she is. The three children had a hard time seeing their parents in this state. Pam had to stay in intensive care for a while and when the kids finally did get to see her, Dylan, the middle child, burst out crying and said, "Mama, I don't like what's happened to your face."

This is life in Lebanon. We have lived through the war. We have survived. We have scars that tell the stories. I have written a full article on this, and will post a few excerpts later. 

We live in a spiritual battlefield. Christ came to rescue us, the wounded and the dying. He CHOSE to walk into the war zone. Jesus carries the scars in his hands and in his side of that rescue mission. He carries these marks for eternity, a sign of His great love and passion for us and for our salvation. He came to rescue the hostages of war....and "by His stripes, we are healed."

Isaiah 53: 5- 

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
    he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
    and by his wounds we are healed

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

Details | Opposite Poem | |

Layers Of Bricks

Most go into a relationship protecting and guarding their heart
I do the opposite, mine is open wide right from the start
Others have built bricks around theirs, that have to be torn down
I slowly put up a layer each time a hurt makes me frown

With each rejection, disappointment, another layer gets laid
It's beyond my control, swish, swish goes the spade
Unkind words, untruths, the layer of bricks climb higher     
Until my heart is safely buried away from the crossfire 

Now protected by the bricks, I become emotionally detached
Only now able to see why we were inevitably mismatched
People love in different ways and have different needs
Next time I'll find a matching heart, before I plant my seeds

In time, the bricks surrounding my heart will turn to clay
Then dissolve into dust, for I'm too optimistic to live in dismay
The dust will be eventually blown away by someone with a open heart
And thus be the reason why every other relationship has fallen apart

Copyright © Cecilia Macfarlane

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Heaven’s light source pure
Radiated light-years beyond
Man’s conscious knowledge
And cosmic understanding.

Various brilliant streetlights
Of the universe charting
Courses through stretches 
Of eternal darkness deep.

God keeps this Starlight
True to his very word
For when darkness wins
The keys of enlightenment

Fall prisoner to Lucifer
Who controls them for
His advantage over Man
At odds always with God.

Starlight reflects the way
For mankind’s quest in
Seeking ethereal guidance
And spiritual illumination.

This heavenly pure light
Keeps mankind on track
Despite Lucifer’s intrigues
To do just the opposite.

Man’s Earth time is short
And his date with destiny
Finds his fate held in the
Balance of God’s Hands.

But there is always the
Chance to ask God for
His advice and help—then
Waiting for the answer.

And God’s answer is
Coming in different ways
And—at the end, Salvation
Is granted by the act of God.

Being in God’s arms and
Looking back the way Man
Came reflects that everything
Was part of God’s divine purpose.

God’s grace and protection
On each and every one of the
Stones on the way and back
Was part of God’s divine plan.

At the end it turns out that
Everything was planned
From the very beginning
By you and God together.

The godly part created in
Man is the divine guidance
Which brings everybody
Back into the arms of God.

Now being in conscious awareness
Of God’s plans and creation,
Man can enjoy with inner peace the
Starlight—Heaven’s light source!

Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman, 
A Collaborated Poem, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
(January 30, 2015) (Unrhymed Quatrain)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

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Friend of a friend could be a friend

The joke would enter the room before the man
"Where is the Line for the Buffet."
I heard the laughter and I saw the hurt in his eyes
He laughed along with them with practiced ease
Protecting himself, don't look too close please!

I felt bad
this man of substance is my friend
The person he presents, not real but pretend
A caricature of himself on lend
Each laugh a confirmation of what he sees
Stop laughing, I beg you please
collectively you add to his disease

Each of us has our own insecurities
My own is wrapped up in trying to please
I too have needs but inside I freeze
Measuring my words the things I say
Somehow, scares some people away 
I want friends yet alone I play
Pretending that I'm okay
Please try to see me, I pray
I would never celebrate your demise
Look close there are tears in my eyes
I'm not happy unless you rise
Three men all different me not one of the guys

I accept you as you are
The gap seems wide but it isn't that far
Each is broken in a different way
Perfection not possible and that's okay
When I ask you  questions  
I want to hear what you say
It's not to throw your words back at you
Perhaps that's what some others do
You might think I gloat
but my heart doesn't play that note.
If you do well my spirit will float

For now, I'll ponder each thought
More is more, less is not
I have what I have you've got what you've got
Together we have quite a lot
Or if you wish, simply walk away
That's your choice
I've said what I have to say.

I reached out to a person with a hand of friendship and it had the exact opposite effect. Sometimes our intentions can be misconstrued, this made me sad. 

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

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Drifting Apart

different drumbeats, separate Lives he inhales the wind song, a static cling to yesterday held in his heart until his melody fades life, love, hope circle the drain aging realist at one with his pain love’s last aria, a melancholy oboe resigns with setting sun when two are no longer one, the chasm widens between haunting roars tribal drums on opposite shores
*For Brian's "2, 4, 6, 8" contest

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

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Cowboy Hoe Down - Maurice Yvonne and Seren

Written by Maurice Yvonne and Seren

Crack that whip, jerk the line, 
Let's start dancing it's no time to dine. 
First you holler, then you sing 
All join hands and make a ring. 

Now if you please circle wide, 
spread right out like an old cow hide. 
Feed the Hogs, brand the calf, 
Swing your honey once and a half 

Now you switch on the heel and toe 
Come gals and cowboys, don't be slow. 
Allemande left with the corner maid, 
Meet your own and promenade. 

Everybody swing and whirl 
Swing 'round and 'round with your pretty little girl. 
Do si do don't you know, 
You can't grab a rabbit until there's a snow. 

Bow to you partner and the corner miss, 
To the opposite lady just blow a kiss. 
Chicken in the bread pan scratching out gravel, 
get your maid & away you travel. 

Lassies to your seats and gents you foller 
Thank the fiddler and kiss the caller 

Dated 11 October 2014


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Weeping Willow

Weeping Willow

The way your toes curl when you first wake up, yes I have been there to see this.
The way your nose wrinkles as you start to laugh, to this also I have been witness.
You twirl your hair and click your teeth when deep thoughts keep you guessing
And the way your eyes alight with flame when no longer the answers are vexing
Your lips pucker without thought of a kiss when something to you is amusing
About the crazy ideas that I might be having or a book you might be perusing.

I have seen you in the embers of a raging fire, and on the waves that crash upon the shore
I have heard you in the whisper of a windswept leaf as it dances upon the forest floor
I have felt you within a single drop of rain that nature brings to cleanse the earth
I have tasted no greater flavor than this, the nectar garnered from a true loves birth
I have smelled your beauty within the aroma of jasmine, honey, mint and Cinnamon
I have known you from the dawn of time, the cadence of two hearts abridged as one

And when you go to bed at night for some reason my shirts are more comfortable
Than the many things in the past I bought you that your lips told me were unaffordable.
And I have dried the tears that flowed from your eyes when agony came to break your heart
Your brows would furrow as sleep would take you, tomorrow would bring a brand new start
But regardless of this and nonetheless you snuggle in close and at night you shift your pillow
To the cooler side the place that brings solace on the opposite poll of the weeping willow

Copyright © Ryland Matthews

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Touch Cindy

On Friday nights a melting pot,
descends upon the pub,
truck drivers, cockies, factory hands,
and workers from the scrub,
to mingle in the many shouts,
that see their glasses fill,
who leave before they’re entertained,
by workers from the mill.

The timber boys with blackened hands,
and sawdust through their hair,
throw their cheques upon the bar,
then drink without a care,
not one of them was impolite,
the opposite in fact,
but beer became their nemesis,
and quick they would react.

So, many leave the pub at night,
with blood upon their face,
while they who nurse a swollen hand,
rest at the coppers place,
‘mine host’ is left with his regrets,
knows what he’d like to do,
he’d like to ban the lot of them,
but they spend money too.

As one drifts on another comes,
to pull out from the saw,
the circuit is a common one,
for those who work and war,
this Friday night’s a first time here,
for one who’s name is Bob,
he’d like to celebrate with us,
his first week on the job.

“Whose is the dog outside?” was heard,
Bob quickly turned his head,
“It’s mine, the only friend I’ve got,
touch Cindy and you’re dead”,
there came no argument at all,
for the night was early yet,
but I thought it best I get on home,
before the ‘hour of regret’. 

Touch Cindy, touch Cindy,
touch Cindy and you’re dead.
Touch Cindy, touch Cindy,
keeps running through my head.

It was dark and after midnight,
when I heard the siren wail,
‘Hello,’ I thought, ‘It’s on again,
who’s ‘gunna’ need some bail’,
but then a sense of distance came,
they stopped out near the hill,
not the expectation of the pub,
more likely at the mill.

I saw a glow behind the blinds,
of course there was a fire,
then more sirens stirred the air,
there must be something dire,
I’m out of bed; back in my clothes,
and driving to the mill,
there’s lights of blue and lights of red,
plus further sirens still.

A pile of ash in smoke and steam,
is all that’s left to see,
with haggard faces looking on,
one cried hysterically,
she’s a witness to the scene,
when the caravan caught fire,
‘twas then I heard that it was Bob,
who perished in that pyre.

“He was safe,” she’s screaming out,
“Then frantically he cried,
as he rushed back into the van,
‘my mates back there inside!’
with his hand clasped to the collar...
I remember what Bob said,
when he warned us at the pub,
‘Touch Cindy and you’re dead’.

Touch Cindy, touch Cindy,
keeps running through my head.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie