Look...See how long nights are drawing in.
Dreary birdsong gradually abates -
Opaque dusk grows dim;
And just outside the creaky little garden
Stood opposite the empty wood
Where the vacant threshold silently awaits,
I pause, when, resonating quietly back...
I now hear...
Far distant echoes of my glorious childhood
Tugging like a Siren upon my ear.
With a heartfelt pang I turn to move,
Before my staring should offend some
Old friends ghost
To manifest in vengeful affright,
Towards the comforting sanctuary proffered
By the warm kitchens weak neon light...
That sneaks out from behind the half-shut
But held - Transfixed!
Brought from wither-not-where to this one
Small place - Staid...
As if caught in a state of heavenly grace,
Conversing to the soft wind in harmonious
Thus soothes like enchantments waves...
Rolling gently up to repeatedly break upon
Magical banks girdling Nivians lakeshore.
For what be this odd muse
That upon my aging senses does so readily
And to my inner soul so inextricably
Ahhh...But this much I may be allowed to
Before darkly gathering skies extinguish
Over weak flames of the last spluttering
Perhaps it is our inner voice
That seeks out the solitudes of
Tranquilities choice -
To witness and record and dutifully store...
Those rare and fleeting moments
We all too briefly adore.
Copyright © john fleming | Year Posted 2016
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.
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 curtains...watch 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.
March 25 2015
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015
A long long time ago there lived a king.
His lovely daughter he’d give anything.
She walked about, jewels dripping from each hand,
talking down to all, thinking she was grand.
There was but one thing missing from her life.
But not one prince desired her for his wife.
Her personality repulsed all men.
They’d meet her once, then not see her again.
Her father found for her one rich old king
but she preferred young, handsome and charming.
One day the perfect suitor came along.
This handsome man wooed Roseanne with a song.
How beautiful his voice! How sweet his face.
A man was he of talent and of grace.
The opposite of spoiled Roseanne was he.
The king arranged their wedding anxiously!
However, no one knew from whence he came.
Though very rich, this young prince had no fame.
How was it he could even stand Roseanne,
the princess from whom all the others ran?
He had so much. Why waste it all on her?
Despite good looks, Roseanne had no allure.
One thing he asked for. This is what he said:
“Inside my castle we must both be wed.”
The wedding guests felt great relief and bliss,
for Roseanne soon would get her first true kiss!
But unbeknownst to them, the handsome man
Roseanne was marrying had his own plan.
When he was young, a witch on him had cast
a spell! It would be broken now at last!
The ceremony started. Vows were said.
The prince then raised the veil from his wife’s head.
He softly kissed her lips. Then something weird!
The castle they all stood in disappeared.
The wedding guests waist-high in water stood.
The prince changed too, and he did not look good.
His voice so beautiful became a croak.
The king stood there about to have a stroke!
The splendid castle had become a bog;
The groom leaped happily – once more a frog!
Written March 5, 2017
Entry for John Hamilton's the Best rhyming poem 3 Poetry Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
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 –
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 –
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 | Year Posted 2015
Grounded by the gravity of our earth
Our body and spirit are often pulled
In opposite opposing directions in
Contention between visceral emotions
And logical, intellectual, left brain thought.
Too much of one may eviscerate the other.
A combination of both are needed to retain
Balance and a sense of inner sanctuary.
Poetry has the sensibilities to stir our
Emotions, to speak to body and spirit,
Melding our terrestrial selves with the divine.
© Connie Marcum Wong
Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016
If I let my mind meander -
like a river backwards through time -
past rocks and turbulent waters
and also through the calm times
when the surface of that river was smooth as glass -
I go further back to a time
when my life flowed like a stream,
less complex and rolling on with hope.
Always, though, I end up at the source -
at that place of splendid sweetness
where the water was a clear fresh spring
bursting forth to feed the passion
of a glorious waterfall.
And always I remember you, sweet darling,
as the shimmer of the sunlight
on that fresh and sparkling mountain spring.
April 2, 2017
for Frank Herrera's OPPOSITE GENDER LOVE EXPRESSION Contest
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
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.
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010
I carry my mother
like a rock in my pocket
that I just can’t seem to throw away
It serves me
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,
I carry my mother,
a thought without weight
And she’s heavier
and she’s colder
than all the stones
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,
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
Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson | Year Posted 2005
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 | Year Posted 2007
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
Love goes to another address...
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
Copyright © Sandip Goswami | Year Posted 2014
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 | Year Posted 2010
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 | Year Posted 2014
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.
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
I like staring at their tits.
Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014
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 | Year Posted 2010
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 | Year Posted 2011
When you were born...
a gift you received.
Invisible knitting needles...
can you believe?
The yarn started out white,
then you added the the colors...
depending what happened
as you reacted to others.
You are the creator of your own scarfs design,
It's based on life's lessons...
let's keep that in mind.
The longer the scarf...
the warmer you feel,
as the cold winds of defeat...
are right on your heels.
The negative remarks that get you to question,
your value in life...
may I offer a suggestion?
Start knitting yourself in the opposite direction,
just ask God for help and his loving protection.
Good thoughts of self will make your scarf grow.
At the end of your life...
the results they will show.
With each negative belief...
your scarf will start to unravel.
One can not go back...
for there is no time travel.
You are the knitter...
so It's all up to you...
believe in yourself...
and to yourself always be true.
Copyright © Pam Deremer | Year Posted 2015
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 | Year Posted 2010
From the surface of
The moon, light reflected gives
Off that rainbow scene
For when the moon is
Near to full, at it's brightest
Opposite of her
And natures rains fall
Combination creates, a
Moonbow oh! so rare
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
I fooled the whole world for a number of years
The opposite sex...those gullible dears
A sexy slim body, and cute little butt
Had them acting like fools...behaving like nuts
But old Father Time had a plan for this figure
That cute little butt, well, it only got bigger
One life changing morning my pants wouldn't fit
No pulling or tugging got them over my hips
Denial, denial, surely they've shrunk
This simply can't be...Lord, tell me I'm drunk!
The lesson I've learned will last me forever
The world you might fool, but your skinny pants, Never!!
Copyright © Nikki richards | Year Posted 2009
Nothing more than a pretty smile - repost
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads,
following the same schedule
as the other…identical
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The weed interrupted,
“Didn’t…don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back
and flew, holding onto
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared, hopping happily
Jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…..
Note: This is a repost of a poem I posted on soup when I first arrived. Not many saw it at the time. I read an Alice in Wonderland themed poem by Kim Rodrigues the other day titled “Personalities of Alice” https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/personalities_of_alice_899442,
which was absolutely wonderful, and it reminded me of this so I thought I would bring it up again and see if you liked it.
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2017
Like a bridegroom crowned in crimson,
He rises out of his chamber,
Scarlet circlets round his person,
Bedecked in tangerine amber;
With tears of joy* shed on the grass,
The world rejoices when he comes,
His smile's reflected on the glass
Of each river, as daylife* thrums;
An incarnadine cirque, he glows
From one end of heaven's doorway,
In merry-go-round, he follows
His circuit till the end of day;
The birds belt out ballads divine
When he stirs them with soft caress;
But, he's barely a ball of shine
Before the Sun of Righteousness*.
( *Tears of joy - dew;
*Daylife - opposite of nightlife
*Sun of Righteousness - Lord Jesus Christ )
Copyright © Jo Daniel | Year Posted 2016
I created this smile for you
Tailor made to make you blush
Tailor made to make you have a youthful crush
When embarrassed, it comes just to make you sigh
When I first met you I fashioned it to make you reply
I created this smile for you
I created this smile for you
Its here to comfort you in times of need
Its here to motivate you to succeed
When arguing this smile has made you leave
When in doubt this smile made you believe
I created this smile for you
I created this smile for you
Made to work as a magnet, this smile attracts you from opposite ends of the earth
This smile has no value, however you’ve found it’s worth
This smile is here just for you and will always try
This smile was made only for you and you have its right till I die
I created this smile for you
Copyright © james faulkner | Year Posted 2008
You tell me that my love is not real
You tell me that my love needs to be more concrete
More box that I should fit into
More small manageable pieces
That are easier to swallow
But I can't just do that
When explaining my sexual orientation
It is so easy to say not straight
Not straight is easy to understand
Not straight is just the opposite of straight
But not straight
Does not feel right
Because sexuality is so much more
Than male and female
Gay and straight
It may be hard to understand
But some people don't fit into those labels
Some people reject labels
Labels are meant to be on boxes and not people anyway
I am not a box
I am not some pretty little package
That you can just name and make it so
I am a kaleidoscope
A brightly colored mosaic
Changing with each twist and turn
I am a beautiful cascade of emotion
Rushing over the cliff of hate
To wash away all the bigotry
I am a fire
Raging with a passion to share with the world
I am pansexual
I love all people
No that does not make me a slut
No that does not mean I will date anyone
What it does mean is that I will give you a chance
I will see how we can coexist
I will show you the love that we all deserve
Not as male or female
Or gay and straight
But as human beings
Copyright © Brittany Larson | Year Posted 2015
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 | Year Posted 2014
By which nothing is divided.
no Adam, no apple, no marriage, no morning.
no God, no soul, no ear lobe, no Iliad, no Odyssey.
no black hole
no mission, no omission, no fission, no fusion.
no 7:30, no wind, no window, no owl, no one.
In 773, at Al-Mansur's behest, translations were made of the Siddhantas, Indian astronomical treatises dating as far back as 425 B.C.; these versions may have been the vehicles through which the "Arabic" numerals and the zero were brought from India into China and then to the Islamic countries. In 813 the Persian mathematician Khwarizmi used the Hindu numerals in his astronomical tables; about 825 he issued a treatise known in its Latin form as Algoritmi de numero Indorum, Khwarizmi on Numerals of the Indians. After him, in 976, Muhammed ibn Ahmad in his "Keys to the Sciences," remarked that if in a calculation no number appears in the place of tens, a little circle should be used "to keep the rows." This circle the Arabs called sifr. That was the earliest mention of the name sifr that eventually became zero. Italian zefiro already meant "west wind" from Latin and Greek zephyrus. This may have influenced the spelling when transcribing Arabic sifr. The Italian mathematician Fibonacci (c. 1170-1250), who grew up in North Africa and is credited with introducing the decimal system in Europe, used the term zephyrum. This became zefiro in Italian, which was contracted to zero in Venetian. - Wikipedia
After my father's appointment by his homeland as a state official in the customs house of Bugia for the Pisan merchants who thronged to it, he took charge; and in view of its future usefulness and convenience, had me in my boyhood come to him and there wanted me to devote myself to and be instructed in the study of calculation for some days. There, following my introduction, as a consequence of marvelous instruction in the art, to the nine digits of the Hindus, the knowledge of the art very much appealed to me before all others, and for it I realized that all its aspects were studied in Egypt, Syria, Greece, Sicily, and Provence, with their varying methods; and at these places thereafter, while on business, I pursued my study in depth and learned the give-and-take of disputation. But all this even, and the algorism, as well as the art of Pythagoras, I considered as almost a mistake in respect to the method of the Hindus (Modus Indorum). Therefore, embracing more stringently that method of the Hindus, and taking stricter pains in its study, while adding certain things from my own understanding and inserting also certain things from the niceties of Euclidxs geometric art, I have striven to compose this book in its entirety as understandably as I could, dividing it into fifteen chapters. Almost everything which I have introduced I have displayed with exact proof, in order that those further seeking this knowledge, with it pre-eminent method, might be instructed, and further, in order that the Latin people might not be discovered to be without it, as they have been up to now. If I have perchance omitted anything more or less proper or necessary, I beg indulgence, since there is no one who is blameless and utterly provident in all things. The nine Indian figures are: 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1. With these nine figures, and with the sign 0 . . . any number may be written. - Fibonacci, Leonardo of Pisa
Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015