Long Antonyms Poems
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A mysterious, spiritual poem possibly unconsciously already heard by you, if you're already swimming in the deep red rivers of poetry, writing or just creating something.
A mysterious voice offering to absorb or transform your sins, through poetic expression, and eventual emotional catharsis.
Raw, powerful, and redemptive, like a mythical Sin Eater.
Trying to forever guide you through your moral and daily struggles, and helping you find a way, to stay afloat in the complexities of life.
While swimming in the deep red waters of its poetry.
Have you unconsciously heard this holy ghost?
Title.
The Congamphlgh Caller.
(A lone voice whispers)
My name tastes like raw poetry
As I compel you to try to swallow all your sins overtime, and just express one of my exotic hymns
Summon me by using a mixture of synonyms or antonyms
To then use and abuse sweet or sour rhymes and light and dark whims
For I'm like a mythical Sin Eater
Who could be sent like an arrow from your God's Chambers
To help you swim
If only you'll welcome me in
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Congamphlgh: Holy Ghost
Conquer
Heart craves to weep,
Emotions dying of cheat,
In firm grip of sadness,
Going crazy in madness,
Is what depression means !
Just a bit of courage,
Self assessment to encourage,
Knowing world is bad,
Life is both cheers and sad,
Is what elevates the mood !
Too much if you expect,
Always in end will regret,
Roses that you loved,
thorns are hand in glove,
Is what you need to ponder!
Your own self you need to conquer,
No pills needed, why to surrender,
To defeat any forces that subdue,
To negative thoughts must bid adieu,
Dictionary with no antonyms ?
That's what in the end you will get !!
Written December 9th, 2014
For contest'Fighting depression' for Linda
Sponsor- Shadow Hamilton
Awarded 8th place
You are such a dummkopf.
Okay, thanks. No, I mean it.
Thanks.
Do you know what it is?
No.
Do you want to know?
No thanks.
So the instigator tries again.
You are a lunkheaded-lame-brained, stupid wooden head.
Okay.
The instigator’s face is pink and unhappy now.
You are a hammer-headed dunderheaded-moron.
Thanks.
A weird reflection of our world is this,
if you look up the word ‘dummkopf’ there
are eighty synonyms. Any guesses how many
antonyms are listed?
Two.
Brain and genius.
This is a universal flaw,
so is it any wonder some of us are living
in an unhappy world of bullies?
Just take a good look at me;
My frame is attractive!
It does the unsated
appetite of the chauvinist
fuel.
My curves and your fantasies
are mutually inclusive!
Without them, dreams
are truncated.
But I am an orgasmic
symbol.
The self opinionated chauvinist
designs me in his sub-conscious
to serve and be utterly subservient.
I am incarcerated as a chef,
and timeless baby sitter.
A baby machine for a
patriarchal dynasty.
My education is a threat to chauvinist ego.
My ignorance hones his misogynist confidence,
whilst my erudite head
retards his self esteem and worth.
The illiterate orgasmic symbol is his
ideal and virtuous woman.
The smarter and more professional
is the age-old Jezebel.
My chastity and virginity
are twin virtues of a
mutilated genitalia.
My restrained sex urges are
designed for his unrestrained
proclivities and gratification.
I must be restrained,
for him to be unrestrained,
because, share him I must
with two or three others of
my kind.
But take another good look at me,
and see a versatile womb-man!
Translate each prejudice of yours'
and see my remarkable antonyms.
I have the glow of Eve in my eyes. Genesis. In the beginning there was heaven and earth. Here I am in the Garden of Eden looking at the tree of knowledge, the tree of good and evil, and I think alright, I already have foresight. Epiphany. I felt that was not blasphemy to feel that way, nor was it sacrilegious because if I were not religious, I would not be in the garden of Eden. The plants were green with envy and the water was blue with denial. It id summer in Le Afrique and I am free and feeling good. I felt emancipated from birth. My heart beat and that was an emancipation. When I touched my rib cage I knew that there was one rib still belonging to a man. But it is mine now. I am feeling good and feeling free. C'est le vie. C'est fini. Et tu Brute? Is that what I am so suppose to say? Brutus has yet to betray Julius Caesar so what would be the point in saying that? I am free to walk through this garden capisce? There is no need to fight there is no need to take physical flight I am alright.
The flutter of a butterfly's wing can cause a typhoon across the world. And so maybe I will twirl and turn from that tree of knowledge. And so I am here without a doubt. And I doubt that I have to continuously smack my lips and shake my pointer finger about. And what about antonyms? That was rhetorical. It would only be logical to understand that Genesis and Revelations are not antonyms. IF I get forgiveness for wanting to be alone, maybe we can talk about Revelations, maybe we can just be silent. Skeptical I am that I am here alone. Revelations.
I’m finally going to get on that platform
on the 18th of next month,
for a first-time, one-time performance.
The once, seemingly impossible will come fully true,
which seems like a lot narratively.
It’ll be like leaving home—but we’re crashing out.
Moving on to other plot points, big topics and intense missions.
We’re all caustically optimistic.
Although there’s a cellular-level pull to move on
we can’t help but feel a hesitancy to jump into our multifarious futures.
We’ve never been improvident.
In my personal pool of experience, when I feel alone,
friendless and unseen, this unintelligible fear noise arises,
and I'm tempted to tap out. But I never have.
.
.
Songs for this:
walk but in a garden by LLusion
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
I Like You (A Happier Song) [feat. Doja Cat] by Post Malone
The world often wonders—how can two different personalities match up?
Wouldn't their differences create a barrier & let their happy lives shatter?
Well, it's the nature of our universe,
Where contrasts always attract,
Connecting two souls together—it's a cosmic truth, undeniable and exact.
Sadly, like ones always repel,
Drifting apart, and at one point, they start to rebel.
To be honest, that does make sense.
We experience both grief and happiness,
Yet together, they complete the beauty of life.
She loves summer & I admire winters,
Which lets us explore the world through changing seasons and skies.
She's hot, and I'm chill—
Just like the Sun and Moon, uplifting each other's beauty in the sky,
A perfect blend of romance & thrill.
With time, opposites start to feel complementary.
Things that once seemed like antonyms now feel like synonyms,
And that’s the ethereal glow of life & time.
(Dedicated To Submariners All Over The World)
Dived deep in the bowels of the seas
My steely shell’s a womb.
Deep down amidst the oil and grease
I am at peace in the Lovecraftian tomb!
What’s with the antonyms, you may ask?
Two opposite words you’ve used -
One’s a warm and wonderful cask,
The other’s dead and worm-abused.
The words are apt, as you’ll soon realize,
For a sub’s a Faustian hell
Where the soul imperceptibly dies
A place where sub-human’s dwell!
Dimmed lights cast a sepulchral gloom,
Myriad machines sing Orphic songs
Of palpable peril and impending doom;
Each one of us a Houri’s groom!
To us’s denied the kiss of the sun,
Not for us the fresh blown breeze,
We know not when the day’s begun,
Nor when the night’s a-freeze!
Up periscopes and down again
The klaxons’ strident screams
Make us jump from where we’ve lain
To drilled duties in well-oiled teams.
The sighting of a laggard prey,
Spells sure a petard blown,
For a homing submarine fish tail spray
Brings terror to hardened men and grown.
Though through silent prowls of the deep we hunt,
Like coin could be our fate.
Our shell could crack with the depth charge brunt;
With Davy Jones we’d have our date!
But when heightened pulse and throbbing heart
Have ceased their labours wild,
Routine sets in and all is “back to start”
Each one an unborn child.
The sub becomes a womb, you see,
A place where your thoughts get sorted;
An amniotic envelope, safe and cozy,
With fair chance to get aborted!
So I hope now that my ditty’s run its course
The message’s plain and grim
That life and death share the same source -
For a submariner womb and tomb are synonym!
As I stare at this blank canvas
I wonder what to create
Should I write what I feel
I ponder if anyone can relate
Art in the form of words
There is no canvas that goes unheard
As I reach deep inside my mind
Gauging what's my biggest crime
I would have to say it's art
Now follow closely because this will get dark
Don't get lost in the shadow of my arch
There is no sun where the sun don't shine
I hope you listening close because that was a punch line
Art comes in many forms
I try to create outside of the norm
I was pronounced different from the day I was born
Now don't get torn
This is not sympathetic art
This is real raw lay out your heart
I make a puzzle out of my words
I like using synonyms antonyms and verbs
Not a shattered illusion
But a microbial infusion
Tell me can you follow
A canvas so hollow
Bruised at its outer edge
Heart still beating
But inside it's dead
Yet you can't help but stare
Would you buy it?
I bet you won't .. I dare
Form:
stranger fruits to come
by our roots we’re born free
no one owns the earth
yet bitter sweet
is our liberty
in the beginning
all was void and black
peace, love, unity
and oneness of kind
(synonyms)
then thunder tolled
and lightening flashed
truth frightened un-believers
inventing change
(antonyms)
injustice veiled
justice
inequality veiled
equanimity
from the seed
of the fruit of bigotry
racism bloomed
and flourished
a bastard branch
of the tree of life grew
we are the victims
of its fruits
dormant seeds
shedding ivory hued mold
today
hope blossoms
the immortality
of freedom is…