#extremes poems on Hello Poetry

Malia Jan 8

It was yes or no,
Black and white,
But I’ve grown
Into seeing the gray.
I realized that there
Is a sky full of stars
In between the night
And the day.

#blackandwhite #night #day #grayarea #extremes

clear conscience Jun 2020

oscillating between extremes

oscillating between extremes

the seesaw tilts, slamming the body into hurtful,
no genteel daisy picking, nope, love me, love me not,
the mind playing warped ideologies, you, tossed about

I want her; all men do; the rapture is coming, her eyes,
preach to the converted and the soon-to-be; join her,
her semi-colon smile, represents a hell of near-completion!

discourse, pleadings, all for naught, she, teacher/grader,
A or F, frenzied thrown to the ground, her lips say oops,
but we know, a throwing intentional, a mastery of reminder!

barbs of batting eyelids, whipping tongue tips reveal daggers,
woe is me, whoa I plead, there is no mercies extant, instead, we
oscillate up and down, tween extremes, I need her, can’t have her!

I hate her! and myself, for myself, I love her so, my hate for her is less
than our mutual mocking of me...

————

we oscillate between extremes, at least, we are together...

#washing #conscience #clean #oscillating #between #extremes #cc #lmn

Norbert Tasev May 2020

Boundaries of extremes

I just quench my bitterness, the stumps of my chronic pessimism, bitterly every day, somehow, so that I can recreate it in the midst of tomorrow’s struggles: I realized this belongs to the equilibrium state of the Universe too! Amit daily; kidney, liver, stomach are digested and transformed through a chain of nerve pathways. "That's why everything happened so fast, with a thief that was harder to swallow, gnashed and leaked, eternity began again within the prison walls the next day!" The events, the connections

in its immutability it would have been good to believe: It would have been good to receive the Prometheus hope with sewn-in pockets, and yet many wasted opportunities fell out of his holey hands! For among human-faced hyena animals one can only listen to the True, the Good: A faithful chronicle of beautiful words, immortal apocryphal thoughts,

and no one may surrender himself to him who has asked: Loyalty leads the hands of two burglars with loyalty as a sincere handcuff and with his breath! The hardest part is: Knowing and believing that the world needs you! And you don't have to be among your old filth!

I feel: The Important has shrunk. The single Whole has lost its meaning - today everyone fights on their own, fights and none of them can at least say: Cheap, material goods pocket, steal, or cheat, and others - or just because of their daily livelihood! As a livelihood for the now collapsed potential cornerstone of Morality, human hearts rarely circulate in human heart tunnels! Like biological mortality made for eternity, - it was destroyed several times in its day; As false promises shattered into a cop, the Truths, sincere human speeches, have disappeared: Here now Falsehood sits on the velvet of light-lost throne chairs,

you may ask, but why: You will not find the ruins of tears, the bridges of the vulnerable heart here! - Secret Dueling: Wickedness and evil have become a parallel message every day: s minute-human-blue daredevil-power is afraid to create and convey new fashions! Extreme age! I wish we could more consciously recognize the limits of the Extremes.

#extremes #sad #pain #life

Pablo Luis Garcia Sep 2018

How can you not be romantic of Manila?

I can write of Manila at night like the greats do of Paris. Not Manila in the morning, for it matters then, but Manila at night where it doesn't matter if it is new or old or if you are rich or poor, because it all blends into the moonlit darkness and that is when Manila becomes like a love letter. It may be Cebu that I love, but it is Manila that captivates me.

To the farmer, who left Manila for America to escape the war, and returned to see only a burned down church. To the young boy, a hundred years later, who does not see the church, but sees the romance of a concrete city. And to the ill man sitting on the corner of a street in Ermita, who has seen more of life and Manila than any of us ever will or ever can or ever want to. To the jazz bars tucked deep in Quezon where the music is sweetest, and to the congregation of poets who meet at their secret place in Makati on sacred nights to talk of the country they write for. Manila does not end.

But Manila is no moveable feast- it is a grand mystery that is far too heavy to take with you. Paris was loved because it was easy to love. The same way Florence was loved because it was easy to. Manila is far too rough to make for easy loving, but the beauty is there for everyone but the blind to see, and even then it is there for the blind to feel. One just has to try hard enough. It is what Manila represents, for it represents not the American dream, but the Filipino ambition to create their own. It does not become a question of how can you. It never will. It is a question of how can you not be romantic of Manila?

Here's to a city of extremes, and smog, and **** beauty

#manila #city #nights #romantic #beauty #extremes #diamond #pabygarcia

Sabila Siddiqui Mar 2018

Extremes

I don't know what it is to
live a balanced life.
For I tear at the seams,
and live in extremes.

When happiness embraces me,
I do not smile
But become the sun;
that glows, shine and gleams.

When sadness enwraps me
I don't drizzle, I rain
I become the hurricane of blue,
the abyss of the starless sky;
I become the void.

When anger smolders me;
I don't yell, I burn out my sanity
I become the boiling blood
and the explosion of heat.

When loss deprives me
I do not grieve, I do not tarnish
I break, shatter and tear
I become the heart that does not beat but bleeds.
I become the wailing wind that breezes through the cypress trees.

I am either cold like Vinson Massif
or soft like a marshmallow
For I am the one who experiences no in between.

#extremes #sensitive #bleeds #tarnish #marshmellow #sanity #hurricane #balanced #break #loss

Urmita Das Jan 2018

HER

She was a burning woodland glow, she was a glacial mass floe...

She was a vivacious chirpy bird, she was a lustrous keen sword...

She was a lascivious carnal dream, she was a pleasant amiable beam...

She was a dreadful animus love, she was an exquisite angelic dove...

And he made her swingeing quirk seize, she went slacken and then bled beige !!

#quirks #extremes #bleedingbeige