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ThePoet May 2016
The dusk made up of darkness
The dawn contained of light
As you were the break of day
I was the shadow of night

The bad made up of blackness
The good contained of white
As I was everything wrong 
You were everything right

© Sarah Ahmed (ThePoet)
celestial May 2016
she is blue eyes and delicate bones,
adorning pale hair of a porcelain doll.

i am a tornado of emotions and chaos—
tangled within myself, eternally a mess;

my erratic heart moves with the tides,
shifts underneath the moon in the night,

but she burns


she burns with the ferocity of the sun.
You ain't that dark
Little man
See, light abounds in the closets
you love to inhabit
But you've got your special glasses
"Fear goggles" if you will
So you continue to wander
Willfully lost
But is it fear
Fear that if found
You will be found... out
A fraud
A simpleton
A shallow nothing
What if
(the big question)
You ARE all those things
To someone ELSE
What if
You are nothing to
YOURSELF
What has changed
What has been taken
Nothing gained
Nothing lost
Only limited light in your dark world
The necessary concealer
The veil
The safe space
The thing that has defined you for so long you can't imagine being anything ELSE
But true definition, true being,
my friend
Is only achieved when you let some light in
CONTRAST
What a novel concept
(not really)
There is no light without dark
And no dark without light
And there is no humanity without a fair amount of both
Just a shallow false flat character
A Disney Villain
Living in a dark fantasy of their own making
The Crash of the Waves ,
The Stillness of the Sand ,
Life at the Ocean is a Contrast Grand .
~~~~~~~~~~
The Depth of the Sea ,
The High and Low Tides
The Ocean gives Positive Vibes.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The School of Vibrant Fish
A distinct Wave Swish .
~~~~~~~~~
The Bright , shining Sun ,
The Cool Breeze over the Ocean .
~~~~~~~~~
The Vastness of the Aquamarine that Nestle,
The Diminutiveness of the Cruising Vessels .
~~~~~~~~~~
Small ,Thatched Hutments under the Tall Green Coconut Grooves,
In Tranquility here the Day Moves.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Smell the Sea , Feel the Sky
A PostCard Perfect Mixture  ,
The Beauty of the Ocean has a Winsome Contrast Picture !
~~~~~~~~~~~
© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Inspired to write when i scrolled through the picture gallery of our recent holiday to #The Seychelles#Happy memories #Beauty of the Ocean...23.04.2019
Robin Lemmen Aug 2018
Our entire relationship I felt
like all I was doing
was waiting for you and I to break
like goodbye was only one kiss away

And when I finally started feeling
like maybe, just maybe
we would prove ourselves wrong
you left me in shambles on the floor
shards of our favorite memories
cutting deep and letting me bleed
flowers painted red

I can't seem to escape
everything feels laced
with your winter remnants
blooming a stark white contrast
to my deep dark wounds
leaving broken roses everywhere
L B Jul 2018
I cannot pick a color
I love more
Each is thrilling
and some seem
the breath of life to all the rest
I loved my crayons
They became my escape
from misery
the contrast to any given day at school

Any excuse to use them all
or just one
to avoid that lowest reading group
the monstrosities of math
If I couldn't sing it
there were no letters in the alphabet
I could not tell you A from Z

But you see--
That day was
purple!
That was all that mattered
I loved its richness and its depth
its mystery
its royalty
King Midas would have liked it, I was sure
almost a religion
Vestments of the priest
in the times of expectation
It is the explanation for

the last of day

As a five-year-old
I drew my love for purple
Passionate
and outside all the lines-- off onto the desk
I was so proud!
But--

Miss Platt, so horrified
asked,

What is it
I was trying to do?

I didn't know....

I was suddenly ashamed
and frightened too
This may have been the first time I actually touched down in reality.  Been trying to take off again ever since.

The religious times of expectation were Advent for Christmas and Lent for Easter.
Xallan Feb 6
Add that:
in all of my pointless comparisons,
I am self conscious of all
the ways I am similar to everyone else,
unoriginal and ununique.
To summarize: I am lame.
For who cares whether or not
others notice these things?
They are figments,
merely. But- I am aware
of my primary, incessant concern- myself.
I notice, naturally, with no sense.
It is totally normal
for me to engage in this self conscious nonsense,
without end.
I desire to be a robot, lifeless,
but what good would awareness do then?
Self conscious about a few loose bolts,  
the whole circuit would short,
and that'd be the end of me.
It is the schism.
It is the juxtaposition
between caring about myself and about others,
of everything and nothing,
and I cannot find the balance.
I am a teetering pile of flesh pancakes.
**** lame.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
How I Observed the Day of Atonement

If you are unfamiliar with day and its observance,
See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my creator who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing, none harsher,

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, adirondacke thrones,
We overlooked,
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded and sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants, the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogos, in this,
Palace of Perfect Solitude.

Amiable did we chat,
I of family, this and that.

He, wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For he had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books.

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor no defender in residence,
For we exchange these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession.

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine.

He returned this courtesy.

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, he said that he had yet to find
A beverage that his kind of thirst could slake.
For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past.

Too much killing, this year,
It tires me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less, if at all.

Thanks for Kol Nidre, he plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood, undisguised as praying.

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For him it attended, for him, it waited,
Sails, both black and white.

He stood to depart, my arms-grasped, taken, he graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, my strengths, my divinity.

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet when next we meet, please.

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He, for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting  beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never deception,

Only He resting easy, when he atoned before me,
And I gave him his absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
mine
September  2013
King Panda Feb 2018
the shock
of bodies—
a sound
rippled in
cheetah lightening
to wings of blasted
flowers taught
red
yellow
lavender sky—

butterfly wound
festering pollened
breeze to
where your
mouth
is opened
breath
tongue
and twisted cord—

opaque bee
twirling with
opaque stamen
lit
in a wall of
rushing
waterfall—a
perfect contrast
of forgiveness
Graff1980 Sep 2018
I look for compatriots
in this callous and cruel
world.

I seek allies who will help
me overcome
the horrors that were done
to everyone.

I long for
the warm storm
to wash away
the wicked muck
of too much
hateful stuff,
deeply paining
dark rhetoric
that wealthy men
generate,
to create
fear and hate.

I wait
subdued
by the desire
to inspire
in contrast
with a need
to find peace
from a
spiteful past,

but even among peers
I am alone.
King Panda Aug 2017
your hair appears darker
when wet.
black, corded,
thick as puzzlegrass.
a companion in contrast
to frosted
cupcake blue eyes and
incense burning
in the ashtray.

memories thrown
in the laundry pile
with the wet towel
swirling upon
your head.
your smile
bitter as asparagus,
staining my *****
for the next two days.
your frame
soft and slender
as balsa wood.

I’d eat your air
freshly oxygenated
and bend you into
an arc.
the waves would split
on your bow
and shower my face
wet
dark
corded
thick as puzzlegrass.
then
from your finger
the standard of a
dove leaving
olive branch in
mouth
into the frosted
cupcake blue
sky.

a miracle in
the eye of the
waning storm.
Jack Aug 2018
Sad like blue,
But many shades of cool.
All I see is red,
Fire inside my head.
Luminescent like white,
Yet boring but bold.
Divergent in black,
Enthralling in the darkness.
I challenge the contrast.

(C)
the answer is a simple
as a thought
it's hard to realise how i cannot
give an explanation
i ought have known
how could be the culmination
of the lifelong
i don’t wanna take it on my own
but i'll used to it
as i did two years ago
and now i just sit in line
and wait
till the glow of mine
become paled
Westley Barnes Dec 2014
Blood felt in a caress
Was the last gift of love I sent you home with.
My thoughts gently clinging to the curled ends
of your hair.
The moon bright as a baby's skin
The wind from the sea leaving nothing untouched

I could think of a Springsteen lyric
but this isn't the summer
and my clothes cling too tightly
To this body which I intend only to please you.

I think instead of a friend telling me of a power-out
When he lived in a minor Chinese mainland city of seven or 8 million
And how all he could see for  miles around for an entire week afterwards
was smog.
And I contrast that
With when in the relatively far west of this tiny island
We stood laughing in wonder at how the stars hung so closely down on us
And how smog is all that fills my head
When I try to remember words you use
When you speak of the moon.
Carla Aug 2018
Her eyes stand out,
On a canvas full of ink,
The contrast between them,
"Nothing better," I think.

Her eyes reflect her heart,
And the liveliness of her soul.
She's like a problem, needing an answer,
And her eyes are the main goal.
This was a challenge given to me by my good friend, Lila, and the poem is describing her eyes as she was the giver of this challenge. The goal was to describe someone's eyes without using color. If you'd like to try it, go ahead, it's a lot of fun.
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