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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas #850076 added May 23, 2015 at 12:44am
Restrictions: None
Opposites
Prompt: Invent an Opposite: What is the opposite of a kiss? What is the opposite of green? What is the opposite of a train? What is the opposite of cake? What is the opposite of a fence?
Now use both the thing and the newly created opposite in a story or poem? Have fun!
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The wind kissed her cheeks while the waves slapped her toes. Opposites both, working together, making her feel better. She moved with a slight hitch in her left hip, an asymmetry with a troublesome bounce. She was aware of it, so aware now, while she had been blind before, blind to his faults. Another opposite, she thought, being gullible until he had pushed her down the stairs.
Her life had been full of opposites. She didn’t like green anymore, for it was the color of his eyes, but black was a welcome color. Was black the opposite of green? For her, it was, as was bitter lemon opposed to cake. She would never bake a cake again, not for him anyway. She would put a slice of lemon in her own tea, in contrast, as bitter as a lemon slice can get. Maybe jalapeno peppers were the opposite of cake. Who knew! She shrugged. She couldn’t put pepper in her tea? Could she?
Anything was better than being with him now, anything the opposite of what was. She was so involved in thinking about the opposites, she didn’t hear what was happening behind her. When she finally heard him, it was too late.
“Bitch!” His anger was out of control. “You bloody bitch!”
He threw himself at her, bringing her down, both of them crashing into the beach. “You thought I’d never get out to find you. Did you!” He grunted as he tried to fill her mouth with sand.
The choking and the instant terror had made her nerve abandon her. She struggled, realizing she was terrified. What is the opposite of fear? She answered her own thoughts. Courage, confidence, fight back!
Her right hand felt the edge of the water.
She suddenly pushed him off with all her might, rolled from under him, and limping, stood up. He jumped at her, but immediately knelt in pain, blood squirting from his temple. He hadn’t noticed the stone she had in her hand.
She ran…still with the hitch in her left hip.
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