I think the opposite of skinny
Is the bottom on my Auntie Minnie
What is the opposite of dark?
A flashlight beam- bold and stark
What is the opposite of fit?
Someone who prefers to sit
The opposite of sweet, I think
Are my brother's shoes-they really stink
The opposite of underwear
Are the clothes on top, we wear out there
The very opposite of happy
Is someone cranky, nasty, snappy
It's screaming, yelling, don't come near
It's go away, don't want you here
The very opposite of morning
Is late at night when I start yawning
It's darkness falling around
When nightfall covers all the ground
And if purple has an opposite
I'm certain I can't think of it
You are the jingle in my bells
The tick in my tock
The flash in my light
The spring in my time
The whirl in my wind
The tell in my tale
You are the ever in my lasting
The ginger in my bread
The life in my boat
It has to be said.
While living in New York City, Alan Wright often visited a busy café serving a rich and hearty winter soup that warmed him on cold winter days. In his third anthology of poetry Wright compares the flavours of that delicious soup to the blending of a variety of poetic styles and subjects to create a pleasurable collection of poems to suit the tastes all ages.
Wright’s poems capture real-life experiences while exploring past events and numerous small moments. Among the poems gathered here, he light heartedly reflects on the untimely death of Brutus the Budgerigar. He also shares some wheel bad news, the ride of the sky witch, the sad tale of Norman Neets, some secret conversations around a kitchen table, and all the reasons why science rocks.
What The Poemster Found is a compilation of fun verse that provides a rollicking journey through the far reaches of a poet’s inspiration.
About the Author
Alan j Wright is a widely experienced educational consultant and author who works extensively across Australia. He has been teaching poetry since man first stepped on the moon. He currently resides in Mornington, Victoria, Australia. This is his third anthology of poetry. Poetry is his oxygen.