Best Aped Poems
I don’t believe there is such a thing as a mirror,
Because this so called reflection is not really me.
I think he is a stranger that moved into my house,
For the man that I see is somewhat, ugly.
I think he built this life size window
To spy on everything that I do
And I can tell you he is beginning pissing me off
I can feel my anger’s starting to brew
Once I moved to the side of the window
And he disappeared out of sight
What I could see a part of his room
Gave me an terrible fright
The bugger’s been to the same shop
And bought the same things I have
The bed, cupboards and lamp shades
And on the table he even has the same Sat. Nav.
I peeped into this window
With the hope to catch him off guard
But there he was looking at me
Staring just as hard
I stood in front of the loser and cussed the most colourful words
The monkey aped every action even the moving of his lips
Then it dawned on me that he wore the same clothes
In the same pose with his hands on his hips
So infuriated, I punched the window
And ended his years of peeping tom jeer
However, the bugger is now haunting me
In every glass I happen to peer
"We have more ability than willpower, and it is often an excuse to ourselves that we imagine that things are impossible". Francois de La Rochefoucauld
A fresh year is upon us, and the counter is ticking,
I carry out my recent resolutions for year-picking.
Self-discipline or staying in touch with family.
The family lives in the eternal heart, happily.
I will strain harder to retain my resolution,
to improve our planet for peace and evolution.
Faint waves of grace may clump a long way,
Conjure us a stable place and restrain evil at bay.
I wish to improve my family bonds this year,
They bestow concord, spirit, and a loving ear.
This year, I ought to transmute what I say,
Misunderstood words often ruin my day.
I'd aped to yield up even minor desires this year,
for they rarely come true and only wreak fear.
I wish to savor each moment with awareness.
Thoughtfully, I wish to increase my happiness.
The nonce ticking down to 2023 and midnight,
The preceding year viewed so much plight.
If I pick one resolution, it will be to be positive.
My cup half full stars glitter brighter, evocative.
No more premature sleepless nights are due,
Worry over the obnoxious, resentful few.
Learning to be grateful a million times over,
sharing prosperity with loads of delight sower.
My New Year's resolution was revealed in the past,
I hope that the year twenty-two will be our last.
I hope that the huge ball will achieve something,
It crushes the epidemic and the anguish it brings.
Written: November 26, 2022
Resolutions for 2023 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Hands tick in motion but I hear naught
of the onslaught of killing time depicted.
Minutes run past me in tarred darkness
as the visions in my brain are obscured.
Clocks eat away moments of my life.
I admit I'm nearly frightened to death
of those mimed hands whose strokes
stab me with each gasp of breath I take.
Round and around, silent warning given
in gross opposition to the beastly roar,
aped by masses of such foolish people,
oblivious that my plight is also their own.
Reticence gives no relief to assault. I see
my fate's demise, and frightened I shall be
until death's full tariff has set my soul free.
Rhythmic tickings makes no difference to me.
Silence staggers my soul to substantiality.
Blinded by fear of my imminent necrosis,
I cannot traverse those two roving needles,
hellbent on stinging me to my neon grave!
Passage of time is but a travesty of life
in which man has no occasion to amend.
In the end, death haunts us all in silent
whispers; echoes of cruel scheming hands.
==========================
17th of April, 2016
Ensure you allude to all that has been recorded.
Every creature that has lived inside the rocks.
A long-forgotten former planet has appeared.
Awareness arises as we break the padlocks.
Electric fan blades are humming in a hot place.
When you're alone, and there's no oxygen.
Loneliness looms overall aped a pitiful prince.
Bedlam rises when commotion inside deepens.
Reveal if that's innocuous, or it may injure people.
Are words yet another excavation experience?
Is it feasible to resurrect a moribund principle?
Did you find it bothersome or maybe mysterious?
There is a hole where the hamster once paddled.
Since the snake hissed at it but didn't even eat it
As the animal lays on the floor, its insides splayed.
Earth has morphed into the fabric under the seat.
Besides birds, giant excavators lay on their palms.
Underneath, you may view mind-boggling and tangled traffic.
Yet, excavating a gigantic hole in the center of homes.
Let Earth deal with melting lakes or roving nomadic.
From the tenth balcony, the building site is visible.
A goliath, dead pit discharges light, fire, and vitality.
Quietness loaded up with facts yelled in din risible.
Coated with glass, gaze at a flying towel on a gallery.
Written: June 19, 2021
This or That, Vol 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Come one come all cam one holds her tall cam two lights and all four horses trollop
away in the night. Alive at five Adult mind Winders shall perform a demonstration a
subscription based presentation on their aggressive fertilization Freed to breeze,
free to roam lost yet watched, aped and treated as apes are the hurt and innocent
seeking solace in corrections for already karma cashed errors while the Neanderthal
pre punished by genetics zig zaggin zoo masters frantically scoop our poop faking
real for the next. When everyone knows, is it still a painting or an adult rendered
fridge ornament of disgrace? Hmmm either way or neither way I will continue to lie
here and allow my masters to push forth with the sucking of my aped banana
while in a hammock I rest.
In the wilderness, my cry
Echoes back at me:
My poetry wanes.
And sinks into oblivion
Like the thousand and one discordant notes
That issues out of my braying mouth.
Where are you now, Wordsworth?
Are you vibrating in agony
In a spineless, sunless world?
Would that I had your fervour now.
Has it been murdered too?
Only my playful fancies now are aped
I live in this stifling modern world.
And infection is all around.
The muse has taken a vacation.
So you think you are a poet,
but your work, it don’t show it
Lots of Yeats and Shakespeare
rip offs; Wordsworth aped, many
spin-offs
Puerile nonsense, bibs and bows,
weep for me, and wipe my nose
“I’m an expert,” what a laugh!
why’d you write such utter chaff!
Hymns and sermons in profusion,
writ with gnostic’s odd confusion
But where’s “the juice,”the meat
and gravy? Please no more on
curls and baby
Writing poetry is a thrill, not twee
lines to make one ill; so why not
pen about real life; hearts, emotions,
hormones, strife?
(With apologies to the late Charles Bukowski )
Once a flower child
Always a Moon Child
Generations of Cancerians
Have aped the crab with tenacity
Large eyes and agility
Moving side-to-side silently
Moody on mournful days
Joyful in the sunlight
Giver of love
Taker of wise advice
Domestic yet athletic
Contraditions abound
For crazed moon children
Who beam and fade periodically
*July 13, 2014 (one day before this Moon Child’s birthday)
Dreaming is a choice,
Suchlike a breeze
Or a blooming rose
Petals flourish anyway,
I have dreams and - fantasies
This wave of fancy
Suchlike fresh air to my spirit
My muse - is obdurate
Assist in my endeavor
Stardust metaphors erase shyness
Spreads soothing stake shades
The bright moon
With its stillness
Silently watching over us,
At the bottom of the sea,
Fantasy of acceptance
With a backward glance,
To impanel who deserves
Becoming a seaside charmer
The sound of the waves
Swarming aped thunder,
Mysteries that magnify madness
A magic that can only be used once,
Invoked by the tides
I was literally astounded
Through this surreal event,
A dreamer soul
Whose kiss dispels all doubts?
In fantasy, fantastic feelings
Sight and story are the core
To provide the reader with realism,
Exquisite and vibrant
Bright - cerulean hues dazzle and deepen.
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: February 06, 2023
Wave Of Fantasy Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose Rose
Out of you and me,
The colors of our skins
And our humanity,
Comes the scarred history
Of the home of the brave
And the land of the free;
Where it always was held true
That in you and by you—
And only for you—all men
[of your hue] were created equal.
Indeed. Said the darker hued
Were merely aped to be manlike
That the icon of the new nation—
Slavery and the pursuit of happiness—
Could be perceived as that negative goodness
That only servitude and meek humility could bring.
What deed could be more gracious?
Snatching savage beasts from a darken land;
Cultivating them to be docile beasts of burdens
In a bright new world—Slavery—the common good!
But time is a funny thing. When it passes,
It still leaves its footprints behind. Dark hued
Ancestors are gone; but their audacity remains
Showing and leaving heirs what new tormentors
Will never ever see—what their eyes were watching.
What our ancestors saw, our eyes are now stayed upon.
Contrary to skewed belief, we too, were created
In the egg of life—laid free in history’s nest—incubated.
Now pecked free, we come laying our claim to the vision.
Freedom is not a human gift. With eyes stayed on the prize
We now come laying our claim to the liberating promise of God.
In the evening of this beautiful sunshine day
I took a cooling-off walk through the park.
There I saw buoyant ducks and little ducklings
Watching a bullfrog sitting on his lily pad throne;
His pulsating neck aped silent crocking rhythms.
The greenish hued pond water was as still as death
Until the little ducklings began flapping their wings
In a manner that seemed as if they were in a game
Playing Rock! Paper! Scissors! or skiing with wings.
As I strolled past this joyous view, a distant car backfired!
Suddenly, but for the water, the pond became empty and
Looking around, not an amphibian nor avian was in sight.
Assured by nature that all was well, I continued my walk.
Having returned home, I now sit here out on the verandah
And gazing up into the eastern sky I wait for the rising moon.
Come,” let the church say amen!” For a man “born by the river”, the
Change that’s “gonna come”…allegorically revealed itself today.
written in the field
aped jape or migrant's edict?
without signature
A nun was raped, and the lawmen gaped;
Theres talk of culture, yet the west is aped.
Churches were torched, while a nation watched;
The rest of the world gave a response all botched.
Perpetrators of this, have a faith worth no name,
For their country men this was just like a game.
With inhuman zest, take the best from the west,
Pretend nothing happened, it was done in pure jest.
Is it no wonder that going down under,
Can turn out to be such an asinine blunder.
Watch out for those with their tongue in cheek,
Wolves in sheeps clothing, pretending they’re meek.
Silently hiding and stealing the cream,
Turning the west into a temporary dream.
Some people won’t change, they’ll still be the same;
A pity indeed, it brings global shame.
Prince Freakasso(Artist & Poet)
Frozen Promises June 23, 2026
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Frozen promises, aped icicles hang,
Glistening with deceit
No alteration in sight, the same yore song,
The disillusionment was a bitter defeat.
The sun, once a beacon of warmth and light,
Now hides behind a veil of darkened clouds,
The warmth of hope was replaced by plight.
Leaving us feeling lost in the shroud.
In this realm of torment and fear we tread,
Is a test of strength, where souls are led.
It's a battlefield of our creation.
Where we bear sequels of our damnation.
Yes, it's true; this world is hell.
But within its chaos, there are stories to tell.
We were not born to wither and fade.
But to rise above, unafraid.
What else do you expect? What else do you expect?
In a world filled with unrest?
A call to action, a plea for change,
To break free from this endless range.
Assertively, we are the base of the construction.
Of our living inferno, this destructive abduction.
But it's not too late; we can turn the tide.
With our grit, we can alter the course, with pride.
Sammi is a delicate blossom frolicking in gayest blooms,
Analogous to a fragile rose amidst world’s boring dooms;
Manifold lusters issue forth from her magnanimous heart,
Manifesting the rare glamor fair flowers show only in part,
Imitating with aped arts her truer merits in borrowed spurt!