Best Duplicates Poems
The era of catatonic self-destruction has risen yet again from boulder-blocked caves,
Whose cavernous stalactite incisors drip with the blood of thorny crowns,
Worn in punitive irony for the subversion of fertile inferiority,
Which, like rabbits, duplicates and hops about in trouncing contentment.
Yet despite the grin stretched beneath empty eyes,
Which are eclipsed by dilation of cimmerian shades poured from tipped inkwells,
Darkness ripened by age has inflated its penumbral grasp upon the solar plexus.
Hearts beat now to the false circadian rhythm of telemetry.
Screens fueled by waves polluting the air scramble for attention;
Screaming as if the spotlight has slithered away from their thespian heads.
But even so we watch as if waiting for a nothingness we know.
Petulant performances pretending to perfect the perception of reality persevere,
Despite their lack of empirical validity.
Our bodies and the space around they occupy have become irrelevant.
Experience and physical stimulation have been replaced by mirror neurons,
Firing incessantly at the sight of electromagnetic facsimiles,
Which are vomited in projected disproportion into our unwitting faces,
From nauseating mouths of those whose disease has spread to lower echelons.
And so we sit and stare upon the square on walls and in our hands,
As the prefrontal cortex and its dehydrated lobes succumb to the reptilians.
Another era of lack of mind borne from the fruitlessness of parasitic seeds,
Planted by the pretenders who swim in the wealth of our applause.
Clap away, we will, until we collapse in the arthritic solidification of redundant repetition.
Welcome to the show; a televised apocalypse of thought.
Where worlds were once created in cognition,
They're now created in the lenses of cameras.
When worlds were once refracted light coruscating from the eye,
They're now flickered in slides reflected from the television.
The rest of me is categorized as others
Including "It", "him" and "her", they're me's peers
The philosophers have said it rather smart
That all "it", "him" and "her" are similar to "me''s physical traits
But differ a lot in interests and ideas:
The democratic politicians insisted that they are politically equal
And the human populationist believed: they are alive as a whole
...
But something has long confused "me" is that
Why so many of "it", "him" and "her" that "me" never knew
(in any sense, such as meeting in person
Or any relationships could possibly be existing)
I personally reckon that "me" is a unique soul
And "it", "him" and "her" are duplicates as "me"'s shadows
Because of the blood in me could never possibly be immortal
Once "me" is gone, "it" or "him" or "her" will come to continue
...
Blessed are we to have the gift of you.
Sunset skies illuminated in glorious shades varied
Conjures memories of your loving smile
Your laughter paints the colours of rainbows seen
Like orchids rare you fill our hearts
Of visions of one of a kind memories
In this world of duplicates everywhere you stand alone
Mountains curtsy to strength unwavering
Beauty and grace captured through rivers deep
Your love rooted strong as majestic trees
Nightingales carol and doves soar free
Your love cherished for all to see
Framed with your essence and love from family
^she_
^she_ had a love/hate relationship with food
she only fed with her eyes,
i was a sparkless firecracker
and spoke English like i hated it.
not the least bit compatible
in any department
at any hour on any menu
she wouldn't even drink the water.
I would slip through the cracks
should she stop staring at me
up and down her beautiful 'it is'
she lit an incense and i was ignited.
i offered up an apple
a yellow delicious manifested
i peeled it for her
but she wouldn't taste it.
i laid eyes on her lips
kissed with dark secrets
an awakening of insects
with equal day and night.
She ate me with her eyes
clear, bright, ripe
it rained on the fruit
and i took a bite.
I spoke to the grain in her ear
i had so much to say
succulent was my speech
She took it all in.
potash, stolen, honey and rye
sup the festal dish don't cry
she had parted the thin line
between a want and it's fill.
I lapsed into that petri-dish
pierced by her green staring
Her warm glassy ogling
all up and down my countenance.
Nourished of palate perception
She relished on her diet.
I indulged as her entrée
feasting her with my gaze.
It would take a while
like a gala supper without wine.
^she_ would have no seconds
no weakness for flavor of the same.
well fed and fed up
she checked me out
her unusual hunger
gave me best regards
No repeats nor duplicates since
such foodstuff is most uncommon
Her daily bread was nurtured
with the edibles of my mind.
The End.
genuine love
like a dove
chattel for cattel
cattel as chattel
frosty the snow man?
or the glow ran?
as wisps of flakes on the wind
God can you please rescind or resend
that snowflake that never duplicates
cause I sure like this one, so replicate
uniqueness got my attention now
but in itself it's lost somehow
like whispers on the wind never retold
how far do snowflakes grow old?
For eternal energy I'm fold
for a snowflake I will never scold
Tangible frost
a valued frost
Form:
The Paint Mover - Art-Poetry
The poet paints deep thoughts with words
the artist duplicates with paint;
sometimes described as 'sister arts',
disparities are only faint.
So passionate my need to draw
before my art with words began;
emotions caught with crayons first
and then with flowing paint, they ran.
Great images I longed to seize
to capture nature with a brush,
and with my colors blending life...
within my soul, I felt the rush.
Like meter, rhyme, a paintbrush moves
to balance rhythms of a scene
portrays deep beauty for the eyes...
'art-poetry'...not read, but seen.
November 12, 2016
Contest: Creativity In Visual Arts
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Two scales must always be within an approximate range
for an accurate weight, and the close relationship
between the Humankind and God must withstand any change.
Solutions must be found before catastrophe approaches,
and if we were caught by surprise, we would regret the outcome;
less trees should be cut down to make room for buildings.
Thieves, murderers and rapists should be held in contempt
and thrown into dungeons...instead of giving them cosy cells,
the Law admits that's just to punish, but inhumane to torment.
Nightly streets have been taken over by muggers, drug dealers
and prostitutes, now called escorts, haven't changed their lewd attitude;
even madams of the brothels open doors for the well-dressed sirs.
Society has gone mad, and it has condoned both sexes of equal desires;
never was Sodom and Gomorrah as iniquitous and lustful as this one;
God forbid...I entered this city and be found guilty of their perversions!
While on the outskirts, in run-down homes poverty duplicates its horrible woes,
politicians' corrupt hands are not seen...pocketing money that Congress approved;
and the suffering of the poor is plagued by famines that turn into deadly diseases.
Crooked judges are manipulated by criminal defense lawyers who have handfuls of cash;
justice can never be served when criminals are given their parole, and the innocent,
humble men are detained and put behind bars, because of their limited wealth.
Proud hearts see neither simplicity nor beauty in anything that evolves into splendid light;
self-praise, greed, bluntness and invulnerability are the rules they live and swear by;
humbleness is unacceptable and insignificant...it's a virtue which diminishes their pride.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
WORDS SO SWEET.
Cultivating from this tangerine
Tree
Liquid recipe, her content carry's
Pedigree,
Green shaped leaf is my identity.
What is time without the latitude
Of man's mind?
Am surprised, this ordinary ink
Begins to see things.
Follow me on this trace into
Unlimited might, lighting sign's
Apostles of translucent sight.
Today you read Words So Sweet,
As sentences duplicates into
Centuries
Not speaking of her voluminous
Territory
Basically her harvested energy
Equals particles of spiritual
Clergy.
You my darling so sweet,
I prostrate murmuring indefinite
Blessings,
Never have I pictured you in a
Coffin
Stand by me when am coughing
Become my hobby,
I hear your voice even when you
Say noting.
Accept this infant milk from
A mother to feed her pretty
Daughter at age two,
I mount my back for you
To scale through.
Let Wrinkles never beautify
Your face
Dark and fair will definitely
Read this page.
Poetry was created for you
Never to hate
WORDS SO SWEET is a stage,
To you who love's and see
To the growth of wisdom in
Every adorable medium,
Poetry is my name.
Habib Akewusola.
I come not to enlighten you
but in my way destroy;
embellishment of personhood
gives me such little joy.
The dark I bring on wings scarred black
shall blind the morning light;
No trace is left to levitate
humanity from blight.
Tell parasitic paranoids
who need to bleed their hate,
I am the Hydra coiled to wrap
around their garden gate.
I'll feed upon the multitude
your little bastard brood,
to satiate the darkest fate
of my eccentric mood.
This universe in multiples
(beyond redundancy)
where thoughts are bound to mind around
a new complexity.
The time has come to end the end
begun so long ago;
the human race is baseless space;
corruptions putrid flow.
And I have countless duplicates
who rival even me;
lips drip to sip your succulence,
a feast consumed with glee.
If could grasp this world within
the palm of your right hand,
you will not be released or free
to walk this worthless land.
It is a universal vice
I share with you this day:
All life will ebb in ember fires
turned cold and powder gray.
You ask of Poets in my world?
I say they all are ONE,
each moving like a metronome
until their verse is done.
You pass these perfumed days of rest
'neath flowers round your gate;
but wretched stink of old decay
enjoins Mephisto's hate.
I write my rhyme in verse to curse
and tease with soulless ease.
Perhaps I write to steal your fright -
we Hydras love to please.
Now count the words for I shall not
and you will find them true -
I RODE THE ROAD OBLIVION
IN RHYTHM RIDE TO YOU!!
Looking though
the looking- glass
peering, wondering
when will this end?
Duplicates swirling without hindering
my imagination
the colors, fox trotting
across my eyes
When the mountains laugh
their belated laugh
and when the birds cry
their distressing warbles
will the looking- glass mystery
ever
end?
It's Better To Receive
Multiple Incredible Things
That You've Always Wanted...
Than Duplicates Of
Things You Already Have
That Are Still Incredible.
Usually.
But Should It Be?
Does Novelty Just Satisfy
Present Uncertainty?
-Gray Squirrel
09-06-2025
Dreams
Are likened to streams
They are quiet
But well balanced in diet
Very trickish
And slippery
They come and go with ease
Raise your hopes as they please
And leave your head full of wishes
Unending wishes and a times very selfish.
Dreams
Are like films
But mostly you are the actor
With an invisible director
Dreams
They move in speed
And just like ships
They take you from this land
Across to another land
In a matter of seconds
Yet it keeps all the records
In your head
So that you don’t forget
Dreams
Are like airplanes
The fastest transport means
Its pilot is the human spirit
Which takes you places before you know it
Dreams
Can be artistes a times
They present you in different styles
Make duplicates of you at the same time
In different sizes and places
Dreams
Can be deceitful
And also truthful
They can be the most mysterious producers
But they are ways God also communicates with us
They are also means by which evil missions are achieved
We should beware of this fellow called ‘dreams’.
If the plural of mouse is mice,
And more than one louse is lice,
Then it seems to me, that logically,
The plural of grouse should be grice.
A single goose duplicates into geese,
A mongoose produces mongooses,
So let me stick out my neck
And ask why the heck
The plural of moose is moose,
And not meese,
Or much better yet,
Why not mooses?
Author's note: Dear reader, if you're interested in a little more along this line, I invite you to take a look at my article/essay, "The Wonderfully Awful English Language".
Cheeks slightly blush
a dazzling little flush
enchantment of the eyes
flutters through the skies
And
Duplicates the grin
cascading once again
a radiant touch of sun
friendship has begun
To
Blossom into more
emotions do explore
these tiny thoughts of
falling in love
~~*~~
Color of Love
A romantic scribble
I write to you with nothing
I write to you not knowing who I am in you
I write to you with just thoughts, ideas of the ideal man
Dear father I write to you in prayer, with my knees on the floor, in thought and with hands in the air
Father I sing to you
I praise you and see your hand everywhere
Father I write to you with tears and a pain only flesh may bleed to please
Father I see you seeing us from heaven and in wonder that you have left your son in each of our hearts, leaving us wondering how much we mean as your sons on Earth.
Father Oh how great thou art, crafted in living
How much you mean to us.
Dear loving Father.
A father who motivates, greatness in morals and being an example
Dear Father oh how you have molded me in age, vision and in your xyz of principles
Father I watch you in awe
Watching your chess moves of living and being the king of our home.
Tat'omdala indoda which knows to respect and love
A Father I hope to be, how I mean to be you and walk in your enormous shoes
How much you mean to us.
Dear Father who isn't there.
How much I mourn your presence.
Dear Father how could you let me hang in a flag of colourless colour as I motivate to motivate being a man.
Dear Father how much I mean to have seen you hold me and just say four letter.
Dear Father I write to you with my tears and emptiness
In my pain of hoping I may finally have someone I look like, who may correct my wrongs
How much you mean to me.
Dear selfish Father
Oh how I hate you
Dear Father may you be blessed in a terrible sorrow
Father I write to you hoping you'd just say sorry and not return as it is you I scorn
Oh father who abused and hit my mother in days of intoxication
Oh father who never gave me anything, not even a name
Oh how much your actions of pain have removed the manliness in man
How much you mean to me
Dear future fathers.
May money and pride never seem to appetise you
Fathers may you be real men who love their daughters and duplicates enough to mold them into real instruments of a better world
Dear future men, may morals still be applicable to you in spite of all this twerking and foolish deeds
Dear men I write to you for you to love and honour your wives
And to continue growing as I honour how much you mean you to me.