Best Imitation Poems
we learned to live on breadcrumbing
to orbit without return
haunting for love
a kittenfisher smiled
through borrowed summers
a catfisher built an entire moon
we endured benching
cushioning
roster dating—
hearts lined as spare chairs
after the guests had gone
I practiced love bombing
you future faking
the skilled preferred negging
one small faultline opening under load
and a place to live inside it
we drifted through situationships
through talking stages
through the annual migration
of ghosting, zombieing and hoovering
a hard launch
a soft launch
then pocketing
banksying taught us
how to leave without leaving
ghostlighting taught us
how to return without arriving
meanwhile the wildflowerers
flowered
the slow daters
kept their own time
every exclusive
promise
stalled at a DTR
frozen at the lip
of the relationship escalator
watching the steel teeth
flatten and disappear
red flags
snapped in the wind
green flags
semaphored
beige flags overgrown
in the yard
one night the throngers
argued hot takes beneath the stars
I felt the ick
you went delulu
someone else shrekking at last
laughed with their whole strange face
and for a moment
nobody was performing
just two people
standing outside the slang
while every
label we had worn
blew past—
confetti and bleached receipts
a failure to launch
breaking open in beach grass
though glittering more
All that glitters is not gold
but imitation
imitation gold
wife imitates husband mood
imitation love!
-11/28/2019 9: 11: 00 PM CTG, BD
In the Middle Ages, people ate
food with wooden spoons of weird shape;
it may seem archaic
in ages less artistic...
an idea we still imitate.
they march from egypt
pain and contempt?get real dude
california
I know what a poem
looks like.
I know how to make
my prose look like verse.
A little tuck here,
an indent there,
et voila! It’s verse!
or worse ...
a pale imitation of seem.
(can I have some ice cream?)
Accents blending in the air. Southern drawl slowly mixing with Caribbean beats,,
Until the energy of the Harlem Renaissance tops it all off.
"We don't like you." Says the wind to the teenage girl.
"You have to much mixture,to much blend. You don't fit into any boxes."
says the rain drop.
"Change, cut two mixtures or else." threatens the lightning.
But to cut even one would leave her vulnerable to all elements. She needed
her full foundation.
"We don't like you." says the wind again.
"I don't care." says the girl.
"You will." roared the thunder.
The blend bubbled inside of her but didn't boil over. It went to slow simmer.
She smiled in calmness not anger.
"At least you dislike me, not a cheap imitation of someone else." says the girl.
Then the sun stood up.
"Leave her alone. She is my real gem." says the sun.
The sun brightened the sky above her head.
Soliloquy to Love
To be loved or not to be loved; restatement of existential indecision.
No less a question to the universe, no less unanswered, no less
Turned aside by fear of the unknown.
Not to be loved; a land of emptiness plagued by hunger and the
Inner ache of longing, fanned by friendly words and glances
From a passing soul, of like temperament and wit. A place
Where the brilliant sun is dimmed by thin cloud that sheds cold rain
Like tears in the loneliness of evening. To be loved, an eternal quest,
A life traveller gazing at the pinpricks of stars and distant galaxies in
heart swelling wonder, with expectant anticipation of joy to come.
Being loved, a precious state of surety of being, inner power and
Command over life, outward shining happiness to dazzle all about.
These are the head and tails of the currency of living, the coin of
Daily intercourse with those about who gaze back in like manner,
Engaged in their own invisible struggle to find love; but some do not seek love.
Not to seek love. The safe haven in which the ship of the soul rides serene,
untroubled by the storm of emotion, passion and uncertainty which
Lies beyond the safe harbour. To seek love. To venture into the tumult
Of the open sea, far from safety, racked with fear and doubt, frightened,
But with the glow of treasures ever before, luring the happy soul onwards.
An azure sky and evening's soft air, aglow with sunset, the horizon pigmented
with the flame of love
PARTY IMITATION
boy watches
birthday video
oh spouse! oh brother!
two bro-in-laws, and
dear old dad, a full
living color gift
dance to the tune:
YMCA
i know y’all can hear it
in your head.
their hands form each letter
“Y” “M” “C” “A”
shirts shimmy
up the tummy
red-headed rapscallion
two year old toddler
smirks
from the other side
of the camera
up goes his shirt
5/19/2017
Two golden souls, star-crossed and torn apart,
Must be there lies a curse upon this heart,
For love, and love returned that can't remain
Has left it but a beating, broken frame.
To touch your skin so soft as satin sheets,
Your eyes through which your soul, my own soul meets,
A kiss upon those lips that haunt my dreams
I long to place, but will no more it seems.
Who would believe 'The Bard' could prophesy
Sweet love so doomed as that of you and I,
Two double centuries before we learn
That true Verona sits above the Tern.
Yet still this fractured heart cries out for you
My Capulet, with love, your Montague.
Imitation saturates behavior.
drowned in reactions, thinking we're unlike them
but it's been done before, unconscious of the war
some become like others down to the very core.
And sometimes ignorance, in all its bliss
will force us down the trail of an unwanted wish.
Though knowledge of own actions remain in safety
still shadows exist, outlining what "could be"
Eyes up ahead, never turning around
We're internally focused, 'til we hear that sound
that echo of hidden flaws, impossible to believe
yet there it is, a younger voice mimicking our deeds
The moment of realization passes the slowest
as dawns the question- did we fail the test?
An uncomfortable epiphany
I never wanted them to be like me.
Yet here they are, staring at my heart.
Trailing an arrow that never hit its mark.
Turning around is no longer an option.
Required to watch an ever growing reflection.
Behavior remains saturated by imitation
designed to impact a new generation
The hand that we played may soon be forgotten
A web of replication willingly caught in.
My perfect imitation of a pilot in motion
cautiously pushing forward, paying attention
to all details is a trick of the virtual imagination...
using agile hands, as if they actually were two fluttering wings,
focusing with vigilant eyes looking straight at scurrying clouds:
as he swiftly travels to his set destination.
Peaceful is our Earth below,
four oceans, four continents
and thousands of small islands...
while acres of forests burn, and rivers follow
their irruptive course as humans do...
but suddenly all vanishes into the amazing blue!
What I discover beneath, no eyes would see,
what I hear around and above nobody can hear;
only angels surveilling can anticipate dangers
and warn us through meteorologists what's coming;
many ships have sunk into the unpredictable sea:
the tragedy of the Titanic followed others of lesser scale,
who is really safe on unstable ground or even in the turbulent air?
garbage dumped into our oceans: tomorrow will kill many a whale!
This voyage carefully planned won't be my last ever,
the shorter ones are considered to be less dangerous:
attentiveness is a must, not excluding a tragic crash so loud
due to weather, or to a mechanical failure; could I surrender
when chaos is real and the humming airplane changes sound?
Should I allow the aircraft to plunge into the surging waves?
My perfect imitation of a pilot
allows me to feel good: flying is practice, not art!
Then, is the furthest sky the limit of all adventures,
of all aspirations an explorer turns into realistic dreams?
Are there rewards for his part?
Where there is a petty imitation
There'll be pests, posters of sensation
Grouping of hesitations
Complaints to order, servings of hallucinations
There'll be soap-box amatory slander
About walking coat-hangers slender
It ain't working girl, it's a waling green guile
By his friend in business uptown a mile
By his wife who paints her mirror image
Shades against her daughter's non-marriage
Her tea drained in company of photo albums
Of good old days of bottomless bums
And motherly mums and wives' tales true
But the fashionable unreasonable is turning blue
All the codified glory of yesterday's innocent shame
Now he's not got a gamut of trust in a game
He calls out to his dog, his faith, his fellow
"Round up the gambits and youths in yellow,
'cause I can't move from my comfortable stump."
But his companion is old, stands to wearily slump
Back to the ground to emphasize to his master
That's four legs or two there'll be no muster
Just a dusty breeze of his wooden-coat happening
As diamonds were coal, the rough is hardening
Like a baby can't talk, but it knows what it wants
No you can't understand it, you guess as it taunts
Your patience and moral, your air of knowledge
That you've blown so big you need no tutelage
So you sit and you moan, you grumble and point
You don't dance no more as it'll gnaw each joint
Like you grind your teeth as the heartily speak
As the laughing weak working each day of the week
It's hard but they know it won't last forever
'cause cursing your bread will put you in the gutter
Now that's something you could never understand
Just as your father's father both bit and fed the hand
Now you sit pious in a dynasty out of your control
You had to spread it thin to bank each and every toll
So rest you ill and tainted soul, the blind see more
The deaf hear more, as the mute speak ancient lore
Rewritten as it were to be - a changing people's democracy
An evolution from your pollution and non-decency
A smile for a smile not an eye for an eye
And you'll cry and you'll cry when death strolls in to buy
Your soul at less then half you thought it worth
And bury you down inside the cold, cold earth.
There is the only one salvation –
to keep to the established order.
We have to get a new creation,
to take it we don’t cross fixed border.
You born to follow old tradition
of all those fallen in the battle,
One can’t avoid forced imitation,
No one can’t guard you from this rattle.
The new will substitute the old
and finally be out of fashion,
and in the end will be the Word
as was at dawn of its Creation.
Raindrops upon the asphalt
Stain my camera lens as it stares at the moon
I lack a jacket and the wind is strong
Would it be cool if I was ice all along?
Reading the twist of the story
Before you have context to know why it's there
I'm thinking I knew how this story would end
Yet subtly praying for worldlines to bend
Buried miles inside you
You're grasping the bedsheets while I'm holding flasks
Whispering words of love to me after
Though when I'm drunk, I'm a better actor
Frozen, dreaming of cold winds
And days when I hid myself from the sheer cold
Dreaming of moments when my love was pure
And realizing theater has lost its allure
I can't remember the last time
I've gazed upon you without wanting to die
Yet I can't run because you'll try to fall
And grasp my hand to pull me into the squall
Raindrops are soaking my camera
And your questions are making my phone sing aloud
Hypothermia doesn't sound half bad
God, I'm sounding so much like my dad
What a wonderful parody
Of the intimacy we've both craved since we were young
Battles and doubts and all sorts of great things
You're still the reason my heart wants to sing
Singing the songs of the wounded
Of pain and of self-harm, of suicidal dreams
I'm freezing to death on this track in the rain
I've never been happier than when I'm being slain
Children like bright colours
And so kindergartens and nurseries
And so shopping items
And so youngsters
And so tourist centres
And so food and souvenirs
And so bright photos
Colours brighten up hearts
A sign of hope,happiness,confidence
Freshness and life
But too much artificial touch
Will lose the naturality of scenery
The classic beauty
A quiet elegance
The history of antiquity
An appreciation with time
Anyway natural beauty is invaluable
No imitations
No artificiality
Oh
How about stop painting one's heart
with
Colours of greed