Best Paraphrased Poems
"I've tasted love heroin and will never have that high again"..
(paraphrased quote one from "Notting Hill")
Love heroin is very potent stuff.
It’s not like other drugs; it is for free.
There is no ban on it, but it is tough
to keep that high. It has no guarantee.
Some folks I know can make it last and last.
With just one hit, they’re good for sometimes years!
For most, this drug’s effects can wear off fast,
and then withdrawal brings them pain and tears.
Love heroin can bring such fevered bliss,
some addicts wreck their lives for it, or worse,
would kill for it, so I can tell you this -
expecting it to last is its great curse.
I’ve heard of people my age finding it.
I sure would like myself just one more hit!
Dec. 8, 2016 for the Three Choices Plus Two Which Equals Five
Or I Haven't Got a Clue Contest of Sara Kendrick
Categories:
paraphrased, love, love hurts,
Form:
Sonnet
"You are ... different, aren't you?" she said, crinkling her nose.
That sentiment, spoken by my fourth grade home-room teacher
Had been paraphrased many times before
(And would be countless times again)
Different, unusual, odd, weird, curious, complex, or just plain strange
Those were the kind ones - the ones I can repeat
My favorite, however, was "unique"
The day my mother put it into that sensible little frame, I knew ...
I ... was HOME.
You see, we creative folk
Are not put on this good earth to "fit" into it
We are not molded to be a status quo part of society
But rather, set apart FROM society
Our gifts are granted us in order to change the world
Not continue the order of its mundane spin
We are interpreters of the language of beauty and ingenuity
We weave expression and imagination into what's tangible and visible
Turning ideas and emotions to the substance of words and color and sound
Bringing light and clarity to variation and choice
We are the very children of NON-conformity
Living proof that acquiescence and conventionality stifle the human spirit
We are soldiers of vision, innovation, cleverness, and inspiration
Fighting the war on commonplace, submission and docility
Battling daily in the name of ALL who are unlike the Average Joe
And bringing inspiration to the world.
So, do I think I'm "special"?
Yes, for we are ALL special ... every single human is born with unique gifts
Ours - the artistic talents - just happen to be of a creative fashion.
Yes, I am odd, strange, weird, different, unusual, and unique ...
And I am BLESSED ... to be so.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "CReAtiVe CoNForMiTy" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
paraphrased, appreciation, art, creation, culture,
Form:
Free verse
It is here.
It is now.
It is
Because
These tantric dialects
Come
Undone
I taste the solstice of gray.
Foggy, silver-lined showers
Replenishment against elasticity's incomplete verb
Through whistling meadows of Nature’s morn
Incredulous smiles become born
Again
The muse in my a-muse-ment
Becomes paraphrased, violet-tinted charm
This unadulterated verbiage
Preparing moistened breaths
Into crux of night
Surrendering chain-link grips of consonants & vowels
Releasing her Egyptian cotton tethers
Tonight
On elegant waterfall
Tonight
Her blossomed fingernails
Digging whispered trenches against my back
Will speak louder
Tonight
Than syllabic vice
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
paraphrased, feelings, life, longing,
Form:
Free verse
You Never Cease to Amaze Me!
You never cease to amaze me!
I know I haven’t been thinking much about you lately
I’ve been so busy, what with studying and being sick,
I didn’t think you even knew or cared about all
That I’ve been going through;
The aches and pains, the severe lack of money,
Slight disappointment verging on disillusion
On why I haven’t been able to produce anything
Other than the occasional fourteener or haiku
While enjoying the marvellous writing of so many other poets
I’m glad now I didn’t let anything worry me too much
It's funny the way it happened but
Looking back it’s easy to see that you
Were working away behind the scenes for me
I love the way you led me
To learn something new about yourself
When I thought I knew so much already
This gift was such a surprise
It still makes me smile when I think about it
And came when I least expected
But at just the right time for me to understand
That God makes 'the ordinary extraordinary'*
And uses 'the simple things to do great things'*
You never cease to amaze me God!
And may you never cease to inspire
And reveal the mystery of you to me
Through others.
by Jean McLoughlin
*Paraphrased from 'Learning from Jesus: If we feel that out lives are too simple or too boring' by Mark Frank.
Thank you for inspiring me with your wonderful words Mark!
Categories:
paraphrased, god, inspiration, poetry, poets,
Form:
Free verse
Lately, I have been a-thinkin',
About President Abraham Lincoln,
And about the witty sayings he told,
Quotes for the ages that shall ne'er grow old!
Some I've slightly paraphrased,
And others I've left unscathed.
"No matter how much cats yowl and fight,
There always seem to be plenty of kittens alright!"
"If this is coffee, please bring me some tea,
But if this is tea, bring me some coffee, I plea!"
"I like to see a man preach as if he's fighting bees,
Bringing wayward miscreants to their knees!"
"If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?
I think not when all is said and done!"
"Marriage is neither heaven or hell, 'tis said;
'Tis more akin to purgatory instead!"
"General McClellan, if you are not using the army now,
I would like to borrow it if you would please allow!"
"I can make more army generals, you see,
But horses cost money and that is of concern to me!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Categories:
paraphrased, humorous,
Form:
Rhyme
Who is Bigfoot’s Great-grand Daddy?
Whether living in a city or on the mountain side,
People from the world around astound us with their views.
He’s nine-feet tall, a hairy thing, uprightly he flees astride.
Only tracks are left behind and the mystery accrues.
They say that Big Foot does exist and for eons has survived.
A humanoid of greatest size a hairy manlike beast.
Is he really all they say, or are the stories contrived?
And if he lives, tell me, are our imaginations fleeced?
(Genesis 27 … paraphrased…)
Jacob goes to get two goats and steal his father’s blessing.
Their mom prepared a feast of goat, delicious, to Isaac’s taste.
Then, tied goatskin to Jacob’s neck and hands, realizing.
Jacob dressed in Esau’s clothes calmly goes to his father with haste.
Meanwhile, Esau, far away was hunting for venison as asked.
Traipsing around through the scrubby woods tracking.
Moving quickly with his great might to fulfill his father’s task.
A man with hair like that of a goat, his birthright was loosing.
Jacob smelled like Esau and the fields, but his voice…
Isaac questioned, so he felt Jacob’s goatskin clad hands.
Satisfied by the goatskin disguise, destiny made its choice.
Jacob received a blessing of wealth and all of his father’s lands.
When Esau returned with the venison feast, deceit was revealed.
But it was too late his birthright was gone; he was very mad.
“Give me a blessing, father please.” He begged as he kneeled.
You shall live on the fat of the earth…unyoked…his father said.
I wonder –
Is Bigfoot, like Esau, a hunter-gatherer with hands as hairy as a goat?
Does he live independently, a type of man, a scary giant beast?
Wandering upon earth, too and fro, with life barely afloat.
Brothers separated by that ancient deceit filled feast.
Is Bigfoot the hunter-gatherer living on the fat of the land?
Has he since the day of Rachael’s scam lived secluded and beastly?
Have generation upon generation descended that ancient hunting man?
Could Isaac in the Bible be Big Foot’s ancient Great-grand Daddy?
Categories:
paraphrased, imagination, mystery, philosophy, religion,
Form:
Quatrain
A certain beautiful little girl was standing
In a Midtown Manhattan CVS store
Where crowds had gathered to shop late in evening
She was of Oriental descent standing there;
I saw her, admired her sweetness and let her be
I just stood near her side such a small child she was;
And likewise there were other people on each side
The eyes fell on her with lack of concern or cause.
But a certain black lady who was on a journey
Came upon her, and when she saw her was alarmed,
“Where is her mother?” “Who is her mother?” she yelled;
The mother came up and took the child in her arms.
I ask, “Which of these three do you think proved to be
A neighbor to the child quietly lost in the store?”
The woman who knew New York City and dangers,
This woman showed concern and mercy toward her;
And our loving Jesus said, “Go and do the same.”
Scores of people pushed forward through the exit door.
I thanked the immaculate black lady who saw
The need that I, a mere stranger in town, ignored
Luke 10:30-37
Paraphrased
Categories:
paraphrased, caregiving, child, confusion, courage,
Form:
Rhyme
Her 'Verses on Schizophrenia' was written
while both of us were immersed in Gauguin's
yellow ocher smudging the eves in Tahiti
on a bankrupted canvas throbbing to suck pigments
each stroke ripping the foils of rustic mystery
unfolded fathoms of emotions undeciphered in her skies
eclipsing the tulips of reason,erosioned roots underneath
her gaze was thrust on an ivy stretching hands
towards quivering wind perplexed to hide somewhere
paraphrased each pulse in to the prose of dead tissues
Her 'Verse on Schizophrenia' lies on the table
A meteor crosses through the heart of a syllable
Categories:
paraphrased,
Form:
Free verse
"He would spin one pistol in one hand in one direction,
while spining the other pistol in his other hand in the opposite direction.
He'd have two targets, one in front and one behind him.
When someone yelled "fire!" he'd simultaniously fire both guns,
hitting both targets, the target in front and the target behind him."
- I am of course paraphrasing,
the words of one of Billy Bonney's close friends,
describing one of the shooting skills of the Kid.
His friend's paraphrased words are still none the less accurate.
Categories:
paraphrased, history,
Form:
Rhyme
I've tried to make words rhyme at the end of their stanzas,
but rhyme wasn't too perfect for those impersonal stanzas,
the Iambic pentameter was right, but it required rhyme for intensity,
so rhyme didn't agree with Iambic pentameter in every verse;
I paraphrased every stanza with a rephrase,
but frustration stepped in with a must of an exact phrase,
oh, can't a stanza rhyme with syllables without a count?
Not exactly the rhyme of Terza Rima as in The Divine Comedy!
Was Dante a perfect rhymer or an impulsive dreamer...
while his love happily played the lyre?
And did that lyre ever fail Beatrice so refulgent and proud?
Or did lovely Beatrice break the lyre?
Then again, vowels became consonants ironically,
and vowels and consonants all out of idealism;
and stressed and unstressed syllables created a strange idiom...
of consonants and vowels spelling out eccentric idiopathy:
the disease so unknown in literature, not idiocy,
but idiopathy became idiosyncrasy...oh, you figure, reader!
Categories:
paraphrased, confusion, funny, on writing
Form:
Rhyme
You’ve given me another year
365 blank pages
To fill up
I know that your ultimate desire
Is for me to fill them in ways
That are according to your will
And that bring you joy
And that make your divine face
Break out into a smile
Of approval and love
That lights up the universe!
I know that I’ve lost the plot
This last year
I haven’t followed the plan
And I’ve wounded you
With things I’ve said
Things I’ve done
Things you wanted me to do
That I’ve left undone
The things I’ve thought
And yes, Lord
The things I’ve written
My unruly and rebellious heart
Grieving your heart of infinite love
You’ve given me life
All the days I live
Are written in your book
Before one of them came to be
You also know
When I will breathe my last
And rest in your arms
And yet….you grant me life
And you keep this heart beating
And this soul breathing
Giving me chances to get it right
Not the call to obedience
Though that is important
But the giving of my heart
And all that I am
Wholeheartedly…
Without reservations
That’s what you want
For me to get right because….
Once that is in place
All the rest follows
I know, Lord
I know…
I am grateful
For this gift you’ve granted me
This birthday I’ve celebrated
I’m grateful that you wink
And turn a blind eye
To many of the things I do
For you remember my frame
And know that I am dust
You know…as high as the heavens are above the earth
Your thoughts are than mine
And so…you are patient
And loving
And devoted to me
You wait
And you long
And you reach out to me
Granting me more days
So that you can recreate me
The way I’m meant to be
More years
To get it right
Because in the end
This life that I live
Is just a breath
I’m a flower
Blooming today
Withering tomorrow
But you want me to be
A forever flower
Resplendid in glory
Blooming for eternity
And that’s why
That’s why
You’ve granted me
Another year
Another chance
To love you!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
*I've used several Bible texts in this poem. I haven't given references, nor have I used quotation marks because I've paraphrased, but I do want to give due credit to His Word...which is a revelation of who He is! :)
Categories:
paraphrased, birthday, god, life, thanksgiving,
Form:
Free verse
SONG TO THE RUINS OF AMERICA
With the Glyn Ford’ eyes:
"Fascist Europe-The Rise of Racism and Xenophobia"
I see with horror how from an american country to another
Racism and Xenophobia are cultivated in ist fields
Inspecting the growth of fascism and its relationship
With the capitalist families’ domain
As Daniel Guerin saw in his “Fascism and Big Busines”
When Fascism was flourishing in Germany and Italy
For nothing.
Cities and fields returns to watering the river Biederitz
Feeder of the river Elba
That brings the Hitler and Eve’s cremated and crushed remains
Together with others of theirs on the studio couch
Where they were found suicided
Perhaps the same couch of love where Neville Chamberlain
the British Prime Minister was sat.
River that joins and, at the end, matchs to the river Potomac
In Chesapeake Bay, Atlantic Ocean
Rested in backwater of the White House’ pool
Built in its foundations and frames
by slaves and Irish and Italian workers without papers
that tomorrow will come to call "Trumpbunker".
He’ll walk in the middle of the garden
Arrogant his figure as a God with joke eyes, body to much he-man
And penisly classic figure
whose Te Deum will be of the Asses and the Marquis of Sade.
Heil¡ He’s the “Uro of Heck" big, robust, with long horns
a brown copper hair, with skin of a certain form
with fierce behaviour.
Heil¡ He’s the new Thartac, God of the Hivites with Ass-headed
well known and loved by priests and parish priest.
Nor the snow neither the wind will lash, that they believe
The angry figure of this God-man who loves life
As a desolated tyrant with dizziness of sex just nasty
running towards the void of a great National and Global Zoo
upon which will erect a statue to the Ass
to which will come the souls of the Eve’s terrier breed scottish dogs
and the Hitler’ German Shepherd Dog with her cubs
to piss lifting up its leg.
And Fabius will sing near the doors of the White House
The new "Trumpbunker"
the Rodrigo Caro’s paraphrased song to the Ruins of Italica:
"These, Trump, poor me¡ that you see now
Lonely fields, gloomy hill
Were a time great America”.
Because the crime, the evil, the cruel and bloody
Assembly of wars against another peoples and nations
Ever returns, sooner or later, against one and another.
Categories:
paraphrased, america,
Form:
Ballad
He entered the dark house
through the unlocked kitchen door,
his house until the separation,
found his way
down the dark hallway
to the bedroom,
hid in the closet,
the door slightly open to
a clear view of the room
in the half-light of a full moon.
Sweaty clothes piled
on the closet floor
didn’t matter;
he had other business.
He settled in
for a long wait,
almost nodding off,
staying awake
by rocking toe to heel
in his Redwing boots,
left arm cramped
from gripping his gun.
He could have laid it on the floor,
but he might not have been
able to find it in the dark,
so he held it,
and waited.
Soon enough.
there was laughter
in the kitchen,
metallic sounds of ice
dropped into glasses,
ardent whispers growing louder
as they moved to the bedroom,
dancing a bit,
arms around each other.
She turned on the bedside lamp.
Red removed her blouse;
she unbuttoned his shirt,
let it fall to the floor.
He kicked the closet door open,
stepped into the room,
raised his gun and shouted,
“It’s my turn to dance.”
Red turned...
Two bullets pierced his chest.
He fell backwards onto the bed,
rolled off to the floor,
didn’t move again.
The shooter stood quietly,
relieved and satisfied,
watching his wife
kneel beside Red’s body.
He sidestepped them,
switched off the light
at the open door,
turned to look back,
said to himself,
“That’s done...
I need a drink.”
The murder was ruled justifiable homicide.
He was set free.
That’s the law down here in Texas.
The applicable Texas law was written in 1856, and stated that, “Homicide is justifiable when committed by the husband on anyone taken in the act of adultery with the wife, provided that the killing takes place before the parties to the act of adultery have separated.” Texas law considered these murders justifiable homicide, and completely excused the killing. The law was repealed in 1973.
Paraphrased from “Law in Western United States,”
by Gordon Morris Bakken
Categories:
paraphrased, murder, , western,
Form:
Prose Poetry
If the entire world is a stage and we are all actors upon it
So said Shakespeare (paraphrased)
Then daily life is a camera shot in focus.
When we explore our environment it’s a wide angle shot.
When we are stupidly acting on command, it’s a close up.
Well then......
We're ready for our close-up's Mr. D'ville'
“Discontent is the first necessity of progress.”
- Thomas A. Edison
Categories:
paraphrased, visionary
Form:
Lyric
I watched the “news” this morning.
Chicken Little ran around squawking
Two women talked amiably after describing
scenes of horrific violence.
A homeless puppy was found
cared for and now needs a “forever” home.
Thousands called in looking to adopt it.
A homeless veteran was stepped over
in the entrance to a shelter
he/she was not cared for or allowed entrance.
Three kittens sang “Jingle Bells”
Chicken Little squawked a bit more
Climate change, global warming yadayada
The weather persons told me of storms
in the Midwest, floods in the south and
high temps in Arizona….
I had to look out my window
to get the weather report here.
The station manager made a Public Service Announcement.
Paraphrased : “If you’d all just do as you’re told
everything would be just fine”.
(the commercials were for Erectile disfunction, tampons,
birth control and condoms….oh….and childrens breakfast cereal))
John G. Lawless
1/4/2022
Categories:
paraphrased, america, betrayal, city, satire,
Form:
Free verse