Best Plagiarized Poems
guilty as charged
i stole it tall
every consonant
every vowel
every word
every sentence
plagiarized
the ocean
in its unique shades of blues and greens
combined and blended to create
its very own colour
a tint i call ocean brave
covered in water
topped off in water
surrounded by water
immersed in water
stunning
the ocean
plagiarized
the beach
in unique shades of beiges and whites
combined and blended to create
a brand new fabric
they call it whiskey white
a trillion grains
parts unknown
the total sum of all
unified to act as one
the beach
plagiarized
the cloud
in unique shades of this and that
combined and blended to create
mystery
spin the wheel if you wish
a blank pallet- blush
a perfectly complex complexion- luminous
coloured in soft and titillating to the touch- pigment
oh the touch- intense
light as air
immaculate
the cloud
plagiarized
the living
in unique shades of everything
combined and blended to create
a cornucopia of finishes, stains
combined and blended
the world of the living
with all its bells and whistles
the unmitigated
the undisputed overall
the living
plagiarized
guilty as charged
i stole it all
every consonant
every vowel
every word
every sentence
everything
i see
i feel
i invent
i write
everything
plagiarized
from just a glimpse of you
i am wonderfully, joyfully
sick in love and you are everything i do
guilty as charged
all of it
plagiarized
**Back smile/smile Back **
With your heads way up your :]ssa[:
You will never accomplish the win
I got shots that will protect me from your rabid ways
After you fell into a non-stop falling disease,
Your movements weakened
Straight from a dried up well,
Every day you frolic in a disorder that causes more brain damage
With progressive mental retardation
You continue to lick the top of your cleft lips
He is the saddest sadist human that ever lived!
So sad he has to live with himself every night
Kissing his young ones Goodnight
In ways I can't even breathe to tell
The way he follows rabbits down the bunny hole
Killing each laughing hare
Wiping smiles, leaning in,
The madness in Alice's Wonderland
Madder and Madder The Hatter
Revealing
Your boldness is nothing more than baldness
A man in a monkey suit
Molesting the minds of his idiotic circle,
Trying to kill the joy, not knowing
We don't care about his false Harvard WAY
I rather stay here dropping out, than pretending
Following his made-up perception, a cropped out waste
His taste, my best copypaste, he jacked on
A stench, they left behind when open mouths laugh
He educates by attacking women better than his own
Silently to the top of his knife, he stalks nakedly
Removing a few poems he plagiarized
His Poorness, brought many to donate to the salvation of his army
Sadness Delivered by the Joy Killing Poet and his little pigs
Cross My heart and hope to die!!!
~SKAT~
Here in the heavy depths of insolent woes,
We gesture and talk and waste our time,
Staking claim to each minute of our earthly life,
Running the hours through a clock by the day,
Never sated, not content to find even love,
Buried deep inside the petals of a perfect rose.
So was a metaphor created from the rose,
Then plagiarized and used for all of time,
Simply here to represent the beauty of love,
A perfection to which we cannot aspire to in life,
Or even death, in the darkest of all those woes,
Great though they may seem by the passing day.
It's a fragile, soulful kind of love,
In the pressing presence of the breaking day,
Where your back breaks beneath ample woes,
And there just simply isn’t ever enough time,
To do what you plan to do with your life.
Then you start to resemble that rose.
Soft and delicate, with easy loss of life,
Mournful of the passage of time,
Counting down, day by dreary day,
Ever seeking out to find dear love,
The theoretical banishment of woes.
Such is the way of the deep red rose.
Has it ever occurred to us not to mark time?
Just to ignore it, along with any such woes,
Just to leap forth and enjoy life,
To live to the absolute fullest everyday,
And just as chosen by the poet's rose,
To find and hold on to, that one true love.
For I find, that it's mostly true these days,
That people don't make enough time,
For laughter and fullness in life,
So preoccupied with petty woes,
That they forget about the beauty of love,
And in doing that, they forget about the rose,
I know what the rose represents in my life,
And I work hard to expel my woes every day,
So that soon I will have time for true love.
*****Written in Sestina for Constance's Poetry 101 contest.*****
******* 5th Place winner*******
******Sarah Blake August 2010******
A sestina is a highly structured form of poetry consisting of six six-line stanzas and a three-
line envoy (thirty-nine lines). The end words of the first stanza are repeated in varied order
as end words in the other stanzas and also recur in the envoy.
I cringe at the thought of writing
the worst verse in the universe.
I would have to light a match
and set fire to every ridiculous word
if someone thought it so terrible
and their criticism I had overheard.
But if all of the words were my own
I would smile and take it in stride
knowing that I had not plagiarized
the written poetry or lyrics of another.
I would never do that to a song writer
or steal the poems of a poetry brother.
I could never intentionally misspell
any word when a dictionary is handy.
Sometimes I decide to punctuate verses,
and sometimes I leave the cage door open
It depends on the mood I happen to be in...
happy with what I written, or if I'm mopin'
You ask, "To rhyme or not to rhyme..."
that's never the right question for me.
I never worry about how, why or when...
I just follow the path my hunger leads
cuz when it's feeding time, my mind is open
to plant rose clippings or wildflowers seeds.
In lighthearted Limericks I sometimes write
bawdy lines that might raise an eyebrow
but not even then would I sabotage the form
I think my hand would tremble and shake
if I made mistakes on purpose.... hmmm no
and if I had a Muse, her heart would break.
*Obviously NOT written for a contest
Realy, you are a romantic rose with rare radiance, in
fact, you are a fine flower with fair fragrance, always, an
awesome...angel with art allurance, perfectly, a
priceless princess with passion in her pursuance.
To me you are one in a million...
a sweet sister, super star... You storm and stun, faithful,
friendly and free... ful of fun,
charming, cheerful and... Shining like the sun.
Knowing you has been an excelent, extra-ordinary
experience,
intriguing & incredible, you've got an indellible
incense.
Passionate, purposeful & plain, got no pretence. You
are an epitome of exquisite and eternal excellence.
A priceless poetess with lively and lovely lyrics, so
nice.
She wields creative condiments in this poetry pot of
soup... and super spice,
with terrific thrust, theme and tones to make us think
twice.
Happy Birthday to a dazzling dame, whose poetic
prowess can't be plagiarized.
Dedicated to Charmaine Chirop on her birthday, every
May 1st is her day. Wishing you all the best sis!
Along the pilgrimage path
life purged and plundered
minds wept and wondered
weeds steadfastly grew
knowing not what we now knew
weary travelers groaned and grumbled
stepping cross wayward stones, tumbled
some had stumbled or even fell
seeking separate stories to tell
ink driven, dried up, cursed, then forgiven
bent in half, twisted, some curved
tales told, valient bold and self served
where whispers turned and ran
down along side stolen scripts
falling elegantly off loose lips
masses cheered the absurd
romantic scenes poetically heard
death defied and defiled
joyous celebration in a time
infectious an emancipation
liberated through rhyme lest relief
"To weep is to make less the depth of grief."
O' cloned creations,
mirroring deceptive diction
scattered in liquified letters,
across android canvases,
here comes the plague of
fabricated foolery,
spiraling in figments of
black and white illusions,
injecting illusive veins
screaming for vanity,
with verses plagiarized
from villainous valleys.
There’s nothing poetic about
the way AI is pickpocketing
rhythmic runes from the
museum of dead poets ~
immortalized on the walls
of glass galleries.
Their sonnets, now imitated,
to adorn artless skies
with stolen synonyms,
weaving soulless symphonies,
to please the apocalyptic algorithm,
unaware of how filtered
procrastinators preying
on pencil-streaked pages
are lonely earthlings starving
for superficial accolades.
I care not for the futuristic
benefits of artificial lies,
yet I see no escape from
these alienated alliterations,
and personified
pathological hypocrisy,
typed behind silver screens,
multiplying metaphors
into robotic ruins,
flowing with
perfectly metered clichés,
coded in complex cadence.
So let me find the inked corpse
of silicon silhouettes,
lost in the labyrinth
of virtual vultures,
flaunting repetitive rhymes
for clueless readers.
Tonight the strawberry moon
frowns at the
neon frequencies
of digitalized fakery,
and my onyx heart aches
for the unknown realms,
where originality floats
as a forgotten fantasy,
fogged behind a fictional facade,
while in silence, stained stars
claim phrases snatched
from the
thesaurus of thieves.
So flee from this venom-less virus,
you and I know better than to
lean on spineless cyborgs,
created mindlessly
from financial felonies.
A poet with a pen that
lacks authentic pigment
is the victimized alter ego of
designed trickeries~
masked as midnight musings.
I will sit in silence...
feel your warmth...
the spice of life
cinnamon and sugar...
the bark of the tree
no longer lingers...
with an orange in her
pocket there she will
peel...so scarce...
today without share...
lemons lemons everywhere
not a drop to quell this thirst...
sunshine on my shoulder
without shade I tend burn
she could fall into
her mirror...
drink tea and fairy cakes...
...grab her top hat...
...not her style...
she'll stand firm with
her subject...forgive herself
allow her mind to float
elsewhere...
she'll study the spine of
wind in willows her memory
fondly recalls...
for in her life stress levels
rise...her mindset scrambles
for the positive...once more...
she has no one but herself
to blame...her passion
unleashed runs rife...
...she has to now work
twice as hard to relieve
this life of strife...
suddenly...reality hits...
in minds eye a plump plum
before her...
she laughs out loud...
melody of acceptance...rings
we rebuild what we have
done...now the big fix we bring...
life is not simple...the choices
determine our fate...
but for risk what a miserable
boring existence we ourselves
forsake...
...it won't fall from the sky...
character strengthened...
only from real life...
...this truth is my truth...
not plagiarized...
I won't reach for a rosary
my direct line will suffice...
this thing I've done...
was great...greater things
to come from self sacrifice...
the faith the believing
in oneself is the essence
of my healing...
I know of a poet here on the Soup
He is a sham; he has everyone duped
Most poems that he posts are not his own
But quotes from others, rearranged, and donned
So it appears he has written them, though he has not;
He just uses their words, without a referencing thought
Each time I see one, I wonder, what thrill can there be,
In hoodwinking others, in copying?
What sense of accomplishment can he possibly feel,
What pride? What joy? With words that he steals?
You tell me, is he a genius or a conman, but before you do,
Know with his plagiarized work, he’s placing higher than you
9/14/11
Received 5th place in "Genius or Criminal?" contest
*Please note I am using ‘he’ but it doesn’t mean this person is male, nor does by saying this does it imply the person is female. Also, I will not tell you who it is, even if you guess the name of the real person.
I just forgot that song of robin
when I heard the blue jay notes.
Resonating tunes of cardinals
merry cuckoos mingle my throat.
They call me mimicking mockingbird,
a plagiarized heart in mask of many voice.
a carefree flirt inspired on flattery,
cadence of echoes in shameless rejoice.
A beautiful parrot I just saw in a cage,
a deep sigh buried in her emerald green wings.
"You are a free bird, you learn what you like,
with crickets and larks, the bosom of sky sings.
But I have no melody, on my scarlet curved beaks
just one and only song, whatever my master speaks",
Dated 17th July 2019
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
Contest Pick A Title, Vol 6 - Personification
Title chosen: The mockingbird
There is a devil they call Jealousy,
he hides behind many faces you see:
One is driven to envy,
the next gets so haughty;
and the other's made childishly bitchy.
There is a demon tormentedly jealous,
his ways that beguile are insidious.
His wrath knows no bounds,
he’ll destroy those around;
his words aimed to hurt and quite callous.
To one I give warning, still with some grace,
the Jealousy devil who wears poet’s face:
Enough with your thievery
of fine prose and poetry;
your plagiarized poems do not deserve space!
04 September 2015
SKAT A's Jealousy Contest
Procrastination Is the Thief of Time
By Elton Camp
I’ve been intending to write this poem for a while
It’s been over a year, so I decided to give it a trial
The title I am pretty sure that I have plagiarized
Didn’t take time to check, so I can’t be surprised
A book of rhyming words I fully intended to buy
Kept delaying, so without it I’ll go ahead and try
But I find that, in writing, far too long I did delay
Now I have totally forgotten what I meant to say
KP: With embellishment aborted,
sidewalk and street talk wail from paper.
Tears vividly seen because cursive one's don't wipe away.
An intrinsic institution allergic to plagiarized allegiance,
we're born and bred to bleed blue from womb, and the wound.
Traits of our soul incarcerated in a pen case
presenting selfies that speak volume without an impediment.
Lingual masseuses with mischief marinating, depending on
which taste of epic we prefer.
We write to pulverize color barriers because underneath the shell
tethered laughter is majority. Lumen repair technicians
dimming differences, a cultural mend from cultured men
adjoined through their pen.
Siamese artistes with an umbilical transporting manna from our
third eye to feed the famine.
Brother of mine, break bread with your pen
RL: I too do not wish to embellish
So I place my ear upon the sidewalk of discovery
For I wish to hear the colour of your steps
Our souls are meant to breathe upon paper
The fibres of the papyrus bleed into our convoluted minds
as we give of our panicked moments
Ours is a calmed darkness
A mimicking hope
Yesterday flows over tomorrowed possibilities
as we attempt to rewrite answers to those questions never asked
Differences float above our commonality
So we choose to dive below the surface
For beneath our papered skin resides the hearts of free men
Paper converted by pen becomes flesh
The bond of brotherhood
Tethered between minds
Transported beyond societies perceived differences
For we choose to anoint our spirits in blue ink!
Thanks Keith for joining me in this creative adventure.
It is a pleasure to write with such a talented writer.
Written by: Keith Papyrus & Richard Lamoureux
September 25, 2015
Into the solar system
Outreaching myself
Intense grief, mourning
Into cake and wedding dress
Galvanized poorly, the rust
About to topple into ochre
Coated stardust glittering
As we discover the truth
Not enough good, oh but for better
For worse, for years, for a fool
Like me and her, a mirror image
A replacement, a damnation
Creeping over stocking tops
There is not enough bleach in the world
To coat the filthy soul you smuggle
Into orbit, my anger now exceeding
The speed of light, the Titanic
To the iceberg, one way trip
A government secret, a conspiracy
Anything at all to wipe away your guilt
And stardust glittering on her face
Leaving retched little Laika to
Smother in the agony of ignorance
Huddle with me for precious warmth
How I could set a man on fire
The tongue is sharp, cutting through
The web of lies, deceit, conterfeit
Forgiveness plagiarized in pamphlets
Set across the universe, the guilt
You should be feeling, burning up in Betelgeuse
Oh for heavens and constellations spell it out
Every dog has their day, but some draw the shortest of the straws
Spit and the Ocean
The sand spits at me as I walk
an uninvited interloper
content in my inane belief
I leave disappearing footprints.
Theft, pilferage, armed robbery,
committed in covetous collusion,
sunrises seared into memory,
plagiarized in dreams.
Thundering timpani of surf
rolling rounded stones,
salty chime of windblown sand
peppering the sea wall,
distant fog horn tuba -
ushers in the dimly lit aisles
following history’s lights
through shifting shoals.
The air shrieks, the ocean growls,
the sand burns, the brine stings,
the surf - in foaming rage - erases
all sign of my presence,
spitting as I walk away.
1/29/2016