Best Replicated Poems
I tossed a pebble
in a placid lake and
caused roaring ripples
in the vast seas;
I blew softly on the
breath of a passing breeze
and spawned raging storms;
I gathered high mountains
in a warm embrace
and set their hearts ablaze;
I scratched on the face
of the earth and gouged
these deep canyons;
I kissed the setting sun
and sent tremors through
the core of the earth;
I set the remedy
for all the ills of mankind
within the realm of nature;
I replicated
the laws of the universe
in a drop of water;
I garnered
these profound secrets
and locked them in
a grain of sand!
~Maytime Standard contest by Brian Strand.
Categories:
replicated, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
Oh, divine love,
You that succeed in unifying:
Our hearts
Our minds, and
Our souls
-
You
Who merge our beings,
Into ONE,
So each is replicated by
The other,
With the:
Same feelings
Same thoughts
Same energy
Same concern, and
Same devotion
-
You
Who never leave
A heart's beat unduplicated
A sentiment unmatched
A smile unreturned
A tear unanswered
A pain unfelt
A life unreciprocated, and
A death unenvied!
To you, oh Love,
My eternal gratitude I would like
To offer
For
Blessed I am today
Because
You, at last, I have
FOUND!
©Demetrios Trifiatis
04 February 2021
Categories:
replicated, blessing, love, thanksgiving,
Form:
Free verse
Wayward nights drift off to dream
gone, attention hid past the sleep
oceans lift, internal waves unsettling
afloat, another restless midnight keeps
Place your skin against my arrival
held taught, where doubt makes way
let soft caresses command attention
until brought back unto a lighter day
Painted lines inside a crimson room
knowing not what the unknown shows
squeezing tight as the flower blooms
leaving footprints where tender flows
The euphoria of love can't be replicated
Lay down thine heart and be sedated
Categories:
replicated, love,
Form:
Sonnet
f a d e d and jaded,
complicated and aloof-
I've been created
and replicated,
with no living proof.
I'm nothing but
dilapidated,
left alone and
deteriorated.
washed-out and
colorless.
few is more,
nonetheless-
shabby and faint
a life full of
complaint,
I must confess.
disappearing into
the night,
eyes left blinded
by mere sight-
crowded rooms with
dissolving fabric,
living a life so tragic.
no wrongs can be
made right,
when your deteriorated-
living a life so jaded and...
...f a d e d.
January 10th, 2018
Categories:
replicated, loneliness,
Form:
Rhyme
I'm awed by twilight exploding to dawn
Some a kaleidoscope of colors melting into one another
Others plain and gray
A wondrous start to a day anew
But I've met someone more beautiful than dawn
Watching their eyes awaken and cast their first gaze upon you
puts shame to the sun sliding out from the horizon
Feeling their warmth press against you as they stretch awake warms you through in a way the suns first rays never could
Their sleepy smile directed at you creates a world of color not able to be replicated
The accompanying happy sigh is a chorus more lovely than all of the birds morning melodies
Their beauty is ever changing but as steadfast and reliable as the coming of dawn
Each day they look the same
They always look the same
Each day they are beautiful
Categories:
replicated, beauty, love,
Form:
Free verse
verdent valley has a refreshing feel
I am invigorated and renewed
my soul feels cleansed by the cold grass
I sit low, looking at the individual blades
the color is fascinating, God’s color
replicated in the leaves of a walnut tree
and the healthy balls of her fruits
spectacular colors that wake me up
and make me feel alive and joyful
Categories:
replicated, nature,
Form:
Imagism
Tattle cries are just as loud as battle cries,
but the difference is
tears from mannequins dry on untouchable skin.
You may have a purpose, but your attempt at a movement
is motionless because your passion
is a carefully constructed image
replicated in a false ideology
that manifests into something specific
obtaining a manual manipulation.
A self servant visibility is indicative
of an egocentric personality and everything insinuated
to be perceptually believed as sacred
usually doesn't leave further than the tapping of your fingers.
You proselytize by regurgitating the ways
of a preferred deity and establish yourself
by turning your mirror to reflect the angle
of how you want to be seen and adjust your thoughts
for a higher seat in your vanity
in order to possess everything in your hypocrisy.
The feedback you get initiates a sedimentary mask
you proudly wear and give a name to because
as a statuesque representative in an upscale consumption
of physical and mindful gluttony,
it is the exemplary rock to inscribe your identity.
You disguise it as spirituality, enlightenment, or awareness
labeling it as politics, religion, parenting, racism,
abortion, extortion, activism, or sexism.
It does not, in anyway, alleviate
the struggling strong minded from with holding their weeps
on garments bled by friends in unsung tongues and private sin,
in time well spent where the secrets
of the heart are kept for keeps rather than exposed and disposed of
in a widespread generic documentary
for the world to see the effects of their warfare.
Where words of vulnerability and exposed nerves
are perceived as nothing but memes and black sheep
trying to be shepherds making lists of things
to better humanity in articles utilized by a machine.
As if the top ten life hacks will take neglcted children
out of the slums of a poor shack
and stop the hateful attacks on those who need welfare.
The bandaging by labeling and over medicating
will not eradicate the urgent need for eye to eye,
flesh to flesh, heart to heart
laughing, kind, grateful, melting of this
plastic society.
Categories:
replicated, fear, patriotic, planet, power,
Form:
Free verse
Black Nazarene
Christ of dark brown skin
Miraculous healer
Refuge of the believer
Image replicated from an old burnt homage
Carrier of the cross in pilgrimage
Housed in Quiapo church of the East
Roused the penitents of yearly feast
Savior of the strong and weak
Strength of the devouts that speak
Categories:
replicated, image,
Form:
Other
Underground French café
Sun has gone astray,
Gone home for the night,
I sit in dim half-light
Seated alone in my booth
Feel calm, distant, aloof
Cool breeze coming from
The creaky door at the front
Live jazz, delicately playing
In the background, I’m swaying
Laid back, to the beat
The hi-hat moves my feet
The snare and the kick
Compel my fingers to click
Index digit taps on my table
Only here is where I’m stable
Amongst all the others
Alone, like me, not bothered
Atmospheric transition,
Here I am free, before in work-prison
Stuck in the daily grind
Working the dreaded nine to five
It tries to steal my mind
Sucks away my precious Jazz time
Misty room; smoky and sensual
My time, Jazz is my cherished jewel
Oozing class, style and flair;
Sophisticated; naturally debonair
That cannot be imitated
Its natural, not replicated
It’s Jazz, ‘Hmmmm’, I relax
I sit back,
“Chillax”
Waitress strolls by, I sip my drink,
Feet up, no one cares, at least I think
Sultry singer takes to the stage
I smile and lean back, an audience awaits
Blissful sounds escape her lips
I hear the purest Jazz you could ever wish
I close my eyes, and think of the notes
Hear the song this singer conceived and wrote
The Jazz dream; she unmistakably has captured it,
The song she sings,
Well, you’ve just read it….
The Jazz Dream….
Categories:
replicated, life, music, people, places,
Form:
Rhyme
It was a Sunday
The reverend preached about faith
He spoke of Jesus walking on water
And peter failing to
Cause he had no faith
Now to cut it short,
I have so much faith it makes me blush
So on my way from church
I went down the river and replicated my lord
I said a silent prayer and sent a foot forward
Step by step, breath by breath
I walked across the river
But even in shoes, I felt the cold of the water
For it was winter and river was frozen
Stone hard, ice cold
But still, I walked on water.
Categories:
replicated, allusion, hilarious, humor, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
Through her window,she could see nothing in the clear blue sky.
Its deep colour was reflected in the calm waters
Of the estuary which spread out in the distance.
Even the normal busy shipping traffic
Seemed to have been lulled to sleep this hot summer afternoon.
There would usually be the sound of ships' horns
Out in the Elbe as they signalled for the lock gates to open.
Water was calm, sky was calm.
It felt to Petra that she was looking at a painting where nothing
Was really alive but only replicated in oilpaint.
The ever-growing buzz in the sky was the only indication that the scene was real.
Others had heard the sound as well.
Like hundreds of bees, but these had a special sting
The temperature was high and it was very dry
There had been no rain for some time. Now there was a rain of bombs.
Petra saw the explosions through her window before she heard them
In the distance as the skyful of B17 s unloaded their cargoes.
Petra and her little sister were terrified, struck immobile in fright.
Their window bellied in like a giant glass balloon suddenly over-inflated,
And jagged, face-ripping shards of glass snarled across the hall
And embedded themselves in the cushions of the sofa.
The woolly innards of the cushions spewed out,
Dangling lifeless from the slash-wounds.
Luckily the girls were not cut.
Suddenly, the whole area became one big fire
With air being sucked in with the force of a storm.
Fires joined together, temperatures rose to melting lead,
Wind speed picked up to hurricane levels,
Trees were hurled into the flames, furniture, cars, even people hurled in.
Fire trucks unable to get through roads blocked by rubble.
Dying by carbon monoxide poisoning
When all the air was drawn out of their basement shelters,
The shelters were filled, but few people were really alive.
And then it was over. As the exploding fireballs gradually died away,
The drone and throb of the buzzing B17s faded off
To the blue sky of the east, to torment some other part of the city.
Walls crashed to the ground, gas lines exploded, people cried and screamed,
The girls shook with terror, but the B17s had gone.
History called it 28 July 1943 - Hamburg firestorm.
Petra always called it Day of the Bees.
.. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Entered in Debbie Guzzi's Contest Hot Time Summer in the City
Categories:
replicated, war, people, rain, sound,
Form:
Free verse
The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until Spring
Money was needed for refurbishing
Built in nineteen hundred and seventeen
It was advised they replace everything
A treasured part of local history
Host to all the town's social memories
The wheel itself was pieced in artistry
Workers heard tales of hidden treasury
Whispers ran through the town from door to door
The Mill required complete overhaul and more
The expenses were beginning to soar
They scoffed at hidden treasure folklore
A deep freeze stopped all construction for weeks
Influx of needed money appeared bleak
The refurbished wheel was installed - now leaks
Ice melts, revealing secrets - wheel creaks
A puzzled technician on wheel repair
Opens up a toolbox, gasps, stops to stare
The bricks of gold have answered their prayers
The Mill has been replicated with care!
Categories:
replicated, art, community, history, imagery,
Form:
Rhyme
Control me, console me, bestow and bless with your power and beauty
Possess me, caress my senses with exotic intoxicating perfumes
Cast spells with your existence and immeasurable intricacies
Elaborate, exact folds as if replicated in God made molds
How such beauteous bounty sprouted up from solid, sullen dirt
Annual artwork appears, here and there, just everywhere
If you dare to pause and submit to the permeation of Earths' creations
Fill eyes and nose, let pores absorb, OD on natures' natural healing
Entertain and entrance, illicit pupillary and capillary responses
Health enhancing, life sustaining, sole saving, anger erasing
No effort required to witness these miracles of all shapes and sizes
Submit, permit the anesthetic to sedate and elate as the desired effect
In heart and soul, feel the surge and satiety of brains' happy hormones
If be contagious, infect me now, and remain as a long term condition
Eternally may I be ridden and wrecked, afflicted and addicted
Every second, day and hour, every thought and breath and blink
Safe and effective, only side effects being happiness and love and passion while under the influence of THE POWER OF THE FLOWER
Categories:
replicated, beauty, emotions, feelings, flower,
Form:
Free verse
If black only stood and served an evil purpose
At all times I’d hate it completely, reject it and resist it
With all my will- power and with all my strength
Maybe perhaps she/he once grew from a land called Africa
Maybe she/he had very sharp all five human senses intact
Together to quickly decipher good from evil
Like fetishism, totemism, dogmatism, jewishism, moslemism
Or churchism the desire to choose and to choose rightly doesn’t
Stem from culture of any real people
I’d repeat with every confidence
I’ve within my being
There’s a global percentage of liking for African
If she/he held high the need to speedily shun acts of schism,
Nepotism, tribalism
If she/he settled for the right attitude like in plucking a trees’ goodly
Apples,
If she/he selected the most likely option from multiple sets of solutions.
Could you imagine the hypocrisy involved
with depicted black as fearful as a strange
Figure –
A genie darkly big, long and tall
Exactly replicated from Arabian Nights?
Categories:
replicated, devotion, faith, hope, life,
Form:
Free verse
"My mind was once the true survey,
Of all these meadows fresh and gay,
And in the greenness of the grass,
Did see its hopes as in a glass..."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Windswept village,
Ancient 1836,
Tornado torn,
Blasted to bits.
Here is the steeple,
Here is the bell,
Here is the clergy,
Hurried to hell.
Perception: paragraphed.
Gracious gusts of air sliced through the saloon and side-swiped the sheriff, newly
desert bound. The blacksmith, now inclined to move, found his organs strewn
amongst a congregation of cacti. Somewhere in the busiest part of town, 3 iguanas
regained their birth-home.
Desert;
Impatient tumbleweed,
Sole-searing sand,
A band of train robbers,
A lonely locamotive.
The charcoal smeared engine breathed gun-smoke. 3 men, wild-eyed from birth,
filled burlap sacks with yellow shapes, shiny prisms, aurum, gold bars- money. They
were wearing greed, 50 pounds heavier in offensive sunshine. Miraculously, it took
them 20 seconds to escape to the southernmost point of Death-Valley. The robbery
and the escape were a success, but the men were dead: they were tornado-
transported.
Studescent schoolhouse,
Sleepy seminars:
Murderous math,
Luminous literature,
Romantic religion.
Guillotine glass,
Wind-wood,
Bothered Bonnets-
Homeless Heads,
Breeze bent bowler-
Motionless men.
"God is art, since we can't form him in marble, or smear him on canvas, we paint him
as the ocean, as cloud-air, both flora and fauna, and most importantly in our
selves". Dogma drags down drooping doors: dripping mouths, students torrid in
tantric trance, minds elsewhere. Bethany's brain is buried in the bestial sands:
Cyclicide.
Oh ancient town,
forever replicated,
no memoir shall remain,
of days undecimated.
1836,
is all but mixed,
in the minds eye,
where chaos is free,
and order bound,
to sight,smell,touch,
and sound.
Categories:
replicated, adventure, allegory, fantasy, funny,
Form:
Prose Poetry