Best Spitting Image Of Poems
Aspiration
Antoine had crashed once again when tempting the desert
Freedom fighter laureate poet daredevil testing the call of
~ Poisonous Times ~
A mysterious man and rebellious philosopher with script on his
tongue ink on soft paper Rose in his heart and yearning for
~ Cleopatra’s Eyes ~
A snake of fertile creation and healing never far from his pen
Aesculapius in coil had mutated to SS wound around torches’
~ Venomous Bite ~
Aspides’s toxic fangs a spitting image of denial with thick scales
covering eyes of horned vipers hiding or shielding from attack
~ Dependent on Choice ~
The piloting scribe aspired towards kind compassionate words
As the elephant was swallowed by a boa constrictor clothed in a sad
~ Hatter’s Distortion ~
Antoine got killed on reconnaissance’s flight over France shot down or
by just letting go of throttle and misery but the Little Prince and his
~ Wisdom Remains ~
Avoiding slithering hisses in what remains of paradise an auspice
of sloughing what needs to be shed emerged from warrior’s asps in
~ Blossoming Hope ~
When threatened by serpent’s pitiless pits with no parachute attached
Peace can be found and acrimonious asperity relieved one small step in
~ Narration and Truth ~
29th April 2018
Have you ever squeezed a lemon before?
(you very might well have and just not realized it).
Each time you grab the steering wheel, you feel determined:
There's no way in hell you're waiting another minute!
A lemon is sure a close call,
and anyone's capable of it - every Tom, Dick and Harry.
Sometimes you don't see it at all,
until you look up and realize it's already turned cherry.
It's a rarer site to see someone squeezing that one,
but there's no doubt it happens now and then.
Some call it stupid, others brave and daring.
Me? I just wanna get out of the car and grab a pen.
Squeezing a lime sounds much more safe.
Feeling a bit less brave, a small price to pay,
for living another glorious day.
But my dad is a different sort all together.
He goes through the entire fruit smoothie, it's just his way.
There'll be honking from behind,
people yelling, "What are you friggin' color blind?
Get off the Bluetooth, man!".
And I'm just sitting in the front seat thinking,
"I have such great writing material, so close at hand".
I'll have my head crouched low
feigning embarrassment, but in reality
this man, driving me, where I need to go
is the spitting image of myself
forty years down the road...
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, wasn’t I the little girl you wanted me to be? Things with my mom weren’t meant to be but daddy daddy why did you leave me?
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, ain’t I the big girl you thought I could be? They say I’m spitting image of you, daddy daddy can’t you see?
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, I tried to be the parent you couldn’t be. Now I have grandkids you never see, daddy daddy how could this be?
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, I am the best grandma I know how to be. Thank you for the life that you gave me, daddy daddy I wish you could see, I only wanted you to love me.
Who is that woman
That follows me around
She mimics everything I do
But she doesn't make a sound
She looks somewhat like me
More mature I must confess
Although her hair is grayer
She copies the way I dress!
She only appears in the mirror
Whenever I primp and preen
She's the spitting image of me
Except for the years between
Who is that aging woman
What does she want with me?
She always appears on my birthday
I wish she’d let me be
Now that I am eighty three
I thought I saw a tear
Did I say I'm eighty three?
It couldn’t be THAT year!
I’m still in my prime
Having fun and loving life
Getting into trouble
No worries, strain or strife
It must be HER birthday
We celebrate today
I wish her health and happiness
And good luck along the way
But she's really getting old
What more can I say
Why is she in my mirror?
I just wish she‘d go away!
Copyright©2011 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
I make my way to the cemetery,
They won't look for me where I was buried.
I lay my love down to die beside me,
The ghosts they graze but demons guide me.
I look to my lord, just beneath my feet,
His victory lies, in life so sweet.
The only promise that I've ever known,
A world where I am free to live and grow.
The only promise that can be kept,
My life is mine and I won't lose it yet.
I am a monster,
'Cause I look dead to them,
The stitched together image of a hundred men.
I am a monster,
That's what they say I am,
They see these dead pieces,
And someone else's hands
I am a monster.
I make my way through the tombs that made me,
Below those who won't help but hate me.
It's been so long I've been running from them,
I tried so hard but they don't comprehend.
So if a monster's what they want,
I guess that's what I'll give them.
No games,
No gimmicks,
Real death,
Eating your infants.
You've been blessed,
With what you're given,
So I'll take,
You're right to heaven.
I can't die,
I am forsaken,
My senses,
Have been awakened.
All the life,
That I have taken,
Makes me strong,
But not complacent.
I am a monster,
At least I know what I am.
The life I have been given,
Isn't without demands.
I am a monster,
See me for what I am.
The clear spitting image, of your lord so be damned.
Now I will conquer,
Every last living man,
My army of undead is soon to stand,
And all the monsters,
Across the land will span.
My legion will rip flesh,
From God's precious humans.
'Cause we are monsters,
And his children will burn.
Signing up for hell,
And they wait their turn,
Because they're monsters,
And they March on command.
They'll swim the lake of fire,
While dreaming of land.
Cause we are monsters,
Innocent blood on our hands.
We're not asking for forgiveness,
We are taking a stand,
As human monsters.
Awaiting your command.
Shall we kill the unholy,
Or should we be damned?
For being monsters.
Years had passed still I had every bit of reason to grasp/
That true essence of what he said/
Yet there was many thought's inside my head ?
Like the time I drove my big wheel into the yellow Ollie !
I was speechless in thought and deed
Still I never bothered to take heed/
All I wanted to do was just speed !
That's how Bodda Boom met with Bodda Bing !!!
You all know what I mean ?
I even could hear that sweet little bird sing/
Bodda used to be a good friend until when
Bing came strolling into the town/
Many thought the freekin guy was such a clown
So nobody wanted him around/
Today Bing resides right next to The Jersey Shore
Last I knew he lived with a whore ?
Yet who knew/
About that two timer Boom/
He's the spitting image of Jessy James/
Then with his face I'd like to rearrange !
How could he do that to such a beautiful lady !
She's better off settling for Wavy Gravey !
So it was back to the past,
We had every reason to grasp/
That day when Bodda Bing met up with Bodda Boom !
Yet who knew ?
Help me break bread at this table
Songs of my captivity
And in those four lines you’re learning to set me free
Where did you put the rope and muzzle
Where is it now?
Should I count it all with you?
Should I give up the stamp I’ve left on your memory?
But you know me
And that’s the impact
A rare understanding
that I couldn’t find the words to give them
But you knew, my captor read me
And I find these things in old words
Written in digital poetry
The void is no longer a mystery
I’m missing the essence of you
The understanding of our knowing laughter
Our observations that gave us air
To puff up our own thrones
And I, the spitting image of my disappointment
am left here empty
Bewildered, because it’s been made so that I need you
How would I love after you?
It was with you that I felt the ricochets of my affection
The heaviness of wanted blessings on your behalf
And I saw your faith waiver
And now they see me crack
Because from where I’m running
is where I need to go back
This is a letter to my unborn child . .
My Pride & joy, the love of my life, my reason to live.. we shall meet, & when we meet, there will be no wall, no river, no obstacle to come between us.. Your smile? One a man would kill for.. Your Voice? Music to my ears.. Your Presence ? My Blessing.. Youll never know what it feels like to be betrayed by your own father.. & even if you do grow up in a single-parent home you'll never want nor need for anything.. We'll talk & laugh like bestfriends, hangout like siblings, respect eachother like co-workers, & I know there'll be times when we disagree & argue like worst enemies.. but through the sunshine, as well as the rain, mom will be there though trials, tribulations, & pain.. You'll know me like the back of your hand, & i'll know you like the palm of mine.. you'll be book smart and street smart & if i can help it, you'll use the book smarts to better yourself in life,& the streets smarts to overcome the battles you encounter on your journey through life.. that "C Word" . . NOT Carpa Tunnel.. No, Not Cancer.. but "Can't" will NOT be in your vocabulary.. & "I Give Up" is an error in your mind.. I'll teach you everything I know plus some.. You'll be the kid on the block who falls in love with daddy.. therefore, your favorite words will be "I'm Gonna marry daddy when I'm old enough", only til you're disappointed with the reality that its impossible.. You'll hug mommy everytime she's in sight.. you'll be the change this world seeks.. a new spitting image of me(: , but until you arrive; baby boy, or baby girl.. i'm gonna keep this dream alive.. I'll live for you & for me.. cause when you step foot on this earth, this is how you should be.. to my pride & joy, the love of my life, & my reason to live
She gazed at the looking glass, but the mirror refused to grant her a preview of what might happen, a clear picture of where she had been and if she existed at all, the spectre of the moment seemed to be disguised from inspection. Coming to terms with having absorbed and condensed too many of society’s norms and demands had seemingly been her duty and the prism of requests on her image of beauty had failed her inner Self. She drooled onto the spitting image of nothingness and the slobber ran down to the frame that upheld phlegm and contempt before it trickled down onto the baseless floor founded on hardcore delusion. Diet pills and dark shades had not relieved her from a succession of errors of reason and emotion and when she had blindfolded herself, the blinkers tore deep into her misrepresentation of surrender and cosmetic denial.
scanned in revulsion
vacant echoes burst the sight –
shards of glass splintered
So many fragments pierced into her eyes, that dry tears covered the pulverized viewing and heart-blood sprayed all over her soul. A point of no return, because if she failed to stem the flow and bandage the wounds, gangrene would set it soon and salving the lacerations would only speed up infection and purulent grime. The wall in front of her blurred out of proportion and there was nothing she could do about it other than retrieving bristles and paint from the storeroom and gloss over the shiny remnants of disrepair. And therefore, she entered into a journey of the unknown, drew rose petals and thorns onto broken canvas. Before she knew it, she decoupaged disintegration and fractures, glued a mosaic of imagination to mirror what should have been there in the first place. Sweat dripped from her forehead and smudged aquarelle shades which reassembled self-worth and confronted demons and abuse. An inner voice shouted, ‘all you need is a mantra to caption the artwork which you truly are.’ That is when she wrote her first poem and became free of doubts, oppression and cynical critique.
blame discredit reproach
failed to appease me in vain –
reflections can change
26th March 2021
ROOTS
They came seeking a future not their own
carrying naught but memories too soon to fade
into the substance of a union of hearts.
In leaving left the spitting image of themselves
to gather up their memories lest they fade.
1/3/2017
submitted to – ROOTING FOR 8 TO 5 – Poetry Contest
With beautiful brown eyes peering to see the outside
With a bobble head so cute to be cuddled and kissed
Why would you considered locking such a poor thing
Eyes that want to be free, with glee of hope to see
A short life it may be, but such thing does not concern
A young lost being, a human that should have been
The door slowly shuts but the little peering eyes want to see
To see the outside for that smile he saw with others
I dreamed that I was being put into a kennel
But really it was a small room, away from everyone
For days I was given food, and shots trying to keep me
I was sick for a couple of days lying in bed on my own
My heartfelt slow and energy draining me
Finally the door opens and they took my temperature
My arms swelling, had to poke it to let things out
I did not cry, I did not move, I just lie there
Something came to me laughter of energy
What was it again, was the door open to hear or to see
My heart beat faster, causing me to focus on eating
The food that was in the room was days old
I ate it with no complaint, I drove death away
The sound that I heard was so familiar
I was not tall enough to look out the window
But some familiar voices was calling my name
It made me strong, it made me happy, it brought hope
Tell me if my door is open or shut for the reality
I hope the people that is near to me, could open that door
Days passed they brought in familiar voices and faces
I sat up wiping my eyes, to see, I was sad but happy
I asked in my mind I was so young to say why the door was closed
Why was I in here? Was it to be safe or was it no one wanted me?
Finally I was to walk through the shut door that was open
Till this day I have this dream, does anyone want me?
A lonesome heart that was shut out, and lock within a door
It takes bravery to be a child that does not know
People should look at one there a spitting image of an adult
When forced to become one, is your child locked up
Did you close that door too soon, I remember just to be
That child fallowing the images before the door shuts
And when the door opens that child is looking at you
How do you feel? When you see eyes sparkling without fear
I knew back then when I was a little boy
Though I didn’t quite understand why
That when the girls I would start to enjoy
I was bound to be a Mary Ann kind’a guy.
Although to be honest, I certainly must admit
Something about Ginger had really caught my eye
I loved her curves and her really big … smile
But I was sworn to be a Mary Ann kind’a guy.
I rushed right home every day after school
Watching reruns for this girl I’d hope to spy
Skipper and Gilligan were somehow kind’a cool
But I really was a Mary Ann kind’a guy.
When I grew up and found a girl to marry me
This I tell you and I swear it’s not a lie
She was the spitting image of that girl on my TV
And just right for a Mary Ann kind’a guy.
by, Joe Flach, copyright 5/8/2010
my son my fistborn you are my little friend
i hold you up high for the whole world to see
you are my boy
you are a spitting image of me
i promise to be a good father to you
give you all the love you can stand little man
you are my joy and pride
i love you son and my tears i can not hide
when your five i will take you fishing
when your twelve i will take you to hunt
when you are sixteen i will tell you about girls
right now i will be content with holding you and smelling your neck
i love you so my little son
She has jealous eyes that tend to look at each other,
She’s the spitting image of her dear old mother.
Her heals are all crusty and cracked,
And she has more hair covering her chest and her back.
With a body that looks like a half melted bar of lard,
Soft in some places, and others it’s hard.
She sat on mypoor dog Rover, and it took me two days to find,
He now walks around with an all seeing dog for the event made him blind.
She wears this hair piece a $1.50 e bay comb over,
That looks like the hair between her cheeks left by poor Rover.
There’s this fat she has that looks like semi digested jelly,
It takes ten minutes to stop wobbling, and that’s under her chin not her belly.
But this is the woman that I once carried,
Over the threshold when we were married.
A woman that can clear a five mile radius with a single fart,
The woman I refer to as my sweetheart.
I met her on a Monday at a place where drunkards meet,
my heart pounding loudly, my toes tapping with the beat.
On Tuesday we met for coffee at a place I always go,
I couldn't take my eyes of her, well her cleavage was quite low.
On Wednesday I met her family, the spitting image of her dad,
they both have a mustache, and hairy bottoms I might add.
On Thursday we went shopping, I took her to the mall,
at least until I lost her, as she's only one foot tall.
I found her on the Friday, wandering the street,
she couldn't make it home last night, she hasn't any feet.
Saturday we spoke of having a child, and I asked her if we can,
she said that might be a problem, as she used to be a man.
It's Sunday and a week has past, she was sent from up above,
I don't care what other people think, she's mine and I'm in love.