Best Word For Word Poems
"Mine all Mine!"
A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea
A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."
The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind
I memorized till they became all mine
Word-for-word,
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monolog look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio,
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips,
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof
My dearest Poet,
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind,
Indulged when you speak and point out a verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun
pd
Dear Lord Byron
Please don't be upset
I wish to call you George
With affection and respect
The "Destruction of Sennacherib"
I was introduced to your poem
I learned it word for word
As I sat home all alone
You see George the meaning
Is much more than you know
In school I had no success
I was considered quite slow
Empowered by your words
Assyrians coming down
I spoke with true emotion
For once I wasn't a clown
When I spoke of your steed
With his nostrils all wide
Within the deep of me
I experienced pride
Like the leaves in your forest
When summer is green
You provided inspiration
I now travel where you've been
With a pen held in my hand
My destruction I escape
Within my troubled mind
New ideas take their shape
I'm gifted with freedom
Words of power do supply
Whether reading or writing
They provide me with my high
So George, I humbly thank you
You're truly the reason why
I travel within the words
They're the gift that help me fly
With anticipation
I know one day we'll meet
Beyond the gates of heaven
Please reserve for me a seat
The Father of all poets
Will speak in splendid tones
We'll marvel at his spirit
We will feel it in our bones
For poets are connected
In very intricate ways
Time is not of consequence
Our words are a form of praise
As a child when I committed Lord Byrons poem to memory,
I had no idea it was a story from the Bible. Being he was a
believer I wanted to honor both him and our God. Thanks
Monterey, I think this is a great topic for a poem. I also
chose to write in the same form as he had for "The Destruction
of Sennacherib". This was the first and only form I wrote in
prior to coming to the soup. I thank all the poets here who have
helped me grow, yourself included Monterey.
Jog at skybridge
Dusk descends swiftly;
Deep darkness sums
Side by side we
Stride brisk and fast;
Stop clock moments
A neighbour smiles
Mobile cellphone chat;
Our feet speed away
Evening echoes
Cicada serenade;
Hazy ambience floats
Thoughts meander
Nothing to say;
Meal pack detour
Dinner for two
Me and you;
Silent melodrama
Digital TV
Sitcom sequesters;
Lavish drama serials
News in brief:
War, death, violence;
What else is new?
Bank account update
Cash flow and bills;
Thank God for money
Word for word
Sorry tales attest;
What happened where?
Mailbox excavation
Letters in a pile;
Billing gratitude
Leon Enriquez
26 June 2014
Singapore
Sit with me by the fireplace…
I have a story to tell….
Of when I met all of Santa’s reindeer,
And I got to know them well.
Dasher was the social one,
The fastest of the herd.
He loved to party, all day and night.
That’s his statement, word for word.
Dancer had great dance moves,
And loved a celebration.
But what made him stand out, you ask?
His amazing hand-eye-foot coordination.
Prancer loved to bake,
You’d never see him with a frown,
And his favorite Christmas song?
“Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town”
Vixen was gifted at magic tricks,
And loved being the center of attention,
But he often ran late….
A flaw, he forgot to mention.
Comet was laid back,
And incredibly smart….
Always willing to lend a helping hand.
This reindeer has a big heart!
Cupid was so precious…
Didn’t like when her friends were sad,
She would sing “Joy to The World” several times,
Just to make the others mad!
Donner loved to sing,
He had an amazing voice.
For him to have all the ladies’ screaming….
“Santa Baby” was his choice.
Blitzen enjoyed Christmas movies,
In his spare time,
And you could catch him on stage with Donner,
As the two sang joyous rhymes.
And then, there’s Rudolph….
Well, you already know about him.
He was the one with the red nose,
And if you ever saw it….
Even you would say it glows.
So that’s my story of how I met them all,
Such a loving and humble bunch.
Oh, no! Good grief, I must go now!
They promised to take me to lunch!
I'm not usually the type
to stray from structure
and just write down
all my thoughts and feelings
word for word
with no fancy frills or clever metaphors
but every time i put my pen to paper
i realize that no strained rhyme
no set number of syllables
can begin to hold all that I'm feeling right now
so I've decided to write it like I'd say it
I need you to know,
I love you
and i wish that we lived in a perfect world
so that just saying it would be enough
and we'd ride off into the sunset
to live happily ever after
but I know life doesn't work like that anymore
love's become less of a fairytale
and more of an adventure novel
the slipper never fits
none of the princesses ever come down from their towers
without battles and grueling journeys
and even after you get the girl,
you have to fight for everyday of your 'happily ever after'
I know that
but I'm still here
with my sword drawn to start the battle
and I'll never stop fighting
I just needed you to know that
I know that in the stories
the prince is always strong
and he's courageous and valiant
but sometimes I'm afraid I can't be that strong warrior
because right now,
I miss you
so much it makes me tired and weak
and each day it gets harder and harder to fight
I've not your voice to reassure me
that you're right here fighting beside me
so sometimes I just feel so alone
fighting this battle by myself
I wake up in the morning and they tell me
that I was talking to you in my sleep
and I check my phone 100 times a day
even though I know that you can't call
But I'll never stop fighting
I love you
and I miss you
and I'll never drop my sword
even when all I can do is lay here in the dark
and try to picture your face in the cracks of light dancing on the walls
just to keep from going crazy
I'll never stop fighting
I guess I just needed you to know that
You are music; saturates the air
lyrics
speaks to a man's desires
the tune
a gentleman sways to
the rhythm
walks
to the beaten sound
of raw intimacy
You are music; heard once never forgotten
one repeats
in thought
word for word
makes a man move
inside of
move
in concert of
makes him move
with the regard of
you.
that simple song
with inner beauty
brings peace
to the savage
to the beast
that note
he thought he'd never hear.
and he
the restless
gently sleeps
in your calm.
and he
the sweet-tempered
throbs
in the torment of you.
You are the music
flips a man’s temperate core.
GOTHAM
The brothels are terrible in Gotham City
and do little excuses
no one is safe from a bite
there in the shadows where the bodies are dried
from morning until evening, and where three channels in black and white and a touch of reality is structured
-Gotham-
There are four patriarchal figures making waves
and gigantic shadows behind them
dormant in the darkness
and where I see the Patriot Village
who believe blindly in what they say news
the repeating word for word what he believes is true
there in the corner surreptitious
-Gotham-
This is the sunset in Gotham city
a small town
those who are the least damaged in times of crisis
Ay! my Gotham
Welcome to Gotham
if you want to run away if you want to mourn
They call him Snerd,
Snerd the bird,
But he’s not as absurd
As Lerd the third.
Now that’s a bird,
Whose squawks are blurred
With fanciful words
That I’ve never heard.
Now I overheard,
Lerd the third,
Say our friend Snerd,
Is actually furred;
Like from a herd,
That’s not of birds,
Of which wrong stirred
Our lovable Snerd.
So perturbed Snerd
Was then referred,
To, Rare Bird
Who lives undeterred
In the cliff’s of Hurd.
Then to our friend, Snerd,
Rare Bird conferred
These few good words.
“Friends are preferred,
So don’t be spurred
By Lerd the third.
He’ll be transferred
With other cur’ds
On Monday the third.”
Said, Rare Bird of Hurd,
Word for word.
So our friend, Snerd
Dispatched these words
To Lerd the third.
“Your curse words
Will not be endured!
I’ve since matured,
And have secured
The truth from Rare Bird.”
What then occurred
Is Lerd the third,
Was left unsecured
With his own herd
Of the absurd.
And we’ve been assured
He’ll soon be interred
Unless he gets cured.
There are only two days in the year that nothing can be done
One is tomorrow and the other is yesterday with no reruns
How true, this Dalai Lama quote
Comforting words to keep us afloat
It's not word for word, but today is the day to love everyone
© Jack Ellison 2015
With respect, the Dalai Lama quote...
“There are only two days in the year that nothing can be done.
One is called Yesterday and the other is called Tomorrow.
Today is the right day to Love, Believe, Do and mostly Live.”
[Line one is an old schoolboy version of the first
Line of ‘While Shepherds’. I wrote the rest of verse
one based upon it, but was then astounded to
discover ‘my verse one’ word for word identical
online. As such, I must claim this poem as a
collaberation.]
While shepherds washed their socks by night
And hung them on the line
The Angel of the Lord came down
And said those socks are mine
Fear not he said though they be red
You washed them not with whites
Glad tidings of great joy I bring
They weren’t in with my tights
If you see David down this way
He’s bound to say this line
I’ll separate the colours, Lord
And things will turn out fine
O laundry maid did you not read
The instructions displayed
I must complain, look at this stain
Don’t think that you’ll be paid
My laundry sack produced forthwith
A purple, once-white thong
I also think that thong has shrunk
Can’t get the damned thing on
O God my thong it sure is high
How it hurt my cod-piece
Good grief I can’t wear it again
It slips right up my crease
I
What if this life is a play,
and we the actors each day,
an insane play for sick and sadistic amusement.
II
Oh, then life would be nothing,
existence would mean not a thing,
all our pain and suffering just a absurd plot.
III
The dead just discarded actors,
our life determined by chapters,
a chapter written by a mean, evil higher being.
IV
Perhaps this life is an experiment,
for some species entertainment,
in a theater absurd where we are zoo animals.
V
Or maybe whatever we do,
we play our part then its adieu,
our destiny planned, each path, our story written.
VI
We are part of a theater absurd,
we play a part word for word,
oh, wouldn't such a play be a sad, sad, sad read.
_____________________
February 2, 2017
Poetry/Verse/Theater of the Absurd
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 872-099-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Inspired by the contest, Theater of the Absurd
sponsor, Kia Michael Neuman
Eighth Place
Letter by letter
Word for word, you and I love
Create new worlds
The poet to his garden went
To ease a potent, lingering grief;
He thought his sadness might be spent
If he could eulogize a leaf.
The sunshine was as fresh as mint.
The crystal dew, the virgin morn
And some lone songbird dumbly lent
Their succor as relief of scorn.
And so he penned the songbird's trill,
Perfecting it in hours late,
Not knowing that the sweet and shrill
Melodious call was for a mate;
Not knowing, too, that what he wrote
Beneath the fire muses sent
Was word for word and note for note
Exactly what the songbird meant.
I do care
who they're screwin' in public
~~~~~~~~
this poem is word for word plagiarized. If you know who I plagiarized, you probably have a good feel for freaky people and the aliveness of the streets. If you don't, you can ask me or whatever.
All You Need Is a Pen
We must admit and next thing you know it
You will become a bright and beloved poet
As more poems you start and write down
Will turn into a famous poet all over town.
Each of your poems they see and will read
Always finds and ends up fulfilling a need
You start turning them into story telling
Around world and read become compelling.
What they do after you read word for word
Into mind many images they are transferred
About their name they have no apprehension
They were used when we named an expedition.
How long the world has waited and waited
To discover how your poems had delineated
Parts of poetry expedition we would be taking
Having vivid memories that were breathtaking.
Why should you start being startled my friend
In minds of poets my poems will never end
Motivational poetry has just now been born
All you need is a pen now that you have Horn.
So what do you think about this one? I am
rapidly reaching my goal of 1,000 poems.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn,
Retired Veteran who would gladly do it
all over and over and again and again