He lived in room 757
just like a haiku
thats what he said to me
just like a haiku
eesh
There’s a reason I avoid this part of town
if not for the psuedo intellectualism that spreads
faster than herpes at a swingers party
then for the cheap drinks for too much money
the door guy that thinks he deserves a tip
keeping out the ‘riffraff’ as they used to say
The Polo shirt with the Raybans over in the corner
makes eyes at the one girl his buddies brought to the bar
if he plays his cards right
he might just have a chance
and why not?
Did I walk into a bar
or some sort of reality show
where are the cameras and who’s
ing with me?
The carbon copy cut outs of people all staged around the place
talking about haikus
and their twitter account
and their many followers
not my scene as I head to the door
As a pick up from my coat from the check
the girl tells me to have a good night
I doubt it
no one writes Haiku’s anymore
How to speak and wound deeply,
carbon copy sword and discord;
Changed the game and did not flee,
I blocked your favorite channel;
Kept it clean no need for debris;
Destruction is your love language,
you taught it to me;
Don’t hate the top of that leader board
for mastering skills so easily.
(To the tune of Cruella De Vil)
CoachElla De Vil, CoachElla De vil
She's in sparkly hotpants
And singing for thrills
She's so drunk she won't flinch against the chill
CoachElla, CoachElla
She's comes alive when she pops a white pill
Look out for CoachElla De Vil.
At first you think CoachElla's something special
But in a while you see she's just the same
As every other girl, a self-made party animal
Carbon copy, tanned and chasing fame
This starlet wannabe, who hungers for the big screen
She ought to be sat down, offered some reali-tea
The festival was calm and wholesome till...
CoachElla, CoachElla De Vil.
I know I wished him dead
But to hope for justice is not a crime
And for you to bank on my morality
to tell you right from wrong,
Is like betting your life against the odds
When you have none
And everyone heard you crying at prom;
What a pity party
And I’m not sorry you feel sorry
cause the prom dress doesn’t fall far from the tree
You killed them all with evil glares
And dumped their bodies at the quarry
And I’m not sorry you’re not sorry
For you to bank on my morality
Tells me even your narcissisms getting sloppy
And you betting things you don’t have
Tells me you’re a carbon copy
The prom dress doesn’t fall far from the tree
And I remember all the things I said I hope happens to him
You should know by now
I choose justice over morality every time
Just because you feel sorry doesn’t mean I do
Wanting to see fear in his eyes
is called justice, not a crime
Hello and handshakes,
now old hat,
that brief hello,
wiggling through teeth.....
a stiff aura
still making breakfast,
news blabbing
from the old TV,
touching is only
on a big screen,
a carbon copy
of middle aged parents,
tequila on Friday
the bright spot,
like sunshine
on a
wrinkled countenance,
gazing right through each other,
the big mirror,
a comfort zone,
waiting
for one or the other
to push out
first.
below
time entwines
as the scenario wind blow to
carbon copy history pages
a place where
a choking mist
clouds the rays
and
the future holds onto the present
the mirror reflects fantasies dreams
but the
mirror brakes
shattering
pieces
the pieces drop like rain
stabbing life force
pain
rolling thunder breaks the silence
as whirlwinds swirls
out of the dark past scars peer
white shadowed by the grey
the abyss stares back
a blank stare
of emptiness
reality tear drops falls
falling
falling
falling
to a place where
ghosts of the past haunt the future
dancing on dreams
twisting
into
a screaming nightmare
but behind the tortured screams
you can
hear the laughter
as the jokers plays his hand
complete now
his devilish
plan
I am an individual;
separate from any other living thing—
no strings, no leash.
Don’t try to make me just like you!
I am unique! Myself!
Incapable of being another—
no carbon copy; no need to hover.
Don’t try to make me just like you!
I am a complete person with
emotions, needs and desires—
only I can put out the fires.
Don’t try to make me just like you!
I am a single article full
of my own experiences—
past as well as the present.
Don’t try to make me just like you!
I am a spirit free to think and do
as I please—
I am ME!
Yes, I Would Like A Little Cheese
with My Whine
Miracle Man
5/8/2023
Long before dawns arrival I’m up and ready,
but due to recent neck surgery I’m on a walker.
Myelopathy has made my movement unsteady,
so while my wife shops, I’m becoming a Gawker.
Every day is a carbon copy of the day before,
no longer on fine cuisine do I aspire to dine.
Even enjoyable things are becoming a chore,
just give me some cheese to go with my whine.
The past few years I’ve eaten what life has served,
and this tough old bird has managed to survive.
But probably all was better than what I deserved,
God’s hand upon me is all that’s kept me alive.
My Momma
-,••,•••-,• •• ••, ••, ••-
Shii Ma, shii carbon copy, shii xerox copy
Shii spoon, choii bii style Niiguna Begay It's for me to know and for you to find out....
Momma , LAAAAAA YOU LOTS
NO MATTER HOW CUCKO WE ARE , I CAME FROM CUCKO PUSS....LOL, laaaaa you Mommmma
Oh what a tragedy, what an utter disgrace
It was never my intention to recreate,
A near perfect carbon copy of the bad mad old me
I fought so hard to avoid this so how can this possibly be?!
The past and present have come to collide
The same old bull arguement but I'm on the other side
Your hostile eyes scream at the grown ups treating you so unfairly
My terrified sleepless one cry back I'm trying to keep you safe, JUST LISTEN TO ME
But I know I'm on the losing side
Coz 20 years ago I was you
Facing off against your nan
Who lost this same old battle too
Just know when you need me you know where I am
Coz ill never turn you away my son Coz I will always be your mam
Today some orphans get soppy
And shed a tear on a poppy
Though they never met
Their dad was a vet
And there was no carbon copy
History
A carbon copy of the past
To prevent a loss or lapse in memory
Even when people become Alcheimer patients
History remains
The good and evil remain
No one can erase the past
But to learn a lesson
To behave well
And to teach the younger generation
The fact that
Truth and history never die
You are the opposite of everything I am.
You are so unique; nothing like a carbon copy.
Unlike the average--the reason you complete me.
Unlike many without identity, you are happily you.
You are the meaning of, 'opposites attract each other'.
You are so set in your way, often stubbornly unmovable.
Unlike two positives or two negative terminals on a battery.
Unlike so many others, you are able, capable, and very stable.
You appear to be a woman of steel, permeated with a strong will.
You are predictable, with little variation; yet so full of suspense.
Unlike plastic, recyclables, or reusables; no rival; you are the real deal.
Unlike anyone I have ever met or known; you have no twin, I'm convinced.
You don't need circumstances, or people, or things to make you happy.
I perceive the happiness inside of you, infused, permeated with God's Love.
God sees that you are the clay, designed in heaven, and a God-made woman.
God was the potter who saw what he wanted in you, and made no mistake.
To my devoted wife,
Happy Birthday.
I love you.
090721PSCtest, A Poem To Your Spouse On His/Her Birthday,
Funom Makama. 8P
I look in her eyes
And what do I see
But a version of myself
And you
Looking back at me
Not a carbon copy
But familiar features
My almond eyes
Your upturned nose
Familial full cheeks
Skin tone a shade between
Hands like mine
Toes like yours
Beyond structure
Does DNA explain
Shared mannerisms and tastes
The looks she throws
Her favourite foods
Her pet hates
Sometimes typically maternal
Sometimes wholly paternal
Nature and nurture combined
Encapsulated in her we see
Reflections and echoes
An intoxicating blend of you and me
What can it be if not ignited tension
Among retirees waiting for their pension
That weakly caters for their weekly ration
Their numerous legs, hundreds of suspension:
A carbon copy of the criminal’s in a police station.
Long, I’ve been watching their tired faces
And ceaseless circuitous paces,
All of them buffeted by the issued new orders
About which they wouldn’t tell others…
So, the Ministry won’t immediate payments be making
For the breath of relief they should be taking
And for long sitting on retirement seats,
occasionally their only nurses for roaring heartbeats
And varicose veins of legs deserving an apology.
The Ministry - for Goodness Heavens!-
can, herself, spare the Image of Black Ravens
with the firmest farewell to “Come Tomorrow” Announcements,
Often her making time-seeking searchers of misplaced documents.
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