Always coming from behind,
making no sound,
copying my every move.
My friend on the ground.
Imitating, moving with me,
even when I cannot see.
One day I turned too fast
and you weren't on the ground.
I wonder,
did I scare you away?
My eternal friend
has gone away
By Phan Tan Hai
Forty years like a dream—
shaking off the dust of distant roads;
a faint trace still lingers,
tea-scent deep upon the lashes.
More than sixty passing years,
books read as countless as forests;
once hearing thunder split the peaks,
the mountains broke—fragrance filled the sky.
Returning, hearing the wind breathe,
sweeping through lifetimes of ignorance;
each page of Nguyen Tho’s words
stops mid-flight, as birds listen to the sutra.
Long miles walked without weariness,
the clouds of Tu Luc still drifting;
copying sutras in mist-like lines,
fragrance steeped into the slender strokes.
— March 2017. Respectfully offered to Venerable Nguyen Tho Thich Tu Luc on the fortieth anniversary of his ordination.
I wanted to eat with you.
You moved your plate away.
I took a different seat.
You looked at me with disgust.
Traitor.
You haven’t allowed me to live beside you.
And when I found a corner to exist.
Traitor
You asked me to speak your language.
When I learned, you mocked. Go learn yours.
Traitor.
You laughed at my clothes.
When I dressed like you
I was blamed for copying.
Traitor.
You asked me to fit in.
When I tried, got blamed for no identity.
Traitor.
I want to know
Which version of me is allowed to belong?
By Phan Tan Hai
At midnight I trace the ancient pages,
golden dust of centuries settling thick—
hearing echoes of brushes, swords, and ink
returning to rattle open a full-moon festival.
Summoning old spirits drifting in the wind,
the Master searches, translating page by page;
comparing characters, the long night shortens,
copying lines of poetry vast as the sea.
I hear the old zither strings break into tears,
soldiers urging horses, their cries ringing out.
The Master records the soul of ink and paper,
his beard and hair dyed white by a thousand clouds.
---- Respectfully dedicated to Professor Nguyen Van Sam
Celebratory occasions I usually cook and clean
Like Christmas or Easter, or even Halloween
Appetizers are usually my best specialties
More often than not I use my own recipes
Sometimes though, I will try someone's other
Copying the likes of somebody's mother
A rule of thumb that I'll always abide
Sauté my onions rather than fried
I'll usually make my famous- "Clams casino"
Never end my dinner without some cappuccino
Oh, and believe it or not, I'm not even- "Latino"
Keep me informed and tuned,
Before the curtains are downed.
I use to forget my dialogues in the script,
No matter how frequently I revisit.
A blank version occupies me all the way, Hard to get rid of it and able to say.
I can't recognise the written pattern,
Just copying things from the stolen version.
My days never payoff to their might,
Nights are less bright to lose their sight.
This is for whoever it's for!! You know
who you are ; )
Be yourself
& not another
as it's unbecoming
to be a mock
These copying cats
have lost their tails
while telling tales
like an op
These imitations
need to stop
for what do you get
from tracing lines?
Can't you develop
your own pictures
instead of trying
to copy mine?
I think you're lost
within the lines
who knew you'd
lose your sense
of self
Where has your
pride gone little kitten
where's the lion
within yourself?
I think you're lyin
to yourself
if you think you
can be just like
another
Dare to be different
all on your own
we're unique
from one another
There's only one you
on the face of earth
so love yourself
until the end
No one can replace
who you're born to be
so portraying another
is like a sin
It's time for facades
to meet their end
so one can see
its true face
Stop all the aping
& be original
instead of
mirroring another
in bad taste
Piracy goes down
to a sunken place
so I think it best
to tread lightly
I call to whom it
pertains so if it
rings bells
please don't ignore
like scam likely
Words like world’s fabrics spun.
The fun in touching each one.
I try them on. I find my style.
Spinning the yarn by midnight oil.
I read new and old, easy and hard.
Longevity not in this age; brevity.
Unique, not copying; nevertheless
learning by forms and good poets.
What is a good poet, one asks.
A good poet may be in the making.
I look behind me and find trimmings.
I baste the turkeys and light the candle.
Am I a good poet. I don’t know,
but I do know I have something to say.
It might be heard by one or more.
It’s not for me to say; just write.
Copying the success tale of myth
He moved ahead to the orphan green
A vast forest of fast opportunity
Display was of lovely frames
A sound of track with hustling cracks
He relied on relief of hacks
A cozy kinder of lightning trail
He chose one precious gift alright!
The talks begin to amplify
The words became the works over night
A close choice of heartly fellow
Sincere attack of pain and sorrow
It's the might of the fairy forest
He decided a lack of theory worlds
The maniac he was, he survived
Avalanche of hypnotizing eye
Restless body still moves freely
A part of him stays in the forest
To Hell with Cultural Appropiation or Cultural Copy.
It is very very wrong and unconscionable unless we are copying uplifting values only.
Copying poor value systems like smoking drugs, ganja or cigarettes, over excessive rum/alcohol drinking or eating, gun running, crime, and even gloryfying submersive gansata rap lyrics are wrong for our children's sake. these are bad examples.
I promote instead bigging up our own local Culture to the fullest.
Cultural Apporiation merely teaches us to homour and repect foreign Culture
While relegating our very own.
Why covet a next man's culture when yours is much better??
I want us to love up our own culture with a passion so high and true
That it reaches out to the very sky.
To strive towards good positive culture should always be our true Covenant.
And so you see Cultopiation to me is more like Cultural Miasappropiation.
SEE also my song on youtube called Gultural Hypocrisy by Lord Cam
My kitty, Harry climbs tall red brick walls,
alarmed, I could not believe my eye balls;
while I trim roses climbing,
up, up with perfect timing,
in the garden- he leaps and never falls !
Poetry/Limerick/Climbing Roses and Kitty/AI Free
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1742-121-27
All Rights Reserved, 2025, Constance La France
Copying any part of this work is prohibited without permission
The only thing worse than getting lost in the dark,
is getting lost in the light you’ve mistaken for your own reflection.
A window says “see through.”
A mirror says “see you.”
And this life…
It’ll getcha if you start reflecting.
The serpent?
He works in a mirror factory.
A place where every thought bounces off another,
until the original feeling can’t find its way home.
If you aren’t careful,
you’ll spend a lifetime trapped in reflection—
not memory,
not meaning,
Echo.
Thoughts chasing themselves.
Images copying images.
Like shining a laser
in a mirror house.
You’ll call it thinking.
But it’s really just refracting.
Endless distortion,
in a mind that forgot how to look out.
The eyes, they are not mirrors.
You were made for vision,
not feedback.
For clarity,
not kaleidoscopes.
Look through.
Because asking a mirror for help is like handing your wounds to a photograph, and expecting it to bleed with you.
It’s like whispering secrets to a shadow.
several crazy clowns of different cults
craved to commit crimes for luxury
careless critical calculations are causing
crucial conflict with cashless returns
concern with catching several cases
candles and coke chanting in their cars
stalking copying conjuring while
continue casting spells while I'm calm
I'm a cosmic cat that construct from cubes
my crown was cloaked so you couldn't see
came for me countless times clearly warned
now completely cornered by the clapback.
Hey, why are you copying me?
Every word I say you just repeat.
Lose the mocking attitude, please?!
Look at you, you're even trying to be me!
Overy and out, you're only just a tease.
the morn is frosty ...
flowers
lower their heads
a single
snowflake falls
Poetry/hiku
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1725-125-18
All Rights Reserved, 2025, Constance La France
Copying any part of this work is prohibited without permission
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