Searching the smoking ruins
of Notre-Dame cathedral,
on the Paris Île de la Cité,
one of the finest examples medieval
of French Gothic architecture,
with flying buttresses, a rib vault,
immense bells,
enormous colourful rose windows
all of which went through hell
during the fearful fire of 2019,
and it was seen
he'd been through the wringer
when looking for Quasimodo
they found a dead ringer
Categories:
dead ringer, fire, fun, humorous, silly,
Form: Rhyme
Viceroy butterfly, remarkable
dead ringer for the Monarch
eggs overwinter, a rolled-up leaf
displaying their mother's motif
Categories:
dead ringer, 11th grade, butterfly,
Form: Verse
Who was a family show singer,
when her young daughter tried to be a dead ringer.
He brought her to life,
then she became his wife.
Her costumes were over the top.
some were really hot.
The show of three was a huge hit,
dead husband had great wit.
Categories:
dead ringer, child, color, dance, family,
Form: Rhyme
after all
these years
thinking to even
knowing that i was
never
a morning
person that
so much so i
fled from
the sun as if
blinded or burned
one of the children of
the night
but then realized
i was a dead ringer
a doppelganger for a guy
on daylight
i was saved by
the bell but he wasn't
so lucky as i shall tell you
since i had
left my job on
the graveyard shift
there was no one there
to
hear
his frantic
string pulling ringing
Categories:
dead ringer, muse,
Form: I do not know?
Buxom blonde, eyelashes long
Cabaret singer
Belting out a bawdy song
She’s a dead ringer
Pure sex too
For 50’s lounge singer
Sensual boobs, wig so thick
My most calm boy
Made up in drag, an easy trick
Full of easy joy,
So whoop-dee-doo
And ships ahoy!
Surprising he,
Someone says “you look rather whorish”,
Delighting me
I hate to be peevish or boorish,
But this is drag life in a flourish….
Written: 4-27-2019
Contest: Quirky Tercets
Type: Terza Rima
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Categories:
dead ringer, fun, funny, hilarious, humor,
Form: Terza Rima
You’re jealous of my passions
Don’t think I haven’t noticed
‘cause I don’t keep up with fashions
And I don’t eat of your Lotus
I don’t fall for your heroes
Hook, line, and sinker
Don’t worship in the shadows
Of your latest hit dead-ringer
I’m a little bit out of step
And that’s okay
I’d rather be a cripple any day
Than join your march into oblivion
And join the empire of your setting sons
You eye me with suspicion –
I’m a curiosity
A weird anachronism
In the real-time that you see
I don’t fall for your answers
Or your ancient, lowbrow wisdom
As you blare your scripted scriptures
From your belfry in the mission
I’m a little bit out of step
And that’s okay
I’d rather be a cripple any day
Than join your march into oblivion
And join the empire of your setting sons
Every sucker, two to take him
Every culture, paved to wasteland
Every sucker, two to take him
Every culture, paved to wasteland
You question my conviction
And dispel my sense of freedom
‘cause I don’t sleep with your women
And I don’t dream of your Eden
Categories:
dead ringer, america, angst, corruption, culture,
Form: Lyric
Had been battle torn,
Which is way Priest's robe was warn;
Saved from sin one morn.
Our sins should be shorn,
So we will have been reborn;
Heard call of God's horn.
Things love that adorn,
Forget sad things that forlorn;
God will always warn.
While we had waited,
Our priest had postulated;
On concentrated.
God placed great glory,
Into Son and His story;
Both Wig and Tory.
God is on each side,
So in Him we will abide,
While we do confide.
Priest is dead ringer,
For someone a poor singer,
And likes to linger.
?Great re-arranger;?
?And our priest seems no stranger;
Babe in small manager.
Jim Horn
Categories:
dead ringer, allegory, analogy,
Form: Haiku
Fairly
Squarely
Rarely
Barely
Shot from the hip fairly, squarely true
Loaded clip but, rarely, barely drew
1-19-2018
Categories:
dead ringer, cool, hero, imagery, simple,
Form: Tyburn
I don't want to let go
Why do have to and then try to not let it show,
The anger and sadness I feel burning my insides
What comfort is there for this whole situation to let me be denied,
All the hurt and anguish I have to feel,
How come we can't live forever and make it real,
The cycle of life really is not long enough
Okay I am selfish about the time so what,
I know if I let go there is nothing to hang on to
The reality is I have this choice to do this and it is true,
Ill let go when I feel I am ready
So for now lets just keep it all steady,
There is a part that still wants to linger
Oh gosh I hope that this ends soon or else I am a dead ringer.
Written By: Unique Poetry 2009
Categories:
dead ringer, anger, bereavement, death, deep,
Form: Rhyme
Everyone now days has access to the world wide web aka internet
To search and seek what is new or to just see on face book who they haven't met,
Some people say oh you always are seeking me out
Then everyday they do the same to see what my blogs are about,
I just laugh and think in a few minutes it will be in a blog
On the secret page that says; unspoken words and has mean pics but, not of a frog,
I don't care to repeat the ugly words or pics I seen with the one finger
Then say; it doesn't bother you but, the way you react is such a dead ringer,
That you to seek what all I do in order to know this
My advice to you is blog what you want because I am not as angry as you hit or miss.
Written By: Unique Poetry 2015
Categories:
dead ringer, dog, fishing, hate, internet,
Form: Rhyme
Mother buried hacked-up carp beneath
pink rose mallow. She knew the filthy cats
would come. A balled-up dirty rag
and coffee tin of smelly kerosene
were garrisoned behind a red berry twistwood.
Mother would hide in a column of shadow
near the porch. Ambush the cats as they dug
for carp. Their noses spiced with fish-oiled peat.
Tails flagged above puckered targets.
Mother was quick with her kerosene rag — spot on!
A hush-hush tripwire stretched taut round
the perimeter of mother’s mortared desperation.
The sacrosanct, lint-free, perfect world, where
she demanded God wipe His feet at her door.
Dear Mother, our Elizabeth Taylor dead ringer,
who could waltz with kings, or gut them with a glare.
Ghetto mother, who would murder to keep
her suburbs white, the cat crap gone, and
her prize mallow big as Frisbees. I couldn’t
let it storm on mother. She would get crazy
if her galvanized tin-roof mind was rattled.
Her daughter always had to shine. I kept
the attic window shutters well oiled. Mother
never heard my bare feet crisscrossing
the roof, as I ran to catch the rain.
Categories:
dead ringer, childhood, daughter, life, mother,
Form: Free verse
As i gently clear away
the steam that covers the glass
suddenly!
"he" appears
and for now
"he" is temptation
the very person i fear
Although we look the same
this dead-ringer is not me at all
but a false prophet
who deceives me into running
at his beckon call
"he" controls my thoughts
rents out my face
knows my weaknesses
then begins to plot my next fall from grace
The last time
"he" magically appeared
lessons had to be taught
but nothing was learned
for once again here i stand
to begin the fight
and start the slow burn
"he" is convincing
and so very clever
i am the actor, directing myself
on the next hurtful endeavour!
It's a mystery
when "he"will check in, for a visit
i wish it was never,
but honestly, im realistic
so for today
"he" is in control
my one and only friend
but once gone
that's when the apologies start
and the sorry's never end
Categories:
dead ringer, confusion, fantasy, life, mystery,
Form: Rhyme
The Truth About a Mirror
It's usually hanging from the wall,
It isn’t placed there just for sprawl,
It’s not an item or catchall...,
The truth about a mirror.
This wall piece will reflect an image,
The reflection may be new or vintage,
Often it can be a display of knowledge...,
The truth about a mirror.
That representation is a dead ringer,
Could it be it displays a boaster?,
Is it a replica of an author?..,
The truth about the mirror.
Most often it reflects the likeness,
Ageless, callous, cuteness, calmness, or coolness,
The reflection is but the object’s canvass,
The truth about a mirror.
That sight in the mirror is an effigy,
A mere figure of ourselves, often amply,
Most often just the truth and and our beauty,
THE TRUTH ABOUT A MIRROR.
Categories:
dead ringer, fantasytruth, , cute,
Form: Rhyme
I am self proclaimed real swinger
My name however, for a Nerd is a dead ringer
I have perfected the War Craft game
On Micro Soft computer applications, I can put anyone to shame
I am not into testosterone things such as fuel injectors
Secretly for Christmas I want a pocket protector
For every movie my name is in, I steal the scene
It is my parents I owe for the burdensome name of Eugene
Other bad names for example one is Clarance
He said he was named after his Grandpappy, what an inheritance
As for as it goes, I should be thankful for my health
I am so grateful for not being named Ralph
When I was growing up, there was a kid I know
He hated his named Ralph so much, he insisted on being called Ditto
I always make sure my handkerchiefs are always clean
Welcome to my real world of Eugene
There was one Nerd who rivaled my Nerdy world
Did I do that? Famous words of Erkel
Yes I do wear a wrist watch calculator
I carry a pocket sized stapler
Girls who share my interests are far and few in between
Will any female ever see the masculinity beneath the skin of Eugene
Categories:
dead ringer, funny, social,
Form: ABC