A literacy theft of a line or phrase
the facade, simulacrum of a writer
creating a mirror image, deception . . .
exact replica.
The forgery of blood written heart and soul
penning a likeness of me is plagiarism
and taking credit for another's talent . . .
is simulacrum!
Like a night pirate you come to falsify
to pass a line or a sweet phrase as your own
you make some minor change as a delusion . . .
making it your own.
Your simulacrum of a writer is false
you can cheat and pretend but will never be
for you will never be this girls reflection . . .
just a thief of words !
_______________________________
June 11, 2020
Poetry/Sapphic Stanza/Non Metrical/Simulacrum
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1259-722-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest,
Pick-A-Title, Vol. 19, Sapphic Stanza
sponsor, Edward Ibeh
Third Place
I wanted to see sailing ships again so I went to Dana Point last week to revisit the Brig Pilgrim, gift from Denmark to the United States honoring Henry Richard Dana’s voyage around Cape Horn in 1835. A brig is a ship with two masts, square rigged, or rigged nearly like a full-rigged ship’s sail mast and foremast.
Vessel is exact replica of the original Pilgrim, a common sight in the 1850’s picking up lodes, at the various mission ports between San Francisco and san Diego. Here in El Embarcadero Cove , the ship took on board hides from Mission San Juan Capistrano. These “Leather dollars”,as they were called, were carried to the east coast and made into shoes, wallets, and women purses. Ship owners made good profit for a relatively small investment.
Made quite an impression, it seems
On the chair, I've been glued to so long
The indentation is an exact replica
Of my rear, hmmm, sounds like a song
Me bum and me chair are going steady
Only leave when I have to go poop
Methinks maybe atrophy is setting in
So I think I'll shoot some hoops
It's surely a result of this computer age
Our bodies will soon have no use
Our heads will be the size of basketballs
But our bodies will be an excuse
Excuse to hold up our 100-pound heads
With its gigabytes of storage space
We'll actually need some kind of device
Or we'll continue to fall on our face
Made quite an impression, it surely seems
On the chair, I've been glued to so long
Thinks I'll go for a ride in my old jalopy
An old Dodge I bought for a song
There's a Train
Going to Peace Station.
Christians, Buddhists,
Hindus, Atheists,
Each occupied a Compartment,
But never Bothered one another,
Just like the Two Rails of the Track
That Travel Together but Never Meet.
Everyone's Ticket is to Peace,
They traveled in Communities and
Their Compartment Number
Never really mattered.
Then came budding Islam,
Who wanted their own Engine, Though
They are Destined to the Same Station.
They made an Exact Replica of the Train,
Their 'Fight' for Peace overshadowed
Their Destination and they Launched
Their Train on the Same Tracks,
But in the Opposite Direction.
Compartments filled with Innocent Followers,
but Engines Piloted by Terrorists
And Religious Leaders.
They only Focused on Increasing
The Number of Compartments
To gain Strength and Accelerated
As Fast as they Can.
But One Thing They Failed to Realize is,
No matter how Long the Train is,
On Collision, Whole Train Derails,
Killing Innocent Passengers, on Both Trains.
He worked for hours
Spinning and spinning
Concentrating like he never had before
This was the most important web he had ever spun
And the sun was due to rise in about an hour
Silken strands all arranged in the most spectacular mosaic
A stained glass window without any colors
Shiny and sophisticated
Fragile yet exuding strength
His mosaic was the Best of the Show
As the sun began to crest over the tall pines
The spider's heart began to race a million miles a minute
He held his breath and hoped that this would be the greatest Rembrandt of his life
The other creatures gathered around
Inspecting the art work of the very worn spider
Applause! Applause, again and again!
They liked it and it was just a simple flower
He spun the most delicate flower he had ever saw which sat adjacent to his most elegant web
He wanted to capture a moment in time
A moment when the dew hit the petals of the dainty flower that he had inspected for hours over the past few days
Now he had scored a home run with his forest friends
An almost exact replica of his adoring flower
gwendolen rix
10-15-15
(CONTINUED)
THEN ONE DAY THE KINGDOM REALIZED THE LIES OF THE SCORPION KING
IT WAS ALMOST TOO LATE AS THE LIVES OF MILLIONS WERE BEING
DESTROYED
HE STOMPED HIS GNARLY FEET AND SNORTED A LOUD SNORT
“SURELY I WILL WIN THIS BATTLE!” HE THOUGHT TO HIS LONELY SELF
THEN THE EARTHWORM CAME BACK TO SAVE THE DAY!
HE ARRIVED WITH A MILLION OTHER WORMS
HE DEVISED A SYSTEM OF TUNNELS AND CAVERNS BENEATH THE GROUND
AND THEN THE INSECT KINGDOM WAS ALLOWED TO ESCAPE
THEY BURROWED AND THEY BURROWED AND THEY BURROWED
UNTIL THEY ALL REACHED THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD
THIS WAS A LAND OF PROMISE AND FREEDOM
A LAND WHERE LOVE RULED THE DAY
IF YOU EVER HEAR OF A SCORPION KING IN YOUR NECK OF THE WOODS
SIMPLY HUNT HIM DOWN AND SMASH HIM WITH YOUR FEET!
HE IS THE EXACT REPLICA OF SATAN AND HIS MINIONS
HE IS THE LOWEST LOW LIFE AROUND…
HE IS BENEATH OUR FEET!
JUST USING A LITTLE METAPHOR TO EXPLAIN THE PREDICAMENT THE EARTH
IS IN AT THIS TIME. I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS LITTLE FABLE.
GOD BLESS THE EARTH! GOD BLESS THE EARTHWORMS TOO!
8-20-14
Made quite an impression, it seems
On the chair I've been glued to so long
The indentation is an exact replica
Of my rear, hmmm, sounds like a song
Me bum and me chair are going steady
Have been since joining P-Soup
Methinks maybe atrophy is setting in
So I think I'll shoot some hoops
It's surely a result of this computer age
Our bodies will soon have no use
Our heads will be the size of basketballs
But our bodies will be an excuse
Excuse to hold up our 100 pound heads
With it's 250 gigabyte storage space
We'll actually need some kind of device
Or we'll continue to fall on our face
Made quite an impression, it surely seems
On the chair I've been glued to so long
Thinks I'll go for a ride in my old jalopy
An old Dodge I bought for a song
© Jack Ellison 2013
A rose represents beauty
Much like a woman
They are unique
Not one
Is an exact replica
A rose in its glory
Is beaming under
A buttermilk sky
Freshly radiant
With raindrops
Of sky-water
Like a woman
A rose slowly
And methodical
Unravels its core
Will Let go
And mesmerize you
Their embrace
Of unending
Lingering passion
Embrace
Their mate
A Sea of fertility
Renewing a promise
To return to
For up to
Eighty years
Or death
Of old age
Their skin soft
As velvet satin
As fragile
As porcelain
They unfold
Their Bosom
They come in many
Hues and colors
Blood-silk red
Glistening Ivory
Fresh goldenrod
A rose and a woman
Cannot endear
Without tender affection
And nourishment
If their mates
Take care
They will
Awaken their spirits
And become
As bright
As moonbeams
In a sea of starlight
Their intoxicating Aroma
Pheromones entice
Both rose and woman
Will unfold their souls
Year after year
For your delight
Copyright, Heather Mirassou June 28, 2010
A rose represents beauty
Much like a woman
They are unique
Not one
Is an exact replica
A rose in its glory
Is beaming under
A buttermilk sky
Freshly radiant
With raindrops
Of sky-water
Like a woman
A rose slowly
And methodical
Unravels its core
Will Let go
And mesmerize you
Their embrace
Of unending
Lingering passion
Embrace
Their mate
A Sea of fertility
Renewing a promise
To return to
For up to
Eighty years
Or death
Of old age
Their skin soft
As velvet satin
As fragile
As porcelain
They unfold
Their Bosom
They come in many
Hues and colors
Blood-silk red
Glistening Ivory
Fresh goldenrod
A rose and a woman
Cannot endear
Without tender affection
And nourishment
If their mates
Take care
They will
Awaken their spirits
And become
As bright
As moonbeams
In a sea of starlight
Their intoxicating Aroma
Pheromones entice
Both rose and woman
Will unfold their souls
Year after year
For your delight
Copyright, Heather Mirassou June 28, 2010
A rose represents beauty
Much like a woman
They are unique
Not one
Is an
exact replica
A rose in its glory
Is beaming under
A buttermilk sky
Freshly radiant
With raindrops
Of sky-water
Like a woman
A rose slowly
And methodical
Unravels its core
Will Let go
And mesmerize you
Their embrace
Of unending
Lingering passion
Embrace
Their mate
A Sea of fertility
Renewing a promise
To return to
For up to
Eighty years
Or death
Of old age
Their skin soft
As velvet satin
As fragile
As porcelain
They unfold
Their Blossom
They come in many
Hues and colors
Blood-silk red
Glistening Ivory
Fresh goldenrod
Baby blue
A rose and a woman
Cannot endear
Without tender affection
And nourishment
If their mates
Take care
They will
Awaken their spirits
And become
As bright
As moonbeams
In a sea of starlight
Their intoxicating Aroma
Pheromones entice
Both rose and woman
Will unfold their souls
Year after year
For your delight
Copyright, Heather Mirassou June 28, 2010
A lovely bird
Of brown, in the garden
Once lost in the field of grieves
Has picked up the threads of life
Now her mind rejoicing
Enjoying the last hour
Of summer joy
A lovely bird
Of brown, in the garden
Humming songs
Of olden lullabies
While, happily breast feeding
The exact replica
Of mine
A lovely bird
Of brown, in the garden
Staring the fruit of eternal love
His purple-violet like color of skin
The jolly, warmth of his flesh
And sweet smell
Really, the pride of her beauty
A lovely bird
Of brown, in the garden
Where her evergreen angel’s trumpets
The arrival of heir to the silvery quill
Whisper my name to the passing wind
As I came, to embrace them
With love and care
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