Imitation of Life
They clap for the enactment, never knowing
The actor/actress forgot their own identity long ago.
One smiles the smile the script is showing,
A toy with nowhere else to proceed.
The Imitation breathes, it bleeds, it charms- but
The authentic one expired somewhere in one's arms, strangled by the need to be what they see, as that looks real, but just an Imitation of life
IMPERSONAL IMITATION
complete
meticulous
devotion
framed
stereotyped
motifs
of
immediacy
envisaged
emanating
perspectives
observing
change
in
acquired
sentimentality
IMITATION OF NATURE -:-
protype
autonomous
absolutes
validated
reasons
of CONTINGENT INDIVIDUALITY
sanctified
traditions
purged
artistic
norms
as POINTS OF REFERENCE
present
perceived
painted
significantly
faithfully
Cheap knockoffs are a scam
Dollarama perfumes smell like toxic baby powder
~ makes people want to gag
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2025
I compose my poems like Wallace Stevens
by walking the streets of my town.
But unlike the esteemed Wallace Stevens,
I don't have to memorize or write my poems down.
I just turn on my cellphone's recorder,
then slowly whisper my word into it.
But instead of composing gems, like Wallace Stevens,
I tend to produce just a drivel of shhhhh~it.
Around around around iwe igo
more fake poems fraudsters show
autistic infamy
the ability to see patterns and queues
who do you think you really fool?
other than old farmers who do not care
his chickens cluck as much as you click
ai ai woah
ai ai No!
Bonus Verse added completely free for your reading pleasure!
And I
have to say
no more Jaywalking
wheely stop it
simply obey
He walks and talks like humans
he eats and sleeps and winks
but like a piece of rotting meat
this imitation stinks
He’s void of all humanity
all words he speaks, are lies
he’s like a plastic doll
that never really laughs or cries
He feels no love or empathy
he’s poisoned, heart and soul
consumed with hate and misery
he never can be whole
We are not perfect
We all have scars
We all have fears
We all have pain
We all have our imperfections
Because perfections can not simply exist
In the human spirit for long
There are the moments in everyone lives
Where glimpses of perfection appear in our day
Finally learning a new skill
Achieving that goal
Putting the finishing touches on work of art
A freshly baked loaf of bread
Love,
Ah Love,
What is life but with love?
Is love not a chain of gold around thy heart with a tight hold?
Is love not a spell that makes it impossible to live apart?
Is love not devoting thyself entirely to someone else's command?
Is love not signing your soul in blood till death do you part?
Love is a wisest man's worst decision;
A richest man's most worthless possession;
A bed of roses you say?
O no! Love is the thorn in the rose-bed of life that stabs you the hardest and makes you bleed every day
I shan't label love the 'star to every wand'ring bark'
Nay, it is an alluring charm
masking the most bone-chilling demons of the dark
Love isn't the pretty swirling red of delicious grape wine
No, you'd be wrong.
It is the deepest black, the motive behind every crime.
Is love not the one making you cry, standing over a grave, hoping you'd never had to have said good-bye?
Is love not a wicked curse, that amplifies every feeling, makes every love-sick day worse?
But alas!
What are humans if not built to love?
And what would life be without the cruel being we've come to see as
love.
Flies buzz
mosquitoes sting
I try to whack them
they both have wings
Audiences roar
Politicians sing
The media attacks them
They duck the arrows, the slings
I hunger for love
But I thirst for blood
Am I from below
Or up above
Perhaps a place not yet heard of
My eyes and my heart do not see the same
It's like my mind and soul are playing a twisted game
Satisfying my hunger can be achieved
But it always ends in watching them bleed
The beast inside cannot be tamed
My actions will remain unnamed
I stare in the mirror and all I see
Is everything, everything but me
Children like bright colours
And so kindergartens and nurseries
And so shopping items
And so youngsters
And so tourist centres
And so food and souvenirs
And so bright photos
Colours brighten up hearts
A sign of hope,happiness,confidence
Freshness and life
But too much artificial touch
Will lose the naturality of scenery
The classic beauty
A quiet elegance
The history of antiquity
An appreciation with time
Anyway natural beauty is invaluable
No imitations
No artificiality
Oh
How about stop painting one's heart
with
Colours of greed
NaPoWriMo NaPoWriMo Day3 Echo Shorts Response Poem
Looking down from the edge of the world,
I hear screams and a cry for help;
Wanting to reassure a tormented soul, I replied with a soothing tone,
An ache in my heart as I embrace it's suffering;
You found peace and comfort in yourself,
Leaving me behind, I fade away with a sigh;
I am always with you even if you do not see me,
I am always here for you even if you do not hear me.
The Imitators
He has worked in the garden of poetry
Forty years gone.
The soil is meagre and the plants are eaten
By boars, they applaud him with grunts.
To find the roots and transplant them on a page
Or in the garden of literature, is not easy.
The gardener is famed for his genius or a charlatan
Of rose bushes.
Truth rears its ugly head, there are doubters
Who will not be silent, he knows when his plant’s
Has been purloined.
Better than not be read at all.
She had a smile
A jest a little shy
Her demeanor was kind
As she makes up her mine
Her voice soft sweet
A person I 'd love to meet
A wink of her eye
She shows the next guy
A air blown kiss
This little miss
One of God's creations
This woman's ...a warm invitation
21/4/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
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