Jhore identity theif
Jhore domestic terrorists
Jhore ISIS abuse of power
Jhore JIHAD stalker
Jhore impersonator
Jhore JIHAD murderer
Jhore poetry killer
A milling crowd (aren't they all),
I call my name
then try my real name
then a made-up name.
The crowd separates reluctantly,
A man with an ever changing face steps forward.
I intently recognize myself,
a self of many ages, some even before birth.
I am emotional, this is a cathartic moment
my eyes are pinballs being flipped
in a lit-up cosmic game.
The person is my personal
imago/, amigo, avatar,
my part-time impersonator.
This is no time for self analysis,
I take him by the hand
lead him into my mind, claim him,
show him as I am now
in the eye of a cracked mirror.
His face has stopped fluttering through time,
his eyes are now moth orbs
as golden as an astronauts visor.
I reflect upon them like the sun.
He tells me that all of his personas,
all of his faceted me-ness
revolves around an inner star,
then walks absent mindlessly
back into the crowd.
I turn to look at the rest of the world,
it is a radiant carousel painted upon
an endlessly nocturnal canvas.
The canvas and the painting
were created by an unknown artist,
one still waiting to be discovered.
Las Vegas 1967
Harrah’s, free drinks
Circus Circus, bring the kids
Frontier, win a Chevy
Golden Nugget, best slots
Flamingo Capri, Elvis impersonator
Caesar’s Palace, world’s best buffet
Tropicana, win big
Sahara, all day breakfast
Dunes, best shrimp cocktail thirty cents
Golden Nugget, live girls
I would certainly hope so.
Whose dog is it? Someone queried.
The rest of the neighbors laughed.
Look at his colorful tam
Look at his dreads
It is Marley’s dog
Or an impersonator, someone suggested
When the impersonator of
the first thought,
Stood on the shore of the stream,
A word was uttered.
Which created an echo,
Which has rippled as time....
Since then, these parallel ripples,
Has had cycles of time
Allotted to it....as Fate.
The doppelganger does exist
less than an inch from the skin
while at a distance that defines
a mirror set defying lies
without remorse of pleasantries
stacked upon the need to please
tearing down a false balm
constructed by safety’s calm
waiting for insanity
demanding dues of the will
impersonator that’s all too real
staking claims when strength wanes
this pressure keg that must reveal
the opposite of banal states
these humors damned without regret
by opposites of the flesh.
so rich
to be
poorly
spelled
Aaron
as Aron
has me
to tell
that at
a local
talent
show
when the
announcer
proclaims
herrrrrrre's
Elvis
an impersonator
doesn't say he
isn't Andy
Kaufman
may they
both enjoy
the disbelief
of what is death
the bottom of the hour
glass is passed
for a
dented flask
that still holds sway
***
Kennedy didn’t die in Dallas
And Elvis lives outside of Memphis
You see they got sick of the guff
And took identities that were good enough
So if you see an impersonator in their act
Looking good as a matter of fact
It may be the real deal
Hiding in plain sight comfortably real.
© Paul Warren Poetry
1/13/16
Waking up bright and early, and allready using the percolator
Figure out what is and isn't worth the labor
Learn what's greater
Before a possible outcome is determined later
Don't ever try to put people, animals or the Earth in danger
Otherwise I'll take you out faster than the terminators
Above the dirt and craters
Always loved to work in nature
And to earn that paper
With no intentions to ever curse a neighbor
Because I'll handle it myself, an will not be the first to waiver
Never be an impersonator
Or try to excuse mistakes on having the worst behavior
Put the pieces together, instead of trying to ruin major amounts of ferns and acres
On both sides of the equator a fire burned several layers
Some of the ash and leftover residue turned into vapors
Lost and got back some bulk
As a kid and adult
Ran into many cults
Doing things that harmed innocent folks
So the result was a revolt and me turning into the hulk
Before beginning to catapult above a gulch full of mulch
By: Dalton Ogletree
Lonely
in the crowd
king's impersonator
alone
like an unwanted pet
talking to himself
in lost tongues
lost lives
like weightless flies
that fall around
dead...
King's impersonator
surrounded from people
by tens,
by hundreds
and still lonely
like an unwanted pet
in the kingdom of loneliness...
My Love Book
I was deeply in love with you and I am sorry for my
“BOOK OF LIES” I know I am not the one you known and I known I was not the
one you should had trusted it. But what was told to you was my BOOK OF LIES
She was convinced that I was the one for her she believed my Imagination that I
was honest and trustworthy but what she received was impersonator who was
not clearly ready for commitment. I though I can alter by bad behavior to this
presented moment but we are both at this altar with a change of Heart now
we are at the last chapter of BOOK OF LIES Now the Train has derailed with
fistful of tears now the separation has began now I am retelling the story of
BOOK OF LIES to a new friend.
Smiling sultrily, he
Struts, a tattooed Elvis,
Seducing us with song.
Springing from the stage, he
Sweeps us into frenzy.
Success seems sure when it
Sounds like “J.D. Fortune.”
(I first heard of this sexy Canadian singer in 2005 when I watched
him win the CBS reality show: Rock Star INXS. He was then a member of
INXS on and off for several years. Previous to his win, he had actually
been an Elvis impersonator and I've only recently read this AFTER writing this poem!)
check him out singing his famous song Pretty Vegas with Dave Navarro: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4kJhQJqr7U
Written 4/25 by andrea dietrich
for the Let's Pleiades Contest of nette onclaud: theme - Masquerade
He called me Remxy,
Actually that's his previous one,
I know he was furtive,
about his cold feelings towards me,
he felt completely nothing for me,
yet ! he lied,
should I hold on?
it is something that seems
like an intractable problem,
he does not seem to realise,
that I am here fir him,
He only sees her shadow hovering,
in his dreams.
it seems I was a substitute,
more so,
I was just an impersonator,
because even after I left ,
he never seemed to bother to call,
he never realised that he had lost an unfound species,
the unique species,
he never felt he had smashed a beautiful Spanish guitar,
it was a lesson learnt the hard way for me.
is tapping gently on my consciousness
as if it is the gateway to the content
looming at my upper left, approaching
from behind, and it is mine to watch
its transubstantiation--all my senses
on alert for rendezvous with God.
Or is that just another name we give
for spirit ferrying across the misty chasm
lying just beyond the mind?
My unselfish higher self,
a god-impersonator perhaps,
lacks guile, his robe is mystery--
no other dress will fit his grand design.
I am no man I want to be
until I let him in.
And there my eyelids close
to open on a world I could not see;
the voice demands
that I be silent, too, and then
the wordless wisdom has the chance
to speak.
You? Awaiting my translation?
No, your own ethereal sprite
is there to part the mists as well.
For they are just the passing cloud,
not to obscure, but lure us
into watching, listening,
perceving glimpses that may grow
to let a mortal know
there is the power with which
he can embrace eternity!
~
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