Long Imitates Poems
Long Imitates Poems. Below are the most popular long Imitates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Imitates poems by poem length and keyword.
When the cat imitates
people and put on shoes,
there is a house party
Mr Puss in Boots emulates ...
When the cat plays
with skeins of wool,
makes a pretty mess
at grandma's school ...
When the meek cat
takes all his milk,
pleases his owner Beth
delights his owner Mr. Rilke ...
This innocent cat,
don't eat chocolate
and don't bark either ...
Do not eat nougat,
but loves to eat fish ,,,!
It's cute, so cute, it's cute
so fluffy this cat ,,,!
Hovering spirits in the nights obsidian sky,
avoid the moons lemony light.
Grinning ghouls leer at costumed children trick and treating from, behind every skeletal tree as, fogs frosty fingers crawl across the glowing street lit roadways; an autumn chill creeps up ones spine.
An orange moon hangs low on the dark horizon as, somewhere in the distant nights path a wolf howls mournfully; an empty belly must be refueled tonight.
As moon imitates a pumpkin; candy collecting children traipse house-to-house, to gather sweet confections for swapping while telling ghost stories later, in the safety of their own homes.
Another Halloween has come and gone; until the next one, what dark nightmares may come?
Her young life imitates art
on a new day, tabula rasa,
when a blank canvas awaits
colors of dreams and life,
shared visions brought forth
for others to see
and ponder
and admire,
once they know
the depth of hues,
shades of life
to be long remembered,
and textures to the touch,
the touch and hugs
to stir life,
the coming together
for newly-found understanding.
pope-ONE DAY AT A TIME
Sad is the heart so full of care
Of tomorrow's what will,will be,
Upon his sleeve,all life does wear,
For all to see
Cast down,choking with eyes that blear
No words can comfort or make free,
Thought frozen in yesterday's fear,
That none can see.
inspired by Mt 6:25-34
A 'pope' is a quatrain form of 3 lines of 8 syllables and 1 line of 4 (offset)with a rhyming scheme of a,b,a.b and is labelled such after the English poet,Alexander Pope(1688-1744)
His poem Solitude in which he imitates Abraham Crawley and for which he was indebted to Horace is the inspiration for this form.
My version can be a single quatrain or double or a sequence of stanzas as in Pope's example.
Far as my eyes can see, 'till lake touches sky,
Earth beats as one; Poplar, Jack Pine & Birch all
Sing with the White Throated Sparrow, our Planet's
Love songs.
Sloping (5'canopy) an ancient Deer trail along the
Baptism River (flowing into Lake Superior) I startle a
Buck during his midday Nap. Soundlessly lifting up,
He elegantly bounces away.
From above, a dark object swoops in, Brother
Raven is curious, (always a sentinel for Hawks
And Bald Eagles). I stand motionless, willing my
Neo-Cortex to flood my aura with peace; as I
Extend my arm and gently imitate the Raven's
Welcome call, a double-beat "Caw caw"...I am
Here Raven, I am me". My heart quickens as
He alights on my arm, talons gripping my
Forearm gently, but firmly. Cocking my head,
I look deeply into his obsidian eyes to his
Soul...he imitates me, tilting his head in unison,
letting my gaze enter. Images from high race
Thru my mind...the rushing river...undulating
Tree tops...in an instant, we have become
Brothers of the wild, as I softly shake my arm
To set him free.
"I am me, Brother Raven, I am me"
05/30/15
© All Rights Reserved
With the heaviest heart,
I start feeling so lonely;
it's almost dusk, I head back home...
staring at a church's dome:
under which God united us,
never to be apart!
Good Heavens,
I'm beginning to cry!
This April's rain imitates
my cold tears
running down my cheeks;
we aren't together as we should;
our foolishness took us
to the strangest places:
it wasn't a wrong turn, indeed!
Who's to blame, where's the guilt?
Shouldn't we admit it?
Our pictures hang on every wall,
flashing smiles, drawing doubts;
we swore faithfulness,
not wanting to ever fall!
Were we devotees or fakers?
Were we trustworthy,
or simply unworthy?
This April's raifall
imitates my cold tears,
no consolation is found
;in loneliness ;
I have more miles
to go, I'm feeling the chill
in these bones:
a half thought is not close
to a whole!
Catty is my genius cat
Who stopped chasing naughty rat
She prefers reading good books
Down at her favorite nooks.
She always wears eye glasses
To read more stories, not less
Sitting calmly in her poise
In a place far from noise.
Sometimes she crosses her legs
Don’t disturb her, I do beg
If you want to read with her
Stay and slump at one corner.
While reading, she drinks coffee
But she prefers hot green tea
So conscious of her diet
I’ll just smile and keep quiet.
Catty imitates grandma
Her ways are felines’ saga
Doing great jobs not to impress
But for wisdom and success.
...But then there is the second reason,
one that I think is much more malign,
one that comes from the P.C. brigades,
one that's craving control of your mind.
See families don’t vote for the left,
or they do at a much lower rate,
people with wholesome family values
are much harder to manipulate.
It’s the same reason pedophiles
target families that don’t have a dad,
they know that brings them easier pray,
no one to stop their intentions bad.
If you believe people are just clay,
as so many damn socialists do,
then the good ideas tested by time
are seen as a great hindrance to you.
If dysfunction is what makes people
look to you when they’re in need of cash,
then anything which threatens than chain
is something you must get rid of fast.
And since families with two parents
often do well enough on their own,
you’ll do anything to stop that trend,
even if it means breaking a home.
You’ll fill the airwaves with bad role-models,
then declare that you’re just ‘being real,’
you will say that everything’s okay
as long as it’s what you really feel.
You’ll declare that single motherhood
is just as good as a dad and mom,
and if anyone tries to correct
you’ll decry them as sexist and wrong.
You’ll make everything political,
and leave the people with no refuge,
you’ll turn aside all beauty and grace
to celebrate the ugly the crude.
You’ll label good people as backwards
for wanting a spouse and some children,
then you will cheerlead debauchery
so that nobody imitates them.
You won’t see society falling,
just the power you wish to achieve,
these people who badmouth wholesomeness
care not a bit if they make you bleed.
(Dedication: For Anne-Lise Andresen.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Instant recognition
Blind attitude:
Sees more than enough
Despair reveals
An ugly side:
Indifference
Little by little
Sounds like a lot;
Hole in pocket
Witty lingo
Awkward tango;
Messy tempo
Learn quickly now
Wear a keen smile;
Screen faces you meet
Joy in sadness
Paradoxical frame;
Picture postcard sent
China in spring
Natural hymnal sounds;
No voice imitates
Peace in the valley
Nothing profound;
Extra plus ordinary fence
Haiku in season
Vivid frolic;
Wild things grow
Small child speaks
Profound sermon;
Hello uncle
Old uncle smiles:
How are you?
Small child hides face
Casual encounter
Familiar face pops up;
Crowded places fence
Birthday thoughts:
Song of morning --
Rapture illuminates
Fifty-nine revolutions
Around the sun;
Celebrate miracles
Leon Enriquez
08 July 2014
Singapore
to capture the true
essence of what lies
behind my eyes
create a palette of
black pastels portraying
the shadow that follows like death
a constant visitor to my d o o r
nobody knows the
story of my heart
an artificial anecdote of
a l l i t e r a t i v e a n g s t
bleeding in metaphorical
ink stained tear drops
d r o w n i n g childhood
sanity in shallow rivers of
bittersweet s o r r o w
fate is a fragile wrecking ball
which has become too hard to love
soul craves to be free under horizons
of tangerine temptations
but all I find is twilight with
a filthy feldgrau sky
fatigue imitates the
last breaths of a
b r o k e n b u t t e r f l y
as 'spirit' becomes imprisoned
in sinister silence
yearning to sleep
forever in an unfolding
labyrinth hidden from the
golden colours of the sun
this smile cannot
continue to pretend
kismet is a
crimson clandestine
cursed t a l i s m a n
speech is my harbinger
of d o o m
miraculous ink
flutters in my pen of
p u r i f i c a t i o n
yet not all verses are
meant to be understood
cathartic martyrdom
sounds like poetry
but there is no remedy
for magenta manifestations
so I curse the poetic limerence
of my tongue suppressing
effervescent emotions
inside a garnet treasure
chest of blood-soaked
bruised and battered
invisible inflictions
I'm a mute masterpiece
drained from the pain
i told the Grim Reaper
i'm not afraid anymore
of all the lives we lived
this is my favourite
but he just smiled
then cried asking
"is this our last goodbye"