Long Plagiarism Poems
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"I'm a poet. I know it. Hope I don't blow it"
Do you want to commit what many poets consider a mortal sin?
Do what I just did. Commit an act of plagiarism.
The above first verse isn't mine. It's Mr Zimmerman's,
more otherwise commonly known as Bob Dylan.
I personally don't find plagiarism a mortal sin.
If one plagiarized my work I think I'd thank them,
even if they happened to profit multi billions.
My children could reach thousands or perhaps maybe even millions.
I'd see it as they sharing with the world All My Children.
Some of my children could motivate others to stop smoking or drinking.
or a better approach toward raising and teaching their children.
Some of my children may make otherwise sad people laugh.
My children may cause some who read them to dismiss vile thoughts of wrath.
None of my children encourage plagiarism. It's wrong and everyone knows it.
Spiritual Perspectives would never allow me to to so because I Am A True Poet.
Besides, stealing somebody else's work often leaves both parties in a world of hurt.
I similarly as much with the majority of mine,
are a most noble, honest, and most respectful kind
and I'm proud to say that just like all of they too, I Am A Poet.
***********************************************************************
(Tagged by Carolyn Devonshire and now I'm tagging Simone Segal)
Your assignment Simone is to write a poem ending with I Am A Poet, afterwould you
tag some one else to do the same. C'mon Simone, join the fun. Are ya chicken?
BAR BUK BUK BUK BARRR! - That's supposed to be my chicken sound.
Let’s be clear! “AI” is plagiarism --
all grammar checkers, any writing aid,
major editing program, can be a form of
plagiarism...laziness at the least in my
humble opinion. Someone who writes
a biographical outline, a story outline
of any kind, and then hires a ghost writer,
or major team of professional editors, to
bring about the final, flawless product,
because the original was so sloppy or
hackneyed, is not the writer-originator
as I see it. Agreed! There are
no entirely original thoughts, for each of
us stands on the shoulders of the many
tall and talented thinkers, richly endowed
innovators who came before us – what we
owe them, and our chosen craft of relatively Free
Expression, is to try and maintain a posture
pure as possible when attempting to create.
Approach authorship as a Mystical exercise --
As a personal lover. A rapport with God.
Calls for resignation in cities
When press powers overlay budget of objective
Journalism
Speaking for others illustrates division wrong
Pilot project cost the city $287 per ride given
City Councilman Bill Miranda speaks to the driver of the city's trolley before boarding Monday. Perry Smith/The Signal
The employment obstruction of causeway
Is debilitating to finance language
In America
These root answers create pause in print
To retract office and improve democracy growth
Term limits aren't viable excerpts
No age allows frequency in representation
Open market Economics allows applications
Trickle Down Tips
Mathematically stated,
Budget given from total gdp
Allotted and zeroed burden
Shortfall stated mathematically,
Citizen and journalism benefit of?
Concert opinion
In no boycott
All are conveniegned
The arrogant treasure is slushed
In life styling the outgoing fund phrases
Those whom capitalize
remove civil liberties
This is lobby, page, reception, speculation
Book of retraction for new
Journalist objective argument
In dissection of
Insolvent democracy per acre or
Hectare
The statement of cost
Is evidence over budget allowance
This is corruption
Term slush
Fund not empty
Being spent in spiral
Loss of life as replaced in numerical
Press campaign powers
[email protected]
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Olive Cadwell • [email protected]
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SAG-AFTRA Info • [email protected]
This Concludes Lesson 1
Plagiarism and Capitalism
Verse As Boycott
He is eight and confused. He has been borrowing ideas all year.
He asked his classmate if he could copy off her.
She has always said yes until today.
Maybe four weeks of copying was enough?
Now he is irritated and angry.
She did not say yes or no, she told the teacher.
The teacher talked to him about plagiarism.
He thought he would be handcuffed and put into prison.
I tried to reassure him.
Refocused him.
He told me a story about his dog being massacred.
I asked about that.
His dog has a sore paw.
Then he told me about his thirty-two family members
Who all live in the same house.
I am thinking maybe there is a bit of exaggeration in this child.
Breath of Contemplation
Like the breath of serenity not ruffling still waters,
Nor fire bolts leaping cloud to cloud ignited by thunder,
Contemplation reclines in unexplored spaces
To drink in the sweet nectar of seclusion
Or revisit the rhythm of the undiscovered heart
In gauzy watercolors come into focus
As solitude bonds with eternity – no plagiarism of reflection -
When destiny reaches out to climax with reality in soft a-ha’s
As the gypsy vagabond, sovereign of unclaimed space,
Simple hermit of the unentitled spirit,
First lays a velvet touch upon an unnamed star
Separating layers of scratchy sackcloth in the penitent soul,
Musings pulling magic from the unexplored womb,
Unfettered songs in melodies like softly falling sacred snow
To save remnants of old revelations -a cloak of many colors –
For bits and unidentified glimpses snatched by the soul and Spirit
Beyond unchained chaos in conversations with the divine mind,
Across the cavern of conscience a new universe to plant a celestial flag
That radiates warm invitations to ponder the dusky surface depths
Then return in the fragrance, exotic allure, of unveiled reveries.
I wandered and pondered my bleak isolation
As I slowly perused this wide open space
That one cloud above me seemed, like me, quite lonely
Its passage was slow as it matched my own pace
And then I saw poppies so tall, red and bold
I wished they were daffies in yellow and gold
The lake in its vastness reflected the skies
And sprinkles of sunlight beyond that lone cloud
Peppered the ripples with myriad eyes
And led me to feel like I walked with a crowd
While unopened poppies stand tall with bowed heads
They’ll stand even taller displaying their reds
Could there be any more precious a day
I all at once yearned to be no other place
With sunlight and ripples and poppies that sway
I found that a smile had enlivened my face
For such a sight might make an old poet gay
(Which one should interpret the old fashioned way)
For oftentimes upon my old sofa lain
I reminisce of all those poppies so red
Their petals occur to me now and again
But gold hues hold sway in my head
Though poppies, that day, cleared my mind of its ills
I still wish that they had all been daffodils
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
Let’s be brutally honest with each other
AI poems are being posted on soup
Can be seen on a daily basis
Keep seeing the same names produce it
I don’t bother alerting admin as
Nothing gets done, so instead I
Go and seek genuine poems… HOWEVER
I USED to read a poem and comment
Now I often copy and paste them
To check for AI, and sadly I
Even search for plagiarism and
Get infuriated when I find it. I’d
Really love an explanation how a dead poet
Is able to post THEIR poem here on the site
The time has come to clean up the soup bowl
Yes let’s rid the site of cheaters and fakers!
Brother. O Brother.
O when when we were callow
In days young Shakers of the movement before
gray & silver turned our locks we held in idol
Spree even damned were we
Lessen a very score ’til callous became un-sore
away had you myth into the far-off seeking a northern star
Thus did dim of you re-turn filled
privileged besiege ferrying scripted jots of the novel are
deluged in assure
Brother. O Brother.
Dont forthwith tell to me nor else what I do not
forth I have continued a militant pace
Dont mid uncommon lot tell to me nor else
demur girding resistance rebellious plot
If you must speak a hair tell
of owned stead mid factional fight In the absence
tell of owned gallant march for quality rights
If adapt if no longer a sworn knight
tell of owned rationalism of moralism the plagiarism of
Quisling plight ill-gots Are you not at will zealot
Brother. O Brother.
Here in the brawling depth the course bowl clear
onward the struggle un-stop
You we in pledge had warrant to our brethren aged
to carry the pillars in lift
O out furthest yon you hither re-turn elope dystopia sum utmost grift
—whitewashed literacy alien pensive — these snares gate
earnest mental width so readily turncoat gift
in errand of handmade suits and seasoned goose
be too un-loathed the dandy one who tend the noose
Steady are the angered us of sternly force
undue toil seizing liberty under conquer
Brother. O Brother.
If for reasons untold at sun’s godly will alms’ shine
shalt fetch flicker of brotherly chime
O the left-behind aggrandizing autocrat-kneeler sprawl
as liken wayward owl
cant find luminous in eyes of kinship kind — formed
across absolutist allured far-off whereat darken desert loom
Muse this Steely-dusk rise leap desert’s sandy sweep
to the heavens it seeps to hand the moon its imposing greet
if for reasons untold
A new sun has arisen in the dawning literary sky,
the poetry horizon is illumined by the flash of Ai.
Novel ideas and stylistic stimulation the poets get
from metaphoric spectrum of the sun that doesn’t set.
Experimenting with different poetic forms Ai is free
to motivate new perceptions for innovative poetry.
Choosing Ai as creative collaborator poets may flock
when they need help to overcome the writer’s block.
The delicate domain of human emotions in Ai is hollow,
making its structured poems seem artificial and shallow.
Devoid of life skills it lacks human feelings in the core.
So, the artistic depth of passion its essence can’t explore.
Ai poems may replicate the existing ones with dexterity,
inviting queries about plagiarism and originality.
The poems of heart run the risk of being undermined
by Ai, overshadowing the lively reflection of the human mind.