Long Plagiarize Poems
Long Plagiarize Poems. Below are the most popular long Plagiarize by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plagiarize poems by poem length and keyword.
In me, dwells therein a pilgrim soul.
Always on the move and on the go.
It growls, with a very strong voice:
“Do not dare fence me in…worse…
To attempt to still my strong voice.”
Not penning here to make you smile.
Prefer, walking on nails for many miles.
To be sweet and cute is hardly my tone.
Prefer the fresh scent of a summer rain.
Than following the crowd, the ultimate pain.
I’ve given up, calling myself a real poet.
That name belongs to some, I know it!
We are not poets simply just because we
are online.
There is my vocabulary to expand greatly.
And to learn the use of imagery tastefully.
If the fates allow me more time on earth.
Perhaps in a few more years, I will write
something of worth.
Please know, I, myself, am not drunk on my writes.
Meanwhile, I know it is of no use to plagiarize or cheat,
using AI!
Pen of the present, as much as you can.
I would like to know you-now, not who you
were way back when
Wake up this world to honor truth,, it is your duty.
To wed, both love and beauty, the true poetic trophy.
7/18/2023
4am PST
In Gentilly she reigns as Bastet, the daughter of Ra,
An unrepentant drop of golden sun.
Then come some rascal Baphomet, an outcast by law,
A desperado conman on the run.
She teased him with her laser pointer cat’s eyes
To get him sniffing ‘round her litter box.
He jumped at something spooky and she got his goat;
A perfect puss and booty paradox.
She’s a Fat City kitty cat
Sitting in her parlor with a Ouija board.
And she’s conjuring visions of feline intent,
Clawing at the night for her reward.
In Jefferson Parish she covers the odds
With fifty shades of gray behind the door.
Her menu offers Creole faire on Sundays;
She’ll let you taste her etouffee, and more.
In Algiers she appears like an omen,
Then vanishes again as sure as sin.
You can bet an honest dollar on her virtue,
And lose it when she plays her violin.
She’s a Fat City kitty cat.
Her Tarot cards can turn a pretty trick.
Her rivals try to plagiarize her voodoo.
She isn’t just another Cajun chick.
No, she’s a Fat City kitty cat,
A diva with a loyal entourage.
She’ll do her Fat City this and that,
And treat you to a Bourbon Street massage.
THE LORD IS MY MUSE*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Lord is my muse; I shall not despair.
He giveth me inspiration; he leadeth me to magical waters.
He restoreth my creativity; he float-eth ideas in my mind, for poetry’s sake.
Although I write in the early morning hours and darkness of night, I will remain tireless; for thou art with me; thy energy and enthusiasm comfort me.
We traverse the night together, endlessly seeking the stars. Thou anointest me with metaphors, rhymes, and alliterations; my imagination runneth over.
Surely effortlessly flowing words shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will write in the house of His spirit forever.
*Note: This poem was written for a 2024 Poetry Soup contest in which entrants were to adapt Psalm 23 for writers. My intent, therefore, was not to plagiarize the Bible.
Morbid fascination (mine) as covid-19 pandemic...
foments rampant monopoly on bedlam
Wreaking ball (his stick) havoc (think ostensible
civil war scale not seen since Vietnam),
whereby microorganisms jamb
*****sapiens immunity system
complements of gook
resembling green eggs and ham
necessitating Doctor Seuss
to stoke bram
bullying cat in the hat
on a hot tin roof damn
senseless cant be understood
Matthew Scott Harris argot sham
bulls (red dilly), and sallies forth
with neither reason only rhyming flimflam.
All Joe King aside - at any rate,
yours truly, (a generic garden variety reprobate),
not hell bent to receive nasty hate
male courtesy vexatious reader to berate,
cuz unwelcome chide and chime
prompts gnome mad tick versifier
to test (ease silly) to provoke ye to fulminate.
Humanity now fishtails helter skelter
across oblate spheroid courtesy coronavirus
global pandemonium unleashed
expletive maniacal tsunami
(think) metaphorical groundswell
primates hurry scurry to and fro,
hither and yon frenziedly
pell-mell housing random erratic
discombobulated, bobble headed
(simulating) quasi Brownian movements
at warp speed embarked
upon impossible mission.
Here I paraphrase (er... rather plagiarize)
President John F. Kennedy,
whereby he delivered on January 20, 1961
his inaugural address in which he announced
"we shall pay any price, bear any burden,
meet any hardship, support any friend,
oppose any foe to assure the survival
and success of liberty."
Though the then USSR
(Union of Soviet Socialist Republics),
now identified as
union of Soviet socialist republics
helped cook who nurse (and ratchet)
state of political hostility
existed between Soviet bloc countries
and US-led Western powers
from 1945 to 1990.
Our present crisis I aim(ed) to show touché
(pardon mum oddest tee) culinary poetic entree,
how bajillions of people mercilessly
unfairly subjected to influenza like agony
exhibiting following symptoms:
cough, fever, tiredness, difficulty breathing
(severe cases), yet
many met their untimely demise
with prompt care, nonetheless minimal delay
ferried them to awaiting quay
where Charon doth ferry
dead souls across Rivers Styx and Acheron
resignedly where forced to abandon treasures they
must relinquish all trapping he/she did parlay.
Are you educated or just literate
Can you replicate or do you just imitate
Are you original or do you plagiarize
Do you comprehend or do you just memorize
How many of your aims are on target
If your reverence for God is on a budget
Are you given to greater works
Or are you wallowing in the allure of the perks
Do you have the wit, grit and courage
Enough to complement your knowledge
A fervency that this cold world can't quell
And the shrewdness to ruthlessly sell
Though you outsmarted and are outsmarted
The soldiering on isn't for the faint hearted
But in Christ there is strength for our weakness
And great power wrapped in meekness
Life is life in the way it engages and involves
And here we are, sent as sheep among wolves
It seems towards us is the danger most dangerous
But be that as it may, we are more than conquerors
K. Muitherero.
slave to a cycle of lies
held on so hard i'm paralyzed
living a life as a book already written
the end is here next to the beginning
blood and tears all in my dreams
sweat a little so they know it's me
the feeling of void is familiar
i crossed the world with a dare from a demon
mimic what i see as beauty
plagiarize what i see as art
be so bright that i am not like
a black hole and more like a star
influenced in a evil system
i am the cages inside a prison
i cant look beyond and see through the smoke
a guide is useless if it's at the end of the road
so i was doomed from the beginning
they sat the trap while i was winning
fell so far that i was like
a cold comet passing through the sky
Let people be—the world shrinks
with internet access, genuine connection
is rare.
none of us is who we claim
we walk, talk, write
mostly in clichés with
breathtaking phrases we
para-plagiarize unknowingly.
most of what we do lacks purpose
the problem, as I see it: too much
focus on another's porridge
not enough care on the hungry
human bidding for connection.
maybe they started with an AI handshake
fixing grammar, or their confidence
how is your dog threatened?
what is this race? can you articulate
your itch, scratch some compassion
off your backside full of insincere rage
in the name of artistic integrity?
no shade, we've all been there,
hot takes aren't wrong
just incomplete, one-dimensional
slices angled to amuse bored strangers
chasing a boogeyman for an imaginary win
on the internet.
spoiler alert, losing the plot like this
makes it tough to spot the bad guy.
Frost wasn't the first to find
two roads where snow fell
long before a self-centered poet
stood cold.
tend your side of the forest
avoid contests with borrowed words
but if you enter a collaboration, I'll cheer
your trophy as loud as mine.
which means I'll likely not mention it
if you know me—I'm loathe
to leave comments,
not for lack of seeing the talent or
appreciating recognition,
but like my poetry, I fear
misunderstanding.
You’re the greatest cheater alive!
Aren't you ashamed in stealing our lives?
How could you be so bad in your words?
Copy our poems and pretend it like your swords.
You said it’s yours but you’re a foolish one!
No one believes you cause’ you’re a muggy one.
This poem is ours and can’t be so yours.
Don’t ever try to come in our open doors.
You messed us up like you’re staining clothes.
You were too vicious and comfy on your boats.
We told you to stop but you were so firm.
Is cheating a manner or your usual prim?
We wanted you to be out in our place…
You’re a fake poet and must get out of this place.
Hope you have a lesson that you learned.
To plagiarize poem is ridiculous and burn.
Smile for a mile
Stay here for a while
Your grace face and reality myth
Is something I can’t keep pace with
“You’re amazing just the way you are” – Bruno Mars “Just the Way You Are”
I quote singers because I don’t plagiarize…
I realize that they are grand in my wild eyes…
But, in my tame-wild daydreaming, I wish…
Someone would read this – to turn their day around like an anguish
In reverse…
You’re not a curse…
You’re a blessing from on high
It’s something I can’t deny…(sigh)
“Shine bright like a diamond” – Rihanna “Diamond”
Speechless because this song speaks through me…
These lyrics I am most fond of...I wish these lyrics is like a magic wand
That can take away all the pain of past’s rain…God is here, healing’s near, I sea…
I see crystal clear that I’m not the only one suffering
I’m like a YouTube video, sometimes buffering
But, I am an incomplete masterpiece . . .
I want to give you chaos no more, but of peace…
Without the media involved
But, that’s another poem to polish up on…a riddle unsolved…
(the series inspired by “Clown” by Korn and “Clown” by Emeli Sandé)
I’m sick of wanderin’ o’er the page
In search of distant, mystic sage
muttered manta that confuse
stupefy my stoic muse
torment the silence of the keys
while in the distance Shakespeare flees
to curse his feather blotted ink
his red, red rose now turning pink
yet still I sit behind the veil
challenge him and always fail
there are those who disagree
some say he wasn’t one, but three
conspiring in mock defiance
of poetry’s inane compliance
counting syllables and rhymes
that challenged then, the present times
and yet I steal a line or two
in vain attempt to make it new
to think, somehow, it glorifies
the master when I plagiarize
John G. Lawless
©9/23/2022