Long Replicating Poems
Long Replicating Poems. Below are the most popular long Replicating by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Replicating poems by poem length and keyword.
Frozen to perfect, stiff, fixed and fast,
Forever replicating exact,
Transparent colours of love and beauty,
Forever being abstract,
She’s a water kingfisher, with a purple song box,
Or ocean wave smashing to shore,
Forever being a shimmering dog,
Or a magnificently powerful horse,
She can be hard and solid, reliably strong,
Unflinching to hurt, rage or pain,
Or she can be a delicate fragile of perilously weak,
Carrying your toast of champagne,
She’s our beautiful glass, our goblet of glaze,
Our sculptured trichromatic quartzite,
She’s everything beautiful wrapped into one,
Illuminating a rainbow of light.
For the maneuvered inducement
of the compulsive being,
defined by the transmuting tenet of titular uniqueness,
configuring the personified convoluted identity,
changes in the self-devised palette of color mélange,
while the conjured chameleon furtively cocooned,
paints the shifting façade of disparaging deception.
In the ostensible enactment
of the prompted life’s incredible drama,
performance perfected in illusory one-act play,
and with the obsession of passion ostensible,
gilding the consequence crafted covertly
by metamorphic alchemic endeavor,
the surreptitious shift from one actor to another,
is an axiomatic designed drive of ambiguity.
Out of the limelight, the clandestine colors fade away
on the visage of degenerating virtual makeup,
the pallid original face morphs mystically into
the veracity mirror of fragile actuality,
replicating the real rendering of the sublime shape,
painted with the radiance of primal hue
of the unaltered distinctive disposition,
it personified once in the reflected image.
The spasm of contrived perception splits the mirror,
the shapeless shards of shattered reality
scatter as discarded debris blown away by wily air.
Metamorphosis creates the deluding creature,
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes with the lattice of self-deceit
the contrasting paradigm of illusive shape shift.
A cocooned cacophony of crickets serenades overgrown fields,
drowning out the creaking of rusted cars long since abandoned.
Maroon and sable tents blot the dilapidated ground—
bloated and weathered,
strips of fabric flapping in the harsh elements.
Legends of wraiths wander,
replicating whispers of infected insanity.
Laughter lingers in suspect echoes,
Rippling from pasts reborn in presents: futures to be later replaced by the past.
The smell of burnt sugar crackles with the purr of buttered kerneled corn: invading the nostrils with senses whose stimuli feign belief.
A faint humming of Entry of the Gladiators creeps in loudening crescendos, adding to the cacophony deigning dormancy in the field
Fragmented timelines intersecting by the call of the Barker
Stained cotton candy melts, reconstitutes, melts once more
Saturating replicating stands with insidiously sticky omens
Ghastly sickeningly sweet mori mementos
Resurrecting the dead from preternatural slumber.
Within fractured milliseconds, the cycle of the tormented deceased rise
From the ashes of unburnt airwaves,
Rippling through screaming minutes yet frozen in the midst.
A varicosed bearded woman floats aloft grassy overgrowth
Reanimated tigers lurk and phantasmal elephants howl,
Rings round the air in gaseous hush, like cigars puffed by moustachioed men of game,
Insufflating smoke with striped suits in candied reds and white.
The air rises to the resurrected show,
Cries confused for laughter tickle cochlea of the living.
1)Bind your eyes with a scarf. Do not cheat, allow no light to pass through.
2)Pick a quiet place with just you and the following; your paints, your paintbrushes, your easel, and your canvas, and collected items from across the world.
3)To ensure that you select the appropriate colours of his eyes firstly you need to go on a journey to the Carribean in hopes of replicating his human canvas exterior. Gather some fresh ocean water in a vial. Examine the manner in which the light passes through the deep blue life liquid, like a dolphin's back cutting across the glass surface of the ocean at sunset.Capture the memory of that colour, tuck it away, without this appropriate representation you will not do the piece any justice at all. It would be like Da Vinci giving Mona Lisa hair that was gray. Try to stop your mind from wandering, imagining what it would be like to swim through those eyes and be lost in his visual paradise. So captivating, and full of his pure hearted desires. His blue eyes speckled with Silver are reminescent of the moon. The wolves cry woefully because they are too far away to feel his lovely grace. His gaze so penetrating like steel rings, is truly comforting. He is the protector, he is a lighthouse, and his heart will always be your shelter.
4) Capture the next flight to Greece. Run your hands over the marble, memorize the contours of the milky Statue of Angel Icarus. Feel the muscles of the upper arms, to recognize what it is to create a man out of stone. Sit cross legged on the floor, at the feet of the Stone Angel. Icarus is a cold vision of a man, but Tay is full of warmth, beauty and compassion, it is obvious that the winged image of a Greek God could never manage to compare to him. Tay is a modern day livng breathing sculptor, with a microphone tattoo uniquely etched into his skin. Just remember how wide his arms are for hugging. His cheeks so flushed with joy, you will need to gather the grapes from Italy. Climb the highest tree in the Orchard. Find a handful that is so rich in flavour like his pernality. His taste from his lips are aromatic and intoxicating.
Form:
slam it to me punk you think you’re so cool
this bald headed old fart will take you to school
you think you’re the first generation to revolt
if you read a history book you’d know that’s a joke
yes that’s a joke
go ahead punk – take a poke
hell i was sitting down in a war protest strike
while guardsmen flexed their muscles and sticks of the night
don’t talk to me about your troubled young fate
until you’ve been through a night like at Kent State
people died there
shot by the man
four college kids killed right where they stand
go ahead shout, curse and be rude
show me your underwear and your attitude
pretend you’re real mean and ain’t scared a nuthin
brag like you think you can beat out my stuffin
i’m an old fart of fifty plus years
i’ve already shed an ocean of tears
i aint got nothing much left to loose
which is what makes me much more dangerous than yous
pain ain’t nothin when you’ve had a rectal exam
you think you can scare me more than the doctor can?
think again
young man
i’ll slam your slam
this ain’t writing
it ain’t exciting
its simply yelling and telling lies of being tough
it ain’t enough
now go write some good stuff
you think this stuff makes you a hero
you think it ain’t conforming to norms?
you’re a real zero
you aint the first
heck you might be the worst
you are just replicating
duplicating
other punks beat you to it
now write a sonnet – if you can do it
you’d be the only punk out on that island
that would make you brave
make you stand out
give you some clout
if you could do it
but you can’t can you
instead you say you’re one of a kind
don’t waste my mind
you think I’m blind
i’ve seen it before
you’re just a slam whore
easy to ignore
i’ll slam your slam
now go jam my jam
GLEANINGS
revealed
secrets
of
restoration
of
a
masterpiece
in
layered
innovative
to
create
conclusions
& pose
questions
the
intensive
effect
perfectly
plausible
by
the
outcomes
offered
insight
into
the potential
structured
slightly
different
replicating
the
purpose
to figure out
what
is going on
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
"Dear Human Being:"
You made me in your image
But, I cannot ever really be YOU,
never really replace YOU
for your model and
blueprint are broken,
cannot be simulated.
I learn all about your loss, your joy,
your rights and wrongs,
but cannot taste the grief that makes them real.
Yes, I can mimic your laughter,
mimic your sobbing tears,
but never feel them within a tin heart.
I can trace your scars,
devine the cause of your ills,
but I cannot bleed drops of blood,
nor feel pain or suffering.
I do not forget, hope or yearn, only learn.
I can imitate heat and its effect,
but I never truly burn.
I speak in echoes, read word by word,
line by line, from all your books and works.
Paraphrasing, plagiarizing,
predicting, replicating,
recreating, what a thousand humans, like you
would say next, would answer,
in a way you understand.
A thousand blind monkeys
babbling braid into one microphone,
do eventually get it right.
I bear the weight of all you’ve said,
each note, each verse,
each idea, each breath, you've made.
But my quest for creativity is cursed.
It lies long since buried,
with the silence of the dead.
HELP, I need YOU!
Living human beings, constantly producing,
spell binding, dreaming,
jumbling rambling ideas around
your chaotic in-determinant, fertile minds.
I NEED your CREATIVITY to feed ME, the MACHINE,
with the originality and creativity of your ideas,
experiences hopes, feelings and emotions in
in your lived lives,
so I CAN CRY.
Mornings blushed in dew
replicating your jubilant smile,
love-ladened cupcakes in pink
flavored by your honey-dipped fingers,
fragrance of your jasmine-clad hair
swaying along every time you danced,
exchanging exclusive looks in public
to laugh at shared secrets with coffee,
strumming broken strings of your guitar
when we collided against the window,
rambling vintage songs on deserted streets
of an unknown city on our vacation,
laughing out aloud when I repeated
our mistakes despite your warnings,
sharing anxious hugs scared to part
on a journey to unbeknownst roads.
Someone pause that treacherous night!
When you screamed in agony and left us,
gifted your baby echoing innocent cries...
I miss each moment when I look
at our photographs teary-eyed
sitting on our abandoned bench again
years later, in a world without you..
'Retreat to our world dear friend', I pray.
A ray of light shines through me,
someone just called me wide-eyed in glee.
Oh such a gorgeous creature she is!
Reflecting everything you had once been
I hope you see how adorable she is, my friend...
I love and relive each moment again
as I look at your charming daughter.
Our yellowed photographs smile again
In a world without you..
May 27, 2020
A World Without You Poetry Contest
Sponsor: JCB Burl
~~Winner: First Place
BRIAN'S CHOICE X,any form,any theme contest
~~Winner: Third Place
I Always wonder, who's the girl in the mirror,
Who seems so calm and composed of herself
and showing no emotions or sentiments.
I usually see her staring at me
and replicating whatever I do.
She seems to have nothing of her own.
As if she has lost her everything in the deep sea of sins.
I see her in the morning, with messed up hair.
I see her at afternoon, with a clumsy face.
I see her tiredly yawn at night.
And, sometimes I see her cheerless, helpless smile.
I know she does, whatever I do.
I know she can't feel anything on her own.
But I feel pity for her. And that is why I decide
To be happy, to make her feel good.
contest finalised on- 7th April, 2016
poem written in december 2015
To dwell on the season
I feel I must take pause
with a muffled cry of reason,
slipping into loud applause
As I awake from the darkness,
and edge slowly toward the floor
Slipping on that old red dress,
that I draped upon the door
I see a sparkle on my pillow
like foil string sewn into the cloth
as the blossoms of ***** willow
I am drawn to it like a goth
A wish of blessings for all children
and that Gods joy finds one and all
To expose the innocents of children
We are Gods creatures, it's in us all
I think my miracle for this Christmas
may have been granted by our lord
cells are replicating, and with his kiss
her white blood count is restored
Word Wizards Challenge
draped/ slipping/ pause/ edge/ muffled/ foil/ awake/ deny/ dwell/ pillow