Mimicked mosaics, seem stitched at the seams
Plaids of crimson, gold, and tangerine dreams
No mystical myth, of tapestries tall
We're graced by their boughs, the legends of Fall
Poets enamored, with pens on the prod
Kneel to this splendored, coniferous god
Till marmalade skies, withered by weather
Watch leaves tumble dry, light as a feather
Lightning lances across the sky
But off in the distance like dragon spines
Are the Mountains of Madness
And that is where I march
A sky twisted scarlet and violet
The clouds themselves seem to be bleeding
And the temperature alternates
Between blistering heat and blizzardly freeze
Reality is fabricated from dreams
And dreams are a distortion of my thoughts
Which are poorly mimicked by my voice
And I can't even tell what is real
I found the blade of heroes
In a secret spring in a forgotten forest
Blessed as a scion of the gods
Even the elves helped guide my feet
A witch cast illusions over my eyes
Humans became demons
And demons became human
But the harsh reality is that was always true
In a world of demons and angels
Sometimes it's hard to know which is which
But with a hand over my heart
I offer a solemn prayer to find guidance
The Mountains of Madness loom larger
Demons, angels, and witches all beaten
And while never defeated I have been wounded
But to the mountains I have come
But alas the madness was not in the mountains
Because the madness was in my mind
And the villain I pursued this whole time
Was actually me all along
Rumple Stein lit a single
flickering candle, casting
long, spooky shadows across
the cold stone walls.
"High upon the jagged cliffs
stands the forgotten castle of
Blackwood," he told the
shivering children.
"Inside its drafty halls roams
Grimtooth, an evil ghoul with
glowing green eyes and
razor- sharp claws."
The wind roared outside,
rattling the windows as if
Grimtooth himself were
trying to break inside.
He glides through the castle
dungeons, searching for
intruders who dare to touch
his cursed silver."
Suddenly, a low, scraping
sound echoed from the
fireplace, making the children
jump in terror.
"If he catches you, Rumple
Stein whispered, leaning
close, "he freezes you into a
solid stone statue!"
He mimicked a frozen face,
his arms locked stiffly in the
air, making the kids gasp
loudly.
"Only the bravest souls can
outsmart his traps and
escape the castle before the
morning sun."
With a sudden POOF, Rumple
Stein blew out the candle and
laughed, "Sleep tight, little statues!"
There are rules to minds
that we may not be aware we set
Yet we also choose for processes to exist
that we forget, interrupting these values of gratitude
through stages in which we reflect
through forms of reasoning;
for the ears and tongues of my laymen:
emotions guide you to what you want;
depression, anxiety, reoccurring traumas
bear sensibility when any of those feelings
lead you to help.
Nothing will make sense
without taking whichever steps are needed
to leave this hell.
It makes sense, making choices
based off of feelings that have always taken you
to where you believe you should be taken.
This does not create an inherent price
for your judgment to come back
with fairness as a cost.
It's only a metaphorical transaction.
As much as the feeling of horror
may overcome a person,
the same strength of that feeling
can be mimicked by any of our emotions.
Why could it not?
If something can traumatize,
something can heal;
It doesn’t always rain,
I've seen beautiful weather at funerals.
Everyone liked Garret.
The girls wanted to be his friend.
The boys wanted to be him.
Garret was like a charming epidemic
Mimicked by his appreciative peers.
Adored by his teachers.
His smile was dazzling.
His reputation widespread.
as the rosemary rain
soaks
pensive petals,
leaving an aroma
of lovers’ betrayal
the succulent scent
of
his
petrichor skin
caresses the midnight
crevices of this
meticulous mind,
urging my soul to purge
tears and ink
long mimicked
by April’s sunlit rays
synchronizing
a symphony of robins
a rhapsody
of wild blooms
a chorus of dragonflies
a sprinkle
of swirling sakura
painting a panorama
of spring meadows
dancing to
the diamond glows
of stellar streaks...
and without the moon
I am an echo
of rhymeless clichés,
an abandoned prose
breathing amidst
porcelain pages
of mourning metaphors
aching to savor
confessions
of clemency....
for heart feels numb
to the
b u r n
of being forgotten
as storms taste
softer than sunrise~
and in
s i l e n c e,
I rise....
Dancing with delusions, sparks of hellfire
Course through my lugubrious quill pen.
Distorted words igniting fear,
Anxiety fills crevices,
Encircling, silencing,
Asphyxiating.
Walls closing in,
Compressing.
Hope fades,
Doom.
Dread
Runs cold.
Veins poisoned,
Sanity slips
Unmercifully.
The angels are mimicked.
Light dimming, darkness descends
As demons mingle with the dead.
Apocalyptic skies crack open
To wash away all that you held sacred.
mimicking Lu often copies me
terribly annoying, can't she see?
If I chopped my hair, she would chop hers too
No original thought or idea for Little Lu
It gripes me that she is this way
We used to play, now I stay away
If I broke my arm, she'd be wearing a cast.
Here she comes, so I am running fast.
The not so joyful day
a blessful coming day evening faithful going heretic in joylessness kind lamps mimicked nuansence openly parts ***** rest subtly timely upon value watery xeroxing your zeniths
Once we moved in time
Our bodies mimicked like shadows
Two beats connected by heart
Like strings on our ankles
We chose each step carefully
Until sudden fall
Shards of glass in the cracks of past times
Salted cheeks under another layer of dedicate cotton
Tears of papers singed by flame
Parts of two that are missing as one
A simple minded gimps of what could have been
But endlessly searching for the things once known
We move in different times
Are bodies mimicked like shadows?
One beat by broken hearts
Once stood so grand
Like Kilimanjaro against the sky
Our way of life
A beacon, a guiding light, a brand
As children, we grew up in its embrace
We imbibed its wisdom
Mimicked the gestures
Offered with reverence to the deities.
But now, it’s just darkened reflections
Fading echoes of what once was
Our way of life, tarnished and frayed
Worn thin by the touch of westernization.
The songs we sang, the stories we told
Now lie buried, rusted gold,
Yet deep within, the spark remains
A fire waiting to rise again
To reclaim our roots, to stand anew
To honor the culture we once knew.
The Woman Who Could Change Colour
Morning, noon, and night
she could change colour though with remorse.
Did that mean she was special or just have really bad luck? Well, the latter of course!
She changed to red,
She changed to orange yuk.
She changed to green, and for a small fee
she mimicked many coloured objects (not a truck) too well
some were left dumbstruck.
But she wished to make an honest living.
Unexpectedly one morning her wish came true
after her changing colour impressed at the Job Fair
a very important employer Mr Blue.
She was honoured and happy to be new
traffic lights outside Elmwood Zoo.
I HAVE A DREAM™
In Martin Luther King Jr.'s binding words of oath,
Saving souls solely sold out for fair esteem,
Without gainsay, granulating the greatest quote,
Comes these four words "I Have A Dream."4
The marvellous melody of Martin's message,
Mingle minds - with magnanimous meanings,
And just like an age-long and archaic adage,
Mustered majestic march, melding morals.8
Memoirs of Martin's muse mimicked mystery
And his mighty moment moved mountains,
Miraculously merges and made history.
So, in our racial disunity, a united unity reigns.¹²
In the future's fair and fearless frame,
Black boys, white boys, hand in hand.
In unity, under sky's serene same,
Dreams dance daringly to destiny's demand.¹6
Girls of gold and girls of grace,
Gleaming, glowing, & growing together,
Heartbeats harmonize, honour embrace,
Hope's horizon, boundless, forever.²°
No colour confines, no creed can chain,
Tomorrow's truth, in love, we attain.
“I have a dream that one day, little black boys & girls
Will be holding hands with little white boys & girls.”²4
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Alliteration
Copyright ©? January 2024.
She held illuminations in her eyes.
Mimicked the earth with her skin.
No wonder flowers grew from within.
Adrift in her aura.
Marooned.
Interstellar swoon.
Rendered lunar love language.
Though words could never define.
What was already written in time.
Where to turn, oh friend I ask
I chose to turn to you,
if you'd be so kind.
Though I try hard to describe the beauty
heard by deaf ears, fall so short..
seen from eyes so blind.
Invited by a melody from the stars,
a concert of music makers enthralled-
Their numbers standing before me
cast down to Earth for you and I,
swath of angelic voices recalled.
Whether human beings or beings from a higher plain
I won't hazard a guess, nor confess, nor grasp..
yet still I ask.
Oh, but..
if you were there,
if only in this life., a trace.
heard from these ears
heart lightened in my chest
tears streaming down my face.
If you still don't understand, I understand
if you're troubled, please try to see
I'm trying in vain, so you must
imagine emotions evoked in music
a limited engagement, mimicked..
by a lone toad from a swamp.
It's me.
Even now try to recount the magic in moments..
turn away, not from beauty nor music, but strife..
hold onto a miracle, a million miraculous moments
in eve of evening..
in life.
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