The theft of posting stolen phrases into poems ~ without citation!
"rich politicians" show off as poets, beside plagiaristic, AI.
There is a theory that states
If you place an infinite number of monkeys
In front of an infinite number of keyboards
They will eventually write
All the great works of literature
“to be, or not to be,
That…is the gazzerninplat”
to be continued
Seems plagiarism, isn’t a crime
Let’s copy lines we deem sublime
Perhaps from Shakespeare
Or wit Edward Lear
And poet’s deceased a long time
It's pointless alerting admin
Cos stealing work’s not deemed a sin
It’s really not fair
To steal works out there
It happened much to our chagrin
Known clichés which are now passé
Just copy them and post away
Then act with denial
Sit tight, even smile
And perhaps, get Poem of the Day!
In marked territory, I must step with care,
For shadows past and present linger to snare.
Each step poised, measured, cautious, slow,
Falls on ground where furtive few, dare to go.
I kiss the bliss of ignorance, I know
Cannot dispel the florescent deja vu glow
Knowing virgin ground is non-existent,
All is done before, done for, insistent.
Even when I plow the field to furrows spell
Up pops the litter and glitter, that therein dwell
Echos, reflections, touche touches that smell
Of the death of innovation, pummeled pell-mell
For all out there is marked, scared, sullied and stained
As used before, or well past its use-by-date ingrained.
For machines are now omniscient, beyond what I could ever know
And all my steps are marked as plagiarist AI copies faux.
These days, the most sought out advanced degree
In Extreme Higher Education is in Plagiarism.
A student can also minor in Overt Racism,
Sexism, Misogyny, Stupidity, and Bigotry.
Help wanted signs will be posted in January,
On every freaking corners in Washington D.C.;
Muslims, Mexicans, Syrians and minorities'
Applications will not be accepted. Senior citizens
Can apply unless they voted in the last two elections.
The reason for the change in rules and policies
Is to NOT 'Make America Great Again'.
Only Europeans and Aryans can apply for political asylum.
The Statue of Liberty will be returned to Marine Le Pen.
More pamphlets will be distributed at the next symposium.
Copyright © November 12,2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
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
Would you steal an oil painting from someone’s wall?
Would you steal cultivated flowers from someone’s garden?
Would you steal an author’s great novel?
Would you steal quilts made by someone’s grandmother?
Would you steal pottery from a gallery?
Would you steal artwork displayed by artists?
Why would you steal someone else’s creativity to claim as your own?
Plagiarism is stealing someone else’s heart felt emotions put into words, someone else’s creativity.
Stealing is stealing, it’s not yours and it’s a crime!
I know that i've mentioned
in past writes
regard mine frenetic digits
their
tap tap tap
whilst mine engram leaked
well
(sniffle sniffle)
well last evening
top mine desk
(sniff)
there i spied mine
frenetic digits
tap
tap
tapping out mine
mine dream
uv night 'fore last
tapping out 'pon this very
machine
each
kissss
that's write
I mean right
so
blame those
damned
digits
*each true artist, they have their
own colourz...lisssp(whut)...
...experienced...
...learned...
....knowd....
kiss me, shut me up ;)
A Thought stands alone; waiting, cold, and shivering.
Yay, succor from a Scribe, who against the slaughter of the innocent, and whose own thoughts are fair, places around the shoulders of the Thought a robe of ermine- this being a robe of magic- the magic and mystery of forefathers, and of footprints of children not yet born.
Now, Thought standing regally, spawns more thoughts,
And thoughts upon thoughts blossom like a tree with fruits;
Yay, tutti frutti, ample for a slice of fruit to be given to each one in the crowd.
And the crowd, eating the fruit, began to think,
And so more thoughts were formed.
Halt! Do pray.
While eating fruit one hears a rattle at the door.
Foreshadowing that the door has no lock, it opens furtively,
(my heart now pounding, inasmuch guests were not expected),
And enters with aplomb, a haughty trickster from the witche's lair.
The trickster grabs the ermine wrap from Thought,
And as quickly leaves the room with the beloved robe.
Once more, Thought stands alone, waiting, cold, and shivering.
How might I replicate your verse with deceit,
Claiming ownership, a fraudulent feat.
The sentiments woven, not from my core,
A stolen melody, a hollow encore.
How do I connect to the sunset's gold,
When purloined treasures in my hands unfold?
In the radiant daylight, brazen and bright,
I pilfer your wealth, devoid of true light.
How might I borrow your emotions, a theft so bold,
Claiming them as mine, when the pain's not been told.
Loneliness wrapped in borrowed lines divine,
A counterfeit connection, a deceptive design.
How do I profess love with words not authentically mine,
Desire and yearning from another's line?
Expressing affection, a counterfeit show,
In someone else's verses, my feelings won't grow.
How could I snatch your art, a precious display,
When the sentiments painted, not mine to convey.
In the misty rain, your love I'd feign,
Yet only fog in my mind's windowpane.
How might I borrow, and not call it thine,
A snippet of work, claiming it's mine.
Yet with proper reference, an ethical find,
Admiring your craft, no plagiarism behind.
There's no need to worry, who wants to steal your work?
You think that under every stone, some thieves may lurk;
I wish they would - they may have more success than me,
perhaps they might get the credit for decent mystery.
Someone said they changed websites because of abuse,
don't say everything's wonderful, be smart, hang loose;
one guy called me a 'f------ ****,' just be a mouse,
what would you expect from someone like a scouse.
I won a competition, someone liked me after all,
but then how could you resist something so magical;
my wife also writes, with perception, iron with feeling,
a good team - she does the ironing and I do the stealing.
Check your bank account - the scammers might clear you out,
before you start wondering what all this security's about.
clandestine cut paste
loom laughs at the weak weaver ---
stolen yarn sleeps sound
09 October 2022
SIMPLY SENRYU Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
A famous poet once said...
Write an idea from a poet
is plagiarism, but write borrowed
many ideas from several poets,
is research
Nature has no secrets
no doors to be unlocked
we are our own mystery
hiding keys
and denying entrance
Einstein created nothing
Mozart wrote nothing
when at our best
we are plagiarist
listening and responding
when at our worst
we are plagiarist
birthing physical facsimiles
to our world who survives
by eating its own young –
Answer: the I in the I
vs the I in the we
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.