we live metamorphosis in life
as if it were only
metaphorical language
life simulacrum
odds tangled up in projects
without achievements
Those who crown themselves with miters and croziers
Are dry and barren canals to which I shall describe
Boats remain frozen in their abandoned and void place
The waters being a simulacrum of doctrines
Only the arid wind gives a sense of forward time
The bubbling and fizzing spring they cut from themselves
Those who pass by recognise there is nothing to drink
Only worms and serpents live within the canals
Their waters of void do not show heaven’s face above
No vision of sparkling angels appears anywhere
Nor can people see their face on the canals
Behold the crown jewels of those called servants and watchers
Inspired by this verse "Those people are dry canals." from The Apocalypse of Peter:
http://www.gnosis.org/naghamm/apopet.html
Simulacrum
David J Walker
It was
What I thought it was
But only because
I thought it was mine
And I would make it into
The next thing
that comes to mind
and call it love
even if it kills me
Living inside a memory,
dying within a dream
Reality turned against itself
—nothing what it seems
(Dreamsleep: March, 2021)
Squinting towards the lens, pressed fingers poised
Patter of shutters point to ample publication
Greater than any citizens' optimised hopes
Helicopter swept, high stake hustling self opinion
Gratuitous frog mouth catches fools, sticky tongue lashings
Golf club strolling, silver spoon holding, crumbs for cleaners
Pussy grabber dresses in pro life garb for target demographic
Speaks the language of fanaticism, fist in scripture
Heavy repertoire laced in hate. Dire threat leant on as a pillar
Podium fronted pompous smoothes fear with one liners
Gambling with virus spits in the face of reckless ruler
Trillion dollar trade removed, blackjack tapped table bust
Mogul makes workers homeless amidst bankruptcy claims
Grotesque filing fails retains dozens of glinting casinos
Gall lets leader make meme of nuclear dictator
Having little remaining reign tenure, pocket profane folds
12th July 2020
Upon my museum walls, pastiche you are,
Pseudo piece of art dredging old memories;
Where I hang now, a fine authentic painting—
Love of my sweet dreams.
You claim I once bloomed your ardent reveries
Yet, I recall your dreamworld quite illusive
When you pulsed my heart in your glory within
Phantasm of deceit.
There I was with you in your place of conceit
Where you waltzed in my life sparkling like gemstone
But soon you were unmasked as spurious clone--
An unwanted stone.
Don't come now, pretending it was real love,
When you still are, frowning face of frippery;
You've no place in temple of divine worship
Where my goddess lives.
June 22, 2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Simulacrum
Each stanza: 11,11,11,5 (howmanysyllables.com)
Invisible, powerful, divine He is
determining destiny of each spec, soul
blessed ones do feel His presence everywhere
lift me, holy one!
Universe creator, far and deep, unseen
singing praises with the realized beings
I seek help to pull myself out of quagmire
do forgive my sins.
I searched Him in false images, siluettes of truth
why did not I see and be the truth itself?
was it being hidden deliberately?
need to search within.
Long wanderlust, infinite are twists and turns
only the chosen, sharp few do comprehend
I yearn to practice to differentiate
bless me to see real.
13.6.2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Simulacrum
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
Scintillating hues disperse on blank canvas,
electric essence sparks azure palate mauve;
incandescent lightning leads to the ballroom--
of galactic blaze.
Vivacious seagulls draped in white fly afar,
sing to forlorn sandcastles on tranquil shore;
breathtaking notes vibrate subdued strings of breeze--
pearly mist of harps.
Inhaling sultry waves of hot topanga,
I flicker with burning golden lantern wick;
awaiting tides adorned with velvet mirage--
your silk memories.
Moonbeams rejuvenate my drowning desires,
I write your name on sand to be washed away;
your halo descends to embrace me with love--
on my yearning pier.
June 11, 2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: Simulacrum
~Winner: 1st Place
Defunctive decadent dreams upon desert Dunes,
Where your love drifts to dust within sandy storms…
The dry devious air assimilates amorous dusty debris,
entombing maleficent mirages.
My breath betrayed by stimulated sinister sins,
Illusive illusions adorn the gated Gardens of Eden…
Rhetorical replicas reflect from your slaving smile.
machiavellian mirrors magistrate.
Forged in fires of facsimile you rise like the Phoenix,
Effigy of a carbon copy of deceptive deliverance…
A petulant puppet master of megalomania madness,
archetypes of amour ambushed.
A portrait of love through a passionate photograph,
Suspended within parallel paradoxes of surrender...
Your love keeps me captured amongst tenacious time,
spurious memories marauding.
June.08.2020
4 Sapphic Stanzas
Sponsored by Edward Ibeh
N/A for contest
Simulacrum Soul
Are you a dream
Did I consider and formulate
The prose images
Which captivate my soul
So completely
And well up from me
Such a missing
As to leave me hanging
Useless
On tones of desire
Are you a dream
Romantic held
And beauty seen
Someone I may once have
Known
The touch of you
Lingers
My fingertips reminisce
Somewhere in my soul
Are you a dream
A dream of waiting
A dream of longing
A pounding echo of
Having
Spoken so close
I
Your neck once felt
The brush of my breath
Fall soft tingled
Turned your ear
To my lips
I
Whispered then
I love you
While my arms in worship
Wrapped about you
Only to bring
The depths of your eyes
Closer
So much closer
To mine
Are you a dream
I think not
Sifting through the faint pages of the memory
Imbedded in dreams long buried and forgotten;
Muted voice of a young boy comes back to stay,
Unfurling from the deepest corner of the brain;
Latent images of a once carefree, innocent youth
Almost faded now yet, vaguely remembered still;
Clouded by the passage of the unforgiving years,
Returning but once again to where I was back then;
Undoing the dents wrought by the passing time, I
Meet the present and promptly end the dreaming.
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.