I wonder why my parent said
She’s the spitting image of grandma dead
For in death, grandma did not look her best ~
though she still aced the saliva test
Pleased as punch this mother quite proud
Flips up her tail and neighing so loud
Her gait so lively, her head held high
A bright young mama, once a gleam in her eye
Unbridled spirit, feeling so grand
The spitting image of his dear old man
Romping through fields, free of reins
Thundering hoofs, flying mane
A frisky young colt like dad in his day
Who was quite a stud they were heard to say
Then back to the barn when day is done
This spirited young colt was born to run
Resting for a while batteries recharged
Chomping at the bit, a spirit so large
Such unbridled youth, exuberance defined
This pesky young colt, it's his time to shine
This Dame no longer believes in luck
even my existence doesn’t make it real
I’m the spitting image of prosperity
still she doesn’t believe.. not at all
sitting here wishing for another time
another day another melancholy face
what turned your brandy bitter
what turned all those dreams sober
eyes that would always roll the dice
that inner light has become so dim
an ace card thrown one too many times
whenever you recite a hard luck rhyme
but you gotta feel it in your bones
As Sinatra said ‘Luck be a lady tonight.’
Your cat has returned without you.
It is sleek and wiry like you,
and does not like me anymore,
but suffers me under its roof.
At night it will not sleep with me,
in the day it stares
with what appears to me to be
a pitying disgust.
Nothing I do pleases it.
It hates the food I offer.
I get no thanks for changing its litter.
It nags me with an impatient
swishing tail.
Did you die and reincarnate
as this furry, not so playful playmate?
I confess
when it is angry - claws out and hissing,
it is the very spitting image of you!
Glee
abounds
when children’s
antics taunt and
tease a Mona Lisa spitting image
tutor with chalk mark birthday ornate scrolls
blackboard heartland
cascade of
impish
warmth
Date created ; 16th February 2021
Photograph ; Number 2
Syllables verified by Poetry Soup Syllable Counter
One
proud and
stoic glance
astride wry smirks
from this Mona Lisa spitting image
tutor at the blackboard chalk mark debris
caused by spurts of
bold impish
birthday
warmth
Did you know she cuts her wrist on a daily to take away the pain that you caused and that she’s socially awkward because you’re a spitting image of her father who beat her when she was younger. Every night she sits there and dreams someone will come and rescue her from the pain and that you caused and that she will find true love again. One little hello from someone could take away her pain but she’s socially awkward and too scared she’ll get hurt again. Society has taken the best of this girl because she is not popular and nobody wants to read her book because her cover looks too boring.
Have I ever told you that …
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do next.”
Loveless, we sat down together to our evening meal.
It wasn’t until I collected by bag at the airport that I realised I didn’t love him anymore.
The fridge started to gurgle.
He merely let me stroke his hair, unlike my daughter who enjoyed my attention and touch.
… conversations meld and mould and melt …
He knew it as well as I did that we hadn’t laughed in a long, long time.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I just can’t wake to another day of the mundane.
“You really are the spitting image of him” I said, whilst straightening his tie and top button.
Bang.
Five years ago, I never would have predicted that this would have been my life.
… and develop into what could be or should be or will be …
I mean, the obituary in the newspaper didn’t even get the date that she died correct.
All was well now.
In hindsight, I just should not have said that I would.
He faltered, like a new born calf taking its first slippery steps.
“This is what it’s all been leading up to.”
Five Beginnings
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do next.”
Loveless, we sat down together to our evening meal.
It wasn’t until I collect by bag at the airport that I realised I didn’t love him anymore.
The fridge started to gurgle.
He let me stroke his hair, unlike my daughter who enjoyed my attention and touch.
with one of these Five Middles
He knew it as well as I did that we hadn’t laughed in a long, long time.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I just can’t wake to another day of the mundane.
“You really are the spitting image of him” I said, whilst straightening his tie and top button.
Bang.
Five years ago, I never would have predicted that this would have been my life.
could lead up to which of these Fives Endings?
I mean, the obituary in the newspaper didn’t even get the date that she died correct.
All was well now.
In hindsight, I just should not have said that I would.
He faltered, like a new born calf taking its first slippy steps.
“This is what it’s all been leading up to.”
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, wasn’t I the little girl you wanted me to be? Things with my mom weren’t meant to be but daddy daddy why did you leave me?
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, ain’t I the big girl you thought I could be? They say I’m spitting image of you, daddy daddy can’t you see?
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, I tried to be the parent you couldn’t be. Now I have grandkids you never see, daddy daddy how could this be?
Daddy Daddy why don’t you love me, I am the best grandma I know how to be. Thank you for the life that you gave me, daddy daddy I wish you could see, I only wanted you to love me.
The camel showed her new calf to a few
calf got scared and friends faces looked like glue
they weren't mad
they just declared
the new calfs a spitting image of you!
9-18-17
ROOTS
They came seeking a future not their own
carrying naught but memories too soon to fade
into the substance of a union of hearts.
In leaving left the spitting image of themselves
to gather up their memories lest they fade.
1/3/2017
submitted to – ROOTING FOR 8 TO 5 – Poetry Contest
Around the prairie, blithely she glides
Her brunette locks, her beautiful tangles
On a horse-a-riding, sweet days awaiting
Her oh-so-fragile heart beats bass-a-pounding!
Her nonage days- so real, so glorious,
No tint of blindness, her days unnumbered
Her flimsy fingers ‘round a beasty fist
A refuge she knows from unknown solace.
Oh blessed child of light
Felicity- her living language!
A spitting image- our crimson bloods alike,
But life’s a ruse of humor
Her paradise; my infamous dungeon
In those familiar eyes- my doggone days
Her iris lining an image clear
My estranged sire- he holds her dear!
Me and My Mirror
Suppose my mirror spoke back to me;
Did you actually think we would agree
Look at each other we could not quit
How handsome both are must admit.
Each of us a spitting image are of
And with myself have fallen in love
If my mirror a saving feature had
Would like it better and be glad.
There is an ability mirror does lack
Never see my image from the back
When I close it things he hides
Even if to all things are two sides.
I heard how people get their kicks
Is them playing around with politics
What ticks me off about them the most
Is there great ability to brag and boast.
For each party they need a mirror made
So into past they won't start to fade
And when mirrors each other are facing
If exactly together would be embracing.
James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
R u ok?!
I don't know.
R u ok?!
How should i know?
I'm just your spitting image.
I have no soul.
You need to get a grip,
get a hold.
Of what your lacking,
in this world.
R u ok?!
You're not looking so good.
You're a mess.
Must be from all the unwanted stress.
R u ok?!
Maybe you should pop more pills,
then go lay down.
You just need some sleep,
thats what it is.
Wait,
Wait,
Don't you leave this mirror.
You need to see you a lot clearer.
R u ok?!
No!!
You're not!
Stop looking at me for answers,
that you already got.
Now fix our face,
and be on our way.
It's a brand new day.
Shake off the stress.
Yeah!!
Your right.
I'm gonna have a good time tonight.
All that was left was,
a print of her lips.
On the mirror,
where she saw things a whole lot clearer.
As others was doing the same,
in the mirror.
She decided to look one more time.
At her reflection in the river.
R U Ok?!
Was her last words.
Written by;
Gloria perez-barkaszi
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