#copies - Hello Poetry

Healthy souls are dead, we are all just copies now

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Mar 23, 2020

Mar 23, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC

Alexandra_Bakly

Number 2

Healthy souls are dead, we are all just copies now

1

2007 Look. ( those with eyes to see) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Look alive this day could be your last. Look not a gift horse in the mouth. Look not blue if happy times are past Look through rosy glasses if in doubt. Look in back,you’ll turn to pillared salt Look one direction n paddle other way. Look daggers at the man who is at fault Look for that needle in a stack of hay. Look,behold your words. Speak your mind TODAY. Written by Philip Posted 30/10/2018. 2007 June 5th. Mission Impossible Your mission should you choose to accept it? May be tougher than total disease eradicated Slower than abolition of third word poverty No pinnacle as high as a career in true poetry You will be deprived of all satellite navigation Ostracised b friends n fair weather neighbours Unarmed just words are your feeble protection Your existence denied , should they ever get u Let me warn you my brave poet friend Take heed, you may think it no problem Write all this free verse indeed w’ a vengeance But once your outside defending fair maidens Vanity n pride are left behind at your station Your mind be clogged with a million quotations This text , it destructs thru your own hesitation Poet laureate you are not in my estimation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Written by Philip. 1st November 2018.

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Nov 13, 2018

Nov 13, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC

oliver-philip

Look ~ Mission Impossible.

2007 Look. ( those with eyes to see) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Look alive this day could be your last. Look not a gift horse in the mouth. Look not blue if happy times are past Look through rosy glasses if in doubt. Look in back,you’ll turn to pillared salt Look one direction n paddle other way. Look daggers at the man who is at fault Look for that needle in a stack of hay. Look,behold your words. Speak your mind TODAY. Written by Philip Posted 30/10/2018. 2007 June 5th. Mission Impossible Your mission should you choose to accept it? May be tougher than total disease eradicated Slower than abolition of third word poverty No pinnacle as high as a career in true poetry You will be deprived of all satellite navigation Ostracised b friends n fair weather neighbours Unarmed just words are your feeble protection Your existence denied , should they ever get u Let me warn you my brave poet friend Take heed, you may think it no problem Write all this free verse indeed w’ a vengeance But once your outside defending fair maidens Vanity n pride are left behind at your station Your mind be clogged with a million quotations This text , it destructs thru your own hesitation Poet laureate you are not in my estimation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Written by Philip. 1st November 2018.

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My sweet delirium two copies of strong coffee Trump Reality any day. The people around you chasing shadows out of town pictures of war getting blown away And then time will stop getting stuck in this one moment I'm fine with it.

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Aug 30, 2017

Aug 30, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC

johnny-q

Copies of Coffee

My sweet delirium two copies of strong coffee Trump Reality any day. The people around you chasing shadows out of town pictures of war getting blown away And then time will stop getting stuck in this one moment I'm fine with it.

10

Here at Kinkos We have a saying, “copies of copies” You are trained to always ask for a source file The digital file of the picture the camera took The negatives of digital cameras You see because when you print a picture from that file it’s the best it will ever be Every detail captured in that moment stored in bits and bytes ready If you make a copy of that picture it will never be as good And if you make a copy of that copy it’ll be even worse And if you were to make a copy of the hundredth copy of the ninety ninth copy you might not even recognize the image Whether it’s a speck of dust on the scanner Or a crease in the print out Sun stains from prolonged exposure to the elements Or simply from time Copies never look as good as the original Even if you try and protect them And even if you were to magically protect that photo from any external forces The next copy still won’t be the same quality A scanner can never pick up every detail from the print on the glass Copies of copies are never the same Sometimes the printer is calibrated different Sometimes it’s a heavy magenta day Sometimes it’s a saturated cyan day Maybe you touched her face when you handed it over And now every copy has a feint of your thumb print above her eyebrow You had him taped to your rearview mirror for a whole year And now every copy you make has a glare where the tape used to be It blocks out his heart shaped hands he was making you from the bus window Folded in your wallet and now all the copies have white spaces where her face was I mean where the creases were I’ve heard that when you remember something you are simply remembering the last time you remembered it Memories of memories So that after you’ve remembered her a thousand times you’ve forgotten all the details you forgot to remember the time before So that the more you remember something, the faster you’ll forget Maybe that’s why we forget exes faster than family Maybe that’s why we forget the great parts of high school before the painful ones I remember that you had red hair, that your eyes were kind, that your hands fit my cheek I remember that you were bad at pool and that it felt like love, and if it wasn’t you’re the only one that knew it And now I’m wondering after all these years what I’m forgetting to remember What I forgot to remember last time What did I forget this time What won’t I remember next time Memories of memories Like copies of copies Fading over time If I never wanted to forget the best moments of my life Should I never remember them Is the fastest way to forget the bad ones To remember them often

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Dec 17, 2015

Dec 17, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC

michael-devoe

Copies of Copies

Here at Kinkos We have a saying, “copies of copies” You are trained to always ask for a source file The digital file of the picture the camera took The negatives of digital cameras You see because when you print a picture from that file it’s the best it will ever be Every detail captured in that moment stored in bits and bytes ready If you make a copy of that picture it will never be as good And if you make a copy of that copy it’ll be even worse And if you were to make a copy of the hundredth copy of the ninety ninth copy you might not even recognize the image Whether it’s a speck of dust on the scanner Or a crease in the print out Sun stains from prolonged exposure to the elements Or simply from time Copies never look as good as the original Even if you try and protect them And even if you were to magically protect that photo from any external forces The next copy still won’t be the same quality A scanner can never pick up every detail from the print on the glass Copies of copies are never the same Sometimes the printer is calibrated different Sometimes it’s a heavy magenta day Sometimes it’s a saturated cyan day Maybe you touched her face when you handed it over And now every copy has a feint of your thumb print above her eyebrow You had him taped to your rearview mirror for a whole year And now every copy you make has a glare where the tape used to be It blocks out his heart shaped hands he was making you from the bus window Folded in your wallet and now all the copies have white spaces where her face was I mean where the creases were I’ve heard that when you remember something you are simply remembering the last time you remembered it Memories of memories So that after you’ve remembered her a thousand times you’ve forgotten all the details you forgot to remember the time before So that the more you remember something, the faster you’ll forget Maybe that’s why we forget exes faster than family Maybe that’s why we forget the great parts of high school before the painful ones I remember that you had red hair, that your eyes were kind, that your hands fit my cheek I remember that you were bad at pool and that it felt like love, and if it wasn’t you’re the only one that knew it And now I’m wondering after all these years what I’m forgetting to remember What I forgot to remember last time What did I forget this time What won’t I remember next time Memories of memories Like copies of copies Fading over time If I never wanted to forget the best moments of my life Should I never remember them Is the fastest way to forget the bad ones To remember them often

49

There is no sense in this world anymore I feel sore Seeing people being all the same It looks like I am to blame Personality, A word that doesn't exists in our dictionaries anymore Creativity was pruned out Like the hair on the soldier's head Money is all they think about I can't carry out They are making insane Making me not the same

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Sep 20, 2013

Sep 20, 2013 at 3:48 PM UTC

rosalie-walker

Nonesense

There is no sense in this world anymore I feel sore Seeing people being all the same It looks like I am to blame Personality, A word that doesn't exists in our dictionaries anymore Creativity was pruned out Like the hair on the soldier's head Money is all they think about I can't carry out They are making insane Making me not the same

12

If they made Holy Scriptures out of our deeds How many would we put on display for everyone to read? When Bani Israel was frozen in time within divine words, they did not know they would become timeless lessons for generations to come. Not the liar when he told his last lie, nor the careless while laughing at the cow, not even the pious while he raised his staff. Yet today, we read their stories With heedless hearts , forgetting that we too will be written in pages heavier than stones on scales worth more than mountains of gold. So, why do we pretend that our time is infinite? As though tic tocs were nothing but melodious beats synchronized to our pulse. wal Asr And by time Innal Insana la fikhusr Verily mankind is at loss How can we not think of yesterday as an effigy, And tomorrow’s uncertainty as a form of art? We are artists. And when our hair strands start to reflect the silver moonlight When our eyes start telling century old stories When our joints start pleading with time Will we then finally ask ourselves: What will there be left of us? Originals, or mere copies?

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May 15, 2014

May 15, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC

hida-abbad

Effigies

If they made Holy Scriptures out of our deeds How many would we put on display for everyone to read? When Bani Israel was frozen in time within divine words, they did not know they would become timeless lessons for generations to come. Not the liar when he told his last lie, nor the careless while laughing at the cow, not even the pious while he raised his staff. Yet today, we read their stories With heedless hearts , forgetting that we too will be written in pages heavier than stones on scales worth more than mountains of gold. So, why do we pretend that our time is infinite? As though tic tocs were nothing but melodious beats synchronized to our pulse. wal Asr And by time Innal Insana la fikhusr Verily mankind is at loss How can we not think of yesterday as an effigy, And tomorrow’s uncertainty as a form of art? We are artists. And when our hair strands start to reflect the silver moonlight When our eyes start telling century old stories When our joints start pleading with time Will we then finally ask ourselves: What will there be left of us? Originals, or mere copies?

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