"dupes" poems
one who basks in the soft heat of grandiose moonliness
growing fatter on honeyed imaginations
their sicklysweetness soaking through the pores
of countless generations
their minds invade a collective consciousness
burning arcs of inspiration – torches of the collective vision
in drilling through mutual experience
great gaping black holes of creation
effigies of super-egos, lynched on altars of desire
neon flames and disco lights, emotions on a massive pyre
maiden voyagers on never-ending cruise
sinking in foreign oceans – their endurance dupes
minor gods of destiny and fate they await
dionysian ****** of wine and food for thought
and hearts that beat in unison
a schizoid muttering that enlarges and deafens
manic pleasure that spins and spins
in eternal circles of pleasure and pain, loss and gain
opioid mists that dream a dream of everlasting name
an addiction an obsession that sumbits
to some masochistic drive
to empathize.
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
06.09.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
She dresses in gossamer veils of scarlet and lures men to her noose
As they carelessly pour Fortune's gold into her nimble, covetous hands
And they hang themselves among the other piteous lepers before them.
As cruel as the Inferno, she drags them under as an enchantress would her dupes;
As beauteous as the beloved Aphrodite with eyes of white marble
She adds these dim men to her vast collection of trifles.
Then she disappears and I know she won't return.
For she is the Gypsy's Best.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 8:38 AM UTC
Get out your sponges, stippling brushes and pens,
It’s time for makeover-Monday-night to begin.
Think Winky Lux, L’Oréal, Urban Decay,
Maybelline, Armani and Fabergé
It’s a black magic realm where brushes are wands,
where a carnival of colors are carefully crayoned.
We have palettes aplenty, in kaleidoscope hues,
to create fashion looks, both bold and subdued.
In the realm of makeup fashion, where trends never end,
we remodel each other - for fun - when we can.
Tonight, our new friend Jammie has come to watch us play,
and he even brought two bottles of chardonnay.
Lisa has a ‘Miss Rose’ case, like she saw in Bernadette Peters’
dressing room, on a backstage tour of the Shubert Theatre.
Konjac, Kabuki, Doe foots, Spoolie, Lisa’s got legit tools to use.
“When it comes to makeup,” she says, “always avoid dupes.”
That night I was the chosen face, the excited living canvas.
Lisa’s a practiced artist, her process is brisk and never tedious.
She painted my lips a crimson cherry, alluring and brightly sensuous,
my brows were moonlit art, my cheeks a midnight adumbrated edifice.
Lisa created a special look, where rebellious edge met elegance.
We took some snaps, then I washed it off - but Jammie was impressed!
Jun 6, 2023
Jun 6, 2023 at 10:51 PM UTC
skirting the rusty rose of a brooch
dangling on canvas bodice as she leans
tightly over me; the waves of wrinkles
on her be-bangled red hands pointing to the
wrong punctuation; this is dream-building
in the fifth grade; don't end the dream
too soon, she gruffs sing-song like
a prize-winning racoon; and still applauds
the bricklaying we so clumsily feign
for our castles in the sky; tho she, too,
dies of cancer in the last year; the tubes at the
very last weaving through the canvas;
something of a final stitch to the making
of a dream; and so i think all dreams in me
they die in darkness and still i wonder
what happens to the crenellated castle
walls i abandoned scores of years and
many As ago; and still we pat our doeeyes
on their infinitile heads and **** our
cynical shacks-by-the-forest-fires back
into our heads, begging beneath the
damp light of early-onset reverie: save
us, won't you, from the stiff stillborn of
dreams our generation lost to the fantasy
of getting what the saddest, dreamless
dollared dupes decree; oh be better yet for me,
my naive sums, and take your brick-laying;
your canvas sheen; your impossible, doubtless
dreams with broach and gnarl; with gruff and
soundless trill; your soulful self metastasized
with every beat
to the happy grave.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
I’m not a ditzy tulip,
or a bent erratic stem,
I’m not a trapped crysthanamum,
or a wilting gray hydrangea,
I’m not a pollinating prophecy that gives to all of nature,
I’m not a zoo of daisies,
I’m not an incessant rose,
That ****** the first to bow,
or a zinnia that pallied dawn,
I’m not a scentless lavender that pouches sweet consent,
I’m not a blossom specks of red that blanket willow trees,
or a bush that dupes that soil,
after frost descends the weeds.'
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
I'm sad
my friend
sad
you tried
we tried
we cried
you fought
we fought
for naught
craven creature
writhed
and won
I'm sorry
friend
so sorry
how can sun
be gone
yet birds sing
don't they see
can't they tell
it is but stars
an afterglow
all is naught
life has passed
your ailing breath
expired
from darkness sown
by drug cartels
intent
on breaking will
of *** plant babes
sourced for fame
stealthy greed
seduces most
millions sought
want you
and me
they're undeterred
their filly reach
a blinding hate
of freedom's rights
leave humans be
as infants wail
and white coats play
mere blinded dupes
pay dues required
in hallowed halls
and now you're
dead
yes, dead
not anywhere
you've left us
gone
from dirt to dirt
and ash to ash
and so it ends
somehow we must
decide to breathe
when you cannot
I hold you still
in memory's dream
my brother sweet
though in my arms
the grief burns
pure
writhe impotent
in essence true
we're nil
no flow of tears
will soothe you now
they've ceased
the dreaded C
has had its day
too bad
too bad
our useless words
rebound
a spinning wheel
pathetic croaks
on fade porch
perhaps if we...
I should have said...
why didn't I...
and so it goes
tortured mind
unwilling thrusts
accept the truth
grim reaper came
and now he's
gone
another love
will soon be
marked
why you dear friend
Lord, please
not you
the rivers dam
there are no streams
that be enough
remorse it screams
why not the swines
the great unwashed
why was it you
the good
- why
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
Nous fûmes dupes, vous et moi,
De manigances mutuelles,
Madame, à cause de l'émoi
Dont l'Été férut nos cervelles.
Le Printemps avait bien un peu
Contribué, si ma mémoire
Est bonne, à brouiller notre jeu,
Mais que d'une façon moins noire !
Car au printemps l'air est si frais
Qu'en somme les roses naissantes,
Qu'Amour semble entr'ouvrir exprès,
Ont des senteurs presque innocentes ;
Et même les lilas ont beau
Pousser leur haleine poivrée,
Dans l'ardeur du soleil nouveau,
Cet excitant au plus récrée,
Tant le zéphyr souffle, moqueur,
Dispersant l'aphrodisiaque
Effluve, en sorte que le cœur
Chôme et que même l'esprit vaque,
Et qu'émoustillés, les cinq sens
Se mettent alors de la fête,
Mais seuls, tout seuls, bien seuls et sans
Que la crise monte à la tête.
Ce fut le temps, sous de clairs ciels
(Vous vous en souvenez-vous, Madame ?),
Des baisers superficiels
Et des sentiments à fleur d'âme,
Exempts de folles passions,
Pleins d'une bienveillance amène.
Comme tous deux nous jouissions
Sans enthousiasme - et sans peine !
Heureux instants ! - mais vint l'Été :
Adieu, rafraîchissantes brises ?
Un vent de lourde volupté
Investit nos âmes surprises.
Des fleurs aux calices vermeils
Nous lancèrent leurs odeurs mûres,
Et partout les mauvais conseils
Tombèrent sur nous des ramures
Nous cédâmes à tout cela,
Et ce fut un bien ridicule
Vertigo qui nous affola
Tant que dura la canicule.
Rires oiseux, pleurs sans raisons,
Mains indéfiniment pressées,
Tristesses moites, pâmoisons,
Et que vague dans les pensées !
L'automne heureusement, avec
Son jour froid et ses bises rudes,
Vint nous corriger, bref et sec,
De nos mauvaises habitudes,
Et nous induisit brusquement
En l'élégance réclamée
De tout irréprochable amant
Comme de toute digne aimée...
Or, cet Hiver, Madame, et nos
Parieurs tremblent pour leur bourse,
Et déjà les autres traîneaux
Osent nous disputer la course.
Les deux mains dans votre manchon,
Tenez-vous bien sur la banquette
Et filons ! - et bientôt Fanchon
Nous fleurira quoiqu'on caquette !
678
Stuporstar, he’s a Stuporstar
He counts on how dumb you are;
He says a lot of stupid things
He wears them like diamond rings.
He doesn’t really give a stinking fig
He’ll rob and gut you like a pig.
He just assumes his fans are dim
He is sure it is all about him.
He believes he is so very smart
He drives his fancy golf cart
And decorates his home with gold
Being wealthy just never gets old.
He thinks we’re all fascinated
With the legend he’s created
That he was saved by the sea
By a queen when he was a baby.
He doesn’t really give a stinking fig
He’ll rob and gut you like a pig.
He just assumes his fans are dim
He is sure it is all about him.
He’s sure he can shoot you down
And his ratings won’t go down;
That he says the best you ever heard
Because he has the very best words.
He’s smarter than all the generals.
First in his class, we all know his name
Thinks the world is his computer game.
Thinks all his dupes loves all he’ll do.
The truth is, he don’t care about you.
Stuporstar, he’s a Stuporstar
He counts on how dumb you are;
He says a lot of stupid things,
He wears them like diamond rings.
He doesn’t really give a stinking fig
He will rob and gut you like a pig.
Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
You used to soar up with
A philosophic wing
A nightingale a peace-packed
Verse of democracy to sing,
So we became dupes
And thought seconding you
Or voting for you is a nice thing.
But as a Pandora box fate
Or like suffering
Soul-gnawing
Scorpion's sting
Surfaced a strange thing.
Your sanctimonious disposition
Soon came to our attention
When you rosy mask
Suffered a crack
In a way that is stark.
To citizens
Facts on the ground
Has brought
Giving the benefit of the doubt
Accepting what you say
Without a grain of a salt
Is a fault.
On votary's of the truth
That lampoons your partiality
"Uncouth!"
Waving a finger you began to bark
Recoiling back
To "They and we" parochialism sack
The "They" dubbed covertly or overtly
To attack.
Now unmasked you have the teeth of a rat
Revealing you are not better than a bat.
There is a rat to smell,
To the democrats
Which is a warning bell.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 10:30 AM UTC
Toi qui près d'un beau visage
Ne veux que feindre l'amour,
Tu pourrais bien quelque jour
Éprouver à ton dommage
Que souvent la fiction
Se change en affection.
Tu dupes son innocence,
Mais enfin ta liberté
Se doit à cette beauté
Pour réparer ton offense ;
Car souvent la fiction
Se change en affection.
Bien que ton cœur désavoue
Ce que ta langue lui dit,
C'est en vain qu'il la dédit,
L'amour ainsi ne se joue ;
Et souvent la fiction
Se change en affection.
Sache enfin que cette flamme
Que tu veux feindre au dehors,
Par des inconnus ressorts
Entrera bien dans ton âme ;
Car souvent la fiction
Se change en affection.
Tyrcis auprès d'Hippolyte
Pensait bien garder son cœur ;
Mais ce bel objet vainqueur
Le fit rendre à son mérite,
Changeant en affection,
Malgré lui, sa fiction.
473
Cloud Oppressors Studios
proudly presents
the first Soap-opera
where the Viewers are the cast
See our Tyrannical power
as we herd them
zap their gullibilities
we are spin masters who rule
But, but nothing Mister Freewill
go look History
divide & rule our game
unbeknown the viewers act for peanuts
Rev them up & let them loose
this soap has legs
we're dab hands at this
and they'il make it up as they go along
New Interactive Soap-opera
puppet viewers
jerking their own strings
their heads in the clouds of Cloud control
haha haha haha
Apr 10, 2024
Apr 10, 2024 at 7:54 PM UTC
La vanité nous rend aussi dupes que sots.
Je me souviens, à ce propos,
Qu'au temps jadis, après une sanglante guerre
Où, malgré les plus beaux exploits,
Maint lion fut couché par terre,
L'éléphant régna dans les bois.
Le vainqueur, politique habile,
Voulant prévenir désormais
Jusqu'au moindre sujet de discorde civile,
De ses vastes états exila pour jamais
La race des lions, son ancienne ennemie.
L'édit fut proclamé. Les lions affaiblis,
Se soumettant au sort qui les avait trahis,
Abandonnent tous leur patrie.
Ils ne se plaignent pas, ils gardent dans leur cœur
Et leur courage et leur douleur.
Un bon vieux petit chien, de la charmante espèce
De ceux qui vont portant jusqu'au milieu du dos
Une toison tombant à flots,
Exhalait ainsi sa tristesse :
Il faut donc vous quitter, ô pénates chéris !
Un barbare, à l'âge où je suis,
M'oblige à renoncer aux lieux qui m'ont vu naître.
Sans appui, sans secours, dans un pays nouveau
Je vais, les yeux en pleurs, demander un tombeau,
Qu'on me refusera peut-être.
Ô tyran, tu le veux ! Allons ! Il faut partir.
Un barbet l'entendit : touché de sa misère,
Quel motif, lui dit-il, peut t'obliger à fuir ?
- Ce qui m'y force, ô ciel ! Et cet édit sévère
Qui nous chasse à jamais de cet heureux canton... ?
- Nous ? - Non pas vous, mais moi. - Comment ! Toi,
Mon cher frère ?
Qu'as-tu donc de commun... ? - Plaisante question !
Eh ! Ne suis-je pas un lion ?
393
Fame is the most wanted creature travelling across the planet!
You’re desparate to have it but with those cheap and stupid specs,
Cuz the ones already being famous would always compare you with rotten eggs!
It takes a lot of beauty, trolling tricks and stylish progression,
To get the whole ******* thing in a goof like yours possession!
Generosity doesn’t matter buddy you gotta have swag,
Sweetness won’t suffice anything…..what about boasts and brags?
Trend-setting hair, profound blue eyes,
With a bunch of smirks and you’ve just become a price!
Well…how can we forget that perfect jawline,
Which deviate everyone and let them go blind!
Now you just realised…that you haven’t got any of it,
What you gonna do when your post won’t be called “LIT”!
Famous were James and Lily, therefore he became Harry,
Otherwise a 12 year old orphan in Hogwarts wouldn’t be necessary!
So stop running behind the train called Popularity,
Cuz once you outshone the swaggy-dupes, this train will depart from your city!
Why worry and speculate to fit in the insane trend,
You just want a number of people, what if everyone on Earth would like to be your friend!
Today people attract you and tomorrow you’ll do the same,
This is the function and feature of this humungous magnet called FAME!
Just be yourself and forget about fame, cuz your success would always scan it,
Fame is the most wanted creature travelling across the planet!
Utkarsh Upadhyay
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 8:20 AM UTC