"imitated" poems
nobody loses all the time
i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added
my Uncle Sol’s farm
failed because the chickens
ate the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate the chickens when
my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle manner
or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and
i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle
Sol
and started a worm farm)
132k
The seasons circled back again
To touch from start to end
I feel the summer creeping forth;
Its voice is in the wind.
The warmth is like a long lost book
I open once again
To stroke aside each dog-eared page
To see where this began:
Two years ago, two summers past
On morning such as this
The sun was climbing up the sky,
The grass was touched with mist.
I chased the dawn down past the lake
That imitated glass
The early-morning gentle air
Breathed wind, so soft and chaste.
We moved then like the moon and sun,
One far and one behind.
I followed shrinking shadows while
You basked in morning's shine.
A wistful turn would break that spell,
Your warmth was hard to miss
There in the daybreak's balmy air
So fresh, so new, so crisp.
And you- the sun- you rose and came
Like light across the ground
My breathless lips would part in awe,
Yet utter not a sound.
Sweet Sunshine thieved my breath away
And filled my marveling eyes
The once eternal nightingale
Had turned her back on night.
That was the long-lost summer when
All things were then in bloom
The beginning of the ending when
The Sun fell for the Moon.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
I’ve always been intimidated
By the man in the mirror
With his cocky face and his self-assured grin
I’ve always been imitated
By the man in the mirror
With his worried sigh and his eyes full of doubt
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
The experience of a black woman is one that can not be imitated
Although it is not always enough or even always reciprocated
Her heart is full of love, almost bursting out of her chest
And even when it gets tough, the black woman always tries her best
She longs for an equal who shares her level of intellect
Someone to listen to all her problems and attempt to put them in retrospect
The black woman often fears sharing any of her thoughts
For fear of being labeled the angry black woman, which she’s heard lots
Some black men refuse to date a black woman because of her attitude
But thank you to those strong black men that show them so much gratitude
Sometimes the black woman confidently wears her hair natural
The time she takes to detangle each curl is truly admirable
Other times she doubts her beauty as she is surrounded by Eurocentric guidelines
Men gawk at the beauty of those with straight long hair as she stands on the sidelines
Sometimes the black woman adores all of her god given features
But when she sees the women men covet she feels like an ugly creature
The black woman comes in all different sizes, shapes, and color
And instead of black women competing with one another
They must stand together and see the beauty in being black
So that they can truly understand that beauty is not something that they lack
My sisters, all of my black sisters, thank you for making me feel so human
Because no one understands the experience of black woman like a black woman.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
I tried fitting in with them but was told my skin was to dark and that I was not the type.
I asked a darker crowd for companionship but was denied because I was told I talk white.
In reality they ment proper but I cannot hate my own people for what they don't know.
In a country where a letter from Willie Lynch divided us and still stunts our growth.
We were deprived of our name, religion, and planted an idea in our head that lighter is better.
Features once seen as a sign of ugliness such as big lip or now being imitated and make others jealous.
These life scars remain though, that rain from feeling left out seemed to only get wetter.
Hoping one day this alienated feeling will dry up but one can only be zealous.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:47 AM UTC
The worse thing I could see in this life to me
is the insight on what's going on inside the
mind of another person whose eyes when
tested are wide open yet half closed an
glazed fixed with a message
No rest
**** bested
Just like me with a feeling that's overrated
I'm never waking cause your never sleeping
Yeah that's what we call self medicated
Drug dedicated
To ****** up to hate it
Even when your looking into the eyes of another behind a two way mirror that's not so two way
I'm faceless
A psychopath unlike the rest
So let me color this
Wait did you say something
Whos there
No one It's just you
Then whos looking back
Just yourself
That doesn't look like me
Why because they walk talk and dress different
No because I'm here and their there
A fact created by self absorbed ******** who believe to have made it
A bunch of fakes spitting venomous lies deceit filled eyes
Stabbing the backs of friends and foes alike
believing to be justified with what it is they
do
So don't you even begin to believe that
**** too
Now count to blue and remember there's been to few of us created with two sets of eyes so different yet their look is self imitated
Originality being one oh one over one duplicated known to be unrelated
Something I see each time I see my reflection so you're the worst thing I could see along
with this ****** up connection
Now don't get me wrong it’s amazing how we in no way tried to be found found each other
But I don't know if i’m ready for the inside tour of another just like me but uncovered
A psychopathic lover
And as I begin to laugh I hope like me you won't quit because if your like me we're
made for this wicked ****
I'm ****** glitch
Broke like a *****
Why am I so lyrically rich
That being said I gotta say I'm happy that **** so far has stayed where it belongs tucked away unlike this song
Inside my mind with the imagination creations I've created in my crayola crayon nation made education
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
The creature watched them come and go and marveled at their beautiful wings and their elegant movement in the breeze. " i'll get my wings one day and they would put shame on the rainbow, you just wait and watch!" before long the day came and he got his wings. Through agony he fought his way out of the shell. With help of the breeze he spread the wings and flew in sky. When he was passing by the river, in still water, he saw an image and moved closer to it. Saw a dreadful creature in the silvery water that had a thousand eyes and the ugliest wings that he had ever seen.The creature imitated his every movement and then he realized that it's his reflection. He was angry and hateful and just like water that reflected his image he decided to reflect that anger and hate. From that day on he hunts the other winged creatures that he adored for so long. he flies static on silvery waters to see the beast every now and then. That's the story of the dragonfly.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
It smells of cigarettes and 12 year old regrets.
Matted shagged rugs with creeping, crawling bugs.
There’s shouting from the back.
Humming coming from a ***** metal box.
A shrill announcement that it's time to get our fill.
We race back while trying not to spill.
In my bowl is the same hard heat of imitated meat.
I run my finger across the couch. A halo of polyester,
where too long an ember was permitted to fester.
My friend had dawned new clothes,
a flashy new skin, but a month’s gone by.
Holes now show what she’s hidden.
Uncertain, she’ll dawn a new curtain.
Whether a lack of communication or a thoughtful hesitation
to force another her burden.
Jan 4, 2020
Jan 4, 2020 at 1:48 AM UTC
Nobody Loses All The Time
nobody loses all the time
i had an uncle named
Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone
into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could
sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which
may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable
of all to use a highfalootin phrase
luxuries that is or to
wit farming and be
it needlessly
added
my Uncle Sol’s farm
failed because the chickens
ate the vegetables so
my Uncle Sol had a
chicken farm till the
skunks ate the chickens when
my Uncle Sol
had a skunk farm but
the skunks caught cold and
died and so
my Uncle Sol imitated the
skunks in a subtle manner
or by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor
Victrola and records while he lived presented to
him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a
scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with
tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and
i remember we all cried like the Missouri
when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because
somebody pressed a button
(and down went
my Uncle
Sol
and started a worm farm)
—by ee cummings
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
Sometimes,
I try to escape you.
Whether in my thoughts;
or in my day.
I have become spectacular at blocking out
the memories.
But sometimes,
I try to escape you.
When I see the curve of your cheek
lit in the soft moon light
and all I want to do is reach out and cup my hand on your face;
I try to escape you.
When I close my eyes with you right next to me;
and I dream of interlacing my fingers with yours,
my head on your chest.
When I can hear the actual sound of your heartbeat being imitated in my sleep;
and I wake up and wonder.. hope.. That I wasn't dreaming;
too afraid to ask in fear of being chastised for wanting you..
I try to escape you.
And in the morning, I prepare myself to go home.
Even though I know I'll miss you
and only think of you when I'm there.
But then you ask me to stay one more night
and I can't say no to your beautiful green eyes
or your bright smile.
I try to escape you.
But I can't.
My love.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since everyone hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new.
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessèd shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
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Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire,
A million scarce would quench desire;
Still would I steep my lips in bliss,
And dwell an age on every kiss;
Nor then my soul should sated be,
Still would I kiss and cling to thee:
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever,
Still would we kiss and kiss for ever;
E’en though the numbers did exceed
The yellow harvest’s countless seed;
To part would be a vain endeavour:
Could I desist?—ah! never—never.
1.4k
She took a form,
of whispers in slightly silent sounds.
A sad and helpless woman,
soft spoken, and slightly broken.
Last night I saw her.
My body went numb,
and quickly into the cold.
She held my nose and my mouth closed.
Her wet, long hair brushes against my cheek.
Quickly realizing the wetness is the blood on her own.
Intense bleeding scratches below her eyes,
and her eyes with an iris in disguise.
I hear her again.
The whispers, the loud silence.
Turning more harsh as I began to struggle loose.
The cacophony of noise and air pressure in my ears, her grip imitated a noose.
I can't breathe,
it's starting to hurt.
She won't let go and I can't move.
I claw at the side of my beds, and this she disapproves.
W A K E T H E F U C K U P .
She yells,
and I quickly jolt awake.
Panic mode ensues,
and my mind's bulb has burned my sanity's fuse.
I go erratic,
and I feel like I'm losing my mind.
She took a form,
from my mind's dark thunderstorm.
...
and I don't know how to escape from Her.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
Aesthetics shuns at its pedigree of Adonis fine
Athena sleeps in imitated leopard skin
Bark colored sheets, maroon subtle and deep, performs symphonics for the eyes
Aesthetics shuns at its pedigree of Adonis fine
Mediated time arises, not an evident second passes by
Aesthetics shuns at its pedigree of Adonis fine
Idols of the twilight prevents all which is dim
And Athena, she sleeps in imitated leopard skin
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 7:20 PM UTC
A MOST astonishing thing --
Seventy years have I lived;
(Hurrah for the flowers of Spring,
For Spring is here again.)
Seventy years have I lived
No ragged beggar-man,
Seventy years have I lived,
Seventy years man and boy,
And never have I danced for joy.
1.4k
Minuscule cockroaches creak
Conspicuously around the crude crumbs
On the dusty kitchen counter,
And tadpoles squirm in the cremated creek.
The porridge poured itself
For the poor stray kitten,
Who was too spritely
For eureka's euthanization,
Triumphant in trespassing
The proximity of the porch.
Meanwhile, the revolving rover
Imitated the raunchy rocket ships,
Launching like fervent fertility
Interceding September's secret,
Sacred admirers of ethereal pyres.
The sepulchre's soma
Spread from the peach's center
Like the terrific thighs of a virile *****
Jurassic travels ,
Machines running on ancient carcass,
Annulling the terra firma
Of its aloe vera-like virginity,
And courtesans adorned with jewels,
Pretending to be Aphrodite?
Just as Jupiter does,
Joy wears covetous rings..
Originally written 8/12/11
Revised 10/19/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
Sometimes pain is so strong
it transcends conscious thought.
So powerful it cannot be described,
imitated, or understood at all--
It simply is. It exists,
and welcome or not,
It is present.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 11:43 PM UTC
All this sunshine
And these branches
With leaves and overflowing juices
Saps and morning dew
Surround the bricks
And the polished steel
Of content frigid happiness
Boxes
All these boxes
With things we must do
And rules for obtaining perfection
All this liberty
With obligatory attachments
And abstinence
Beauty
All this gold plated beauty
Bought with fruits and flesh
Fresh blood and bodies every month
All this necessity
This war on voices
Speaking out of turn
And living out of tune
Voices
All these voices
All this unspoken nausea
From breathing imitated air
Between designer chairs
And eating love made slow food
Made by soulless unloving people
Love
All this hollow propaganda
Designed to numb
To tell the critics they're dumb
Until they, too, succumb
To the same ideals
As the rest
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
I haven't really laughed since 2009
He said,
He then divulged his struggles
As I did mine
We spoke of the mutual regret about not keeping in touch
But with conflicting schedules, relocations and studies
It is comprehensible we veered in opposite directions and lost contact
My estranged bestfriend
We reminiscenced about the time when we were school kids
In stiff shirts, massive floppy hats
And giant blazers we practically drowned in
How eager we were to go home
When the siren went off at 3:05pm
The shanenigans at the pavilion
In sixth form
When we were the lords of the academy
A strong grip on my giant mug as if it were the holy grail
Stirring my something that ends with cinno
Huddled in the corner of a cozy eatery
In his company once again
it felt as though I had arrived home where fire burns incessantly in the fire place
On a winter's night
With a soft blanket over my shoulders
We laughed about my truancy
And how he got kicked out of the ruby team on account of his rather lanky physique
He imitated our biology teacher and tears flowed down my cheeks
That kind of laughter
You feel in your core
And your whole body shakes
So captivated by the various discussions
We both forgot to sip on our steaming beverages
He narrated a few short stories about the events
that have taken place since we last conversed
I in turn narrated mine or lack thereof
He emphatically tilted his head to the side
God, I had missed those gestures of his
It all came flooding back
His mannerisms
The way he moves his hands when he speaks as if he is trying to literally hold the conversation
For what seemed like a lifetime Before saying goodbye
Dead-eyed
We stared into each other's eyes
Almost as if to telepathically say
Do you remember the time
When we were so alive.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
Leaves settling against a transparent wall
Strips of gold and white swam, from winter to fall.
The voices would often bicker, quarrel and fight,
But the ripples in the water promised hope and delight.
Throw pellets, ask why fish needed 'air'
Giggle at their curled moustaches, in contrast with their fair
Give them titles and names, stories and goals,
Dip fingers in green, trying to create non existent holes.
Years passed and my pond became nothing but decay
And lips still throw insults, even as I lay,
Mosquitoes and their infants, wriggling in my watery home
But from finger to lip I decided, 'The fishes will once more roam.'
A young adult! I could have been mocked
At how in amazement, I stared; in a plastic bag they rocked.
Childhood flooded in, as I imitated their gaping lips,
I followed their words, and measured them from tip.
I set them down and with pride I looked,
As they counted their freedom, and knew they were not hooked.
They at last together, set to the deep,
and only at the sound of pellets, would they often leap.
The arguments grew colder and the hisses relentless
But I carried on feeding and cleaning, proving selflessness.
Yet to my horror, and beyond my control,
The fishes' paces grew slow, turned barely to crawl.
Panic and fear tightened my throat
At the thought limp bodies will cast and float.
But still the war carried on without a halt,
The inner sanctum of peace, turned into an untouched vault.
A week passed, and I sat beside arched spines.
Strips of pond **** carved in feeble lines.
Their marble eyes, glazed with question.
Their lungs stained with emerald resignation.
The clash continued even as I held,
One slick body of scratched brass and felt,
for a moment a weak patter of frail heart beat
saying, "This is your tale," then a whisper: "Your greatest defeat."
- N. C.
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 7:01 AM UTC
Pinnacle moments pass us by quickly and sharply.
Cynical thoughts control the fear marking out goals in Sharpie.
Mental games of why do I deserve such pain, even partly,
and coinciding emotions of loss amongst those not even as lovely, I finally feel this pain heartily.
One bad decision, one bad night, one terrible choice is the only ignition that was needed to begin the arson.
My apology was weak and imitated the sincerity of a disgruntled garçon, still in disbelief that my train of thought was easily that of a *****
Love is a fickle sport we play and the secret formula is still out of my reach.
I will metamorphize into the one who is cracking the glass towards the anticipatory breach.
A lesson you subconsciously teach and I see that not all past stains can be cleaned with even the most powerful bleach.
I now know how I hurt you with my actions and eternal contract breach, like Richard Nixon I deserve the death penalty charge of being impeached, making you now just out of reach.
All I can say is sorry for all I have done, I love you, but I guess it's just a figure of speech.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 7:02 AM UTC
If, I were Indian
I would be A. P. J.
AbdulKalam
descendant son
And, to be
Gandhi's legatee
To marry a young
Nigerian senorita, to
give birth a pretty
And beautiful baby
To copy all I imitated
From my fore fathers
To lead Nigeria and, to
revolutionize the nation
To grow more than
Russia and to be
Like Saudi Arabia
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 6:06 PM UTC
Last night I felt the alcohol and darkness slither in again.
So I buried myself into a blanket burrito
and tried not to let the cold take over.
Soon however, it felt suffocating,
tightening around my arms and hands
whenever the night demanded blood and pain.
"I'm protecting you on his behalf," the blanket whispered,
as its warmth imitated his arms and lulled me to sleep.
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
White silky sands with rolling dunes
and velvet skies above
where kisses soft, caresses sweet
and all scented by love
where lips have lapped in endless waves
the contours of your shore
and hands have imitated breeze
to stimulate each pore
with limbs like seaweed soft entwined
in salt stained ebb and flow
trace hearts and need in aching skin
as passions fires grow
the pull of moon and call of dawn
are echoed in your eyes
as once again within your arms
we bathe neath autumn skies
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC