"imitates" poems
We find multiple ways to disconnect
Where business and technology intersect
We kick one another for cash
When we need equilibrium for our economy
Our morals disintegrate to ash
And we trade away our autonomy
But we don't dare reflect
Instead we disconnect
We turn people into symbols and numbers
So we can more comfortably slumber
After causing heartbreaking pain
Through bureaucratic chains
Because face to face
Our heart will race
And we'll examine our submerged morals
That lie in the depths with the coral
But our reflection is too much to bear
So we cowardly choose not to care
The only way we can feel ecstatic
Is to turn people into demographics
The Internet connects us
But also satisfies lust
And imitates human contact
Which has a negative impact
The feeling leaves us sated
And we don't feel the need to change
Our armor becomes plated
And we shoot arrows from long range
Because we don't like the idea of being one another
We get used to the idea of not seeing one another
We disconnect so we don't have to try
We disconnect so we can slowly die
The ****** disconnection continues
As we find more violent avenues
We utilize fatal instruments
To ****** without the sense
Of physically feeling
The life we're stealing
We stabbed one another with swords
Until the bullets soared
But we still needed more
So we disconnected further
And became satellite searchers
Studying people through actions
Defining them by faction
We don't have any interest in their personality or flaws
All we're concerned with is if they're breaking the law
The law we wrote to tip the scales
The law that makes us too big to fail
A husband leaves his wife
Disconnecting from her life
She's left with a child
To raise in the wild
Until a drone drops a bomb
On the struggling single mom
She's not an investor
So we'll just harvest her worthless life
Who'll be her protector
When she's near someone we don't like?
We **** her from our computer
That's the way we casually mute her
We carefully cultivated a disconnect
To treat one another like insects
This mentality will infect
Until we interject
Once we finally reflect
Love will connect
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC
If I could,
I would pick up my ink pen
and drown an ocean into you
instead of drowning you in it.
Extract these rotting feelings
for the sake of your ignorance.
Carve scriptures into each delicacy of your brain
so you wouldn’t have to dwell in such misery every day.
Wire faith
to your blemished heart.
Imbue purity
to your sullied soul.
If I could,
I would write you through all depths of insanity
without any harm
so that your
mind no longer persists the thought of death.
There was a time I thought you were dead.
Only you were painted red
in a black and white world.
Like you have been walking barefoot on a broken road
your whole life.
Your demons imitate life
And life imitates the demons.
You are the one being tied down by invisible, nonexistent chains.
So unaccepting of help that has come for you
Watch
the sun touch the horizon
reach the meeting of sun and ground
and
Find further still,
The limits you would like to reach only run from you.
You have such a murderous tongue
for society
people.
But one day I hope to see you write yourself into existence
Rather than to let yourself drown in it.
Why has you dying become something so habitual?
Darling, death is not a friend of yours
Nor are you a friend of his.
But I know of your frequent dates with death
Tell me
Does his neck feel like happiness
And do his lips relieve you of your suffocation
Now
are you lost?
or are you found?
Do you recognize the irony
Of the most terrifying things happening in the most angelic places
Charm yourself upon that bridge
Whose lights light up the city in golden arrays
With a glazed look
you’d think.
In sadness seen go by
You are charmed by either war or hope.
These occurred robberies have taken much
But they left opportunity
Important people
And a moon in your window
A future that only you know the ending of
And a slice of the midnight sky.
So it goes.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
the mirror
divides where
the partition begins
between broken and free
i touch the glass
it imitates me
copies my every move
i must be confused
i touch the glass again
it still imitates me
showing the contour lines
of my every ****** expression
but then its gone
i must be very confused
i look hard into the glass
i see my face
i look harder
but this time its different
i first see my flaws
my imperfect perfections
what makes me whole
why should i look like a brainless doll?
i look harder once more
into the glass
and i see something
far more different
i see the girl
with the piercing
dark grey eyes
who has everything in
her life just sorted out
but then i see
the girl
with dark black
holes in her sockets
instead of eyes
this girl has
many marks on her body
signifying how many times
she has been hurting
i see a marking
on her forehead
it says LOST
it then begins to
cut a wound
into her scull
i try to forget
all these disturbing images
i have seen in this mirror
forgive and forget
hasn't it always been about forgiving and forgetting?
i'm not sure i want to forget anymore.
i want to remember.
i turn back
and look at the girl
with the deep dark eyes
i then see her mouth move
who are you?
(b.d.s.)
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
it’s quiet and i hear nothing but the snowflakes
hit the fabric on my shoulder
i hear nothing but the paper
burn as my inhale imitates the gust of
wind that guides the cold to shutter skin —
street lights sit above the lit, white-flowered flakes
as they dance to the ground as a group
that whisper soliloquies to the crimson
lobes that hear nothing but the snowflakes
hit the fabric on my shoulder,
a hazy fog covers the air before my face
as it sways from nostril to upper lip —
a sight down to an illuminating ash,
blinking to meet a lid to whited lash —
as the paper burns
the smokey sky is content
with silence and nothing more
than a look to the fields MJB
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
**Sing my restless heart
in a poem of wild roses
that bloom in the morning sky.
One verse for love
One verse for grief
One verse for lament**
**Paint the ageless beauty
of my face on your canvas of
ice and snow.
One color for my hair
One color for my lips
One color for my eyes**
**Play my melancholy soul
into a symphony on a vintage piano.
One note for yearning
One note for hope
One note for freedom**
... Life imitates Art ...
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 3:16 AM UTC
A touch of Synthetic Blue
drips
down our tear battered frames
before it catches on
a match made in hell
Becomes an oily
twisting
saffron cold flame
Redefines love
as a pact to collectively
fall apart
Redefines hate
as a pop cultural norm
As it smolders
strife imitates art
Another massacre
Another overdose
Another malignant mass media circus
and maybe now
you understand
inevitability
Synthetic Blue is a registered trademark of White Spider Pharmaceuticals, a division of the White Spider Corporation, and is used without permission.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
Rue thy feeble fate.
Fear the day when thine own eyes
Fail to see beyond thy hand.
Requiem for the rest-easies such as Thyself shall not come as welcome
Praise, but as fire and brimstone,
Blood from the grimy grindstones of
The weary working, ready to rise
And crush all unworthy opposition
With their hilts of red-hot rage,
Raising swords of liberty to the heavens and cutting down the opression that has stilted their air.
Weep for this is thy fate:
Thy death means justice for those who Have been defeated countless times,
Under a blooming, burning sky defeats Pile up like stars, simmering, waiting to Become supernovas and take every puny Universe down in their own glorious Descent, like
Icarus to the sun, a sweeter fall could not Exist on this lonely planet,
Into the unforgiving waters of victory.
Justice for those angry folk who by merit Have earned their own place, not by Some system that hands it to them, but By grit and toil alone,
By the fierce madness that is
Existing and not completely
Giving in to the ruin of being human, Following the words that
A wiser man than I spoke, that life is Struggle, that the only constant in this Life is the pain that all of us try to ignore In the futile attempt to block out the Tragedies that haunt us daily.
Face thy fears, coward.
Thou miserable wretch can't look thyself In the mirror, but can claim that we as a Species have hope for peace on Earth and Goodwill for all.
What dost thou know of goodwill? When didst thou give a single moment of thought to the happiness of anyone but thyself and thine selfish avaricious interests?
Thou shan't claim to know what is holy and just, yet scourge the very pious people that thou imitates; thou shan't slaughter the devout on a temple whose bricks are molded from hypocrisy and deceit.
Rue thy feeble fate,
Because thou deserveth every blow, every cry of mockery, every disgusted eye and every hideous pitiful moan that thy gravestone will inspire, and even Dante himself could not have imagined the flaming of the hellish unredeeming pyre that will be thy afterlife;
rue thy fate for no morals, no intercessions, no pleas or entreaties to be spared from the filth and maggotry that thou hast built thy very house upon canst save thee now.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
I'll love you til my heartbeat slows down
and imitates a soft whisper that mentions your name
As the moonlight looks at you from
the highest of clouds
the waves splash to the rocks
making a sound that resembles
how my heart will break
if you leave
Nov 16, 2021
Nov 16, 2021 at 2:49 PM UTC
Purity
it portrays
it imitates
But at the same time
it clouds its own image
"Clean" it says
"Kind" it says
"Holy" it says
Then tell me why
it attracts electrons
who all have the same sinful lust for
it?
Maybe those neutron
dead and lifeless
and Heavy
can they tell the whole story
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
Midnight eyes, a sad seduction
to parlor jazz, ads burn through windows
rolled up tight on Lincoln Drive,
the skyline drips and sighs with pleasure.
You and I could sleep all night
on our Uber ride to the towers
(we never mind the drunken fight,
we never mind the complications).
Lightning loves the tallest trees, and
you and I? A redwood forest.
But what is love without the static?
(A dead-eyed kiss, a glance at strangers).
Pale, the art that imitates us.
Lungs collapse with rampant laughter.
(We pay no heed to warning signs,
we pay no mind to hidden danger).
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
wrestling with angels
slept three hours max, my brain is a stew le ragout,
pot-au-feu, a *** on fire, my dopamine is dope,
and seeing ladders, escalators going up and down,
angels all want to try wrestling with a protected poet
beating this poet a internet-fast way to fast fame!
one who dares to tell the Boss to f**k off, who takes
none of the deity’s lip, mock imitates His deep pomp and
circumstance voice, gets away with poetic saucy disregard,
cause poet worked his way into a corner of His affections
all just because the poet keeps telling Him to stop
this tortuous interference in human affairs, to lay off
the string pulling in lives for His amusement and
satisfying a reality TV craving, why can’t He change,
the channel to Lifetime and get tears vicariously, like
an ordinary minor deity, nah, not Him, he loves His
wrestling so, even though, everybody knows that
wrestling is so fake.
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 8:29 AM UTC
Christian Louboutin Black Nevertheless the price range available at them is sometimes not affordable from the normal working class of people. Christian louboutin wedding Absolutely nothing to get worried about,with the introduction of Christian louboutin available in the market one can get each of the features of the Christian louboutin at attractive discount prices.The Christian louboutin incorporates most of the excellent features of the original brand. Louboutin are identified by the signature tag of a glossy red sole. Louboutin also imitates this red sole tag thus giving an exact look of the original brand. Most of the times, Christian louboutin outlet people are worried about the qualities of such louboutin products.However, someone can go for Christian louboutin UK online shops while making such purchases. Special care is taken in plenty of time of manufacturing those Christian louboutin UK. red bottom heels Factors like the proper inclination of the heel, the quality of the Christian louboutin UK are perfectly taken into account. Thus, Christian Louboutin Outlet one can get the pride of wearing the Christian louboutin UK at a much lower cost. The wide and exciting range of Christian louboutin shoes will surely captivate the hearts of all the fashion trendy people. Someone can look into the online catalogue for different styles and colors. Christian louboutin shoes will surely be a wise decision to make. Christian louboutin sale designs created a benchmark in the world of designer footwear. Christian Louboutin Christian louboutin are worldwide famous for its quality and amazing stylish designs. In today’s generation, people like to experiment with colors and designs. Christian Louboutin SaleThe provision of louboutin, in various colors and an extraordinary offbeat collection of designs, has made Christian louboutin UK popular among the fashionable crowd. red bottom shoes for women Now, one can choose from a wide range of several innovative and inventive varieties of Christian louboutin shoes.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC
To say the least, I am lost and confused. Lost and confused in a city that is changing. A city that is growing. And I know it is, because I can feel it is.
Some days, sometimes even several times within the same day, I want to be at the center of the action. I want to be plugged into the social pipeline. A pipeline that leads straight from and directly to the gutter.
I think I just want fun. I know I want meaning. I think I know I want camaraderie. Friendship. Love?
At some points, I feel like all of this is pointless. It drags me down and creates a groove in which I neither fight to get out of, nor have to fight to continue on in. It's resistless and easy. It's not warm or cozy, but it becomes familiar and what's to be expected.
The lines between reality and imagination are ever-increasingly blurred to me. I do not know whether these people are pretending, or trying to hide, or pretending to try and hide who they are appearing to be. Are these walls really rotting and peeling or was it painted like this to look grunge?
I can no longer determine, cliche as it may be, if art imitates reality or vice versa. Is the music these people play directly resulting from and representative of them and their lives, or are they pursuing a highly regarded, in the hep world, a less fortunate and haggard lifestyle or "scene"?
Is the music and its energy a force, a presence, a power, an entity of its own? Inhabiting the body, possessing the mind, and flowing forth from the mouth of those without an identity of their own?
I don't know who I am. I know who I am to myself, as when I'm alone. But I do not know who I am to be or who I am to others. I have always found myself being drawn to mystics, magic, and power. But this is dangerous, weird, odd, foreign stuff. This is not stuff to be dealt with lightly nor to be done out in the light. It is shameful and secret and dark.
I am afraid. I am afraid of myself. I am afraid of the power I may possess, and I am afraid of the power that may possess me.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 6:06 PM UTC
Dawn
Is beautiful .
Its new and raw.
It's beautifully honest.
There's something redeeming
about the early minutes our day
It imitates the early minutes of our existence
And erodes the nonsense and lies
Of day-to-day survival.
Dawn
Not only relieves the darkness
It exposes the darkness within us
The things we did to each other
Or with each other
Under the cover of darkness
At dawn they are brought to light
And in those first few minutes
We too are painfully honest
Beautifully honest with ourselves
Enough to let the dawn
Infiltrate our hearts .
Dawn
Is fleeting .
It's redeeming factor is not permanent.
Within a few minutes
we begin surviving
We commit fresh sins.
We start lying.
We learn to hide ourselves
and our sins.
In broad daylight.
In dawn's light.
We lie.
And dawn helps us.
Soon enough dawn
becomes
Irrelevant not beautiful.
It becomes unfair and weak.
Letting sinners slip through the cracks
Letting the guilty forget their crimes.
And so we blame dawn.
For not delivering on what it promised
In those early hours of the day.
We call it an accomplice of the evil
And we charge it with treason.
But dawn
Was innocent.
It's only crime was light.
It's beautiful and redeeming light.
That let us sinners feel light
And guilt-free when it shone
Through the heavy darkness in our hearts.
For the first time.
And maybe the only time in our lives
We knew beauty
And redemption.
If only for a few minutes.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 6:16 PM UTC
She's a mess
She wakes up at noon with eyebags all around her face
And in her markings you'll find unreachable desires, hope, and wishes
She's a hurricane
She has millions of chaotic galaxies of thoughts
And in her mind you'll find thousands of tangled up worlds of words and places
But she's a masterpiece
She makes your brain explodes while it wanders to travel her body
And in her company you'll find how life imitates art—long before art imitates life
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Life imitates art... and electronics?
Everything depends on the plus and the minus. The positive and the negative. Including heaven and hell. Don't get it wrong either. Being positive isn't saying "let it go, it will be fine" it is saying "no, it has to be this way"! It is thought to be cruel to tell someone they are doing something wrong. But is it cruel for a cop to harass someone who is cooking burgers outside? I don't really think so, but it is WRONG. You stand in that negativity protected by a union of black wires, Blue wires. I am the positive red wire that they try to call negative. I choose to be the white, neutral wire, but they say white power is wrong, and make it a race issue. I scream, "white power"! They say no, so I go back to being the red wire. They say that is wrong, but I still choose my own power. So, are you the red or the blue? We depend on each other, even with opposing polarity. You can't be red, white and blue...it is impossible.
(electronics have a red and a black wire for positive and negative. It used to be a red and a blue wire...and a white wire that is represented by an N.)
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 10:46 PM UTC
Whines and groans of melancholy
Knock on my door
Upon opening the blockade
The guest looked very eager
A small, furry stuffed animal sits
Eyes fixed on my complexion
When I smile, the doll imitates
When I brush my hand on the doll's fur
A tongue reveals and kisses my cheek
As I walk down the corridor
The fluffy rascal tails right behind
My eyes dart towards a toy
And the puppy snags it thereafter
With its brown precious eyes gleaming
It's impossible to resist the innocent tug
I take the plushy victim
And fling it across the room
The puppy witnesses the ~Plop~
And immediately dashes
Sprinting in the ten second race
Like a boomerang
The furry speed demon returns
With the plush trapped between its dull jaws
All I can remark is...
"Good Boy!"
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
open up
first sip
burning
its relaxing
i look out into
the dark night, it's cold
how did I get to this point again?
no, I don't care, i just take a loooong
sip, sip, sip, i like getting warmer it's
not as lonely. i recently read that drink
ing tea is a cure for loneliness because it
imitates human warmth, even though just
sip, siiip, for temporary time is'nt that just
pathetic? swallow, burn, warmth, rinse
siipp and repeat. cold air freezes, freesses
frees me! the bottle is my best friend and
sihps, now even my best friend is hollow
wat a shaym, sh amme, shame
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 8:08 AM UTC
Caught in this net of time,
the restless nights create a paradoxical paradigm.
Caught in this head of mine,
chasing after false hope that imitates the divine.
Caught in this reality of ours,
staring at the stars until we snap back into the lonely bar's guitars.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
he fishes in the pond along the broad abroad
reeling in the glistening skin of fight and splish !
a twitch of atheist, in a rainbow foxhole
pleading to invisible wire
he prayed would
hit.
when Life imitates Art
the Irony
is Photoshop.
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 11:22 PM UTC
Gold's untarnished yellow feigns
dawn's igniting of soft edges behind a mountain cloud,
or sunset's beacon flashing reflected from home's far window.
A diamond's clear flash imitates
bright glints of blinding sun across the afternoon shore,
or a star's brilliantly precise ray through eternal night.
A sapphire's velvet marine resembles
the limitless horizon between azure sky and tropic sea,
or the vertigo of fathomless water below suspended feet.
An emerald's tantalizing green mimics
the vividly penetrating beam warming a rainforest's singular tree,
or the disarmingly beautiful captivation of a strangers eyes.
A rainbow necklace of delicate gems pales
on a summer afternoon porch shaded by stately trees
and a butterfly sanctuary of whimsical flowers,
calm breezes stirring blue shadow leaves
brushing intimately on white shiny paint.
By accident these jewels mirror life's ephemeral essence
Grasping for this illusion to hold fast the spirit
distracts one from living.
One can cling to stones for one's life,
Or
One can live moments for infinity.
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 10:42 PM UTC
The sky is about to make you a liar
because
to the moon and back
is utterly impossible.
I still believe you
even if the universe never did.
And danger was closer and closer with each passing moon
but anyway
we turned to stargazing.
But even the stars fall from the sky
and no dream of mine could make you love me;
Or you for that matter
but I do
I love you.
You look good in blue,
it imitates my eyes
which mirrors my heart
that is yours
forevermore.
I weaved something beautiful for us both
but life is not a loom.
Its a series of complex embroideries
and our patterns never
matched.
At least you're honest,
that's something I've never been much good at.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
wrestling with angels (Le Ragoût)
slept three hours max, my brain is a stew, le ragoût,
pot-au-feu, a *** on fire, my dopamine is dope,
and seeing ladders, escalators going up and down,
angels all want to try wrestling with a protected poet
beating this poet a internet-fast way to super-fame!
one who dares to tell the Boss to f**k off, who takes
none of the Did-Deity’s lip, mock imitates His deep pomp and
circumstance voice, gets away with poetic saucy disregard,
cause poet worked his way into a corner of His affections
all just because the poet keeps telling Him to stop
this tortuous interference in human affairs, to lay off
the string pulling in lives for His amusement and
satisfying a reality TV craving, why can’t He change,
the channel to Lifetime^ and get tears vicariously,like
an ordinary minor deity, nah, not Him, he loves His
wrestling so even though, everybody knows that
**wrestling
is so fake.**
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 12:43 AM UTC
4/12/2016
"*Rappelez-vous l'objet que nous vîmes, mon âme,
Ce beau matin d'été si doux:
Au détour d'un sentier une charogne infâme
Sur un lit semé de cailloux?"
"My love, do you recall the object which we saw,
That fair, sweet, summer morn!
At a turn in the path, a foul carcass
On a gravel strewn bed?*"
Charles Baudelaire
I sat on the mossy footstool
that lied by the brook-
I had to really open my ears
to hear the soft regurgitation
coming from the clear muddy water, gliding over the slate,
piled up
the road, the one I drove on that one day we snuck out,
was placed gently beside it,
uptop a little cliff,
I felt this a beatific metaphor.
The air felt amorphous,
held a quality I couldn't quite
put my finger on.
and then I saw a tree,
a crooked one
who had seemed to grow
on the bank of the creek
because life, it seems, imitates art.
Its trunk dipped
until it ever so slightly grazed the water
its elm fingers
almost
almost.
I smiled when I saw this,
for it gave me hope.
I likened myself to the horseflies and new
tadpoles that flittered,
seraphic in quality,
borne with the quality of new life- the innocent quality
the one that just made me feel tainted, the more I surrounded myself with it.
The Friday afternoons on the avenue, with its port wine air
and this bubbling black slate brook
are the only places
that innocence lives-
if I had realized how quiet
the soft gargling of the cherub water was
I'd have stopped the car
and baptized ourselves
In it.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
I'm sat at my window the snow softly falling,when I hear the telltale "clickity clack" of a pair of heels.
I imagine the wearer, tall by the time lapse in clicks,
wearing warm well cut clothes, due to the weather.
Her heels beat a tattoo, loud in the night time silence.
Echoing into the dark.
Hush, do you hear it? A softer step, masking its existence in time with her heels. No? Listen at the deep silence, stabbed by the staccato stilettos,
there, a soft crush in the snow. Her heels have quickened their tap,tap, tap on the pavement, the snowfall has also quickened, and so has the soft crushing steps of a man.
My heart imitates her stilettos, dread clutches at my core.
There it is the muffled scream that stops the stilettos,
snow is voicing a struggle, it's fresh crispness creaking and crying.
These noises are not new, they're why I sit at the window,
listening for the female, the male, the footsteps, the scream,
knowing that in the morning the news will feature the man dubbed
"The stiletto shredder".
Me, go as a witness you say, how?
He does what he does outside my window knowing I can never tell,
I'm his perfect witness,
I'm blind.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC