"impersonate" poems
What is a Father?
Is he a Person?
A Thing?
Or a Feather?
What is his Life?
Is it Carefree and Spontaneous
Or Tormenting and Strife?
Who is he in which a Person could know?
What are his Abilities which only he could show?
Does he Work, for the sake of a Family?
Or sleeps and pigs around, being a Menace and Lazy?
Who could this man be, to the Eyes of Children,
A Hard Rock or a Soft Leaven?
Does he Pile over Everyone
And takes Control?
Is he the Eagle, the Head of the Nest,
Playing a very important Role?
Does he impersonate Father Christmas
With all his Treats and Gifts?
Is he a Lover, with a Strong Heart for *******
Hugging greatly and giving Love-Lifts?
Does he Pray,
Or Face-Religious?
Or a Braver,
Or Spontaneous?
Is he a Disciplinarian
Wherewithin all Members under him
Are tuned to his Command?
Or a Freester,
Who gives his Kids their darling Freedom
Without any Demand?
Does he care,
For the People and Loved Ones around him?
Is he Provocative,
Uncaring for Anyone behind his Dim?
Mostly, he is the Grass,
Herding the Future for his Offspring?
Or the Lamb,
Stubborn and very Unwilling?
And so, whatever he is,
Or does,
A Father is a Father,
Anonymous or Specific
I wouldn't mind.
Just as long as he has
HEART, STRENGTH, FREEDOM and PROSPERITY,
KINDNESS, BRAVE, PROTECTIVE
And RELIABILITY.
I'll be Glad and Content. As any Son should be.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
See, it’s more of a… hypnosis,
A deep slumber of an everlasting fantasy. Trust me, I love it.
Like a whisk into a different parallel world
Filled with flashing colors that swirl and twirl, in fact,
kind of similar to a dress on a ballroom floor.
Not just any ballroom floor though.
No, this, like Van Gogh’s Starry Night
a masterpiece that cannot be replicated,
and to step foot on it is one of careful deep sea excitement
I wish to step there.
However, I am a tad ungraceful
and my feet are about as elegant as a scuba diver’s flippers.
So I might just impersonate one
and dive deep into the sea of the unknown and secret homes
hoping it delivers an innate whisper of the anticipation, the excitement
of this hypnotic, starry world.
Deeper I go, into this never ending oceanic abyss
With the darkness just as tongue twisting as it gets
Looking for something, anything,
to salvage my reason for going this deep, this late,
Because I have a tendency to procrastinate about the tasks most essential to my fate.
But, if you want, you can accompany me
and we can scuba dive together
into the deep sea of the not yet discovered and shining beacons of wonder
And if we’re lucky, we might find the lost city of Atlantis.
And while we’re there we can search and search for the spoils and riches of the hidden majesty
and wouldn't it be just lovely if we find a treasure chest, something?
With an eye for design we can admire it’s beauty
but we have to open it
because that’s the secret in the treasure.
To open it.
And the contents are the spoils.
Open it.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
To define him is a difficult challenge
To impersonate him is a hard task too
But who is this man with a hat on his head?
It seems like everyone has no clue.
It is the Hatter!
The most mad of all
He is also a type of friend that you can call
You can call when you fall, and no longer can crawl
But be careful!
You might don't want to see him go wild at the hall.
What was the hatter with him?
Oh yeah, he's mad!
It is the effect of high mercury
Oh, poor dear lad!
He very much love tea parties
Along with his friends including Alice
He's the weirdest man that you'll ever meet
And he has this mad, crazy, wonderful treat.
Because his madness has no end
He may look like he can harm
But don't worry, my friend,
That is just the attitude of his charm.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
the stars were trying
to impersonate
your eyes tonight,
and art is trying
to make someone
love you,
the stars and art
were so convincing
that it made me vow
to cherish you
like you are
the most expensive
piece of art
and the most
unreachable star
that ever existed.
(j.a.t.m)
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
"God is Alive, Magic is Afoot."
Who are you? Who am I?
the light in February can be self-sufficient,
sharp as deafness in the middle of the sentence
heavy as denial,
rapturous as a fusion
in the wind, in the air
forces of cohesion and destruction
play well together
in the arena of ribs, guts, lungs,
perhaps the silent liver
something is shivering inside
the light of a blade
an efortless wave of desire
a tired boundary left alone in the afternoon
the contours of my limits, your limits,
their limits so bright in this
constructivist fabric
Picasso was just foretelling us
forcing the doors
to expose the cover-up
dreaming his internal objects
then we start all over
with every breath
I want to give myself to me
as a new toy, as a gift
I want to love him with overt passion
I want you/him to break and store me
in between your thoughts
the body is full of eyes, of ears, of lips
I’ll survive in a whisper
They just want to flow into each other
clapping, holding on to the fluid of life
engulfing everything, defying all
censorship, authorship,
leadership
the light in February
is newly born with desire
to embrace itself, its darkness
in the vibrant body
I am, you are are sliding back with the air
finding rest in the vital void
the song remains the same
I am you, and you are me
the enchanted blade
is ready to cut
a new body for misunderstanding
we need to survive each other
something is tickling my feet
some wordless revolt
some rage of the living
to impersonate death
to posses their breath
I feel my boundaries
watched over by desire
but you are always invited here
to sing your sea of blood
turquoise or as you like
I am my desire
my desire is searching for myself
everywhere
in the incomprehensible light
in the lightness of his hair
in their hunger, courage and despair
for tomorrow
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
Aspire to belong
Impersonate an imposter
Before you say
So long
To mistreat fate
And suffocate imperfection
Was never really wrong
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
#11 | 31 Poems for August 2016
I keep hearing the echoes of piano keys and guitar strings.
I’m intrigued by the joy Luyanda brings every time she sings.
It’s amazing how every single note becomes an unforgettable poem.
Sometimes silence echoes through the urban streets of ghettos.
The world’s love and light tries to illuminate in all our broken halos.
My creativity was trapped in broken dreams until I heard her sing.
People give her their absolute attention as she strokes each string.
The sun came out just to impersonate the warmth of her aura.
Even if things don’t always go our way, I know that we will all be okay.
I hear echoes of a million heartbeats between abandoned buildings and crowded streets.
A million heartbeats keep echoing between Hammanskraal and Atteridgeville.
I hear millions of echoes within the silence of busy ghetto and urban streets.
I hear echoes of piano keys and guitar strings every time Luyanda speaks.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 2:22 AM UTC
We are explosive.
Two sticks of dynamite waiting for the match.
Just one whisper of a spark and we'll go,
Dying to impersonate the stars
Like fireworks in the night.
Fire, you and I
But different, if you know where to look.
Flames of summer
You are wild and destructive,
Spreading yourself too thin
Like wildfires in the drought
Roaring challenges at the sun.
But in the cricket-filled cool nights,
Bringing comfort and memories to the young at heart
Taming yourself for a time beneath stars that bear my sign
Burning out in the darkness before sunrise
Ready to return at first spark.
Pyre of winter,
Tamed by the frost and wind
Leaning on hearths for strength
Keeping vigil in the long night
Raging against dark and dusk and death
Yearning for what was lost in the fall
Waiting for the rebirth of spring
Sending up grey prayers to stars that bear your sign
Fire, you and I.
Born to stars of flame
Raging, roaring, writhing
At the whim of the wind
Waiting
For the spark.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:05 AM UTC
Burn.
Step onto the embers of my
Secret weaknesses and
Impersonate the
Sword of Michael.
This longing for Valhalla
Won't see me alive much
Longer.
*Take me to the nearest battle.
Let me die slaying a terrorist
Or intending ******
Or should I pray to gods of a more
Peaceful nature than
Odin?
Love and let live.
Nah, this is in my Norwegian
Bones.
I'll die wielding blade.
I'll die laughing, opened up and
Spilling.
I'll "not go gentle into that good
Night."
So burn.
Be bonfire to my innermost of
Darknesses.
There are shadows there that
Demand chasing.
Make me proud to be
Midgardian.
Burst into flames and remind me:
Sticks and stones are feathers.
Buddha and Baldr.
Enlightenment and love. Well,
I'd rather be a warrior in a church
Than a priest in a battle.
Odin's one good eye
Is mine.
The other weeps for the weak.
May they find
Comfort in the daylight,
While us
Others sharpen our
Weathered hearts
In the cold, uncertain night we
Belong to, like water to snow.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
Do not be misled
He was the first to act demented
The first mental patient
The first **********
Don't fall for the deception
He was the first two face
The first disgrace
a loveless being without heart
He was the first to be thoughtless
The first to show distaste
The first to fall apart
Do not impersonate the first selfish being
One without reason
With nothing to lose
Please don't opt to choose
to be his possession
please don't hesitate to learn this lesson
He was the first retardation
An abomination
Cursed for eternity without chance of redemption
Who do you want to reflect
The king of imperfect?
The first serial ******
An ancient killer
skilled at attack
A personality (after death) that will
never come back
Why would anyone want to be
someone like that?
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
When he speaks, I hear the sound,
a president who's been around
speaking of the wife with cankle
not that she could care to rankle
Yo, BT, he fights for freedom
Rocky would be pleased to meet him
late at night when lights are lunar
on the road back home, a crooner
fools rush in, no longer Bing
the king of rock, old Pop can sing
a whispered line from any song
but suddenly I'm in the wrong
and one tough stooge I hear he bought a
tommy gun, and "why I oughta"
tell you something you don't know
it's Ahnold Schwanal ** dee doe
and then another voice will join
it's Raymond with his tenderloin
this sailor's gal has quite a name
he cooks his spinach in the same
a wealthy man on distant isle
who's wife is Lovey, makes me smile
Every single voice he's got
is good but when he's best it's not
the person he'll impersonate
but his own voice...it's getting late
but wait, there's more, but I am spent
on telling of the way it went
or so it goes and what'll come
the truth is, well, I love the ***
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 12:48 PM UTC
#29 | 31 Poems for August
I need conversations filled with laughter followed by bursts of love after.
The last time I tried to recite this poem to you, I couldn’t get the words out.
I somehow couldn’t get the words right.
Slow-paced piano music gently echoes in the background.
The notes keep echoing while I try to patiently pen this down.
I am convinced, that the sun came out just to impersonate the warmth of your aura.
I’ve kept your fingerprints pressed between the pages of my favourite author’s book.
Somewhere between the prologue and chapter five.
Where the protagonist almost died but luckily stayed alive.
I wanted to become a poem, the day I realised that words could hold you, have you, touch you.
You are the stars that my night sky longs to hold.
You and I are meant to be.
Your love and laughter have liberated me.
I want to heal your wounds while carefully embracing your scars.
I know you feel broken, so let me kiss you where it hurts.
I’ll arrive to the other parts of your alluring anatomy, eventually.
Let me breathe life into you.
Let me prove to you that ecstasy is something we all need to go through.
Poetry rests on the curves of your lips, so how can I not love the meaningful things you always say?
My eyes will recite to you the poetry that is written on the pages of my heart.
I need conversations filled with laughter followed by bursts of love after.
To write about you is to keep your presence alive within the unseen parts of me.
You are the reason why my heart feels free.
Your love and laughter have liberated me.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
Sometimes I wonder why
I write and what the reason is
for breaks and lapses in words
and writing and why I would write
about an Elvis pumping his neon
with unleaded and myself
at the pump across the way
with my eyes fixed on this Elvis
a forty something burnout
with too many relapses
who returns my stare and says
in the most average Elvis voice
"How ya doin"
How am I doin
I think to myself
okay and think about why I write
and why I would impersonate
an impersonator in words
for my own consumption
or for the one person I will have
read this or entertainment
or just a way to get from eleven
to midnight to one in the morning
it seems my dreams
have taken over
my life
I sleep like a dolphin
with one eye open
Mar 11, 2011
Mar 11, 2011 at 7:37 AM UTC
exhilaration pumping through my arteries and shyness clouding up my mind.
my shy eyes and nervous smirks. you look at me and i look away.
i look away.
holding hands until the creases between our fingers sweat. you kiss the tips of my fingers.
sitting in the park at three in the morning and i could listen to your voice and watch your lips all night.
sing me to sleep. lay down your head. i run my fingers through your hair.
kissing. my body tingles. stomach whirls. head spins. i am floating.
and then i give myself to you. swallowing temptation. i cry. you understand.
you understand.
you say that you can see in my eyes, i am sad. always sad.
it's okay. he repeats.
i like you. he says. i'm sorry, i just like you. he repeats.
you accept me. i am dreaming, i am dreaming i am dreaming.
long walks along the canal and piggy back rides.
you impersonate the terminator. i sing the arctic monkeys.
meeting your family. my cheeks are red. i feel welcomed. still uncomfortable.
i am awkward. i am awkward. i am awkward.
traffic on the freeway. arizona sunset. i tickle your hands.
you drop me off. awkward kisses. sadness.
the feeling of knowing someone for a long period of time but not knowing someone at all.
i am laying in bed. i like you. i am frightened. you are my enough.
negative anticipation and i am swimming in my pool of fear.
please don't hurt me.
breathe me in.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
I want to hold her in my arms until she forgets what loneliness feels like.
I want to hold her like the lonely autumn trees hold the fragility of clinging leaves.
The traces of her lips on my skin reach deep inside my soul and transform a broken house into a home.
The weather hasn’t been the same ever since the sun decided to impersonate the warmth of her aura.
It doesn't matter which book I'm reading; her body is the scripture that my hands believe in.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC
#20 | 31 Poems for August
The stars urged me to write something about you.
The stars urged me to write a poem as beautiful as you.
I’ve got ink stains on my fingers and happiness overflowing in my heart.
I’ll have no need for poetry when embracing your body becomes my art.
The weather hasn’t been the same ever since the sun decided to impersonate the warmth of your aura.
Now I spend most of my time basking in the warmth of your presence.
I still cannot control nor explain loving you the way I do.
This love will carry us into the future no matter what we go through.
In a sky full of constellations, you’ll always be my favourite star.
It’s within your simplicity where I discovered how beautifully complex you are.
I’ve kept your fingerprints pressed between the pages of my favourite book.
Somewhere between the prologue and chapter five.
The day you re-introduced me to love my soul came alive.
The world is beautiful but it’s nothing without you.
It’s amazing how you love me the way you do.
In a sky full of constellations, you’ll always be my favourite star.
The pages of my heart are saturated with words describing how phenomenal you are.
I could write poetry forever with the inspiration our chemistry provides.
Young muse, these words have all been written for you.
Only you.
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
I am selfish!(At least I like to think I am so)
I'm sick and tired of caring about "them".
What might "they" think? How will "they" feel?
What will "they" do? What about "them"?
Well, to hell with them!
Have I not always cared? Every single minute of every single day,
I've cared, thought, wondered and pondered about "them".
I've tipped and toed around my way,
making sure NOT to fall into their bad side.
I made sure they were happy, that they were satisfied.
I tried not to make them angry. I always justified,
their judgments and their verdicts of me.
I kept colouring the pictures they drew of me.
But I don't want to impersonate anymore.
I don't want to live a lie.
I will not give up my freedom and happiness,
to satisfy a lot who do not concern me in any way.
If you think I'm too fast, too easy, too open or just plain evil,
simply keep away from me cause you cannot ever change me.
You will not emotionally hypnotize me again,
for now I have fully gained my rights to "live"!
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 5:40 AM UTC
Where did you go my queen,
Sun eluded,darkness hued the sky,
Clouds amalgamated and the sounds emerged,
Thunder tingling the mother earth,
Where did you go,you two little foot with your graceful fingers and celestial hands,
Wandering in the cosmos of obliviousness,
My mind envisaging your pastiche presence,
I see ur smile drifting on the rays of the imbued rainbow:
When the mellows of the zephyr that carried the voice of your breathe that breezed in to my breathe,
The ecstasy of tears cracked through the clustered clouds,
My hair winding as the zephyr roving through synecdoche strands...
My palm is under the influence of the dripping water,
and my eyes caught you floating, like the foliage leaf,
The ellipsoidal life carried your simulacrum,
I asked the drops of globular life that where did she impersonate you,
She limned with the bubbles that spoke chirpily:
"I saw her While I was in jaunt trip with the chariot clouds and lilting thunder,
she was strolling in the frolic fields fuddled with wallowing winds....
Her long hirsuite was in harmony with the zephyr,
As the brother zephyr was billowing in to her hair...".
I don't know where the place is,even my mind tends to imagine it,,
but I feel I too could fuse with you in the midst of that perpetual bliss,
I am waiting for you as my body transferring heat to the dripping life,
Didn't u hear those imbued silences that yelled your name...
Where did u go you plenary pulchritude,It is from you that I read what undulations are.....
If you don't come,I will...when I do...you wouldn't...
We will melt as one to the one....
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Passive-aggressive men
and women
poorly impersonate docility
while suppressing frustration and
resentment, annoyance
with each other for whatever
inconsequential reason.
You are even annoyed with me,
almost certainly
without good reason,
but you bear a reluctant smile.
Hiding your motives in the hopes
that I will unknowingly
submit to your will.
I was once just as guilty as you,
for I may have given you my
sweet, well-rehearsed smile
while I was actually
thinking of
digging your grave for you.
But now I will speak candidly.
Do not judge me
for I am merely speaking my mind.
Or rather, judge me if you wish,
it matters not to me;
I don’t give a ****
And do not mistake my grimace
at your counterfeit smile
for anger
or condescension
or contempt.
I merely tire of your antics.
Mar 7, 2011
Mar 7, 2011 at 2:51 PM UTC
It was an average day in May
I think that’s right, I hope that’s right.
For it was an important day, that day.
The sun beat down on my wearied shoulders
As I made the repetitive journey
Up and down that sloping hill
The one that we would later come to stumble up together
Do you remember that?
The mud clad ascent
‘Rock climbing’ by the river
Bent double in hysterics,
Hysteria that is now past recollection
How easy I am for you to draw in
when you laugh
Like that time I couldn’t contain myself
and snorted as a pig does when it finds itself excited
How I feared your reaction!
My innermost psyche cowering from you until I could not hide it anymore.
You thought I was frightened by the alien world of the cinema screen.
The next time that I feared for us was in your room.
How I adored and envied your
nerve as you kissed me
surrounded by all of your childhood dreams and fantasies
seconds away from a definite exclusion
I was yours and that was enough
I yearned, longed, wished for time to stand still, unmoving
As we whirled around among the gentle shards of grass
as it grazed our harmonious ankles.
Clasping each other, in that first summer,
young hearts
nervous of the power of this new emotion,
emotions.
Coursing through our arteries, catching on our breath,
seeping through our skin.
I guess this explains our hesitation at my house the first time that you stayed over.
Feelings I first discovered in that first month,
May 2012.
I was weak to your simple philosophy for life
Your extraordinary ability to shed new light
on every subject that passed our lips.
You unpeeled my exterior layer
Like an orange.
My core, penetrated only once before,
negative, unforgiving. Now harder than ever.
With complete and utter happiness
I let the walls fall down.
And now, how warm the coldest of nights are.
I would bare any amount of the cold to be besides you.
Even when I drool on your chest and you don’t mind.
The laughter that explodes when you impersonate people
Or say ‘boom’ in a funny context.
To feel the alluring taste of your breath on my neck
As you smile and tell me you that you love me.
Such simply things.
"How my stomach floods with waves of nostalgia and a taste
of everything that we have had to live without."
But I can wait.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
I wonder what it'd be like having to be darkness's son,
What if I was really the devil himself and what if I had a double?
Terrorizing the subjects of darkness all the time I'd relish,
Ignoring the other ladies I come to your heaven for some peace.
Tired I'm if of all this devilry and feel exhausted so I need rest,
My double will then impersonate me playing my role where I can't.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
Nothing happens and as long as I'm sedated nothing can go about it's way blissfully
I can't stand to live another day across from you
But you know where I am if you need a place to stay
I've mistaken my killer for my twin before
And the aftermath is me left alone to answer:
What else have I got to lose?
Dart your eyes to the floor and keep them
there when you see me passing.
I don't bask in your fear, don't misunderstand me, I want the best for you that much has never changed
nor will it ever
You just owe me as much to carry the burden of knowing me beyond skindeep head on lap fingers claw thru my hair cancelling out the noise nextroom and lets me think I could sleep if I wanted to,
Who'd you think you are to tell others I was never grateful?
My grace is all I've had for a while and that's what's been the matter
With or without you there to add and take away from me in that state
or parading as some other,
We both did it it's only human infact when we stopped imitating it was only right for us to fall apart
You take my silence as anger and consider yourself victorious
Baby I know you as well as you know me
We'd still be best of friends if you'd kept your shoes on,we both know that; but how can you expect forgiveness and for me to be thankful for you
Saying you forgive me
I'd be less stunned if you slapped me baby
I figured you out long before we gave up speaking then became you in your absence just to impersonate your company
Is that not a white flag being swayed by a dying captain?
Shame shame shame cast for all nearby spirits to observe and laugh at
if they so pleased
I bite my teeth and stomp my feet but nothing ever changes
Feb 23, 2024
Feb 23, 2024 at 10:03 PM UTC
He shock the world.
When he shook his hips.
Have various people giving an opinion of him.
He shock the world.
When he curled his lips.
Soon there was many impersonating him.
Or least inspired by him.
The poor Mississippi boy that became a star.
Who serve his country?
And truly loved his mom.
Who had a manager called Colonel?
Who wasn't one at all?
We saw southerners and others saying he was ruining our youth.
But some probably thought this about Sinatra's too.
He did a few good movies.
And a few bad ones too.
Plus, he also shook here and there in those movies too.
Now, when people reflect back they states his greatness.
Plus, he still have many trying to impersonate him.
I just know he shock the world.
When he shook his hips.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
If you evade me,
I will not enlighten you.
If you are oblivious of me,
I will not make obvious myself,
If you don't love me,
I will not seek love from you,
I you don't like me to pursue you,
I will not pursue you,
I will do whatever you intend,
Lest my resistance will hurt you,
If it distresses you,then it will distress me,
I impersonate your volition,
and I am your mother,
As an air and space I include you,
As a water you quench by including me,
As a land,I am your body,
If you cry,I cry...
If you are in distress,so will I be,
If you are blissful,so will I be,
and where by your intentions my existence around you emanates,
And I am always with you not as a thought nor physical presence,
but as an air,as a land,as a water,as a fire and as a space....
Always in contact because you are a product of my 5 elements,
And I have a memory,the memories are your intentions,
Every element that exists in and out,
transfigures with your volition,
So,if your intentions are pure,pristine,
Then you shall master my five elements,
If you seek me,then I will reveal myself....
Your seeking has to be super-intense that you could be receptive to the truth,
When I reveal myself,you will dissolve in me,
Into the eternal maternal muse....
Where bliss never cease to exist....
And then there are no intentions but unruffled reverberations.....
Seek me unto "that which is not"
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
cosmetic, are the ways we decide
to be or not to be:
excuse that;
falsehood is realty, sales are all we seek.
democratic, economic senses
falsely impersonate with store bought ****
lifted faces
money is enough when selling or buying
push it to get the best deal
it 's common sense
I see traces though, of
humility, when looking at faces.
Can't seem to play the game?
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC