"impersonator" poems
Their mouth NEVER ******* seems to shut up & just stop
& **** snitches don't hesitate to quickly name drop
Twisting everything they'll hear
Creating lies & rumors like it is their career!
SO WATCH YOUR BACK, they are only a pretend friend
They're scary & **** identical when they're an impersonator
Nice & kind so they seem, turn away they'll be a backstabbing hater
NOBODY has time for all that ridiculous nonsense
Just attention seekers, without their usually faithful but now gone audience
Desperately trying to remain in the center of attention, cleary blind to the EXTREME obvious!
You never really deserved to ever be forgiven
I'm done wasting my time & voice on someone who will NEVER listen
Ohhh yah a FYI, a friendship isn't a competition
But more like a dynamic duo always down for a random mission!
Oh well, no coming back now I'm not changing my decision!
Deuces!
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
intelligent Iggy iguana is impossible,
ignorant, ill, if it is in.
impersonator Igel is into infinitive items
I illustrate intros
Iberia is interesting in ice
I'm Impeccable!
Apr 16, 2010
Apr 16, 2010 at 6:22 PM UTC
Porcelain skin,
and emerald eyes.
Long black hair
Filled with silken lies.
Those eyes, those eyes
They hypnotize.
Her love is an illusion.
I'm trapped in her delusion.
Caught in her snare,
I gasp for breathe.
Her love beyond compare,
But her words lack depth.
Those eyes, those eyes
They hypnotize.
Her love is an illusion.
I'm trapped in her delusion.
World-class impersonator
with a movie star smile.
I've lost my mind,
abandon sanity for a while.
Those eyes, those eyes
They hypnotize.
Her love is an illusion.
I'm trapped in her delusion.
Lost at sea,
drowning in her ocean.
Strangled by hypocrisy,
But revived by her emotion.
Those eyes, those eyes
They hypnotize.
Her love is an illusion.
I'm trapped in her delusion.
Toying with her puppet,
I, the willing victim.
A sacrificial lamb
To her ever changing whims.
Those eyes, those eyes
They hypnotize.
Her love is an illusion.
I'm trapped in her delusion.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 8:45 PM UTC
In my sister’s shoes, I sit here talking
Waiting for the moment she’ll walk in balking
I’m no impersonator, no, no ventriloquist
I don’t pretend to be so
I won’t pretend to be so
I feel more like an actor thrown on stage
Without a script
I lost my ID card somewhere around here
I think someone ran off with it
Stealing identities
My friends keep calling me by the wrong name now
No matter how I try
My corrections are taped over with permanence
I wonder when they’ll realize
It takes people a while you know
They discriminate what they shouldn’t
Choosing words they like over words they don’t
I hear love
Well I said hate
How hard is it to understand?
Clearly written out to comprehend
Just listen for once, no, no
Not ‘your’ definition of listen
The real one
Maybe then you’ll see
But probably not
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
It has been brought to my attention by Elvis fans,
not to mention a slew of phone calls from irate Elvis impersonators
that my last poem was very insensitive.
For that I would like to apologize.
I would also like to set your minds at ease and inform you
that in no way were any corpses harmed in the writing of...
"Are You Lonesome Tonight" (AKA Digging On Elvis)
Although Elvis didn't hold up so well
on the trip back to Graceland...
As luck would have it though Walmart
was having a special on large trash bags.
Two for one! And the environmentally friendly ones too!
We all know how hard it is to find those on sale!
Now where was I...
Oh Yea!
So we were able to get every last piece of Elvis
safely back to his final resting place.
Once again let me apologize for any harm I've caused
the hundreds, no let's make that thousands...millions
of Elvis fans and Elvis wannabes.
Sincerely yours and a fan myself,
Mike
P.S. I'm also somewhat of an Elvis impersonator:
Pass me one of them there jelly doughnuts will ya...
Pretty good uh?
Maybe you have to be there...
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
I live vicariously
through anonymity.
The convex mirror
LCD flat-screen
deflates apprehension and
balloons confidence
I jump feet first
through the looking
glass slipper; which
will turn to pumpkin
just before dawn.
I am not Cinderella.
I am just another
Guy Fawkes impersonator
with “V” tattooed
on my heart-strings.
Just another harbinger
like the Plutonian bird
perched upon a pallid bust
sent to whisper:
“nevermore”
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 9:34 PM 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
I can see it in your eyes
they speak of you
They glisten bright in the dark
and you shadow speak the loudest
to eyes of many you are a heroine
in my view you are a loser
But what happens when we fall in love
caress and make love
Yet you extort yourself
you seem gentle like a dove
but a cheap stripper you are
Words spread like wild fire
all you claim am a liar
but truth always tear heart into pieces
-
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
Was Jesus an impersonator
Or the original son of the creator
Did he steal ones name
Then get all the credit and fame
Lying about
Hanging about
Lazily wandering about
The non factual stuff he was saying
No wonder we still have heaps of doubt
Maybe, he could tell a great bedtime story
If so, did he copyright it all
And will he sue for defamation
Or was he just like the rest
Just after all the worlds glory
While I inside hiding
The real source of his information
All things come and go
Like World Leaders, Empires
Big Bang Theories & Co
He went on trial, then got lucky
Had groupies follow him
Hundreds of miles, along the Nile
Do you think
He will bother to give us a call
Before he comes back down
To judge us all
Gee time flies
When you believe in yourself
Hope I'm still here, if he returns
To at least defend myself
Jesus Christ, Oh my God
God just spoke to me
Looks like, I'm the chosen one
He said, get ready
Then, wait for his text
For I'm up next
For has anyone ever bothered
To do a family tree search
If you did, you would know that dad
Had more than just the one son
We have the same DNA as mum
But dad emptied his spirit
Into, not just the one ****** bowl
So next time you hear
The almighty word from ones mouth
Listen carefully from deep inside
Ones very own memory soul
Remember your parents advice
When you were a young youth
Because all creatures born on earth
Instantly know the meaning of ones life details
So don't ever think
You are the chosen black sheep
In your family’s fairytales
Live your life, fly like a bird
Just be Happy and Free
And be one with your creator.
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 12:09 AM UTC
I suppose for now this is how i will write to you,
to say the things i wish you were face to face to hear,
to list just what i loved about you,
and to be done with this once and for all.
I will admit I was out of my league.
So delicate was every word that passed through your lips,
so fragile was your inexperienced body.
A world of stars and memories, of laughing and crying,
collapses inward.
I will admit this is embarrassing.
I've contended with myself to forget your blue eyes,
To not sneak around the parking lot of your hotel,
If only each Chevy Malibu that caught my eye
were carrying you back to me.
I will admit I am sometimes jealous.
To see you with someone who cant love you like I do,
Why does such a shabby impersonator get to hold your hand,
When true authentic love is only finger lengths away.
******* the day I let you drive off with my heart.
I will admit sometimes I am scared.
What if I never find someone who understands me like you did?
What if you never understood me at all?
Does our love end up like those in the movies?
Destined to reunite after a life of lessons, or not at all.
I will admit sometimes I don't understand you.
Someone filled with such potential, squandering life away
Behind a desk unhappily, waiting for an answer that never comes.
If only I could save you from the tyrannous claws of indecisiveness.
If only you would give me a real chance.
I will admit I was overbearing.
Using any chance I could get I traded action for words,
Clawing at any chance I had to keep you in my nest.
I wasn't as ready as I thought, I wasn't as confident as I thought,
I was small.
I must admit I hold regret.
we have become reluctant friends,
life happens and there is never a chance to go in reverse.
Everything is for learning,
Everything is made to let go.
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 3:42 PM UTC
*you, many-tongued mimic
impersonator, ventriloquist
mockingbird of loud repute
whose repertoire amazes
pied-pipering attraction
that hooks even mutants:
mockingjay or jabberjay
fictive or literal pursuit
hospital smock would suit;
in its vile end, we pretend
for one moment, to comprehend
in a twinkling, a final spark
our earthly existence, spend*
●○
°
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 8:49 PM UTC
nothing is any good
you know
unless you
share it
so Tom has brought back the bar:
the Elvis impersonator
who almost
played las vegas,
the hair dresser
come future race
car driver,
a sufi
and a seer.
the seer
tells me she hit a cat
the cat was still alive
so she ran it over
again and again,
"and that's when god
talked to me."
"was that before or after
you ran over the cat
the second time?"
i asked.
"She talks to me every day,"
the angry divorced seer
tells me.
is god talking, now?
now, elvis
joins in,
"what if camus and nietche
met. what would they think
about the cat?"
"nah, who cares,"
the race car driver-
hair dresser,
says, snorts another line,
"what if they
started
a rock
and roll
band."
the Sufi wonders,
"who would play
what?"
"nietche on drums!" tom interjects
with a smile.
"yes,
and camus,
a gibson semi hollow."
"vocals???"
"god!" exclaims the seer.
"right on," i say, everyone smiles
and the seer is looking better and better
after every beer.
sometimes the dead
travel the road
to nowhere
with a smile
and i've got to get
up at 7a.m.
i'm a college
educated
toy store clerk
it's closing time at the circus
Apr 17, 2023
Apr 17, 2023 at 3:56 PM UTC
~
minutes tick away the hours leading to long days and years
and she grows older without a father as witness
no strong hands to help her up or
ever to push her on a merry-go-round
instead they hold my head as I try to push you out again
a five year old babe on a swing in a park in the sun
moment of memory that I wonder if we share
miniature impersonator of my father and myself
a daughter with sandy highlights plays in my mind’s eye
twice I chose to walk away
and leave you to the world’s device
once as a newborn when ****** ruled my days
and again just after your sixth year
six months until you turn eighteen
a date in the middle of August as important to me
as any moon landing or planned invasion
when I will give you the chance to decide
if my extended hand could ever fill
the roll of your father /
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
The 14th day of the month
Gold exquisite birth
Worth $ * % ++ =
A ton of Gold & $$$
See you in September
He's 24 karat gold I phone
(Bee sting gold weight
all new)
- - - - - - - - -
My 14 karat gold toilet
Such a rarity very few
only wants to flush you
Just hush the crush go posh
to lush hell get ya gush
Around the mulberry bush
A dasher, not the slasher
Shabby chic selling her
goods of trash to the
pusher
She lights up like the
refrigerator he's the
"Jumping Jack Flash"
Rolling Stones
Brown sugar turned
14 karat gold
* * * * * *
Gold turned to sugar
Raw
Drinking her lips
Screwdriver
Overly Folger the dirt
warm brown dew
Change me to gold new
Beyond any redeemable
Hope inside gold-finger
folder
The Grecian Islands robe
The thousand island
of dressings
Seance 14 karat globe
confessing
14 karat shined on
She schemed him on
She tied him in like
rope
All the judgment days
Just one day bring on
hope
Honesty is the best
rivalry her gold you will
get linked to her sanity
How there pledging went out
But she saw something of
purity
- - - - - - - -
Too much gold on her door
Let's be "Planet Clean"
so repugnant
Hands coming out like
green mutants
Mother in gold monster
Wicked spray repellant
So gallant goldwork
Scrollwork fine lines
Show and tell me
All his crimes
"Impersonator"
You just love to
hate her $
honey, I will
see u later
She always flushes her
loves down
the toilet
All Gold Mr. Bond
4 your eye - - only
14 karat
She's the Sire
of magnet's
She sticks like
Orange petal
blossom huh?
Oh! honey this is about
Gold duh he
doesn't orange me
But she will never
Bee plain honey 10 times your $ $ $
as you see
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
My mother said not to talk to strangers.
So I stopped looking in the mirror
and tried to forget the counterfeit face,
the echoed voice of the impersonator.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 4:35 PM UTC
got what he wanted at my expense.
Said crack fast talking
hacker and scammer
pulled figurative wool over my eyes
going incognito and speaking a clipped
English mien his disguise.
He appeared (rather sounded) genuine
after yours truly experienced computer snafu
(the Macbook Pro essentially hogtied
courtesy virus that disabled any activity)
even turning the laptop off then on
only wrought frustration to boot.
An out of state Apple computer
technical support person impersonator
(imposter invariably linkedin
to aforementioned fraudster -
most likely brother in arms)
answered telephone number
provided on the screen.
Admonitions against sharing details
about case in point, whereby cyberpunk
donned many hats to convince me
serious computer virus,
malware, trojan horse, et cetera
counterbalanced with voice on other end
affecting sedulousness to "listen carefully"
and carry forth the following commands.
Yours truly trustingly,
passively, meekly, et cetera
(though feeling jittery)
carried out the repeated instructions,
which charlatan inveighed against
speaking softly (in retrospect,
I ought to have carried a big stick),
indicating (as if held at gunpoint)
to headout off to the Trappe branch
of Citizens Banks and withdraw cash
all the while recording verbal dialogue
with small, medium at large criminal
(the scam artist(s) in question).
Upon retrieving legal tender
(quite a *** thee next entrapment
entailed driving to closest ATM machine,
an MP gas station/convenience store
in Collegeville to convert
high denomination bills
(a considerable number
of money crisp Benjamins)
into bitcoin cryptocurrency
then hightailing back to where I live,
an assisted living facility
named Highland Manor.
Finally, the schmegegge script
(incorporating ejaculations that
questionable hacker convinced me
to swallow hook, line and sinker)
alluded to strong likelihood
scam artist lurked in close proximity
to above named banking institution,
which divine comedy bumbling
Ace of spades, an inept card shark
anagram name Meg Found
left as crypto clue told.
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 1:09 PM UTC
She put on a lilac ‘rinse’
And left it for only 10 mins
It went a deep shade of violet
She wished she hadn’t tried it
So she attempted to wash it out
But it was stuck fast there was no doubt
Then it faded to all colours of the spectrum
Now it’s green and matches her plectrum
It wasn’t her intention to have green hair
She wishes she’d resisted the urge
To dye it and make a right flaming mess
Now it seems in her head someone’s purged
So every day she scrubs and scrubs
With all manner of paint strippers
But the green in her barnet
just won’t budge
So she’s stuck with this colour it figures
Trying to match her clothes with her hair
Is proving quite a task
There’s only so much teal in her closet
And she’s bored with the situation though it lasts
Sick of the sight
When she looks in the mirror
She feels like shaving it all off
Grotbags would be thrilled
That she had an impersonator
Oh if only this girl could laugh
But it’s no laughing matter
When your hair’s in tatters
And no amount of effort sorts it out
All she wants to do
Is vanquish this colour
But she can’t and it’s stressing her out!
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC