"imposters" poems
I'm always thinking of you,
For all the imposters I say shoo.
You always know what I need.
To be with you I plead.
With blueberries, or syrup,
I always cheer up.
Waffles are my weakness.
Each and every one is full of uniqueness.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
Church
A place we call sacred
Though it is far from holy
Plagued by the lying,
Fake, judgmental, deceptive, wannabe,
Overly religious, ignorant, bigot, crazy,
Hypocritical curse upon society known
As Christian
A place said to be filled with love
So sadly love is not the first thing seen
Rather, we feel the ever-watching eye
Looking down because our clothes don’t
Seem as clean, our shoes are not free
From dust, our scars, they bring disgust
But not all who walk these golden
Streets of Christianity bring hate
Some do not raise their head so high
These few who know love
This minority who is actually true
They are the church
Even though these phony haters
Infiltrate the lovers’ ranks
They are not Christian
They are not the church
They’re nothing but arrogant imposters
And close-minded fools
A tree must bear fruit to be a fruit tree
Likewise a Christian must bring forth
Faith and hope and love
They must bear their fruit
Otherwise these Christians
Are not so Christian after all
So remember, the church is this group of
People who love, not the building
Filled who those who destruct
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
I've doubted my happiness,
Long awaiting for my newer sins,
Til morning light,
I rewrite all my stories and compete with my ends,
Dont have no time for no imposters,
For the threats they will send,
Keep em coming my way,
Cause I'm on the rise,
You dont have to pretend,
I'm all alone on the throne of diamond valley,
You could get ******
Do crystal ****
Turn our skin into crystals,
And pretend to be clones.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 8:44 PM UTC
I look at You
and I succumb,
I surrender:
all that I am
to all that is You
Sleep-walking, dream-gawking --
The daemons of centuries
sprawl out the hairs on their legs,
crawl into our skulls
through ears that hear
and bob their lobes
to the twang of sinew
threading together
the tongues of banshees
howling at the moon:
Leeches and ticks
crawl up our spine
when night mares gallop
through the swamp of maggots
crawling in the rye.
Eight and eight
still make one
when the knots are untied
and the gut is done:
All the unknowns,
the variable gales,
the possible parallels
and the impossible
imposters, two:
Fuel to the face of these fears
I look at You
and I succumb.
I surrender
to the daemons of centuries,
let them wash over in hues . . .
And I hold on,
because letting go,
this time,
is far more dangerous
than loving You
Is it not the death of eye
meeting death to eye
that ushers
Sacred offspring
out of the light
into the glowing arms of the womb?
Sleep-walking, dream-gawking --
I look at You
and I succumb.
I surrender:
all that I am
to all that is You
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
he
for whom
abstinence
or indulgence
merely imposters
ever equanimous
untouched by cosmic maya
bearing that crescent on his crown
steeped in the bliss of pure awareness
primal soul with no beginning or end
© 2019
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 1:36 PM UTC
true love is not a declaration
it is a demonstration
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down!
There are traitors in this town!
There are traitors in this town!
Shoot every tenth man down!
I am the law, I hold the crown.
And those, who oppose the crown,
Shall be put down, to the ground.
Put down, to the cold, cold ground.
Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down!
There are traitors in this town!
There are traitors in this town!
Corpses don’t even make us frown!
By the grace of God I rule
In this world cold and cruel
Death is but a fancy tool
To crush the idea of a fool
Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down!
There are traitors in this town!
There are traitors in this town!
Death is walking somewhere around.
The idea of freedom visited your mind.
Perhaps a safe-heaven in it it did find?
But be wary still, I am far from blind
And to the traitors, I am far from kind.
Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down!
There are traitors in this town!
There are traitors in this town!
That is how you obey the crown.
Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down!
There are traitors in this town!
There are traitors in this town!
He is king, you are but a clown.
So he spoke, and so he spoke,
It almost seemed like a bad joke:
Each side is clinging to his truth -
Eye to eye, tooth for a tooth.
Now we may say “conclusion” -
Trying hard to avoid confusion,
Each lives in his own illusion,
Trying to prove this poor delusion.
Cha. Cha!
This is the law…
Of the gods and monsters,
We are just failed imposters.
Human life is precious.
But it might infectious.
Thusss...
Line ‘em up. Shoot ‘em down!
There are traitors in this town!
There are traitors in this town!
He is king, & you are but a clown!
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 3:43 PM UTC
Loosen the noose, I'm ready to live
Unlock these chains I once begged you for
Collapse the walls I've had you build
Release the animal, it's tired of hiding
I'm ready to run
Headlong into the shadows
Away from the other one
I'll devour all I've withheld from
My crumbling spirit has decayed
Replaced by something raw
A ripened, dripping rage
And blood I will draw
Ready to show this true nature of mine
The dominant monster
A shiver up every spine
A nightmare unfostered
Beneath my heel you'll find
The weakest imposters
A vision of blackest beauty
I am everlasting insanity
Every demand followed
Every heart hollowed
Ecstatically
I'll make you crawl
I'll pull you down
You'll heed my call
I'll watch you drown
Well beyond the depths
And through our cores
I'll go to hell
Unlock all doors
Gather an army
Of oaths unsworn
My will unleashed
A chaotic force
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:29 PM UTC
there's said to be some merit in me
and there's something to be said about mine
but please never let it be taught
and please never have it headlined
that I've ever done any of this
but with measured and deliberate thought
or time consuming and considered design
none of this comes easy
little of this goes smooth
we all think ourselves imposters
but some of us have pushed through
so whatever doubts you're having
however steep the climb
take the chances that you're offered
and give yourself some time.
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 1:07 PM UTC
he imagines
he has carpal tunnel
from channel surfing;
reruns,
his greatest
weapon against
insomnia
the ficus, the
philodendron
she left
(with half
the wedding
china)
are taking
an eternity
to die
a fortnight
without a teaspoon
of water would
wilt the most
hardy specimens
of their kingdom
perhaps she
bequeathed him
cacti in
disguise
he asks
if they are
what they
appear to be:
leafy indoor
greenery
or prickly
survivors
that grow
only where
all things
are venomous
or have thorns
they swear
they are not
botanical
imposters
liars
he turns up
the volume
on his flat screen
to drown out
the mendacity
of flora
the fauna,
after all,
were not
to be trusted
either
Apr 11, 2017
Apr 11, 2017 at 11:29 PM UTC
Those insidious beasts
Surreptitiously winding their tendrils
Through every orifice and vacuum,
Through every artery and vein,
Through every thought and word,
Till those two imposters
Guilt and shame
Are so embedded
One knows not where one begins
And the other ends
Aug 27, 2023
Aug 27, 2023 at 4:35 AM UTC
I would have moved mountains.
I would have drowned my light in your motionless fountains.
Burned alive your imposters.
And sacrificed angels for your dark twisted monsters.
But you made me believe
that the monster was me.
So I had to let go,
just to let the Beast free..
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 6:44 PM UTC
Most persons who are ageable
- aren't even adults
They are just grown children
Who have learnt fancier words
more serious sounding expressions
And
new
ways
of
secret
tantrums.
Those imposters. Caught ya.
Spider one. Grownchildren zero.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
There are days I dream and feel like an imposter
until I remember we’re all imposters living in unrealized dreams.
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 2:21 PM UTC
Here’s what is, what once was, and what will be.
I am what ‘held up’.
I am autumn tree after the fall of its last leaf,
I am volcanic ash dusted over the ruins of a city.
It may not look it, but I will once again breathe evident life,
For the best part of me is still here, I did not die.
I am the parts of me that survived tragedy,
Murdered the imposters,
Cut out the tumor.
Let me bleed.
Reasoning stretched to boundary,
And as gaping tears rip into being, you see me.
War-torn as ever,
I do not eat, I do not sleep.
Oh! But how I dream!
Dreaming of all the dreams indebted to me by Reality.
But in the blinding light of a child run free,
I didn’t realize my speed.
All the best parts of me,
Born of the fight to conquer what got thrown at me,
Now lie in the suffocating dirt of this cemetery.
Try as I might to resist what is, my washed eyes burn thinking of what once was,
For I know –this is all that will ever be.
The light I had,
Choked out,
Extinguished by the grave.
I always thought I’d live to dream another day.
What a fool I was,
“The best part of me is still here, thus I cannot die.”
Now I recall the years I neglected food and I neglected sleep.
Though I kick and cry, as I am dragged into this permanent sleep,
I know, this is repayment for a life deprived.
Now I know,
If you do not sleep, you cannot dream.
Here lies “the best part of me”,
Asleep in this coffin, it too did die.
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 12:11 PM UTC
Point of No Return
all in or all out
make a decision
is this what you want
or only
what you thought you wanted
it looked so shinny from over there
but now, up close
there appears to be tarnish
funny how that works out
all too often
they were the cool boys
or so I thought
they snapped their fingers
to the tunes of the blues
but now
they appear rather ugly
hypocritical
the music no longer has melody
too many sharps
too many flats
did I fall asleep
and awaken
back in high school?
They were wolves
in sheep clothing
not what they pretended to be
not friends
imposters
narrow minded
imposters
all in or all out
the point of no return
Gomer LePoet...
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
she searched for him in crowded cafes,
a man who would love her for the rest of her days.
he would be a poet, honest and wise.
she thought that she had found him, behind sad
brown eyes, but all of this guys, poetry and promises,
they were nothing but awful lies...,
she went through hell, searching for him.
so many imposters standing in the way,
they told her that she was the one, but none,
had seemed to stay. and when she finally found
him. she was sure that he would leave.
and when he told her that he loved her,
she did not believe,
at first. she didn't think that they would stay
together, she was so sure that he would find
someone to replace her, someone that he liked
much better,
because she was always second best.
because nothing ever lasts forever...
but summer turned to fall, and he broke down all her walls.
he wasn't a poet, but he was brave and beautiful.
his big brown eyes they weren't sad at all.., they gleamed
like moon beams. they were the two most beautiful eyes that
she had ever saw...
and those eyes put the light back in hers,
he never filled them with sorrow, he helped her grow.
he didn't weigh her down with negativity, you see, he loved her
and he always let her know
finally finding a heart to call home,
she would no longer suffer,
because she didn;t just find him,
the two had found one another.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
When you write about monsters,
everyone expects you to be insane.
When you write about imposters,
they expect the very same.
Radical, non-conformist.
Your opinions, I’m sad to say.
Won’t sorely be missed,
as over the years you begin to decay.
But being who you are,
you don’t care what they think.
You’ll write about the monsters from afar,
but beware, they’re closer than you think.
I’ll write about my monsters,
if only to expel them from my mind.
Yes, I’ll write about the monsters,
in the hopes that I’ll leave them behind.
Nothing more than words on paper.
Graphite and ink as their only substance.
Ghosts exorcised as haunting vapor.
No more nightmares in abundance.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
As I slept,
I dreamed I was falling,
Violently hurdling towards the earth,
Increasing...
Increasing...
My back deployed,
I started to decrease from falling, and was beginning to glide.
I glided into a forest,
Filled with the most wonderful,
Fruits
Vegetables
Trees
Animals speaking in tongues
I then was confronted by a man in a woven cloth,
He stabbed me in the collar bone in a most benevolent way!
He smeared my blood on my forehead and condemned me
to feel the pain of his ancestors
for my kind had made him suffer
I promised to him that I would take everything all of it,
I would give it back to his people one day,
We wept under the tree's
He spoke to me,
Told me that I was the true white buffalo,
and that the others were just imposters,
that gave a bad name to the term,
I looked all around me,
At this point in time knew that the fruit was not for me and my people,
That its roots and stalks were on the same soil that the natives were buried under!
We are not supposed to be here!
I will leave when I have my chance.
and now I weep for every passing plant and tree every spirit of the earth that has faced our destruction.
Genocide
Destruction
Inhabiting
Manifesting
Corrupting
Lifelessly moving along the horizon in search of nothing but finding.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 8:32 AM UTC
I felt you, Hemingway
Ghost lit in pale blood electric lights
On the downslope of the Holy Spirit's introspective nightmare
Cacophony in the bathroom stall, savages at war in the gutter
Kings in their drug fueled conquest of modern man's spatial reasoning
Angry cyclops guards the gate to the Fourth ***** Garden of Eden
The learned alcoholic in wino wonderland bursting at the seams for a halogen fix
Cultist camoflaged in black leather combat boots spiked iron altercation
Public domain genocide for the demure nihlist lower class
Never give those ******* the satisfaction
I felt you in Rapture, like lilac swastikas dripping melted candle wax down my frail spine
Blunt force trauma tinged lunacy for the jet engine martyrs, screaming at the empty spaces
For the imposters stigmatized by yellow journalist hype men
And the psychos just along for the ride
Be shameless in your insanity,
Be reckless in your love
Live forever to spite the mad god that molded your angry heart
And **** the sun with your empathy
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
gulping down the agony
your irises shift like your schizophrenic sister
at the annual Christmas party
alone in a corner
whispering family drama
to air shaped like a person.
you ****** your head forward
like the motion would rattle loose
the thoughts that are stapled inside.
you breathe out in relief
when you find they’re gone
and the only person
you ever have to trust again
is yourself.
sigh out the real truth
you don’t trust yourself
as far as you can throw yourself
and you crash landed into rock bottom.
sometimes you wish you were like your sister
the only friends she needed were in her head
but you can’t get anyone to stay longer than a few months
you think the problem was choosing the wrong people
you just attract the bad ones
but you’re probably the monster
you just can’t see it
who can blame you
you wonder if your sister knows she’s crazy
because in her world she’s probably
the sanest one there
you wonder if she’ll let you visit
book an express ticket to straightjacket town
meet the friends she’s imagined
but feel more real than any friend you’ve ever had.
you realize that she might have to swallow
tic tac imposters on a daily basis
to keep the world inside her
not outside of her
but at least she doesn’t have to be this
lonely.
there are no friends in your head.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 4:35 PM UTC
Appreciate the simple gift of inspiration
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Appreciate the simple gift of inspiration
Perhaps it may take a while to wake up
Perhaps you may never sleep and dream
Relaxation’s funny thing.You can or you can’t
Ever mounting stressful situations blight a day
Coming to hauntingly appear all thru the night
I try to memorise a favourite poem by heart
Appreciate the simple gift of inspiration then
The rhythms of that favourite will give tempo.
Eventually the tempo will give the inspiration
Tempos will give you the medleys in your head.
Head becomes a power housing for the brain
Establish then that white light in the centre
So relax into a meditative state of mind.
I appreciate the simple gift of inspiration
Meditation holds the key it links you with all
Poets of the bygone ages that you’ve read.
Like a spark of genius , you’ve come alive
Eventually you may write fifty lines of poetry
God given inspired poetry and it rhymes
In the space of a few minutes a masterpiece
Fortunately the simple gift of inspiration is free
The freedom that you hold is a key to the city
On certain good days it is the key to Xanadu.
For do you remember the dome of Kubla Khan
In Seventeen ninety seven the poet Coleridge
Noting his poem from a drug induced dream
Simply wrote this epic poem. But lost half a
Poem when a person from Porlock knocked
And interrupted the genius and he forgot lines
Reiterating the old saying dream and not make
A dream your master , think and not make
Thoughts your aim, to meet with triumph and
In disaster, treat the two imposters the same!
Onymous with the simple gift of inspiration
Never anonymous be forever simply proud.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inspired by Philip.
Written November 22nd 2018.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
We
make
our own
destinies.
We hang our own stars;
imposters against the darkness,
hung on interstellar backdrops of infinite truth.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:34 PM UTC
"Last night ,
Weeding out Imposters,
To Night,
sunset dreams,
at least I got two solid hours of sleep lastnight,
Without Agony,
Never Have I Felt,
Painting in Poetry,
A Poet,
Gardening,
Anymore,
several 'untitled's', hello is a treasure.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC