"paraphrasing" poems
~a question of a thousand dreams~^
“Where are you going now my love? Where will you be tomorrow? Will you bring me happiness? Will you bring me sorrow? All the questions of a thousand dreams, what you do and what you see”
this one composes itself
for all dreams go unremembered
the first, the thousandth, the every in between,
erased by the push button of opening eyes
but dreams come, marching in, saints mining the raw materiel
the quartermaster has stored, awaiting requisition by an
unarmed unnamed corp, witnessed but never seen
these dreams wisped soft willow budded, tempting taunting,
leaving nothing but unanswered questions that colored come
in black and white
elementary clues,
a pillow indentation,
single hair that stretches
across the sea between two pillows that is blonde or red
but
certainly unmine,
dregs of soured sentiment linger like the
aftertaste of too many coffees and stainless steel beers
heated summers breezes give no succor or relief,
and the rain following gives no pleasure,
for now you are hot and soaked,
but somewhere in there a dream is part replayed,
and eyes widening in major league surprise,
the question acknowledged, the dreams quest hinted
she has gone, neither happiness or sorrow will she
provide on the morrow, no toweling of your wet hair fair,
and you awake sweat besotted, it is not rain, just pain,
and it is only one dream a thousand times repeated
and what you do and what you see
is the abraded night ahead, and
you bitter laugh, for there is no more other than to think,
the question answered, and you beg relief by
uttering
“perchance to dream”
3:49 pm
see the notes!!
someone accuses me of Plagiarism
because I did not acknowledge that the quote in marks and Italics was from a famous song written 39 years ago
so here is my response to
“just saying”
congratulations on ******* me off
and yes I agree, you do not know the rules
“#1: Quotation Marks Are for Quoting People—Verbatim
Perhaps it should go without saying, but quotation marks are for quoting people. Quoting doesn’t mean summarizing or paraphrasing; it means repeating exactly what someone said. If you put double quotes around a phrase, your reader will often assume that someone, somewhere, said that exact phrase or sentence.“
http://thevisualcommunicationguy.com/2013/09/11/10-things-you-really-need-to-know-about-quotation-marks/
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:59 PM UTC
these words are a paraphrasing of the famous words from
Martin Niemöller,
an anti-Hitler, German Christian pastor:
"First, they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I wasn’t a trade unionist, so I didn’t speak out.
Then they came for the Jews.
I wasn’t a Jew so I didn’t speak out.
Then they came for me,
and there was no one to speak for me.”
<?>
8/22/17
2:01am
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_they_came_...
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 2:10 AM UTC
He’s a spoiled rich kid
In the land of the one percent.
He feels no remorse for
Those who can’t pay their rent.
He’s popular with fools
And a bunch of toothless boozers
All the while laughing
And calling them all losers.
The favorite son of the GOP
Says nothing with specificity.
He just makes vague promises
He has no idea what his platform is.
He only knows if he stirs up hate
He will win certain delegates.
He won’t be held to the fire
Half-truths work for him just fine.
He’d prefer you not inquire.
Nobody makes him toe the line.
He is paraphrasing fascism
Like he’s the one who invented it.
It’s like Germany in 1930s
They could have easily prevented it.
The favorite son of the GOP
Says nothing with specificity.
He just makes vague promises
He has no idea what his platform is.
He only knows if he stirs up hate
He will win certain delegates.
Here’s the way to make it
Work the best for a new dictatorship.
You take the populace along
On your traveling one-man ego trip
After your party has published
Scurrilous big lies about the opposition
Then spread a lot more rumors
Which gives the voters their ammunition.
The favorite son of the GOP
Says nothing with specificity.
He just makes vague promises
He has no idea what his platform is.
He only knows if he stirs up hate
He will win certain delegates.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
Extra lessons after school
Explaining how you are not yourself
Such small words used so simply
Cut like knives through your chest
'She'
Paraphrasing arguments
Summarizing discipline
Faceless family with too much on their own plate to understand
Why you don't like what's on yours
'She'
Tightness in your chest not because your binding is too small
But because it isn't
The name of a state has never hurt so much
'She'
You look in the mirror and grimace
Shower so fast you don't have to see yourself
Roll their words in your mind until you're leaning over the toilet
'She'
Humming summer days fade into early autumn nights
Long days enforce what they have already told you
Dress code laws repeated by tongue
And hasty dressing in changing rooms
Hoping they won't notice you
'She'
But you are an active volcano
There are wolves in your chest and lions in your brain
And they can't change you
You get home and look in the mirror and sign into skype
A simple word that only drops one letter
Has never had so much power
He.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
Coiled beneath a sleepers rafter,
atoning for the numbness
chosen, not felt.
I burn with a dark desire
to achieve an infinite satisfaction,
paraphrasing every minuscule sin
not fortified,
every schema variegated.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Grab her and hold her tight slick,
You only got one chance at this,
Do you make her smile and tell
Her things like " peek-a-boo ",
Like fake lovers do,
I'm looking right at you,
Your mind is here,
But her body is somewhere else,
Somewhere,
Where she doesn't have to hear your
Horrible jokes,
Somewhere,
Paraphrasing all things in your life as a hoax,
Should have stuck with a rose,
Be we all know,
That sometimes a rose signifies death,
If she comes back , will you take care of
Yourself?
You're not looking so good,
Maybe the hospice will help,
Well....
I'm thinking out loud at the moment,
Or T.O.L.A.T.M I suppose,
That You texted to me when you gave
This long speech about getting her back,
Had nothing to do with that,
But like a dumb *** I replied right back,
So slow and simple minded,
Bored and dumbfounded,
You're fifty shades of ****** up,
With a side of punches from Garnet,
Smell it.
•=•
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
**All Hours of the Night
you get it by now...
I'm no ordinary dude
I'm the Guardian
I vouched for you
and if I don't make you accountable for this mess;
you were quick to stick the puppies face in it
because she's gotta learn right "you know how ******* get"
a moment of weakness you've called it
crawling back now on the same bended knee
you take to to pray about it...
on the same bended knee you take to to take him
and you kiss your kids with that mouth
how irresponsible it would be of me
to not post your offenses
tough love
or tough talk
which one are you
I'ma go with my gut
because you said to... I'm paraphrasing
"always take a ***** at her word"
we set better examples here
so I'ma put your nose in the wet spot
and as for your performance;
I gotta give it up
kudos
standing o
but I can't wait around for the encore
and I can't wait to write your review
and now when it's aching
and everything smells like me
clenching won't do;
fistfuls of your bed spreads
feel like your back is breaking
but no more O's for you
miss it
All Hours of the Night
you're supposed to
do you miss him like that too
oscar - nominee
my crown is your crown now
that's how we felt we were supposed to get down
for the rest of
however long the rest of
turns out to be
there's never been a language ever spoken
or scripture ever inked on how we move
because it's a given here
where we quietly defend the dynasty
inside these gates
outside ourselves
and between me and the walls
haven't you been nervous for no good reason
haven't you missed the butterflies
because you still can't wait to see me
we came in undersized
but your crown was my crown now
because you know good and well
that's my breath
when a breeze leaves just a tease of warm air
under there
and because you love butterflies
wasn't *** better than ***
fascinating **** huh… me
like you didn't know before now
and now that yearn
can't be made well by any earthborn figure
outside these gates
or inside you
and only between me and the walls
there's been no language assigned
we still can't pronounce it
but it's called love no matter your accent
or if you speak in tongue
fight it
All Hours of the Night
it's tiring
and you're weak
I give it a week
before you come crawling back
on the same bended knee
you take to pray about it
and to take him
you kiss your kids with that mouth
I am no ordinary dude
I'm the Guardian
I vouched for you
codefendants
love is war
I thought you understood our plight
I have to make you accountable for this mess;
you gotta learn "you know how ******* get."
how irresponsible it would be of me
to not post your offenses
tough love
or tough talk
which one are you
it's okay to miss me
you're supposed to
do you miss him like that too...**
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
The abstract, the obscure and the predominatly boring
the living, the insane and the dead
the flowers, the water and the bed
twisting the solid out of shape
rethinking the notion "of"
constantly paraphrasing what once was
who, what, why and when
them, time, tales and sin
redundancy is exploring us
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
Trapped 'tween
adjectives' objections
succumbed to
long-windedness,
snared 'neath an
expanse of circumlocution,
paraphrasing periphrases
buried under layers
of technicalities,
all in a day's multiformity
working midst the madness
of poetry's sublimity
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
crassly clashing
diametric opposites
seething hostility paints tar-stained walls
coated against cold indifference
interfering ideologies cause pause
cryptic clauses calculate circumstance
vs.
significance
symbiotic relationships deteriorate
puddles of love remains…unwashed
free-flowing determination
wrestles mindlessly
paraphrasing haphazardly
seeking direction
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Basically I'm saying, babe, you're hot. You know its funny, I adore Shakespeare but i could not handle writing like him. All proper and British and modern... I'm too old fashioned for his tastes.
Let's think about it. Shakespeare was a progressive of his days; making words, analogies, that are timeless to this day.
What am I using?
Old tricks of the old writers to quell my taste for old art. Gods knows I describe everything as if I were Dickens, all elongated and profoundly bloated in the most beautiful and adoring way.
But back to where I was. You.
This sonnet is for you. I did promise one this night, did I not? In my head I did, at least. Oh dear, this'll be a surprise in the morning. But at least it is a surprise just for you.
I at least hinted of a sonnet, a sonnet for you, telling of you and our love and how it makes me feel. So here we must go.
You are the moonshine to my midnight, the angel to my demons.
Too much? I dare say, it must be, you have simply gone giddy with giggles. Perhaps a different route should be approached.
If I were a murderess, which in all heart-related actuality I am, I will give this fair promise that in all my running around and cutting out hearts, that yours will simply be those one I keep closest to mine.
Alas, too dark? Oh, my love, but there must be some way to express my doting! Be in not in a dark sonnet, or an adoring sonnet, perhaps a comedic one?
There were two things I was certain of. One, that he was a vampire, and two, that I was irrevocably attracted to him.
Oh, perhaps too comedic. Perhaps too unkind. Perhaps a bit too much paraphrasing. But I digress. Anything I can do to please you, my dearest one? Anyway I can express how I feel without making you laugh, or giggle, or simply chuckle at me?
It cannot be as simple, as you say. It cannot be as easy as holding you close and whispering in your ear how much I love you. Can it?
Well I promise, then, that I will spend my nights whispering towards you my affections, and holding you tight until you can stand my embrace no more. Will that suffice?
Oh, I love you.
And I suppose that's the best way to put it.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Imperfect world, purposeless person.
I retired to pursue perfection
learn jazz tunes, woody and herbaceous plants,
read every inch of English literature,
Scientific American and Foreign Affairs,
have an affair with an American.
Oh, and by the way, before you ask, I'm from Mars.
Orbiting your planet, admiring the girls.
Paraphrasing prayers by George Herbert to share
with Jesus believers on talk radio shows
where we try to bring your lives into expressible states
before it’s too late and climate change inundates you.
Reversed thunder, savior-side-piercing spear,
one day you’re feeling fine, the next not.
We’re pretty matter of fact, clear about
the fact of death. Once you’re gone most of us forget
your face and previous accomplishments. The place
you lived is repopulated with the next generation (of aliens)
and that ought to be a comfort, a sort of restful
certainty all is well, nothing special need be done.
Bluebirds are back, crows are mating on the sky
and chasing hawks away from their nests. Juncos
and sparrows glean together. I hear pileated woodpeckers
jackhammering and barred owls hooting soothingly.
Herons smoothing feathers and spearing fish.
Everything is as one would wish.
Numberless are the world's wonders
but none more wonderful than aliens.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
Touch her spine,
Feel the cracks
And the bends.
Breathe her in,
The soft vanilla-earthy smell.
Open her up
And feel her softness
Within her bindings.
She’ll tell you stories,
Trap you in worlds with her words,
Paint a paradise out of paraphrasing
History.
With time
Her precious smooth exterior
Will be cracked aged leather.
But loving attention
Gives her smile lines,
And she’ll never lose
Her seductive allure.
She’ll leave you,
Feeling that you’ve finished
With her,
But you’ll be left lonely
In your own head,
Longing for her
To weave you
More wonders.
She’s a temptress,
She’s a liar,
She’s knowledge,
She’s wisdom,
She’s a universe,
She’s a limitation,
She’s an opinion,
Or a truth.
She’s a book.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 10:04 AM UTC
My silence is not, and does not
Represent, the inadequacies of
my adeptness and my knowledge,
Nor does it undermine my capabilities
Of paraphrasing primary thoughts
In verbose, scholarly manner, no,
It does not, can never, didn't ever
Mean that I am not opinionated,
For it is upon my discretion
Whether you are worth debating with.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 5:34 AM UTC
The darkness fills from top to bottom
an undisturbed wicked spiral
farther from what's inspiration
I continue to slide
Darkness nags from all around
etching pain on my skin
peeling away at what I used to be
I was happy
My palms upturned, beg forgiveness
let my penance be destruction
this decay is sinking
swallow me
Is this darkness obvious
are my eyes dyed black
where went that inspiration
I am transparent
Sway, from side to side
dizzy from intoxication
****** from fornication
breath....
in,out,in,and out
panic drives this man
sit on the edge of the middle
wish to be more like them
them.....
them.....
Darkness increasing
soul is fleeing
this inspiration rapes me
breeds me
breeds in me
consumes me
amuses me to no end
but still i am only me
CANT YOU SEE
WONT YOU SEE
i live only for the darkness
the sorrow
the horror and gore
a make believe world
catching the phrase
paraphrasing the past
i am only darkness
i am lonely darkness
i am a shadow of was
a memory of where
a glimpse of who
a dash of what
Count my sins, darkness
on your bitter fingers and toes
give rhythm to my woes
give forgiveness for the excursions
i have made to the darkness
Betray my lighting effect
expose my soul
deny the trust I held in dark
on a box i stand, a one man show
darkness is my inspiration
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 8:37 PM UTC
Paraphrasing:
Oxygen feedback don’t
provoke me;
I relieve
all the need
plasticized lips to a
nail gun at
your forebrain
steal yourself a jacket;
don’t **** around
my home
when the freeze
follows every
sinkhole step
your fat toes
fall away
Let me de-muck
that nonsense:
Met a gal,
I did
name was Hannah,
spat mucosal ****
between my duck feet
And my tasseled spine
H e av e d, hu rrr led at
T he s i g ht o f
M y s ki n
But I cracked and ground
my molars and I
gobbled that aching
dejection & snickering
and commanded she
****
vanish
so it was
OK
for **** near three seconds
three
two
one
till she re-arrived
and rebuked a gull’s shade
for looking too much like
me and I
loved
her
now and
again and
three second
place trophies ago
she brushed me first
with that formidable
brilliance
a third of what
that beauty,
****
that body
was gifted with
poison
that leeched
through palms
to my nerves
them bones
and out again
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
He tied the knot, but this wasn't done at the altar.
Hung himself out to dry, though he could never fault her.
Paraphrasing something so sacred doesn't keep you warm.
Teetering crooked floorboards, dictating the noose that's formed.
A deity could never die no matter how many times he hangs his head.
But you were never holy disappearing with the dead.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
9:00 p.m.
walk into the kitchen
open freezer door
no dinner tonight
what a shame
open door
sit down on doorstep
cautious of the fire escape
feel the chilled rain
fold arms over knees
reply to text message
watch neighbors take a smoke
look at the open door
lights flicker in the alley I'm in
cars driving by
wipe the rain off of arms
watch tv through neighbor's window
hope he doesn't let out his dog
think of climbing out on roof
but there are puddles everywhere
tears stay separate from the rain
think about my failures
remember mother walking off screaming
paraphrasing her words
only to mean it's my fault
but it is
feel so pathetic
stomach unhappy not to be fed
compose poem in my head
see shadow in the doorway
watch the people walk beneath me
stand up shivering from the wetness
open the door
take a deep breath
wipe away the tears
walk back into the kitchen
grab a bagel
make some cereal
dwell on today
eat the food
bite by bite
step by step
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
in pursuit of refrains
saline undertones
flood out the pain
the voice chaser
she took a wrong turn
little rogue princess
lets the labyrinth burn
overheated disconnect
paraphrasing conscious theft
wandering familiar haze
treading on the better days
banish night for quet noon
cast away the darkened rooms
tuck away the rascal black
creeps back for a second act
tugging on cerebral blinds
paranoid with judging eyes
glassy lights
the shifting blur
swallow now
prevent the stir
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 5:23 AM UTC
inspired: gray old men in soiled raincoats
& drunk, ***** young |
girls w/ ratty | | |
pink & blue [hair]; |
Russian girls [dressing like second-hand (Barbie's & Chloe's)
postmodern fembots in white ankle go-go boots
& Pucci miniskirts w/
moth-eaten colored ||
tights
gather in dusty libraries reeking of
old books & alcohol & later, strong ****** of going
to college [ ] parties & losing tenure;
Artaud [Rimbaud, Burroughs, Villon], Bukowski &
Berryman: insane [Whitman, Ginsberg, Carroll -
Plath, Smith, Millay, Teasdale] |
losers | like old bearded (Dorothy Parker)
uncles reciting gutter odes;
paraphrasing classical epics -
[Gilgemesh,
the Death of Arthur,
Large & Small Eddas]:
***** young girls [ ] write flirty love poetry
to old
men & teasing boys their age w/ insight: boys
knowing nothing of insight, | all except | ||
| that one poet
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
Never felt like a bigger fraud than I have right now
Fake it till you make it
Except it feels like cheating
To pretend I know so much
When I'm just really good at paraphrasing
If only I could memorise
Word for word to hide these lies
Quotes, formulas, preprepared answers
The skill they want is they skill they lack
But so do I and that's the issue
I understand it all I just couldn't tell you
What was said when, by whom.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
She seldom said good night or did she reply,I didn't ask either,
She used to reply silence whenever I text her,(paraphrasing)
I created whatever I want from that silence,
I thought she is so magnanimous to provide such a nothingness to accumulate my thoughts,
But I don't know why they call it as a fantasy,anything that is created out of nothingness,
If this is a fantasy then the existence is a fantasy,as the existence is created out of nothingness,
I want her to be seen as a fictional figure rather than existential monument,
She never saw me with the eyes I saw her,
Perhaps I am talking about intention,
I think my love is unconditional and love is unconditional,
My feelings towards her doesn't have anything to do with her feelings towards me,
But sometimes it pangs me as how the flower feels when the bee sips the essence of it,
The flower accrues for over a period of time but the bee ***** out momentarily...
So did she **** out my love,
I love when she does that as the flower is indifferent to the suckling of bee,
Only her fragile silence invokes her virtual visage..
The visage with the black in her eyes,
The black which only eye-lids can shutter,
The moment she closes her eyes is the moment I see nothing,
The darting eyes,too irresistible to distract...
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
It's true though.
Any happiness you felt began with you first.
You didn't wait, you rephrased it as a smile.
Straightforward really.
You felt a way because my passion could never justify.
Only reinforce what you felt to begin with.
You felt a way because you respect yourself to be yourself.
The emotional boundaries of your well being.
Thus I awaited your permission before taking the first step.
Initially paraphrasing your smile.
The importance of being treated the way I'd like to be treated.
Holding your stare to create a sense of security.
A safety that went without ill-intention.
Not because you fill your jeans or the fact that your well put together.
What's meant to be is what's meant to be.
What's the rush.
Although true, you felt a way because I never crossed any of your boundaries.
A generational gap between "hey lets chill." and "I'd love to take you out."
The honesty of eyebrows highlighting life goals in full view of the sun.
Fully dressed.
Well groomed.
While the sky attends it's breakfast.
Reservation in the clouds.
The embodiment of grace
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
Panic when pin-pointing.
Pathetic when trying.
Painful pleasure.
Passively flipping the page.
Packing the past.
Passed out from the last.
Painting it fast.
Put the panther back.
Probably paraphrasing this.
Preparing the premises.
Perfect in any position.
Please be consistent.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
standing in line
at the funeral home
back where i grew up
waiting for someone
to pay respects
to the dearly departed
i heard the young
dead woman gloat
a little
pleased with the plethora
of flowers and throws
and angel figurines
and the long line of mourners
and the way
her ***** looked
in the shirt she wore
she thought
and i'm not paraphrasing much
that 'she looked pretty good
for a dead girl'
i used to think
that we left this world
and stepped into angel wings
but now i know
we cannot be
what we haven't been
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC