In every “Poetry Place”
There is a Copycat Corner.
We know it’s a disgrace
So here’s another “Warner”.

Why they do it I’ll never know,
Those Copier and Pasters.
Their words they seem to glow,
But they’re a bunch of Wasters.

Taking all that praise,
For stuff they haven’t written,
It seems to be a craze,
And many do get bitten.

Just Google their “fine words” or use those plagiarism sites,
And you will find the original poems
Bedecked with copyrights.

I’m sure this place just isn’t free
Of people like this,
Just look and see!!!

The Admins must get their fingers out,
And give these villainous rogues a massive clout.
Me, I will show all due diligence,
But my job here,
Is to show My brilliance.
(NOT someone else’s!).

Paul Butters

Wind,
You are the word
On so many inept lips,
Brother to a dozen others overstretched:
"Love", "I", "heart", "me" ..
Your powers are great,
Though you are known to whisper,
Then whisper this,
To the copy pasters
"Lad 'n Lassie,
put down that ******* pen."

My identity is split, as i lunge and resist.
Do my lungs really breathe when i indulge in phrenic constants?
Swear I'm the same when I'm different, my barbaric nonsense
In a barn with imposters, standing with improbable postures
Grazing over fallible pastures while praying to fawl pasters
Part of me feels like one of the sheep grazing for masters.
And the other part working on getting my masters, degree for some fast cars...
Can't breathe because monsters need me to get gassed up
So i smoke when it's mad tough
Better than a rope in the backdrop, i mean a noose in my back yard
Weight on my chest makes it mad hard, for a phrenic pit stop, where i can breathe and resist some, craving from twitch drugs
Seems i don't breathe with my lungs, since they're in need of warm hugs..
As such, my phrenic nerves speak to my heart with an infallible grudge