"plagiarism" poems
Plagiarism of worthless ideals,
that you so ignorantly hold high.
Shaking in amazement,
how can you call your self alive?
Totalitarian, lethargic lifestyle.
Ignominious displays of disaffection.
Constant contradictions;
out of your mind.
Caught up in the clouds,
cognition of mania and level debauched.
Up to high to realize, you're an “open mind” with locked doors.
Maslow, Skinner, and Darwin alike, turn in their graves,
over your lack of evolution.
Mar 6, 2013
Mar 6, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
~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
If I were a teacher,
I'd teach plagiarism
Like a patent office.
I'd teach publication
Like plagiarism,
And I'll proofread
Any paper that properly
Cites their sources.
I'd teach every
Kid from age X to Y
That if I can't
Lift them as
High as they
Want to go
Than somebody
Else
Can.
I would be the man,
That teaches subjects
Like I'm their King,
And I'd spread
Knowledge to every
Acre of my empire
I'd teach anything.
See,
I'd teach chemistry
By making the reaction of
Why and How
Always synthesize
Wow.
I'd be a catalyst
For positive change
By keeping every
School-yard bully
and kid that's always picked last
Around after class
To teach them physics,
Like if you have mass
And you take up space
Then you ******* matter.
I'd put the cool
in Coulombs.
I'd be so electrostatic
About magnetic fields
You could feel my fluxin'
Energy in the hallway.
I'd say
His story,
And Her story,
And everyone in-between's story,
Is about the day their parents met.
I'd teach sex-ed
Like it's about the
Day their parents met.
And it wouldn't be weird
It'd be beautiful.
Because anybody falling
In love is beautiful.
And speaking of beautiful:
Mathemagics,
Would no longer
Be a bottomless hat
But a bird.
With feathers and wings
And things that always
Find their way home.
I'd transform
The Fourier of
Our foundations
With equations
Of equality
Like you,
And I are
Always equal to
Us.
It'll be cake
To be genius.
....Or pie
Or whatever else is rational
In this situation.
And I
Would measure intelligence
With the answer to the question
Of why we are alive.
I'd standardize
Every test
By removing
Any box that
Takes us
Further apart
I would make art
Combining every
Color from East to West
In a masterpiece
That every child can draw
We'll call it "human"
I would solve
World hunger
And war,
And every other problem
That stems from greed
With answers to the
Questions that I still
Don't know
But I would show
Everyone whose ever
Made you hurt
That a broken heart
Has still got the
Courage to beat
Because it's their words
Where the heart breathes
Where the heart bleeds
Where the heart sleeps
And it's our dreams
That keep us awake
In the wake of our past
So I'd put every love letter
And box of their ****
On a bonfire, light a match,
And we would watch it burn.
Hell,
If I were a teacher
I'd say there's
So much left
That I've still got
To learn.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
No, you cannot join in.
Unless of course you also want the backlash that comes with kissing girls in public?
Take it-
please
share the homophobia.
I have had enough to last me 18 years of shame
no, this is not a game and you do not have the right to take photographs of me while I kiss her.
Unless of course you are a photographer
here to celebrate our queer love in all of it’s natural beauty.
For my love does not exist for your enjoyment
we are not the characters in your fantasy novel
my love is magical and you cannot publish it.
My love rains all over your non existent parade because your homophobia does not exist at pride
wide-eyed boys
encircle us as if to say that our mouths brush only so that they
can paint the picture,
but you do not belong within my self portrait
you will not dip your ***** brush into my rainbow coloured paint set.
Clean your homophobia into the water
for our love is art
but you are not the artist
and my love is not yours to keep for later
for wanking your anxieties into pleasure whilst you turn my pleasure, into anxiety.
This, is plagiarism.
Copyright my love.
For I should not have to be aware of who is watching
or pointing or shouting or stealing, my love.
So put your hand down your pants and think of your homophobia.
No, you can’t come now
no, you cannot join in.
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
Art is either plagiarism or revolution,
but
we've all
heard that
before.
It feels like
originality is impossible
when only given
twenty-six
characters to work with,
and so
these are not
my thoughts,
this does not
belong to me,
I am
writing the same things
that all those before me have written.
We are either replicas or denying it.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
My identity was stolen
by God.
I have no sense of self,
no sense of purpose,
every personality trait of mine
is nearly reflecting
from a nearby shiny surface.
I crave individuality,
to feel like I'm a person.
I was born a blank canvas
inside and out.
Whenever I try to decorate myself
it doesn't feel like self-expression.
It feels like plagiarism.
It feels like copying someone
else's hard earned work.
For how can I express myself,
when I have no ******* clue who I am?
Supposedly, I just have to "find myself,"
But along with no identity,
I have no sense of direction.
So I wander,
and I wander,
and I wander.
I think
until my brain bleeds.
I think
until my eyes close.
And it all grows
quiet.
It all grows
white.
It all grows
into nothing.
So maybe,
I found myself
after all.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
me rich Great Again
follow dreams to a place where freedom
ebuffed my businessman
Mar-a-Lago Club
resort is mine
to escape the spotligh
Our culture has gotten
too mean and too rough,
More weighty details are scarce
Berwyn speech, without a hint of irony
deep love and respect”
dropped slightly as my race tightens
after a plagiarism controversy
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 11:56 AM UTC
Do you ever write something
So good
That you feel like you've peaked
As a writer?
And everything from then on
Is a question in your head?
Maybe you should never
Pick up a pencil again
Because your writing career
Has already been wrapped up
Tightly with a bow
Maybe you planned to be a poet
Get a proper creative writing degree
And forever make a living
Off the rhythm of words
But every idea now
Seems like a steaming pile of ****
Compared to your last masterpiece
So it just sits
Rotting in your brain
Until you stink
With a lack of genuine creativity
Maybe you've written so much
That your rhymes
Begin to sound tired
And overused
But if you don't rhyme
It sounds as if you've gotten lazy
So no matter what you put down
The effort doesn't show
Maybe writing about the ordinary
Seems boring
But writing the extraordinary
Has already been done
And every option in between
Seems like a cheap plagiarism
Maybe your standards got too high
And people expect more from you
So every ounce of energy you have
Is wasted on doubting yourself
Until you're too exhausted
To write at all
Maybe you dreamt too big
Maybe quitting while you're ahead
Sounds better than actually trying
Maybe the emptiness you feel
When you don't write
Is worth not risking failure
Maybe saying goodbye
To your dreams now
Will be easier
Than a downward spiral
From the inability
To write something better than before
Or maybe
You're just overthinking it.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
A love is special.
A love is unique.
But love is not.
I hope.
Forever tormented by the thought.
You took my love.
Uniqueness that can't be bought.
This feeling I had with you gone.
Forever lost and never retrieved.
My hearts passion truely deceived.
Despair swelling at my ankles.
Searching for love like before.
You punish me with shackles.
They've left me feeling cheap.
An artist without creativity.
Coloring with no feeling.
Incapable of sensitivity.
This image of replaying moments.
Plagiarism of my emotion.
A different person and yet.
My heart of thoughts - only confliction.
I want them to be special and unique.
This wall turned insurmountable.
My problem has come full circle with no solution.
Uniqueness ripped clean surgically.
You took it all perfectly.
Even these words you've taken from me.
I'm left with no choice.
You'll not have my voice!
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
reverence in poetry. everything to every person.
reader claims they can a necessary skill for
uncover the reverence. successful hypothecating and
in the scripts that (buying)poetry-creation outta nothing,
life straight hands me, tell them what thy want to hear,
for collection & correction, and they’ll call you laureate,
secretarial transcribing, instead of good listener
binding, typo correction or just a keen observer-fakir
mundane are the tasks, just take what they give ya,
that’s all them muses ask, dress it like Joseph in a
don’t interfere, taken what’s given, coat of many colors,
bow, curtsy, show respect, don’t let on your plagiarism
treat its aspects/instincts correctly is all them, redressed legally
you’re just the pass through agent, true you, gotta be smart about it,
patient for no payment expected, variant spellings, swinging verbs,
be our adherent, not our truant, be discreet, they’ll call your script
we appoint don’t disappoint, a real keeper and give love or sun,
accept our patent, render legit mucho poem emojis accoladeya
as for this reverence thinge devil in a blue dress, walk the streets
if I do my job ok, on any day, grabbing snatches of overhearings,
any poem could save a life, pressed into a single tunic, you think,
if I get the commas placed, he a genius, knows my thinking,
just right, the periods period, exactly, what a great poet and
while obeying the speed limit con/hu-man par excellent
them muses so **** pleased even fool muses, too full themselves,
by this true confession released, muses who think we stink and
and self deprecation, couldn’t do it without them
they call me reverend, great pretenders by stealing
imagine them silly folk, everything in everybody and
calling a big fat liar. all thieves and cape riders,
reverend, duh, the end original liars, pants on fire
before midnight and after 3:20am April 7~8, two oh nineteen
any message you send becomes my intellectual property, fool....
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:24 AM UTC
You took my words
Made them your own
Didn’t give me credit
Or even throw me a bone
The lack of ethics on full display
Front page news
The headliner today
(Make this a safe place to be
For a writer to feel free)
Plagiarism : to copy and pass off (the expression of ideas or words of another) as one's own : use (another's work) without crediting the source
From the Latin word plagiarius meaning“kidnapper”.
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 10:25 PM UTC
the narrative does not cling to classicalism of stating whether the pronoun usage is either singular or plural or both to allow an armchair of expression; after all... there's enough for us to bypass the classical philosophical debate about subject and object, simply investigating pronoun usage in relation to singularity or pluralism.
there’s a theory where poetry came from,
one read: cleopatra wanted to hear sweet-nothings
calibrating a razor with a viper’s kiss...
another read: she báthory?
she báthory? she the one that turned milk into blood?
she can burn in hell.
i thought we were un-dialectical in the realms of concern?
no... you see... poetry came from punctuated-impressionism...
or a fear of it... punctuation of course, not from the impressionism...
poets fear punctuation...
give them a semi-colon
and
they
treat
it
like a sidelined line of verse.
this is poetry in mathematical equations:
i had a pear(,)
it was a spare(.)
i had a care for traffic(-)
so i missed( )
the expressions and started using an obelisk to quarter up the mammoth
into chop suey...
poets simple say: next line! when prose says next paragraph
and the prized execution of the 100m sprint . . . (.)
that’s universal alpha romeo with alfa bravo charlie delta (echo)...
come on in the u-turn... give us a smile......... :),
poets says... i need breathing space
without sentenced timing of silence, for the toad to feed inspiration
and envy!
no wonder you came with the alpha - zulu
alphabet given that you used ɪɡ and zoʊ...
so tell me... where’s this copernican west upside down
(this heliocentric west with east being the big bang)?!
i'd swear the thing stopped orbiting in circles
and a thing that's on it's thought started to become
orbital... a fashion sense of the 60s 70s 80s 90s repeated -
that's right, the whole thing became heliocentric
and we became narcissists instead of solipsists
in the geocentric system of worked-up plagiarism
with adequate excuses.)
it's here it the poets apprehensive of punctuation symbology
and instead writing "sparingly,"
to write, e.g.:
i
hate
this
love
affair
claimed
to
be
the
world...
i
rather
chisel
chequers
into
geometry
of
x4
90º.
makes sense poets begot fear of
punctuation and not grammar, they
serviced to explore nothing else,
leaving grammar open long enough to *****
mathematics in... remember...
poets are firstly concerned with punctuation...
secondly with grammar...
philosophy for poets is grammar;
**** i'm um um so drunk i'll need to revise.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 9:27 PM UTC
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
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
Let not rage relieve peace off her duty
That is the mood of a woman when another takes away her beauty
For what is left a shine on the face of iron when it gets rusty
So don't see someone's honouring event as your party
Don't especially with impunity
That's no pay for a person's ingenuity
It's evil coveting someone else's ideas your property
Plagiarism destroys creativity
It is honour stripping activity
Dip your mind into the well of creation and draw out the complexity
Then understand how it is to create
And appreciate how plagiarism makes creativity emaciate
Like a mother hurts when her child is in pain
A creator feels when his efforts are being rendered a vain
Credit he who credit is due
And earn honour for your own efforts too
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 6:18 AM UTC
*We’ve always
learned in school
that if you were found
to have written
something that
someone else wrote
(even unintentionally)
you would be
reprimanded.
But even then
I've always wondered;
out of the billions
how could I
possibly
be so unique?*
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
I'm born
Airborne
Forlorn
In war torn
Discord
My ripcord
I pull for liberation
Alienation aviation
Away from a station
Of no relation
Where their elation
Lies in degeneration
The fright fair
Nightmare
In sight there
Is a right scare
But light flares
From an illuminated theater
I dive into art
To fill my meter
I consume
Darkened tomb
Screen in room
Is where I loom
Inspiration blooms
From a sense of doom
My separation reparation
That will lead to veneration
My artistic fervor
Drifted further
Drifter's murmurs
Lifted learners
But gifted murderers
Shifted girders
Of shame and honesty
To my grave of modesty
Where they prey upon me
This plagiarism
Layered schism
Cratered rhythm
Of great decisions
Now I make incisions
With repetition
And the definition
Of words stolen from me
They're all I can see
And I can't get free
Or just let it be
Consumption disruption
At this junction
I can't function
A plagiarist
****** mist
Grips my fist
Makes me wish
I don't exist
I must resist
Before I miss
My chance at bliss
They're ****** me
By aping me
Making me
Shaking trees
Of bumblebees
With rumble pleas
On humble knees
Drinking antifreeze
Nobody cares
What's fair
They bear
And share
Blank stares
Up stairs
Of artistic compromise
Integrity lost in lies
They're not that wise
I hypothesize
My baby
Caught rabies
From Hades
Now ladies
Flock to a thief
Giving me grief
Beyond belief
In my coral reef
Sword in sheath
I drown discreet
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
Mark Twain to Helen Keller
“Oh, dear me, how unspeakably funny and owlishly idiotic and grotesque was that “plagiarism” farce! As if there was much of anything in any human utterance, oral or written, except plagiarism! The kernel, the soul—let us go farther and say the substance, the bulk, the actual and valuable material of all human utterances in plagiarism.
For substantially all ideas are second hand, consciously or unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources and daily use by the garnerer with a pride and satisfaction born of the superstition that he originated them; whereas there is not a rag of originality about them any where except the little discoloration they get from his mental and moral calibre and his temperament, which is revealed in characteristics of phrasing.”
Mark Twain
Dec 1, 2021
Dec 1, 2021 at 3:39 PM UTC
I've tried to write
So many poems about you
But you're beauty is copyrighted
And I don't believe
In plagiarism
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 2:29 PM UTC
the Hebrews call the Greek myth of Icarus
by name: Lucifer - i know man is prone to plagiarism,
esp. in the religious realm, the easier the plagiarism
the easier the governing of men -
for indeed the Hebrews claimed
Icarus prior to the Greeks, the former with Lucifer
and the latter with Icarus -
but how i loathe peasants claiming
medicinal endeavours
of knowing only the spotlight cursors
to curate and environmental care of origin
of such negated ease,
they have no knowledge and no power,
their interests in the subject matter
would never encourage them
to run a marathon for accumulating funds
for a cancer charity -
one word answer? ***** they're basically
***** should have engaged in a family
life before you blamed me m.d.!
take your regressive anger and shove it
up your little bee magnet **** to take
a **** like extracting honey - now i'm ******
but look where i'm writing it: on a colour
of defeat - militant heaven of the archangel Michael
sword in hand and Satan defeated waggling a
tongue - isn't that importune to speak of
the current times with the defence of a freedom
of speech subdued by a fear of insult
demanding? monotheism did as much good
as it shouldn't have - and did as much evil
as it should have - and did, crafting the strict
labouring of judaism's orthodoxy -
so for each niqab there came the madness of
a jewish girl's care for wig - translated into
christianity as the donning of wigs in the 18th century,
and the 17th - bypass the concerns of
monotheists and you came across cuisine
freedoms of mandarin, and the colour backlash
sprinkling to a billionth birth, a land
where the homeless have a mother kamadhenu -
and celebrate Holi for chance of extracted mundane
hue of man polarised with fluorescent ivy
and x-rayed orange... or that's how the thing was said.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
Same old drudgery,
Papers fresh for grading;
Topics, seldom new,
If honestly presented,
At least encourage worth
In form, in format, in tradition.
Plagiarism creeps up,
Always shocking,
The unauthorized changing
Of voice, of tone, of diction,
Not unlike the sting of a ruthless needle,
The drip of a hollowed, poisoned fang,
The bite of frost, burning a tender cheek...
Sadly familiar, this strident pang.
All hope is lost.
Anger sets in,
Trust wilts,
Hope fades gray.
In plagiarism, the fool's truth lies;
To belie one's honor is to watch it die.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 9:06 PM UTC
#**Plagiarism and Biomimicry
Prevalent In Nature
Sustenance Is The Conjecture**#
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 7:40 AM UTC
I must readily admit
I am guilty of this deep pleasure
When it suits me to find a justifying reason to do so,
But like a sweaty fat man
Waiting in line at an out door
Restroom,
I must admit that I find it
Quite uncomforting when
I find one written about me,
As good as it may be,
Some lines genius and genuine
Grasping me to a T;
I feel naked as a blank paper
Being written over and told this
Is what I will be, or am,
Or will never achieve,
Archived in a thought,
Popping my bubble of
Existence and letting a stanza
Didctate my life's
Unfortunate,
But very well writ poem
Stake me in the soul,
How well they know me,
Plagiarism of my own
Confessions,
And I realise
They are just peices of poetry
I have pasted in the past
Cleverly put together
In some Rondeau' or
Dickinson flurry,
And wonder what the truth
About a plagiarism's gambit,
Hoping to nail me onto
The front page wall,
Disguised as poetic license
To hang me out in the open,
Yet I have seen these lines,
And no one can expose
Themselves better than I,
Read between the lines
And there is a hint of envy,
The honor becomes mine.
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
To be, or not, to be...
That is plagiarism.
Although, the rested see..
It's the only "ism"
Will I do?
Or, will I do not?
Will I place soulfully, the life before me?
Or, will I defy my end with bitter, confusion.
I doubt them both.
Within my heart,
I chase a rope.
About a time,
When rhyme and cope.
Are one, the same,
Rewrite my hope.
Can one remain,
While others greave?
Burn the bridge,
And meld the seam.
Amassed awake,
Your idle dream,
Don't mind the pain,
Rewrite and leave.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 8:18 PM UTC