"replicating" poems
Wouldn't it be nice
If you didn't mess up
everything you touch
But there you go again
You lose three one year
one at a time
the next year you drive off
another three all at once
then the next year you start to neglect another
you start slipping further away from three
then the next year
you lose those you were slipping away from
and pretty soon
the only one you are still close to
you drive off too
hope you like your new friends
but good luck replicating those late night text convos
where we really could trust each other
when all the friends you have now
are drunk and high as hell
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
*Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 2:09 AM UTC
Most find the crash to be a nuisance
Not me.
I find an unusual serenity in the calamity.
An undeniable calm in the chaos.
As for the flash
Well it adds a little mystery
To the life I live full of misery.
Rain runs down windows
Replicating the tears down my face.
Reminding me I'm not alone
In this desolate place.
Thunderstorms are therapy
Designed to drown out our thoughts
And provide inspiration
For artistic creations
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
They say copying is the highest form of flattery
but i think its because you have no originality
always replicating what i do
is it just me
is there any thoughts inside of you
everything you do
is because of someone else
can you really not see it
how can't you tell
we all see right through it
open your eyes and you will too
stop trying to be me
and start being you
copy cat copy cat
annoying little copy rat
copy cat copy cat
mindless spineless poison trap
copy cat copy cat
shady lame copy rat
copy cat copy cat
do you have a brain in tact
Now don't get me wrong i don't think i'm anything that great
not trying to be rude this is not something i want to debate
so now do you get the whole picture
why be a sheep
when you can bite just like a wolf
you've got so much to offer so why be another
a whole entire world out there
so why even care
just be the one you are
with nothing to loose you'll go so far
i know there's more to you
parts i can't see through
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
Bury me with my poppy.
My greatest memory; my simple joy.
Spring time brings brightness--
colors other than white.
A flushed landscape from
stamen performing as paint;
replicating a sleepy orange
yellow, green, red
I contemplate picking the poppy
to keep for myself.
Life feels large
like the sparkling lake--
that cold sunny hour when you sat
by a fire bordered by icy rocks.
The earth sheltered in poppies.
We all expect moments without an end.
Post-bloom petals fall flat before falling away.
Miracles can be a curse or a blessing,
brave or cowardly,
Swallowing up certainty.
Poppy tears
slowly release memories--
a crisp deliberate euphoria.
I leave behind the orange flower.
Appreciation is not lost.
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
I'm a honeybee.
You're the smoke
that has molded me like putty
in your calloused hands.
Once I'm out of the hive
that is my soul, you come
in and steal parts of me
I have a hard time creating
and replicating over again.
It was a sweet escape but it
was laced with the fact
you would only use me.
Why did I let you in?
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
A sonnet to my sins
Hopeful hopelessness
Akin to Les Mis
Hypocrisy thy name is
Was I really a drunk?
A toss-away punk, caught up in the funk?
Barreling down the asphalt human landing strip
Looking back but seeing nothing behind
Self replicating machine elves on the mind
Give in
Drop out
Tune in
Hypocrisy thy name is
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
I loathe myself for loving you
Despise the way I care
I continue to throw myself at your feet
Lay my heart out bare
You are self-centered and thoughtless
Living your life without regard
For a child you left behind
Is saying “I love you” really that hard?
Why do you distance yourself?
Is it because I remind you of my dad?
All the pain you caused
And the life you could have had?
Though I walk a fine line
Of replicating your mistake
I know I won’t
The thought makes my chest ache
I want to repair our relationship
I long to let my heart mend
Make up for lost time
Before we reach the end
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 1:14 AM UTC
%%
It’s about leveraging potential income
to enhance output-maximizing sustainability …
It’s about de-funding unsustainable income outcomes.
It’s about results-based data-enhanced paradigm shifts.
It’s about demobilizing upward mobility:
dis-empowering gentrification
by underfunding the over-entitled.
It’s about de-funding unsustainability
until the immeasurable metric is globally assimilated.
It’s about the designated data-driver.
It’s about memes as theme schemes.
It’s about complicating competence
through collaboration in collusion –
intentionally replicating re-branding –
effectively identifying best practices of the best-dressed actresses
until the girl in the t-shirt says “meh”.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
We are all apart of one system
yet there are many components to this system
innumerable actually
all following the same laws
as if contractually
bound by one set of rules
but
with infinite variation
like nations of expression separated by vibration
only contained by the systems within
that perceive and react
to the system
they sustain
one giant metaphor
a sufficient example
is the human body
a complex interaction
of
individual organisms
all communicating, interacting and participating
in sustaining the body
an organism
of organisms
Even our organs have organs,
working together to sustain
a system larger than itself
cells
communicating, producing
regulating, exchanging
are themselves composed of
organisms, performing
all these functions
we must not
forget
the system
which we sustain
the order
we provide
for the larger body and mind
together
we compose the cells of this planet
interacting and communicating
with each other and all other life
a subtle dance
that carries impressive consequences
except
the way in which we act
as organisms
is likened to cancer
in which
a once productive cell
behaves individually
not in accordance with the system it sustains
replicating uncontrollably
wasting unnecessarily
not taking the whole into consideration
although
if the planetary cancer of humanity
replicates
itself to extinction
all will still be well
as it always has been
and
always will be
yet
the system
in which we exist
would lose
the chance to witness and experience
the transformation from cancer
to great negative immunity
through the powers
of the newly recognized
human organism
a system sustained
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
I imagine your DNA replicating hundreds of times
per second. Imagine mitosis exponentially repeating
itself and a billion trillion of you dividing
and multiplying inside of your own body
logarithmically jumping by extremes and simultaneously
dying as fast as you're made. There is not one cell
in your body that was there seven years ago
there is not one cell in your body that is not
resisting DNA mutations caused by your smoking,
you could have had cancer by now, but I watched a documentary
the other day and they are curing cancer with ***
There are doctors out there saving lives and I
spend my time trying to figure out if I am capable
of love. I don't know the truth and can't lie.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
At the old market place, there is a locksmith
The slipshod ancient road leads to his shop
In the business of repairing locks and making keys
For almost half a century, a dedicated soul
Right from a tender age he picked up the skills
Accompanying his father, to learn the tricks of the trade
Slowly he became adept at repairing the locks
Like a wizard, replicating the keys, for those have lost it
His name spread quite afar, for people sought his help
In times of trouble, as they were locked out of homes and shops
He knew the heart of each and every lock
Reviving at the touch of his dexterous hands
As if he used to command the locks to open at his will
Like a ring master at the circus
Each and every key combination were memorized by him
Recalling them like a mathematical genius
With the permutation and combinations, he found the magic numbers
He wielded the keys like the archer’s precision
Always hitting the bulls-eye
He knew each and every house in the town
For, over the years, everyone had come to him for help
He was the only one who knew the key to open any lock
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
Under the influence of giants
Its just alot of different kind of the same thing
Replicating our gods
But its all just alot of different kind of the same thing so it seems.
Maybe we created a god for hope
I know it all started in prehistoric times
For control
My mom she toils and works after coming home from work.
My dad he relaxes and spends his time running in the ocean trying to catch her eyes
But she's too busy in her own lies
Talking to an invisible invincible God.
You will see me working in the factory
It's in my blood
I'm a high school drop out trying to start my own revolution.
With a little help from hell its the only solution.
Or in the streets looking to smell spilled blood
But what am I waiting for...
Under the influence of gods
It's all alot of different kind of the same thing
How are we influenced by giants if we haven't seen them roam the halls
Yet we are destroyed by them as if we were all Mexican ******* ******
It's all a different kind of the same hardships if you tell me.
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
Lips around the base
of a sweetcorn yellow balloon
expanding, turning translucent
its atoms straining, reaching
in a purple attempt to touch fingers
with the next.
Inside, my mirrored breath in lungs
incapacitated
and dry. Sand,
they brought deck chairs and lay
beneath my expanding solar
bubble I am
cultivating, in a gassed
mansion of glass
oblivious. Singed edges
and twisting cells replicating
they laugh in cones and
board planes until there's a
Bellow
And without
Nourishment the balloon
Gulps to die.
Mar 5, 2012
Mar 5, 2012 at 7:56 AM UTC
Suggests
There were 24 others
And here we land
Utopia. The Christmas number.
Built in with each other
Boxed-in:
We've multiplied.
A virus destroys a host cell
By replicating itself
So so many times over
That the Cell expands to
Maximum capacity
Then bursts.
I've been reassured that that
Won't happen
In number 25.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
He's got
Reptile feet
We said
He's got an
Alligator totem
In his back door gutter
He's a little replicating pod
A salivating mangy dog
A little tin can of
Evaporating soda pop
We said.
He said
I'm a downstairs rat
On a hat rack
Building me a
Nice little roost
In a back lot.
Don't leave me waiting
I've got wide-open hands
Mar 25, 2011
Mar 25, 2011 at 6:25 AM UTC
the caffeine is crucial
for this day-time creature,
the low-lit room an optional feature
for my attempted artistic-flair
paint brushes discarded on the floor
i took up drawing, graphite stained hands
and red eyes in the light of morning's sun
through the cracked window
of my old apartment-turned-studio
it was that morning i realized
the faces on paper would never
come to life
or serve a greater purpose than
good looks and candy-to-the-eye
it was that moment, i realized,
there was much more than re-creation
remixing and redoing
redundant copies of someone else's idea
and in that moment, when i realized,
talent is subjective and in the general eyes
of the artistic world, i was **** on the side
of the street where van gogh and picasso
strutted their dead-man's artistic *****
and now i know that there's got to be something
more than staying up all night drawing from a
photograph a classmate gave to my sight
and earning ten dollars for every hour spent
dragging pencils across leaf-thin skeletons of
plants that could have grown to serve better.
and now i know i was made for something more
than sitting on my **** cold bedroom floor
and replicating the eyes of a sixteen-year-old
spanish self portrait photographer.
in the western world, the people want me as
an artist making prints of their faces and loved ones
but for the rest? my hands are needed to build homes
for those who have not had the privilege of holding a
pencil or seeing their faces on a mere piece of paper.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
I am raw, plucked
bare and overexposed;
ashamed of my emotions and
too vulnerable, too fragile
I am not threatened but I do not
feel safe, I ache to hide but where can
I hide from my own mind? I need
time to decay my histrionics and my
need for affection so that it never
resurfaces again, so that I never
resurface again -- I am drowned in
something benign but chaotic, replicating
it's mutation endlessly, perpetually, until
I cannot breathe because I am overexposed --
bare and
plucked raw.
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
Can you settle for more or less if today was your last day
And what would be your retort if you were denied another chance?
How life introduces sobriety and the impending inevitability
The interstice and it’s ingress that encloses before your eyes
The demanding pouring of importune time
That soothing allaying sighs that evoke incalculable alleviation
If someone were to impart as they closed their eyes
As they died with a commital of happenings with not enough time
As to burden you with the impression of only one chance
It would seem and with the impending inevitability
Of your death which would subito compromise the day
A bearding contrivance plight of obligations engagement and commital no alleviation
An abecedarian dossier concealed for a long time
All this time the inevitable coinciding incident only for your eyes
The emotional habituation was of quotidian rendition each day
Of how trivial things take us on a dance with only one life one chance
With your attention and awareness on the answer the inevitability
Of what you are becoming with each passing second for each
Thought which transpires and no alleviation
Is there an epoch a replicating limn a depiction of our linear time
As we perpetrate and pursue progressively for our alleviation
Engaged to staying the course the day
Stirring closing in on our deliberate objective determined chance
Which remained for a terse duration from the inevitability
In which at the atrium of this erstwhile portage of a duvet to belabor
To stifle firsthand with your eyes
The variant from this domicile from this residence on a day
Is the vagabond to perish in yonder with no alleviation
Once man was a brute dullard or a curmudgeon spinster at a time
Which offers a mute disconnection ragged miscreant the inevi
Naivety or absent mindedness to somnambulist and its silhouette
Notwithstanding change
The quagmire and it’s nightmare the ingrate delighted with coined
Shunned eyes
Reputation with a flagrant obscene defilement galvanizing
The alleviation
At the heart of this lies another chance
A precocious inevitability
A man who lies to die another day
The annihilation in desperate want for from those argent eyes
To the starving newfangled optimism which in its sheen
Shines sunshine dulling the ocular orbs of time
Forwithal in befuddlement remain here
The time if infringement to comprehend the volatile vertigo
And the inevitability
The harrowing of hell
Glance at the shinning suns in her eyes intention considers change
After you heal and left are the cicatrix
Will you plunge further for alleviation
Or on the intent of regression once again
From long ago to another distant day.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 9:20 PM UTC
Baby, you wrote love on me all over
I thought your words would help me grow
But it seemed my luck had no clover
There were books that I had yet to read and know
You weren’t being honest with me
We were just a made up story
No, you weren’t being honest with me
Pages after pages I couldn’t see
I’ve taken the pages
I’ve torn them apart
Replicating what you’ve done to my heart
Call it a board because you’ve thrown the dart
you’re the author of my broken heart
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 5:16 PM UTC
The eighth deadly sin is co-existence.
That is what the bible forgot to tell us.
There are scriptures of love, connotations
Of how the heart works and how it beats and what forces
It to start and stop but,
none of them explain what it goes through, when
It beats for another human being.
The arteries from the heart in a hand do not only carry blood,
But also, thoughts as fugitives of elegance which
need to be released.
The structure within them carries itself within each existent-form
On earth, and veins and arteries were made to be intoxicated
By the supplies of it in the form of what their minds choose not to remember.
It was made that way by the antagonist of memory, and
the screen on which it is displayed onto becomes eternally shattered by its strength of other loved analgesics.
Within the shards of the shattered screen is a motivation of malice,
That expresses ******* within the blood as it is circulated around of the body.
When the empathetic assemblance of the sharpness in
Both the blood plasma and the glass shards become
Heightened by the knowledge of an instigating love for illness,
It is too late for the body to blame it on anything but the contents
Of its own mind.
Eventually the walls of each blood supply will transform into thin layers of restriction,
That allow everything in,
but nothing out.
Poison is planning, and self-infection is the key to only replicating happiness.
So because of this,
whenever a man holds a human heart in the creases of his palm,
He has no choice but to bleed on it as well.
This is not for anyone else but himself...
I have learnt that today.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC