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someone out in cyber-land
might just be
copying a poem which they'll
attribute to their own tee

unscrupulous replicators
have no qualms
on flagrantly stealing the lines
from genuine arms

when they take a fancy
to your brilliance of verse
they'll naff off with all or part of it
and stow it within their purse

piracy is rife around
online writing dales and dells
it's the pilfering of an authentic
author's heart and soul bells

they say that imitation
is the sincerest form of flattery
but an alternate opinion
would say plagiarists are bereft
of an original wordage battery
Marshal Gebbie Sep 2013
A moment’s inspiration to grasp a building thought,
A panicked, surged excitement, now achieved, where once was naught.
In plucking crystal thought from the yonder crisp, blue air,
And coalescing mishmash into meaningful repair.
To seek a path of verbage realigning phrases bright
And feel the resurrection of creative works this night.
In pulling rich vocabulary from within the concrete hash
Concocting circumspection in this brilliant verse from trash.
Annunciating clarity and a purity of class
To haul yourself, abruptly, to get off your lazy ****…
To burst forth in immaculate and spontaneous wordage clear
And blithely blow away your critics on their loathsome, leering ear.

Marshalg
11 September 2013
poet
oh poet
artisan
of the message
superbly designing
imagery and mind moods
the world would be the poorer
without your impressive wordage
we rejoice in the stroke of your quill
poet master craftsman sculptor of the page
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2019
I. nope.



II.
long-windedness verbosity
diffuseness prolixity
wordiness rambli­ng
circuity discursiveness
redundancy tautology
tediousness verbi­age
verboseness length
longevity permanence
garrulity windiness
v­olubility circumlocution
expansiveness babbling
periphrasis gushi­ng
blathering protractedness
waffling lengthiness
iteration repet­ition
prating prattling
jabbering digressiveness
dreariness tediu­m
deadliness wandering
repetitiousness repetitiveness
pleonasm co­nvolution
logorrhoea boringness
maundering superfluity
duplicatio­n tiresomeness
monotony reiteration
gabbiness informality
mouthin­ess diffusion
logorrhea wordage
blah-blah dryness
dullness boredo­m
sameness loquaciousness
talkativeness loquacity
freeness orotun­dity
roundaboutness breadth
gobbledegook gassiness
wittering mult­iloquence
perissology big mouth
gift of the gab garrulousness
staleness tallness
ask and answered
ConnectHook Sep 2015
666

The cat once killed again takes up her plume
to write in the air with a sinuous tail;
a valiant attempt at true life to resume.
Penultimate of nine? Or eighth to fail…

The literate lioness’s spectral quill
fresh-dipped in fountains of blood-red ink
(along with sharpened claws) warns: time to **** –
but God would give us all more time to think.

Although certain races and social classes
display not a trace of Curiosity,
Humanity (being higher than their *****)
should counter such donkey-like paucity.

Boredom is beastly – it burdens the mind
one should be able to sustain some good talk…
If you finally perceive they are not of your kind
then pity them. Smile – and let the dullards walk.

A good conversation (by block-heads reviled)
costs only the interest – it’s free of price!
This birthright of every man, woman and child
imparts life to variety, adding spice.

A bite on the tongue, or a shake in the pan
enlivens the food, while enhancing the taste.
Be it preaching or sophistry, blessed is the man
consuming such dishes, no wordage to waste.

Yet most are content to survive on stale bread,
or drive through for fries and a Happy Meal.
Then, quickly digested, the pleasure dead,
it’s on to the stop sign. Their tires squeal.

Attempting to talk with such silly people
whose frame of reference is mainly: What?
Can drive one to brewery, cloister, or steeple
in search of that city whose gates never shut.

When word, wit and wisdom flow out of the mouth
enjoyment sings welcome as springtime arrives.
But ignorance pushes the birds further south
re-freezing the surface of puddled lives.

If you need some assistance, go purchase a cup
or run down to the liquor-store. Brew up some tea.
Be sure that your affective filter’s not up,
grammar monitor running functionally.

Art, sports, philosophy, music or *** –
please make it a good one. The topic is moot.
Don’t bore me with shopping. Don’t mention your Ex.
But swim to the deep end or bend for my boot.

The cat is now road-****, her mission has failed.
One *****-life left. Let your next chat count.
Don’t claim that you didn’t know what it entailed,
were unsure of the topic, idea, or amount.
https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2015/05/01/adieu-april-may-you-return/
Chelsea Rae May 2021
Human words oversimplify everything that I am inside.
I wish I was telepathic hahah
of times long
ago
Persian poets did write
along the Euphrates River
flow
where a shimmering sun
put atop its waters
a glimmering
glow

since these ancient
days
many a poet has scribe verse
beside other river
lays
Shakespeare thinking of an Avon love
who caught his thoughts
in such deeply abiding
ways

Boney M's lyrical
composition
by the Rivers of Babylon
is a modern
adaptation  
of the writers eternal feel
for a river streaming
wordage of
inspiration
the story of the Colossus
is epic in dimension and size
to narrate it would require
an endless sunrise

enamored with his poetic skills
we all most certainly are
his radiant abilities shine
brighter than the evening star

the page comes to life
as we so attentively read
his phrases and figures of speech
are of the finest creed

the awesomeness
of his poetry doth so inspire  
with a wordage pool
that sets our hearts on fire

his quill's ink ne'er partakes of rest
for there is much he hath need to say
at his desk he labors on a stanza
to so sublimely and excellently array

marvelous, exemplary, outstanding
all of these superlatives and more
tells us of the rare prowess and style
the Colossus hath in spades galore
Donall Dempsey Jun 2017
". . .THE WONDROUS ARCHITECTURE OF THE WORLDE. . . ."

I laugh
the road over the Hog's Back
closed because....it melted

was the sun ever so
back in your day
eh Kit?

and what do I read
Mr. Marlowe?
why words, Kit, words

that word magician
Dr. Burgess he presumes
to bring you back

to life again
and so it seems
I see your blood Kit

streaming in the firmament
nay only a Deptford sunset
dragged screaming from memory

your blood upon the page Kit...
mere cherry juice it
stains the words

and so to Deptford I
do go
thanks to Madame Remembrance

I a poor
purveyor of poetry
clutching at words

and here
a great reckoning
not  in a little room

but on a lost street
staining the scene
a sickly yellow

and so enough
of Prologue...
Act 1 begins

a smiling ruffian
see his knife smiles too
the blade eager for blood

alas I
in so much pain I
have no fear of death

indeed would welcome
the flicked knife
if it would release me

from my life
a man prepared
to die if it be so

"Come live with me and be
my love..." I doth quote
in my best Passionate Shepard

"Wot?" he wots
scared of my insouciance
the ghost of Marlowe by my side

ahhh he the very villian
a scar from eye to smile
he aims to do the same to me

"Where, rogue... did
they get thee?" I mock
"VILLIANS 'R' US?"

Marlowe's ghost laughs
"Aye lad...aye lad
to him!"

"Only one of us..."
I warn my hellhound
"....will come out of this alive!"

I pause for effect
"And I'm afraid
it won't be( hee hee ) thee!"

I take a determined step
towards my would-be
now trembling killer

who all this wordage
being too much for him
he flees

ahhh the glint of words
defeats the glint of steel
he my would-be-not-to-be-death

"What God or Feend, or spirit of the earth,
Or Monster turned to manly shape
Or of what mould or mettle he be made...?"

I declaim to an audience
of cats and cans and
other streetly filth

I...I. . .unable to
find the next line
and so I etc., etc., etc.

and once more
I am of Guildford yet again
30 years or more away

and there melts a road
upon the Hog's Back
and I laugh to be alive

"Doth teach vs all to have aspyring mindes:
Our soules, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the worlde.."
TAMBURLAINE:

"Nature, that fram'd us of four elements
Warring within our ******* for regiment,
Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds.
Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the world,
And measure every wandering planet's course,
Still climbing after knowledge infinite,
And always moving as the restless spheres,
Wills us to wear ourselves and never rest,
Until we reach the ripest fruit of all,
That perfect bliss and sole felicity,
The sweet fruition of an earthly crown.”
― Christopher Marlowe, Tamburlaine the Great, Part 1

ORTYGIUS

What god, or fiend, or spirit of the earth,
Or monster turned to a manly shape,
Or of what mould or mettle he be made,
What star or fate soever govern him,
Let us put on our meet encountering minds;
And, in detesting such a devilish thief,
In love of honour and defence of right,
Be arm'd against the hate of such a foe,
Whether from earth, or hell, or heaven he grow.

― Christopher Marlowe, Tamburlaine the Great ACT II, Scene VI.


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The Passionate Shepherd to His Love Related Poem Content Details
BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow Rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,
With Coral clasps and Amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
the poet's quill doth fill the page everyday
with a wordage selection array
readers do thrall in these displays
of images light of ray
so too of shades grey
on any given day
quills work away
to bring forth
poetic
plays
nivek Oct 2023
offended, off-ended
end of conversation.
of a lengthy discourse
he did verily imbibe
twas truly a prolonged
kind of scribe

a succinct version
he could have easily writ  
to convey the meaningfulness
of the message he wanted to knit

ever did the wordage
keep on continually rolling
there twas little or no break
from the tiring scrolling

on and on
and well beyond
oh how he delighted in holding us
with his infinite bond

some pruning and trimming
twas needed on his expansive stanzas
as the dashed things
were growing like ivy bonanzas

nowt did stop him
he pursued an exhausting trail
without reigning in its
million mile grail

the reading journey he took us on
did stretch out
of that there is most certainly
no doubt

his next installment
twill be another extended sound byte
one which will linger
unto the late hours of night

one awaits to sight and marvel
with much anticipation
at him displaying
his protracted dissertation
Marshal Gebbie Apr 2018
If only we can catch that phrase that slips beyond our reach
Catch that phrase that teeters on our tongue,
Wrap those words elusive in a bouquet of mystique
To scatter forth like harlequins un-thumbed.
To caste our bright confetti of sweet wordage unconfined
Across the room and flung above the green,
To blue sky where syllables cavort to mix and play,
Where riotously in colour they are seen.
A symphony of texture in articulated sound
Revealing mans’ great majesty displayed,
Revealing the story of one humble moments joy
Of simple words so brilliantly portrayed.

M.
3 April 2018
@ Wozzles Copse
TARANAKI
Poetic T Dec 2018
If I could repeat a
                 moment,
it would be the victory sign
                              I gave you.

The sign of ******* used in
                           singular usage.
those of an educated and memorable
                                      use of wordage.

One meaning I'm free of the shackles,
                   and that I'm no longer
beneath you.


Instead it meant in an aspect of freedom,
         but then I got real turning it
                                                     on its head.


And to others that saw it meant what it said,

                          *******....


I'm no longer yours, I'm free of you...
                     and my life is mine  from this day...

Mine to live,
no longer shacked
                      by others
                      weak bonds that I'm  free of.
Donall Dempsey Jun 2018
". . .THE WONDROUS ARCHITECTURE OF THE WORLDE. . "

I laugh
the road over the Hog's Back
closed because....it melted

was the sun ever so
back in your day
eh Kit?

and what do I read
Mr. Marlowe?
why words, Kit, words

that word magician
Dr. Burgess he presumes
to bring you back

to life again
and so it seems
I see your blood Kit

streaming in the firmament
nay only a Deptford sunset
dragged screaming from memory

your blood upon the page Kit...
mere cherry juice it
stains the words

and so to Deptford I
do go
thanks to Madame Remembrance

I a poor
purveyor of poetry
clutching at words

and here
a great reckoning
not  in a little room

but on a lost street
staining the scene
a sickly yellow

and so enough
of Prologue...
Act 1 begins

a smiling ruffian
see his knife smiles too
the blade eager for blood

alas I
in so much pain I
have no fear of death

indeed would welcome
the flicked knife
if it would release me

from my life
a man prepared
to die if it be so

"Come live with me and be
my love..." I doth quote
in my best Passionate Shepard

"Wot?" he wots
scared of my insouciance
the ghost of Marlowe by my side

ahhh he the very villian
a scar from eye to smile
he aims to do the same to me

"Where, rogue... did
they get thee?" I mock
"VILLIANS 'R' US?"

Marlowe's ghost laughs
"Aye lad...aye lad
to him!"

"Only one of us..."
I warn my hellhound
"....will come out of this alive!"

I pause for effect
"And I'm afraid
it won't be( hee hee ) thee!"

I take a determined step
towards my would-be
now trembling killer

who all this wordage
being too much for him
he flees

ahhh the glint of words
defeats the glint of steel
he my would-be-not-to-be-death

"What God or Feend, or spirit of the earth,
Or Monster turned to manly shape
Or of what mould or mettle he be made...?"

I declaim to an audience
of cats and cans and
other streetly filth

I...I. . .unable to
find the next line
and so I etc., etc., etc.

and once more
I am of Guildford yet again
30 years or more away

and there melts a road
upon the Hog's Back
and I laugh to be alive

"Doth teach vs all to have aspyring mindes:
Our soules, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the worlde.."
As sere as the Nevada
Moraine surrounding me
My pen drips dust and sometimes sand-
And mud if wetted with my tears
Of longing and frustration.

The winds of war are howling
As the universe turns inside out
with all the wrongness being done.
Mother Nature has picked up her skirts
and flounced away in fury
That is costing endless lives
And devastation planet wide…
While my pen seeks its navel.

My wit, became a brilliant crayon
In realities now scorching sun,
Leaving Rally in a melted pool
Instead of banners on the wall.
It turned my fingers crimson.

Where the splint or plaster cast
To support the flagging wordage
As it dribbles from my pen and
Seeps away into insouciance
While the darkest corner of my mind
Cries out for help and world salvation.
My pen’s, become a giant sieve, stained
By what’s poured in and through,
With only dampness left behind,
The stuff that mud is made from.
       ljm
A different kind of writer's block.
Drab Nov 15
It seems.
Based on my perception.
That people,
Use.
WORDS.

Communication is great.
But once those ******* letters, pauses and…..
Oh, what is missing?
You cannot see the persons’ words?
You cannot “be”,  in their, “skin”?

These are questions.
I ask myself.


From time to time. About myself. From time to time.

— The End —