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An inheritance

What will the next generation inherit from us?
We have lost everything
From culture to character
From noble literature to sublime art
In the name of culture we have vulgar dance
Imitation is our character
Our literature has lost its charm
And our art is restricted to shoot nude models
What do we have except 'CONFUSION'
For them to inherit?

poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Self-Deception

The fooling of Self starts with lies
Pretensions that cover naked eyes

Writing based on sly and covert moves
Insults the art with dirty shallow grooves

Creativity is killed with utter duplication
Originality slain by literary imitation.

Such practice marks a character famine
That writer is a thief that dwells therein.

March 31,2010
Cynthia Buhain Baello

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Simulacra

Why does the horse-faced lady of just the unmentionable age
Walk down Longacre reciting Swinburne to herself, inaudibly?
Why does the small child in the soiled-white imitation fur coat
Crawl in the very black gutter beneath the grape stand?
Why does the really handsome young woman approach me in Sackville Street
Undeterred by the manifest age of my trappings?

poem by Ezra Pound
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Two way applause

I’m lavish with praises for you
So that you’d be so to me or
Since you’ve been so to me.
Each of us basks at our glory.
Egos want food that we serve thus.
It’s mutual as we intend love.
The imitation of jewelry
Is the limitation of the have-not.
We aren’t real jewels.
No harm, no loss, and hence no shame.
Soothing is a pseudo-applause.
Let us feign jewels to each other.
17.01.2009

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Imitation Crab Meat

Sir,
The mice have begun to scatter.
And a few are displaying independent attitudes.
What do you recommend we do to keep them under control?

'Add some hip-hop to that soul music.
And upgrade that cheap wine for some Moet.
Those re-allocated funds have finally arrived.

With the cheese and the Moet with baked bacon,
Wrapped around imitation crab meat...
We should have them soon eating out of our hands.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Until an Attention Is Bestowed

A flower,
Not appreciated for the uniqueness...
Of its natural beauty,
Is no different than the oversight given...
To an imitation that represents,
That which it isn't.

Until an attention is bestowed upon it.
And only then,
When that attention becomes focused...
Does the scent of it provide enjoyment.
And all that is surrounding it,
Connects with an attachment...
As if noticed for the first time.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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He who lets the world, or his own portion of it, choose his plan of life for him, has no need of any other faculty than the ape-like one of imitation. He who chooses his plan for himself, employs all his faculties. He must use observation to see, reasoning and judgment to foresee, activity to gather materials for decision, discrimination to decide, and when he has decided, firmness and self-control to hold to his deliberate decision.

John Stuart Mill in On Liberty (1859)
Added by Lucian Velea
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Three Nights

*
(inspiration)

I want to open the door
and throw myself down
the mountain we live on top of
merely fall through the darkness
and fall until wings are growing out

*
(imitation)

Down
in the highway viaduct
the voices of the dead are heard
loudly roaring

as thoughts we are
as cursory

[...] Read more

poem by Mikael Ejdemyr
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The Death Of Restrictions

The death of restrictions,
Has been determined a suicide.
And those driven to weep in grief,
Can not decide what to do...
With the rest of their lives,
Without being directed.
Or whom to follow behind,
With steps to immulate...
To re-enact an imitation.

The death of restrictions,
Has been determined a suicide.
And those driven to weep in grief,
Can not decide what to do...
With the rest of their lives.
And left to feel abandoned,
Since not too many...
Have offered any sympathy.
Or willing to empathize.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A weight carried

I carry a weight in my chest
A sorrow all of my own
It is to the love forlorn
The chanceless regret
The love I once sought
I did not fight to keep
Now I fall as a shadow
A poor imitation of me
And in my thoughts it remains
Every lost wanton care
It is my burden my weight
Hung upon my heart
My life’s regret
I lost my way somehow
Forgot what I was meant to say
Now in silence I brood
Over a thought and a love
Both full sorrowful
It is a weight within my chest
I ask no pray or wish for love

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Holloway
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