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A Parody

It is what it is.
And,
Well...
Even if a parody,
It's more of a wasted imitation...
Of a conciousness spent,
Upon seeking comic relief.
Instead of finding a seriousness,
To immediately correct...
What is no longer funny.

It is what it is.
And,
Well...
A joke that has become a reality to live,
Is a life no one regards for its significance.
And the importance of it,
Has less value than a game to play...
To see who can compete to lose the most.
With those wishing to mend with a winning,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pure and Innocent

Why shouldn't children participate in protests,
And rallies affecting their lives and futures?
Well...
It is believed,
To keep children away from the realities of life...
They will grow up to become disillusioned,
By their fantasized perceptions that should remain...
Pure and innocent.
Although what they are exposed to contradicts,
The wholesomeness of pretentions revealed...
They face on a daily basis.
And this...
Somehow,
Will prevent them from becoming...
The responsible and accountable adults,
They have now to emulate in imitation,
To idolize as their heros!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Morning I Rebel Against Myself

THIS MORNING I REBEL AGAINST MYSELF

This morning I rebel against myself
Without enthusiasm I approach the page
I do not know where I should go right now
Empty as I am I am afraid.

Yet hearing echoes of a greater voice
And knowing Inspiration real through you
I laugh and wonder if your Greatness makes
A mockery of all I’ll ever do.

Dear Shakespeare in whose most casual lines
Poetry beyond all I strive to seem
I hear you through my minor reverie
Undermine the rhythm of my dream.

So in poor imitation I now write
Lines that won’t survive this angry night.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sonnet: Introspection

What right have I to tempt a soul to sin?
What right have I to show bad example?
What right have I to make soul sin's waste-bin?
What right have I to offer Eve's Apple?

How can I do the work, the devil does?
How can I mislead others into sin?
How can I help one sin and to God curse?
How can I Satan's friendship, favours win?

Accursed be me, the wrath of God shall come;
Atone, let me before His Rod gets raised;
Renounce, let me, the devil, not stay dumb;
Confess, let me my sins; Let God be praised.

For devils can't give me my Salvation;
Let me live life in Christ's imitation.

poem by John Celes
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Traveling Light

As I continue on my journey
I'm beginning to travel light
Preparing myself for tomorrow
the distance is out of sight

my suitcase is old and tattered
backpack is old and shattered
shoulder bag is not leather
imitation, I do think

waters of clear crystal
how I long to drink
threads breaking loose, unravel
many steps left to travel

so many things are idols
I don't need anymore
I'll understand it better
when I reach the other shore

[...] Read more

poem by Heather Burns
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Fake Flowers

ı do not like fake flowers
having no soul and odor
dry and like ice
they gaze with their icy..cold eyes
they tray to smell
but only in imitation
but have no smell or odor
ı n the natural flowers
you find the all the mixture and voices
of the colors and the odors
they smell
like a beloved..like a comrade..like a mother
and they flow into you
like a colorful fountain
one is man made
the other GOD made
one wavers and boasts ''ME..ME..MEE..
the other gives real friendship and love
and GOD..the one who looks at us
and protects us from above

[...] Read more

poem by Metin Sahin
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Victorian

An old man with a beard like a prophet
Comes behind me very vigilant
Various badges on his torn coat
And should be a retired Vice-Admiral.
He calls me; ' Son, stop for a while
And I have noticed you since a long time
That you must belonged to Victorian era
Regarding your conduct that express the originality.'
'I am sorry Sir, I think you have mistaken
And I am from Sri Lanka,
This is an imitation Victoria Cross
And I have never been to British Armed Services
But an ordinary soldier who fights with the life.'
I said politely.
I saw he goes in a different way
And tells the same story to another pedestrian.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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As Far As My Eye Can See In My Body’s Senses

All the trees all their branches all of their leaves
The grass at the foot of the rocks and the houses en masse
Far off the sea that your eye bathes
These images of day after day
The vices the virtues so imperfect
The transparency of men passing among them by chance
And passing women breathed by your elegant obstinacies
Your obsessions in a heart of lead on virgin lips
The vices the virtues so imperfect
The likeness of looks of permission with eyes you conquer
The confusion of bodies wearinesses ardours
The imitation of words attitudes ideas
The vices the virtues so imperfect

Love is man incomplete

poem by Paul Eluard
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If You Feel You Are Important

We are no more important,
Than the importance to us given.
If that is the reason,
You are basing your self worth.
And those opinions of others,
You and others may overrate as valued.

However,
If you feel you are important.
And this is the significance of your identity,
Why should you care what impression you make,
On those not paying you any attention.
Why is it a concern an attention to you be given?

If,
You feel you are important.
This is not a reflection of someone's ego.
This is acceptance with acknowledgement.
Who one 'is' is a gift of known identity.
And not an imitation of an interpretation.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Freedom Of Rational Thinking (Revised)

Worked without fatigue and anxiety, without
fear of the darkness lurking in my head, and
then you said, 'Do not take these pills regularly'
I thought ‘but they enable my being a regular
human being instead of an imitation golem
equivalent to a paranoid android'

I prefer to be on an even keel to being at the
mercy of the wind, tossed about in the sea of
my own fears, and after tasting the freedom
of rational thinking less mental blocks to
interfere I reject the Dark Middle Ages holding
sway in my mind and imagination

To just sit and breathe without anxiety is such
a treat - I cannot give that up willingly!

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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