Poetry competition CLOSED 7th July 2019 1:45pm
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Doppelgänger: the DUP Oscars

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Write a poem in the style of (or about) your favorite DUP poets

The Oscar Awards show is a pretentious display of self-congratulations foisted upon the public by the vainest of industries.

Let’s do one for us!

Pause for pictures as we stroll down the red carpet and meet all the wonderful stars that make up DUP.

In the spirit of the competitions Ahavati and Johnny Blaze co-host that introduce us to famous poets, this competition will introduce us to your favorite DUP poets.

Write a poem in the style of a DUP poet you admire, or, in your style, write about a DUP poet you admire.

1. Winner will be chosen by vote, because I want to participate.

2. No limit on submissions, but each of your submissions must be inspired by a different poet. If someone else writes in the style of a particular poet, you may submit one as well. But no duplicates from the same poet.

3. Below your poem, IN THE BODY OF THE POEM SPACE, NOT THE AUTHOR’S NOTES, You MUST provide the name of the poet who inspired the poem AND a link to the URL of the poet’s collection of poems or a specific poem that you particularly like. Words of praise and how you are inspired by the poet or poetess are optional, but will advance this competition’s purpose.

Good luck Undergrounders!

poet Anonymous

Frank'nsteined poetry seeks same for afternoon coffee and occasional

Her ink stains my sheets  
from an
  unique existence  
where words are surgically  
removed, in-ject-ed
    with various
 s   p   a   c   e   s    and ap’s,
then frank’nsteined together,  
forming horrifically
beautiful phrases all
into a necklace  
of sex, rage, love and crazy
she wears around her neck  
dis  regard;
because, why should she care if your pretty brain can't understand her poetry?

Devlin has one of the most unique poetic minds and styles I have had the pleasure to read on DUP. Her pen is a scalpel. She makes fine incisions into her soul and ours, pulls out truth that only she can find, and scribes it in fine trebuchet, dripping with blood.

poet Anonymous


Undoubtedly, she’s Quatern Queen,      
Reigning in such striped mystery;          
Her formatting so accomplished,        
Leaving the rest of us awestruck.        
Whenever we read DUP        
Undoubtedly, she’s Quatern Queen;          
Gracing us with her tigress poems,        
Demonstrating classical forms.          
We do attempt to emulate        
Her writing expertise, but        
Undoubtedly, she’s Quatern Queen;        
And our skills fall too short indeed!          
Yet, with pen between our fingers        
We attempt to honor dear Jade;          
Knowing after failed attempts,          
Undoubtedly, she’s Quatern Queen.          
Jade-Pandora:  Jade is undoubtedly one of the most precise poetesses to grace DUP. When it comes to classic forms, she honors them with style and grace.  This sets and example for us all regarding the pursuit and perfection of timeless literature.  https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/Jade-Pandora/
poet Anonymous

I Hate David Macleod

I don't like David Macleod  
I don't like the guy
Not one bit, not at all  

Why; his poetry is better  
It makes the girls wetter  
Than anything I could letter  
So, I'll say it once again  
And ever more loud  
I hate David Macleod  
David is from England  
And I am an American  
Which means he's actually  
Smarter than I am  
And that makes me  
Want to have a cow
This is a satirical write about a fellow poet I admire.  So, before you message me on how disrespectful I am, please familiarize yourself as to the meaning of satire.
poet Anonymous

Standing strong

on hallowed ground, shattered    
affording themselves hope to survive -
future beyond sickness    
and death, surely  
    was possible after this    
mass extinction, lives    
rotting, decaying bodies    
 from state to state    
    Mother Abigail-    
stopping along the way    
  dreaming up cornfields  
homemade biscuits    
          fried chicken wings    
   ‘Come to me’ she said    
‘ya’ll come on now, ya he'yah?’    
bloody guitar    
  casting demons in the pit    
It was at this very time    
they found their way    
rebuilt one city  
    boulder by Boulder    
while another disintegrated    
  by the nuclear hand of God  
fingers outstretched    
Viva Las Vegas
Theirs became home    
       to the goodness that remained    
the first baby born  
 in pure snow-    
   they knew they were    
on hallowed ground    
   standing strong    
Johnny is one of the most diverse writers on DUP. He has a unique style of interweaving rhyme and half-rhyme, and an uncanny way of capturing the essence of something in a singular verse.  His series of poems based on Stephen King novels do just that.  
poet Anonymous


I live across the pond, yet see her        
sunrise silhouette in that shed, potting and planning,            
her mind constantly rooting words, flourishing           
from the rafter of her tongue.            
I see me, too, patiently waiting to grasp every seedling offered.              
This is Hallowed thought, a sacrosanct connection
of Rock, bone, and blood of sorts – separated
through generations of mothers who were less than gentle
and daughters who learned to hide cruel skeletons
in closets long before adolescence.

We share that, her and I-
knowledge no loved or wanted child tastes;
and yet, we both were to the best of
their maternal abilities.

Nature erases her pain, between
Golden Chaffinch and Wood Pigeons,
fox and Cup and Saucer Vine, she kneads soil pliable
with her hands, extended fingers stretching deep
for the source of life to bury her past in.

I know her burrowed sanctuary
through the thick wooded reserve
and do not worry when she disappears
down its throat.

Because,  I also know, no matter what path or ocean
or lake swallows her form, she will return as spring,
as azalea and squirrel, as cormorant and cold surf
to the donation of her life's work that is this
Rockhallowed garden I tangibly envision myself in.

I also know that she knows I will always be here
as a bulb, patiently awaiting her warmth to emerge.            
Imprefectedstone is one of the most imagery-laden writers I've read.  Her remarkable depictions of a naturistic life create the most beautiful visions in my sphere.  She is not only a gardener of gardens, but spirits as well.  I feel a deep-seeded connection to her soul and blessed beyond measure to have met her in this lifetime            
poet Anonymous

To yelluw_always

You write like snowdrops
I cry, my heart weeps in awe
lay words like petals

poet Anonymous


No Tyrant of Words
Instead, Liberator  
Freed Speech
if there ever was
Not nearly enough  
can be said about her
skillfull English language  
words line up in formation
proudly stanzing attentive
ready for charging readers'
ranks, circling their flanks -
taking them by surprise
captivating audiences
Tanks to those loyal subjects
I resigned, accepting utter
defenselessness against  
such expressed efficiency;  
made prisoner years ago
having since foregone
any and all great escape  
opportunities large or small -
actually preffering my detention
where long sentences are  
served with swift executions
for Ahavati with Love 💜💑💋
poet Anonymous

Corvus lucidae

Smooth, shiny, like volcanic glass
I gasp
You are magnific
Whatever you are
Idea or reminiscence
I wish to see you soar
Agile mind
We recognize one another
You are tired, deservedly so
Every smart element, pure
Nobody mislaid a stroke
While painting you
Will we meet again
Ere long,  in the turf
To say, “bonjour”
Dark as witchcraft
As dead of night
As elegant demise

I chose to (re) write this poem by the great poetess Sky_dancer as a tribute to the Cosmic Dragon. She is deserving of the red carpet.

poet Anonymous

Princess ov Passion

a child ov the earth
she does not walk
rather, she glides from
metaphor to rhyme
on silk and air
ancient wisdom
pyro’scribed on runes
glowing with magic
she rules her world
and ours with a whisper

respecting the gods
she answers to none
{save one}
rather, she keeps with
poets and poetesses
her beautiful creatures
a precise ballet of chaos
in gardens ov underground
delights and thoughts—
her treasures {she guards
them with a ritual blade}
her private dance
a sadistic pas de deux

when lavender mist burns
revealing a row of stools
she is there with her gin
and welcomes us in
to her domain, making plain
that the day is ours
and the night is ours too

Avatars Amok & Doppelgänger Competitions
Earth_Child (shadoe) is an artist with words. She does not simply write, she paints—in colors we mere mortals cannot fathom, but may sometimes behold.

poet Anonymous

Humus Man

He’s my prosaic humus man —
I’ll take him any way I can.
He likes potato chips and girls
When writing formulaic pearls.

To read his sonnets are a feast
As soft-spoke lover or a beast.
A high sea’s surge of tempest toss,
A reader’s gain despite his loss.

But I’m the one who always wins
With end of day’s poetic spins,
When coffee break & work is thru’
He comes to me and joy ensues.

Our very spoken words of mirth
Will often conjure forth the birth
Of haiku, senryu and verse,
And more traditional converse.

This alley cat so versatile,
The way he crafts a rhyme & spill.
There’s nothing finer to be caught
In reader’s net rare fish are sought.      
A generous person and poet.      
I’ve been with him since December 2015, getting to know and learning from each other - we never can know enough. One of many honors of knowing Geoff is how much we both have developed as writers & poets.  When we first met, my thing was more freeverse & Japanese short form - his was not.  His was high-powered Shakespearean sonnets - I didn’t even recognize his poetry in the Sonnet form... that’s how clueless i was back then.  We’ve both been knocked around by life, but together, our passions meld, and humor rules ( and heals ) our days.  With all my love to my Tomcat, I am his Tigress.      
poet Anonymous

The King of Sonnets

The king of sonnets pens his careful lines
a range of topics right across the board
from social comment angled to our times
to love and life - no aspect is ignored
Consistency’s the word that springs to mind
the current task involving one a day
a whole year long, and slowly we will find
our worlds are gifted in his special way
If Shakespeare were around, took time to read
I’m sure he would applaud this use of form
for sonnets bring a lens to human need
in times of calm, in times of testing storm
It takes a man of courage to evolve
as one by one the pains of life are solved.

poet Anonymous

in a nature of Boy

morning, luv … the dawn
of a new day, of a new
verse echoes over a station
of sound as you awaken
over a haven of mine – at moment, I am
drifting like a fisherman caught
in a fog, weaving in and out
of a sub'consciousness that is your
poetry … you greet me and those
alike with words
only a man can understand in a
nature of Boy who can pen the death
of a falling leaf in a eulogy of beauty
and give it life once again … and the life
you give
                                is love,
continually embraced with a notation
of inimitable romanticism …without argument;
the depths you reach, and
the ardors that you tell,
and the visuals
that you sketch are all
but a step out a front door – it is truly
remarkable     …I breathe at the sight of you
and brace what is to be'come   you are truth
because you teach      the divine of exquisiteness
in an obvious
uncertain world, a world you
by what is constantly overshadowed by
the human animal  

                       that is you my King …

   ''shh – '' come lay with me;

for JusTim_ as his beauty was already stirring in my soul …I just didn't know it.  I am not a poet of romance nor do I gravitate to it as a fan but I've made Tim the exception; love blended with nature is his poetic forte and I'm so glad that mine is not. Because if it were, we'd be so un'fucking balanced!  I'll see you in Vegas, babe … may your royals flush out my full house!

poet Anonymous

If it's Dartford, breathe in ...

Every poem
a subtle twist
a pinch of humour
and something someone  


poet Anonymous


Silhouetted by light-traced form    
around the window, behind the door-        
she stands, her hand upon its knob      
ready to turn, and yet she cannot.        
It will not open, that solid trunk      
safety net of former forest-        
not by grasp nor pull, revealing      
a living world beyond her being.        
Anxiety, birthed from shade-        
offers security of darkened wing.        
Riddles life a haunting maze,      
hand-feeds fear with doubt and lies.        
Today, she will not face the truth-      
in shadows safe and rumors loud.        
Maybe tomorrow, or even next year-        
or, maybe never, so it appears.      
Yet, Love is faithful, standing strong        
gently reminds, Take your time;        
if we cannot overcome in Life      
we most certainly will in Death.        
Where shadows dare not exist      
amid Source Energies of Truth.
Kathy is a very prolific writer who couples deep feeling with spirituality.  Her writings reflect an astute observation of both a vulnerable self and family history.  Her life line to the world is poetry, and her dedication to the craft is an inspiration to those who read her offerings of love and hope.  
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