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Doppelgänger: the DUP Oscars

jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 9th Nov 2015
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Sweet Grass🌾

( after ImperfectedStone aka Poppy )    
( a Sonnet )    
I walk an endless mile with fringe that sways,    
The pony beads, their colors, story tells.    
My hair is braided on which sunrise plays,    
And silver cones that jingle just like bells.    
I hear the metered drumbeat as life’s clue.    
For prairie fox and birds among the blades,    
A lush great plains sweet grass ablaze with dew;    
The foraging resumes as footstep fades.    
It’s all my sanctuary and my friends;    
The sky, the clouds & moon to rest beneath.    
In sagebrush I hear prairie chicken hens,    
I wear, of mustard green & mint, a wreath.    
I take my basket filled with where I roam,    
And go back to my home away from home.    
My tribute to ImperfectedStone aka Poppy Banks

I started to get to know Poppy’s wonderful garden “Rockhollow”, where she lives in England, when we participated in DUP’s NaPoWriMo 2019 through last April.  I became such an ardent follower of the beautifully detailed entries, there was no question in my mind how I would emulate Poppy’s soul-satisfying horticultural series.  And, instead of an English garden, I have transported the reader to a region of the American Great Plains, where the speaker of “Sweet Grass” is my version of Poppy as an Arapaho woman. If you have yet to be introduced to her “Rockhollow” series, do yourself a huge favor and start reading, and be transformed.  —Jade
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 4107

Quoth tha DaDa, evermore

metaphorical metafours
for ( some reason)  
confuscian twilight   
                                          again ?   
A Universal(ly)   
                   twinkle wink o me eye  
                                while darkness (dis)appears  
                                               wit all this   
                                                              finality ,   
                                                then mornin’ rise’n   
                                          as if nothing (no thing)  
                         into the sum of my  
                           shortened life-  
                time being almost over  
          from being anything a’tall  
(The light being too bright to remember the stars  
ye wished upon ( up up and on) )  
  a dreaming replica   (of my chyld),   
          more than this   
                        to be           seen a'gin,   
when aye'm finally gone  
poets a'griev(anced) for such unhappy’daze  
    (      of      )   
we'll see.  
we'll see.  
(Won't wee?)  
how sincere  
   aye(eye) I say ,    
Quoth tha DaDa  
                       evermore ,  
that be. . .  
Daniel Kozak  
dkzksaxxas_DanielX (DadaDoggyDannyKozakSaxfn)  
Danny is the reason I am here. We met in a poetry group on facebook well over five years ago. I saw one of his posts and was mesmerized by his break from conventional vocabulary as well as form.  He will always be one of my favorite poets here on DU.  He is an iconic legend whose style will remain unmatched in the poetic community.  
He is currently battling cancer and heart disease, and I cannot imagine DU without him.   Much Love, Danny.

Written by Ahavati
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Fire of Insight
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Joined 13th May 2018
Forum Posts: 212


I laugh, and dance throughout the atmosphere,
A spirit borne by light, and wind, and cloud!
I sing a song that men shall never hear,
performing for the universe, uncowed!

No form is fit to house the transmundane,
my essence is pure joy of life itself.  
A fickle sprite, I'm innocently vain,  
I fear no poverty, or covet wealth!  

This game, called love, that earth-bound mortals play
seems such a waste of time and energy!  
Their lives so short, then ending in decay,  
a stunning contrast to my reverie!  
This passing thought, of mankind’s misery,  
dismissed without intentional disdain,  
as, like the wind, I have no history
to give me pause, or memories of pain!
Written by ReggiePoet (Reggie)
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I confess I wrote this last year; yet, I discovered that The Transmundane does indeed exist among us: She is Sky_dancer!


Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
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Joined 3rd Mar 2013
Forum Posts: 2191

She Danced On The Moon

Writer of amazing potential
(I say potential because you keep deleting everything)
spewed it across the written canvas for all to read
your story, emotions and fine perspective
Queen of the metaphor
one of the truly troubled artists
depths so deep you kept hidden
even from me

A beautiful mystery
she got high, danced on the moon
caused havock in the forums
then fucked off never to be found again

Where ever your feet tap and sway
whatever lake you sit beside
I know she's happy

For Miki moondancer wherever she may be

Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 30th June 2016
Forum Posts: 256

Game Of Queens (Inspired By Ahavati)

The chess pieces were all in a row,    
intents liked up for the game.  
Whether or not to win was  
the first question,    
Whether or not to take the journey    
was the last.    
In the beginning the pawns    
were prepared for slaughter,    
later they saw its purpose in    
relationships to placements    
of higher echelons -    
They were the important ones    
despite terminal moves,    
all was fair in a game of no winners    
or losers, only survivors in witness to    
a higher purpose and the learning of it.
The journey was the absorption of    
all strategies and the mastering of them    
with a prayer for the other side.    
In the heat of checkmate, the Queen in    
full view is a player, not merely a piece    
or a member of a board.    
She had watched intently    
her fatherly ascendants    
in order to prepare for this moment,    
to be placed here and to stand alone -    
She knew her strength and was not afraid of it,    
she had been a pawn once.
Her guard was retained in    
placement of her intentions    
to rise above the game,    
the favor of which she had already won,    
and she knew it's secret,    
she was always a step ahead -    
The queens were the kingpins    
on which the kingdom hinged;    
they were everything..
Inspired by Ahavati's Napowrimo 2019 series which had a powerful presence and a running theme of strength through wisdom gained throughout life.

Written by PoetsRevenge
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Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 179

[ The Muse(s) ] Bra'illed

If only I could emulate anything    
remotely resembling the sensual    
creature of words that you are;    
body language read    
in text'iled exploration -    
your embossed fonts bold      
on November 5th mornings cold    
proudly protruding through    
that wild bronco mane in      
exuberant proclamations of    
Remember, remember this day    
Kneading warmth from fingertips    
familiarized with fantasies fulfilled    
figure-atively spoken re-enactments    
of a belly dancing, abdomen quivering    
genia bottled behind silken veils    
your wine soaked lips are;    
how she continues to revel even now    
after being released from cork    
plunged in the whole of her prison    
Blinded by function pervading form    
I am left pondrously wondering    
Were the wishes granted here today    
Or mine?
Regardless, I shall remember this day    
for Adsy ❤    
Written by MaryWalker
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jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 9th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 4896

Be sure no moth stows away in the lingerie

I’ve started a scrapbook of places I’ve been to, vicariously, through his slideshow avatar.
It’s like a looking glass, and I’ve become an Alice in Wonderland. So where do we go today?  
In a gondola?, riding the canals of Venice, followed by our pet hippo ( that we picked up going down the Congo ), with our luggage strapped on its back as he yawns.  
Or sailing up the swollen Nile in a dhow he rented from a friend of his from Iraq. To offset the cost, he traded in a yak, so merrily on we went.  How did he manage to keep the mosquitos from biting?  
It’s for reasons like these and many more,  
Why it’s always fun to travel with him.  
Everywhere we go, no matter what for,  
There’s no end to the sights of ev’ry whim.  
Whether here or there, we’re at the party,  
Or at a county fair, we take first prize.  
And while on a tear, be square, be arty,  
Or on a double dare, eat twice the pies.  
The Near, the Middle, and the Far East rocks!  
The North & South, the East & West are best!  
For all your mem’ories, just set your clocks,  
Don’t start to count, just come we’ll do the rest!  
My tribute to one of our newer DU members; none other than nomoth😃  
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 2nd Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 455

Man of the People


This man sees clearly through slithery bull
he cuts to the guts with an arrowed quill
elevates misfits with a human eye
to question assumptions, collective lies;

Burns to pointed issues of down-and-outs
and scrapes the decks of our long hidden doubts,
no sentimentalities pass his lips
raw truths make each poem a learning hit;

“See it this way … this, our humanity”
extracts humour from edged insanity,
gritty realism pokes our living rooms
as death hovers close like nit-picking combs;

John Brady, Man Of The People, earth-rooted
two-four-six-zero-one, bearded, blue-suited.


Written by Josh
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For gritty realism with humour, let John take you on a tour of society’s odd-balls, and show you their humanity is ours too. Razor-sharp observance of American cultural crazy-stuff combined with an integrity of collective soul, pressure-washes all lazy assumptions.

Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 4107

Jardim  ( A Villanelle )

By my garden gate’s first-light yawn
reveals entry to the Jardim*  
awaiting patiently each dawn
Blue daisy and black-eyed Susan  
misty flowers can scarce be seen    
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn  
Rows of pots and trellised arbor  
flora buds in need of weeding    
awaiting patiently each dawn  
Calla lilies, peony rose,    
buttercups and hearts a bleeding  
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn  
What have I reaped but what was sown;    
beauty emerged from seedlings    
awaiting patiently each dawn  
Every evening I dream and long  
for daily blooms and birds singing    
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn  
awaiting patiently each dawn  
Josh is the King of Form and constantly amazes me with the precision he executes them with.  I have come to love his emergent leadership from a mature perspective, and admire him as an integral member of the Deep Side.  
Written by Ahavati
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Guardian of Shadows
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Joined 25th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 13744

Dreamlight Friendship


His friendship, like a ribbon of melody  
heard only in quiet nights  
subtle like roses rustling  
as their blooms inhale the wind  
it is he that sits under the moon  
revels on the wind upon his face  
grateful for a life though not perfect  
extracting wonder in his every day  
he shares no pompous words  
nor does he crave for accolades  
just a right to exhale inhale  
on his own little patch of sun  
a caring hello...telepathic touch  
of a kindred spirit  
lift his aloneness a little  
the smile on his lips linger longer  
he has the quiet fire of a poet  
an element that symbolises strength  
and he sends flowers  
unpretentious friendship.  
*this poem was entered in a competition here. thank you for reading*
Written by Grace (Idryad)
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Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 1st Nov 2017
Forum Posts: 171

Of wind & rain, birds & you

( a note of ambient sounds )

I hear a random trill
outside my door
and stop
to lean my head back;
strained eyes closed,
both hands slip off my
lap like a
rush of wind,
where a leather journal
lies open; lined paper,
with inkings
that faintly echo
their vignettes:

cicada shiver
in the rooted trees
from their humid shrill
above the swamp.

It’s times like this
when summer’s young,
nothing like it
will become,
when days are
‘till after ten at night,
and reason
takes its leave
in flight above the
time that now begins,

to let go the sins
of heat that
I’ve been shackled to
as an inmate
who is
to bust out
of prison and pain
like so many
cloudbursts, of rain!

Guards in their towers
don’t see me
as I venture out
only going late at night
when the fevered air
has turned to mist
I’ve blended in,
and won’t be missed.

Though thoughts of you
in southern climes
are often on my mind,
like soothing sounds of
ambient that I never hear,
but I can always feel
as if by touch, a tap
where then I turn
and look back across
the stillness of the
park I always walk.

In time perhaps,
It’s where your words
will find me then.

Written in tribute to Ahavati.

Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
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poet Anonymous

<< post removed >>
Tyrant of Words
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Joined 2nd Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 455

Twinned Planet

On a twinned planet
where stars shine in different patterns
presenting constellations with unusual names,
valued perspectives shape parallel curves
converging at vanishing points
of uncommon human experience.
I’ve been taken there on many occasions
returning to my world
filled with a sense of intriguing possibilities.

Beyond my usual radars, clipping ships
sail the horizon following special instructions;
they filter my assumptions through a strain
made with soft, yet durable, gauze.
A stepped pyramid is imprinted in my mind
as a place which holds treasures from ancient times.
If you wish to remain the same, don’t go there.


Written by Josh
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Yelluw_always is one of DUP’s deaf poets - and from that pointed experience of life I have been educated through her poetry to understand humanity with a keener eye. She will do the same for you - if you let her.

Twisted Dreamer
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Joined 5th Oct 2016
Forum Posts: 126

Wayward Words and the Magic Of Such

There’s what’s left of my dignity
curled around the flail of my own disregard
for the addicts credo
that I want what I want
and I'm willing to set us all on fire to get it
a pretty arsonist
with a penchant for 100%proof and
playing with matches
shuffle steps stagger and slide
out into the morose evening
a drizzle of hunger
spewed onto the pavement
a multicoloured
multi faceted gem
glistening rainbows in the grease
of my lack of self control
and I turn the lock
I turn the lock
I turn the lock
till the tumbler clicks enough times to  
satisfy the fact that I'm
living under a bridge
and drank the rent money again
hope that when the sky clears I can touch the moon
I used to pretend I was anywhere than here
but I know
a secret  
they never see the left coming
my foot on the roaring pedal
is no way to flee myself
despite leaving pieces of me strewn in the alleyway
a garish bunting of my failures
always used to end at the bottom of a bottle
now they're here
in words that fall from my fingers
in metaphors
streaming water that cascades
down my cheeks
the ache in my blood
my bones
and I serve them up with no garnish
no adornments
raw and uncooked
so maybe just maybe
we can sink this shot together and burn
into the night
howling at the pretty moon
finding real dignity
in cursive letters
A tribute to missy demeanour  
Who’s writing is a metaphorical treasure trove
of honest and raw
Her life told in pretty pictures  
even the parts that hack to the bone
A poet
A crafter of words
And someone worth your time to read

Written by Commentonly
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Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 4107

Late Night Automat

Too many years to count
Had passed
But there she was  
In a late night automat  
(isn’t that how it always starts)  
Looking like a painting
Cracked by too much light  
As she sipped her coffee
We talked all night  
In the ways of strangers  
Reacquainting, each hoping  
The other understood
What they missed before.  
She was a late-night loner  
Too caffeinated to see  
Beyond her lipstick-stained mug  
And me, I needed to feel warm  
“So, what do you do now”  
She asked nonchalantly  
I couldn’t say unemployed
Down and out between jobs
I could barely afford the coffee
We shared
I couldn’t take the pity  
Look on her face, again  
“Sales”, I explained  
Like it was an affliction  
A bane in my soul
She was gracious  
But knew I was lying  
Also knew deep down  
I would be gone by morning
She was still single—
We walked to her place  
Around the corner  
And for a time, I was warm  
Until light shredded the illusion  
Her eyes didn’t sting
Morning mist and dew  
She’d been here before  
Knew the routine  
Fed me good before I left  
“Don’t work too hard” she said  
Looking like an old painting
Cracked by too much light  
As she sipped her coffee  
Never saw her again after that-  
But heard years later  
She’d married pretty good
I hoped she'd finally found that thing  
I could never give her  
We were just too different  
And yet wanted so badly to love  
the other  
highlyfunctional is one of the more unique poets on DU. His poetry springs from a reservoir of personal experience combined with human discovery and recognition of the human spirit when affected by unrequited love and carnal desire. While many of his pieces are erotic, many more shadow noir, reflecting those black and white films of mystery, intrigue, and perils of love. Yet the underlying essence is desire for truth, the real deal of a relationship.  
Written by Ahavati
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