Doppelgänger: the DUP Oscars

metaphorical metafours  
for ( some reason)  
confuscian twilight   
                                  time   
                                          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)  
                                   happen(stanced)  
                         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),   
wit   
          more than this   
                        to be           seen a'gin,   
when aye'm finally gone  
&   
poets a'griev(anced) for such unhappy’daze  
lacking   
    (      of      )   
                me   
 
we'll see.  
we'll see.  
(Won't wee?)  
 
how sincere  
   aye(eye) I say ,    
 
Quoth tha DaDa  
                       evermore ,  
                                           metaphorically  
that be. . .  
 
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn   
Ahavati\\\\\\\\\\\\\\2019////////////   
~  
 
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.

https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/dkzksaxxas_DanielX/

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.

https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/345570-afterward-proverbs-napowrimo-2019/

        
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     
      
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      
yours?      
     
Or mine?      
     
Regardless, I shall remember this day    
forever      
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
for Adsy ❤      
     
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/TwoSpirit/      
     
     
 

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' sing-song   
by my garden gate’s first-light yawn  
awaiting patiently each dawn  
~    
   
Josh  
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.    
   
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/Josh/

 
 
 
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*
pic-people.desktopnexus.com

( 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
stretched
‘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
determined
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
stealthily,
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.

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  
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.  
 
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/highlyfunctional/