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Doppelgänger: the DUP Oscars

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


she dreams    
in pane-glass reflections    
between here and now    
lounging in the middle    
of how      
summer heat warms      
her memories, nights      
wrapped in his safe arms      
but of hospital echos    
and emptiness, too      
she burgeons    
from experience    
shadows life's lead    
garners meaning      
she desires a repeat      
so thick in dreamery      
the future appears oblique    
a vertigo sense of being      
If any balance exists      
it lies not beneath      
nor above her-      
but, in the second hand      
of each breath she exhales      
between life and death    
lies footfalls      
she plants each with grace    
and ineffable beauty of spirit      
an example to us all      
of how to carry on  
'JeJe' is a quite, graceful writer sharing her hopes, desires, fears, and dreams from the tragedy of past experience.  Despite the pain of life, she walks in beauty and grace, sharing each footfall through poetry.      
Written by Ahavati
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Thought Provoker
United States
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Joined 17th Apr 2019
Forum Posts: 275


 A rose with petals of titanium
Her bloody thorns tiny daggers
ripped my flesh, elevated me
I kneel, and know she is my love

COMPETITION PIECE: Doppelganger: the DUP Oscars. I wrote this for Delanee, She has a razor sharp terse verse that takes my breath away.

Written by inechoingsilence
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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 15th Oct 2018
Forum Posts: 1339

deliberately aimless

Deliberately aimless
Not just in the current city where my
domicile of choice exists but also towns  
small with one or two main streets, I    
love to roam and visit the wholeness  
of the entire city so that I might feel  
experience and know its  culture &  
No decisions made as to where or    
when to act upon the where only to  
immerse myself by interacting with  
the awakening hustle and bustle of  
a place where everyone knows    
everyone and everyone’s business.  
I am the Flaneur Gook who now  
everyone is gossiping about  
not just in my small city but in  
everywhere -  small town.  
I’ve have been reading / following oskar for nearly a decade  
& his subtle wit and humor in his ink has captured me  
to a point where I wish I could share his ink with everyone!  
AND what is up with his #themes??!!  Love them though I do  
not understand the choices.  
Written by Tallen (earth_empath)
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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 15th Oct 2018
Forum Posts: 1339

Seraphic Dragon

a Dragon of DUP
wilder than a hurricane
Sexy Intelligent Free
Fearless Brilliantly


no topic off
the list

Drop Dead Gorgeous
Smart sense
& sense of humor
dances and tackles
all poetic forms

Quick quirky quiet
quietly loves to flirt
Quintessential queue
Kindness not inert

Two-edged sword
a samurai of words
Seraphic Dragon
breathes searing
loving while hot
the lines, they blur

I am not very adept to writing like many Poets here
let alone, The Cosmic Dragon, and so, this is my Tribute
to Her, Her kindness, support and challenges to me to
write and often spill out of my comfort zone.
& so I spill this for Sky_dancer

Written by Tallen (earth_empath)
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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 2nd Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 455

Treasured Gems

Gently chiselled from past pains
her words carve new hope
into a troubled world,
leaving treasured gems
next to upturned stones,
offered freely to perceptive travellers
trekking through the jungle
of everyday life.


Written by Josh
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Jemac’s poetry speaks to me of the very human journey through life’s ups and downs, charting spirited responses to each event along the way. Her poems cut unsuspectingly deep into the human soul.

poet Anonymous

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Twisted Dreamer
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Joined 5th Oct 2016
Forum Posts: 126

The buzz of love is nothing more than broken wings

there was nothing else to be done and no where else to turn  
I lay belly down enshrouded in darkness to write
pins and needles tingling in my unruly fingers  
squinting to find a place between the lines  
shadows a tapestry of understanding drifting between  
cognizant and illusion  
honesty sticks to my throat like honey  
sweet and thick with the richness
of a million hours of unacknowledged back breaking effort  
sorrow never sounded so beautiful as the buzz of broken wings  
despondent and still fluttering  
still trying under the moonlight  
how can I tell her  
the sky no longer holds  
constellations of our dreams  
an afterimage of stars that float between  
clouds and smog  
ecohoes of a secret  
made an art of pressing desiccated flowers  
and revelling in their frozen disphoria  
I am responsible  
for the irresponsibility  
of a lover  
standing naked in the kitchen  
a pulsing nerve  
tearing the knuckle bone from  
slow cooked pork steeped in thick gravy  
it runs over my fingers  
sloughing off  
as the sunrise bleeds through venitian blinds  
and a question comes unbidden  
do you still love me?  
and I find I’m more in love with  
the art of loving  
as I sup on the last greasy  
scraps clinging to the knuckle  
I dig in the pot of madness  
leaving hunks of meat intact  
so I can suck at the tibia  
because the sweetest meat is closest to the bone  
Tell me what it’s like being human  
able to stand beneath the sun  
tell me what it’s like  
even though I see  
nothing else can be done

Written for Layla

A poetess who’s words are deep often profound and carry so much light and shade dancing below the surface

Take time out

Written by Commentonly
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Twisted Dreamer
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Joined 5th Oct 2016
Forum Posts: 126

A Stoic Rock Hits Hardest

I take another soothe of
barrell-charred-smoky-flavoured whiskey  
light my immitation Cuban Cigar  

because I
feel as if I’ve lost everything  
more than  
you’ll ever understand, because  
i dont know how to let it out  
it hangs in the lost silences of our last  
drifts in the air heavy  
as decadence flavoured in cancer  
you think its just you  
that I’m able to pick up  
move on as if  
all in  
was a metaphor  
to spread thighs  
to open doors to promises  
as if all i was doing was playing one last tune  
on one more lousy juke box  
while the smoke machine  
blurred reality  
until you bent naked to my ministrations  
an orchestra, I wielded out an opus  
then fled the stage, fled the country  
leaving you with an echo  
well fuck you  
because parts of me are carved in grisly detail  
the silent rock  
you dash your own brains out with  
long after your hurt is gone  
I’ll still be stained  
in your blood  
with only bottles of  
anesthetics to wash it off  
A small tribute to HighlyFunctional  
Who’s noir styling is smoothe as aged whiskey  
and he sees the light in the darkness  
Written by Commentonly
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Tyrant of Words
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Joined 2nd Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 455

For The Living

Trail-blazing evolution
paint-balling poetry onto blank pages
words grass-hopper along the lines
linking concepts in novel pictures

magnetising Stephen King
for summary execution,
pirate’s treasure-trove
buried beneath crackling sands of DUP

NaPo hosting stars A+
with exemplary encouragement
through calm psychology

as Magnetron spots anomalies,
Bloody Mary walks the spittle-talk
and an architect stretches designs
to incorporate pencilled portraiture

of history’s heroism with poets.
Readers stand back struggling to find
the right expression - then it comes:
“Make Way for the Living”.


Written by Josh
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I find Johnny Blaze’s poetry combines surprise and straight-talking with a sense of feet-on-the-ground and a subtle undercurrent of the ephemeral nature of things.

“Make Way for the Living”: song by Harry Manx.

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

Nattdans med himleni (Inlak'esh beautiful one)


You are the very light that welcomes
weary travellers
those that have strayed from the path
unto darkness, that fearful unknown
Those journeys walked
are the individuals steps to walk alone

You had said
All we can, is but shine for them
perhaps, bright enough to guide them
Home if they so desire
to feel again 'source', warmth... Connected

Go now
You had said
be that shining beacon, little bird.. fly
or had you forgotten those questions
in the ethereal pool

Remember what it means

to play the illuminaries
Little bird don't cry, next time we meet
it will be 'I' that is holding 'you'


through Cassiopias wispy hair strands
acceleration lightening speed
quickening pace
leveling out
slipped through
even andromedas fingertips

What the soul promised on that day,
when time herself awoke conscious
that ancient of pacts became broken
The wings removed from both parties
Fading memories..

how long has this gone
Days, weeks, months
Countless millennia

A million stars shoot past
as if in farewell

(3) Rise

how bright that one burns
Even in its last gasp death throes
Look, still 'that' which is pure
fueling defiantly, all but fumes now
soon to crash as a tear drop in the ocean

catch a falling star
keep it within a lantern  
better that then let it die

Wake little bird
Arise from your slumber
Rest a moment, here within my arms
you are safe, fear not little bird
For we have much to accomplish,
it is 'I' that is holding 'You'
As it was, when all was one
Written by Carpe_Noctem
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Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 30th June 2016
Forum Posts: 256

{III} Midnight Elixir ~ {Inspired by Shadoe}


Drunk on fetal eyeballs,
cor'd from wilted apples
blossom'd in pink velvet~
my bosom on your shards ov petals
peeled from yesterday's remnants
of us.


Slaughtered renderings
sketch'd in nightshade
billow in the nak'dness
of your curls of agony.
I lick your flaming skin
as you crawl into the
crucifixion of womb~
littered in transgressions,
paradoxes of daylight slanted
along the headstone of
our drawn blinds.


You look away as I
unhinge specks of dust
knawing from within hipbones
where your cheeks rest'd
in bruises of longing~
torn from evergreen promises
untether'd, fray'd by your sacrificial
tongue in ravening
swaying in the bowls of time
in this cross-nailed hourglass
of my loving
and hating you.


This was inspired by Shadoe's amazingly complex merging of love and darkness with subtle erotica notes in her ' He, The Aether' series, a must read

Written by PoetsRevenge
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Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 11th July 2012
Forum Posts: 959

The Man from Portugal

I heard about this man from across the pond,
A Mr. Bond, (no not the British secret spy),
A poet posting powerful positive poems,
The kind of work that is rare to come by.

Every time I delve deep diving into a piece,
I often wonder what path in life he’s tread,
The journey that leads to finding peace,
Amidst whispers of beautiful garden beds.

And Mr. Bond continues to work hard and toil,
Stopping to spill some profound thoughtful ink,
Going back and forth from paper to pen and soil,
As if the earth gives him power to make us think.

So the next time you come across one of his poems,
Read slowly and you’ll find them emotionally mixing,
The Man from Portugal will make you feel at home,
When the words are reflective and uplifting.


Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 20th Mar 2015
Forum Posts: 1663

[ DUP Tributes ] Traveller From Afar

You can tell by that far away  
look in his eyes - the deep thought  
procession carefully treading  
sturdy stepping stones out of  
genuine curiosity and desire  
for pass ported adventure  
into expeditions Unknown;    
for Josh, gates are always open -  
there's no arriving at destination Truth  
through hastily concluded bounds;    
the only leaps being made are those  
in faith that solid ground of poem    
will manifest under sure footedness  
all the while knowing should he stumble  
muses will catch him    
( by surprise if need be )  
inspired by Josh @  
Josh is a Poet of the most extraordinary kind and you could not ask for a better guide along the journey into the realm where mind merges with world.  
Written by JohnnyBlaze
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Fire of Insight
South Africa
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Joined 13th May 2018
Forum Posts: 47

a blackwolf ringing my door bell

There is a blackwolf ringing my door bell
Banging on my door and it wants in
Howling it revolutionAL howl
To rectify my mistakes and guide me to a better path
There's a blackwolf ringing my door bell
With fur as beautiful as a genus of flowering trees (Melia)
Forever showering me with the sweetest of compliments
There's a blackwolf ringing my door bell
It comes running and running me down
Chasing me down the stream of juvenile 66 butterflies
Chasing me into a poetic tragedy
With words so shakespear-sweet
Sending me into Ely down the cambridgeshire
There's a blackwolf ringing my door bell
Written by poetOftragedy
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Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 24th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 28

Hands that yell

Her spirit golden,
She sprinkles twinkling words
Like faerie dust

Words that impact
Like nuclear bombs
Proving that even mushroom clouds
Can hide a shimmering lining

Hands that yell_oh
Always just so


A great inspiration.

Written by Tardegrade
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