We ape, we mimic, we mock. We act.
quote by Laurence Olivier
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mock On, Mock On, Voltaire, Rousseau
Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau;
Mock on, mock on; 'tis all in vain!
You throw the sand against the wind,
And the wind blows it back again.
And every sand becomes a gem
Reflected in the beams divine;
Blown back they blind the mocking eye,
But still in Israel's paths they shine.
The Atoms of Democritus
And Newton's Particles of Light
Are sands upon the Red Sea shore,
Where Israel's tents do shine so bright.
poem by William Blake
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Originality Lives Illuminating Society
who will write
song of self
who will write
echoes of others
to write self
is to know self
to mimic others
is to dilute self
into mimic residues
unique insight costs
time fermented ideas
transformative landscapes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Mock on Mock on Voltaire Rousseau
Mock on Mock on Voltaire Rousseau
Mock on Mock on! tis all in vain!
You throw the sand against the wind
And the wind blows it back againt
And every sand becomes a Gem
Reflected in the beams divine
Blown back they blind the mocking Eyet
But still in Israels paths they shine
The Atoms of Democritus
And Newtons Particles of light
Are sands upon the Red sea shore
Where Israels tents do shine so bright
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Mimic
A mimic is like a parrot
and likes to repeat words.
They will take words or a phrase
that you have spoken once
and make it sound like
that is all you can say.
A suggestion of a quick snack
is then used for every meal
that you want to have.
“Oh, I thought you wanted…”
and so it goes on and on.
In the end, you make it clear
you have your own mind
and hope that will sink in.
However, you know it won’t
and the mimic starts all over again.
26 September 2008
poem by David Harris
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No Mocking
Man does not mock a cow or a dog
For it lacks the sixth sense that he’s got.
Man must not mock an idiot likewise
For he hasn’t as much brain as he’s got.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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At The Abbey Theatre
DEAR Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into our case.
When we are high and airy hundreds say
That if we hold that flight they'll leave the place,
While those same hundreds mock another day
Because we have made our art of common things,
So bitterly, you'd dream they longed to look
All their lives through into some drift of wings.
You've dandled them and fed them from the book
And know them to the bone; impart to us --
We'll keep the secret -- a new trick to please.
Is there a bridle for this Proteus
That turns and changes like his draughty seas?
Or is there none, most popular of men,
But when they mock us, that we mock again?
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Mocking Bird, Mocking Man
he is sometimes
tempted to mimic a mockingbird
that mimics him
most of the times
on top of the tree fronting
his window where he
faces the sun and moon
the mockingbird mocks him the moment he mocks it
and he in turn mocks the mockingbird that mocks him when he mocks it
both of them are bored
and have nothing good to do
they mock each other
morning noon and nigh time
bird man bird, man bird man bird
in truth the man wants to be a mockingbird
in truth the mockingbird wants to be a man
the problem is
no one is talking and no one is listening
no one wants to be himself/itself forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Trojan And Germany
Indigo soldiers
Of little aquarium
They mock a war
They mock a swim
These toys are
Depicting tragedies
Of Trojan and Germany
(written on July 2,2010 Danang City Vietnam)
poem by Chester Maynes
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The Acropolis
She reigns, red pale mimic
of the sun;
The sea siege citadel
of her flowing hair
entwines, envisions
her shadow on sea blue eyes
I saw her laughter
across a gulf
of tactile nothingness
Ebb tide, the wind.
The face of time's
telepathic pathway
The sea infolds, entraps
that red mimic
daughter of the sun
then loves the tide
releases it
I caught her,
Life by the sea
And touched her face
The cold seawind between
Our eyes knew
What could not be said
poem by Richard Shultz
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The Superb Lyrebird's Song
Amongst the songbirds of Australia with the superb lyrebird as a mimic there is none to compare
He can incorporate the songs of the local songbirds in his song something that is quite rare
The voices of the kookaburra, blackbird, butcherbird and currawong
Are just three of the many voices in the master mimic's song
With the World's best songbird mimics the lyrebird he does rate
The voices of the cockatoos, rosellas, whipbirds and shrike thrush he can easily imitate
The songs of the robins, magpies and scrubwrens in his song you can recognize
Yes the lyrebird is a mimic who never ceases to surprise,
His varied song is beauitiful and his voice it carries far
He can imitate the noise of a chainsaw or the horn of a motor car,
On his display mound with his lyre shaped tail feathers above his back fanned out in a great display
He imitates the songs of the other birds in the woodland every day
And in his breeding Season he gushes forth in miming song
And the notes of any local bird he never does get wrong.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Bahnhofstrasse
The eyes that mock me sign the way
Whereto I pass at eve of day.
Grey way whose violet signals are
The trysting and the twining star.
Ah star of evil! star of pain!
Highhearted youth comes not again
Nor old heart's wisdom yet to know
The signs that mock me as I go.
poem by James Joyce
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Past is dust.
My childhood was not aware that
My adulthood would later mock at it.
My adulthood was not aware that
My old stage would mock at adulthood.
My senescence will be mocked at
By my soul. Every past is dust.
07.06.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Mockery
Sometimes I laugh—what else can a man do
Who does not know ? This little ego here
Braving the void, this fleck upon the blue,
This filmy wing sounding the starry sphere—
What bold abysmal incongruity,
What joke of the gods to make a mock of me !
I hear you sing, and wonder how you dare.
Too fine for song they are—the tint of the rose,
The touch of a child, love's beauty and despair,
All the sad furtive exquisiteness that blows,
Like scent of gardens I may never see,
Across my sense to make a mock of me.
That I, this atom infinitesimal,
This chance-blown seed of flesh and fire, that I
Should front the dread immensity, the all,
Shocking the silence with my futile cry—
What dark inscrutable absurdity,
What joke of the gods to make a mock of me!
poem by Harriet Monroe
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A Nice Conversation
last night a nice conversation
was made between two
people who claim
to be friends, they were talking
about pain and sorrow
and how they must
be resolved
solved and eradicated
like dirt and warts
existential angst
making her tipsy like she was drunk
of vodka mixed with champagne
she keeps on asking
why
why people get sad and sadder and
sadder still despite
a heavy meal
and a surrounding of friends that come
to her house on sundays
it is hard to understand life
and suddenly by impulse
one says: the key to understanding life
is art,
your art that conquers this pain
that mimics
its wiles and bites and pinch
come then, let us imitate it
and mimic it and mock it
life with art
let us see let us feel
let us dance let us sing
let us chant
let us have poetry
let us forget time
let us forget who hurts us
come let us not be ourselves
let us be someone else
and life shall now be deluded
there is no us, there is no ego now that we have smashed it
like fragile glasses shattered in the gutters
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Self-Mocking
Whenever I self mock
over a compliment I have been given
it is not to insult the person who gave it,
more to injure myself.
I can cope with most things
that are given to me except compliments.
Sound Strange?
When I was growing up many years ago,
I was belittled by family and friends alike.
They made me feel like a misfit,
so a misfit I became.
I endured insults about me
in every way shape and form.
Compliments were never given
and became a stranger to me.
Now that I am older,
I do not stand easy
when compliments are given
and I have to mock myself
and make a parody out of me.
I grew up feeling useless in everything I did.
They did not realise what they were doing
and hurting that they caused. I
t was not jokes they threw at me,
but hurting insults that made me feel insecure.
Now when compliments come
I cannot accept them readily.
I cannot accept that anyone
would want to compliment me,
so I self mock myself you see.
10 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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What A Man Becomes
When a man falls in love he becomes a lover
Above his woman he puts no other
And when he closes his eyes, she will materialize
And never does he want to be with another.
He thinks about his love every day and night
As he wants to always keep her in his heart and sight
And when he is alone, To the world it is known
That she is his life and also his light.
When a man is cheated on he becomes a cynic
His love and their life he will then mock and mimic
In his heart there buns a hate, which he cant forsake
As his soul and mind seems as though to forever ache
She stays in his thoughts every night and day
He wonders what she did to turn herself that way
Then when he's with his friends, they too confirm her sins
And for him and not her they will sit and talk and pray.
When a man is cheated on by his wife he becomes a poet
Then of their life and relationship to all he will show it
He will write down in rhyme, of her dirty sinful crime
So of her sin no man or woman will ever forget it.
He still thinks about what she did all the time
As against him and God he knows she committed the crime
And now all he wants is peace, and the pain to cease
So he becomes a poet and his pain he writes in rhyme.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Lover
When a man falls in love he becomes a lover
Above his woman he puts no other
And when he closes his eyes, she will materialize
And never does he want to be with another.
He thinks about his love every day and night
As he wants to always keep her in his heart and sight
And when he is alone, To the world it is known
That she is his life and also his light.
When a man is cheated on he becomes a cynic
His love and their life he will then mock and mimic
In his heart there buns a hate, which he cant forsake
As his soul and mind seems as though to forever ache.
She stays in his thoughts every night and day
He wonders what she did to turn herself that way
Then when he's with his friends, they too confirm her sins
And for him and not her they will sit and talk and pray.
When a man is cheated on by his wife he becomes a poet
Then of their life and relationship to all he will show it
He will write down in rhyme, of her dirty sinful crime
So of her sin no man or woman will ever forget it.
He still thinks about what she did all the time
As against him and God he knows she committed the crime
And now all he wants is peace, and the pain to cease
So he becomes a poet and his pain he writes in rhyme.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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I Cook
I eat more than I cook, little eyes are on me,
As I weep and shudder furiously, full of bad habit.
The reality of a life beyond encases me still,
To stop this, tragedy appears to mock and arrive
At our doorstep. The door is a forceful entrance
Into the brilliance of the universe, the gates remind.
I have eaten all this while, food to mock,
As the lipids stretch my body, with proteins and salts.
These minerals are what cooks are made of,
Cooks remind me of worlds and foods.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Yes, we do mimic our parents in a lot of ways.
quote by Deana Carter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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