While I Was Away... A Plagiarist Came to Play!

It's unfortunate that I had to interrupt my blogging break for this. But, yes. My words were violated…  stolen from my blog… and posted on someone else’s blog as though they were their words. Plagiarism is a plague… a disease… and it is more prevalent than you can imagine.

I recall… just a few weeks ago… when Rick Moore from The Writer and the White Cat was blogging about the plagiarist who was stealing his work. I remember reading his words and thinking, He’s very very very angry. And he has every right! I remember, also, wondering to myself how I would feel if the same happened to me, and acknowledging that I would be equally angry.

Imagine my face when I went to my computer yesterday morning, logged in, went to see about emails and such, and found myself with a fishy feeling in my gut. My gut feelings are never wrong. Something inside me told me to randomly check on some of my work. And I started to do that… found something that looked odd on a search… clicked on a person’s blog… a person I had been reading on and off for a while… while thinking to myself that this writing lacks voice. Those of us who write know about voice. We know that every writer has an unmistakable writing identity… and we also know that if that voice is missing… this is not a true writer.

I found myself looking at my words on that blog, and my initial reaction was shock! How dare!!! That’s my poem! And I immediately remembered Rick, and his agony, and his anger. And I got ANGRY!!! I said I was taking a blogging break, but I didn’t say I was going to be dead while doing that. I have to protect what’s mine, so I watch what’s mine.

Please click on the screenshot to see the full image, including my poem posted on her blog, and my two comments to her immediately following my discovery: 

My poem, Supplication, was published on my blog on January 10, 2010. You can still find it there, in my archives, along with all of your and my comments, with dates and times.

Over the course of the day, I tried to sort through my feelings about the whole incident. And my overwhelming emotion was pity. Pity is one of those unfortunate emotions, but it overshadowed all other emotions… even the anger. I felt pity for this person. Because those who feel they must steal what belongs to another in order to feel complete… never feel complete. She didn’t even bother to take the time to change the title. That was my supplication, felt by me, bled through my heart and my fingertips, and no one will take it away from me. If you want to post my work on your site, please ask me first… and credit me if I say it’s okay.

In National Poetry Month, Khaled from Khaled KEM asked me if he could publish one of my poems on his site. Of course, I’d be honored, I said. A few months ago, Owen from Magic Lantern Show posted some photos that made my mind spin, and I left him a comment that I was “stealing” his photos, though I had no intention of posting them anywhere. He said, Sure, I’ll send you the originals by email. A few weeks back, when Rick was blogging about his plagiarism issue, he published a post titled “How to Catch a Plagiarist” with invaluable information for any writer. I copied and pasted the entire post onto a Word document so I could have easy access to the links, but not before asking Rick. This is the right thing to do. We all come across artistic expression or other media that we admire. Every so often I read something and I think to myself, I wish I’d written that! But do I help myself to it and post it on my site as mine? Never. The English language is rich with words… both beautiful and despicable… and the combinations are simply endless. 

Anyhow, the plagiarist didn’t remove the post as I requested. I asked politely, and issued a warning, but I got no response. And so, I filed a complaint to Google. She went through my archives that diligently and... I suppose I should’ve been flattered. After all, “Imitation is the sincerest flattery." But then, I really wasn’t flattered at all; I was disgusted. People who write don’t just sit there and catch downpours of words and ideas and put them on paper. It’s a tough and demanding and taxing and grueling process. But she wouldn’t know that. And someone who doesn’t write thinks she can invite herself over to my blog and copy and paste my words right on to her blog and then say Posted by So-and-So. But... if you try to steal my words, I will find you, even if it takes forever.

And that’s all I’m saying about that… because… I think I’ve said enough.

pause...

Cosmic Sky by Monica Shelton

... and... take a deep breath...

... sometimes… this is something i have to remind myself to do… because i don’t know how… to just pause… without contemplating it.... running and running… and never stopping… i run out of breath… run out of steam… run out of everything... and there must be time… to recharge…

… it’s that time for me… again… when i must pause… and catch my breath… catch it slowly… and let it out slowly… so i don’t start a storm around me… a storm in my breath in my heels in my wheels that are constantly spinning and spinning and never... stop…

… besides… it’s the time of year for more wining… and dining… and entertaining… it’s the time for hanging out with hubby… and friends… and chilling… and chatting.... it’s the time for shorter days… and longer nights… when we have… simply… less time… to do what we need to do… before the time for doing what we want to do… descends…

… night falls… sooner… and tempts me with its starry skies… starry and sparkling before my eyes… and behind my eyes… starry and beckoning me to pause… and look… and maybe catch some stardust in my hands… with which to adorn my body… and enflame my dreams… and illuminate my soul…

… and i can’t look… at that enchanted… enchanting sky… when i am occupied… still… with things pressing to be done… i can look… but… i can’t look… and see…

… and so… the dreaming continues… but the expression stops… for a while… pauses… to catch its breath… and refresh itself… and capture some new stardust from those starry starry skies… to capture … and perhaps… to keep of it… what i can… in a tiny little box… because… truly… stardust is the stuff of dreams… and is so very hard to capture… but… if i can have of it… even a shimmer on the insides of my hands… i will be happy… and satisfied…

… so now… i go… to allow my gaze to linger… and linger... and stay… in the stars… for a while… to allow my hands… and my Self… a little sprinkle of magic…

… and i will have joy… and easy breath… and fullness of soul… when i return…

… pause…

Bounteous Alchemies

Soulmates by Lynette Marie

Sometimes,

we see ourselves in a twinkling past

where we were magicians

(or were we alchemists?),

with tricks transforming

the ordinary to fancy

and dust to gold.

And I made a stiff cane into billowing silk,

and you made crimson flowers appear

like flames rising out of clear water held

upon a table by perfect but invisible hands.

And I made the peeling walls

of an ancient castle seem

like rose petals floating through air,

and you made the sea

drape and twist like a golden mist.

And I made the vines of grapes

entwine and pause and lean,

and you made the simple sounds of town

drone like a fluent orgasm in a vivid dream.

And we melted into amber and alabaster

the clamoring afternoon,

and I made your choked and hoarse

laughter soften in its flight.

And all of this we did before night.

But then came the violent rains

and in my sleep you spoke to me,

and your words fell soft and blue

upon my blurred and somber face.

And the rain washed your words away

while the moon hid behind the clouds,

and we walked the forest floor

and dawn did finally unfold.

And the sky was lit,

and morning arrived.

And you said,

Look, a new day has begun.

And I remembered

what it means to be alive.

of secrets... and scars

Woman's Back by Maya Kulenovic

my love… my love

i’ve something to confess

something to show

turn on the light

though you can feel it with your fingers

turn on the light… and look

here is my back

lovely… soft… silky

like polished marble

warm… smooth… flowing

like liquid gold

yet… come closer, my love

and you will see

a cut that i can no longer reach

sculpted… thin… sharp

can you see it, my love?

the blood inside it dried long ago

but you can still feel it

you can feel it with your touch, my love

touch your finger gently to it

touch your finger to… my scar

a cut in the flesh of my back

no… not where you are looking

look lower… my love

and you will see it

gentle… obscure… but present

you see it… i know you do

an electric shock has fired beneath your skin

a tension… a confusion

a throbbing in your blood

why are you silent, my love?

there is a sorrow inside your eyes

a fiery sorrow

while a chill

and blue

radiance

fill

this november sky

your stabbing eyes

yes… stabbing, now

carry a weapon i have not seen before

a weapon that cuts more deeply

cuts… the surface of my skin… to my veins

cuts… the surface of my Self… to my soul

and my instinct, my love

my instinct is to turn away from you

to distance my Self

as you have distanced yours

what is this i see in your eyes, my love?

what is this look of… alienation?

angst?

illusion?

an illusion more illusory than fantasy

and this absence of certainty

i don’t know…

a secret, perhaps?

one i should not decipher

one you will not confess

but, look… look, my love

i know you don’t want to

but, look

you have been expecting… and denying

at the very same time

look… and listen

i could have fabricated one million lies

but i am filled with truth, my love

my truth might have one million colors

but it is mine, my love

i do not disown it

does this not matter?

does it not absolve?

oh, no… my love

do not open the door

i will open it for you

for… should you open it yourself

you would slay me

you see... with your love

i felt as though i was remaking the universe

but, then

even the omnipotent are imperfect

and i

i have revealed my imperfection

to you

but, no

do not turn off the light before you go

truth is more acute in the darkness

come, my love

here is my back

my back that once surrendered to your hands

...

do not say that, my love

do not say that my back has surrendered

to illicit hands

for full surrender was to your hands

and to your hands alone

bring those hands, then, my love

you have seen… but not touched… my scar

it is too late to try and heal it

it is too futile to try and erase it

but maybe… with your hands… you can caress it

and bless it

with forgiveness… and absolution

i have danced with fire

and my body was licked by tongues of flame

but… my body… is still whole, my love

and here… i am showing you my scar

does this not matter?

does it not absolve?

i beseech you, my love

come to me

and lay with me

we will but speak, my love

my lips do know how to speak 

without caressing

and, though i have a scar

my back is still

lovely… soft… silky

like polished marble

warm… smooth… flowing

like liquid gold

can you not forgive one scar, my love?

it was a miscarried intention

a superficial incision

your cuts go wider

your scars go deeper

no

not the scars your hands implanted upon my skin

but the scars another has implanted upon yours

yes, i have seen them

but… please do forgive my tears

they are miscarried intentions, too

i do not mean to confuse

i do not mean to deceive

i am not crying

see?

here are my eyes

dry of tears

but

can you not forgive one imperfection, my love?

i have forgiven so many scars

but, no

do not open the door

i will open it for you

i am not crying

see?

here are my eyes

dry of tears

here are my lips

trembling with truth

here is the door

open for your denial

and here is my back

imperfect… my love

imperfect
but yours