People of California... Get a grip.

Poetry needs to be free, like a flowing river.
Free to follow the current or break apart.
However it can only be as free as the source.
Will this poem, or this river, grow and flourish the land or simply dry up before it reaches its potential?

27 poems, 25 years,
And Such a short amount of time
to thank you for your eyes and ears.

Being an introvert is kind of rough,
You see, cause I believe in finding love.
A sight to see... but I'm blind to luck.
Cause in the end, inside I'm stuck.

I actually haven't written raps in quite some time. Just poetry, but I got my start in 2008 on a website called my16bars (it has since gone down sadly) but I retained a lot of what I learned there.

There was a cool group of us young men who were daily users and we always shared our rhymes with each other and gave the best most honest critiques we could. as a group we wanted to elevate ourselves.

Life circumstances has changed me a lot, I have a son and am days away from having my daughter with my wife. Our life is great except for all the hardship,superficial and immediate. That's why I'm back at it now. And I take it a bit more serious. I'm shooting for poetry, wether traditional or slam but still I take a lot from rap lyricists and r n b artists.

I guess my idea is this tho, hello poetry is great but "likes" are kind of dated and hard to get. This will quickly become a popularity contest if we focus on the little heart. Instead I'm thinking of starting a chain, or forwarding group that we can share and critique, as well as repost and share/add to collections. This seems really redundant considering poetry groups are around and prevalent. But nobody, and you can look into this, nobody critiques poetry here. So people who rhyme are never tried and tested to do better.

The reason why a cypher works in rap is because if you **** people call you out right? Well that's not how it happens here in hello poetry, instead everyone likes and doesn't comment, or comments but no like, or likes and reposts but no comment. But I don't see anyone telling people that they could have done better, no one says "that's cool but maybe if you tried it this way" and honestly I myself am afraid to try this as well out of fear that my trying to be helpful will be misconstrued as an insult.

Poets can be the most sensitive people and for good cause. I liken myself to sensitivity but I hope one day we won't have to worry about hurting each others feelings and we can start really motivating each other to elevate our status. To do better. I'm not just searching for people to make me a better poet I'm looking for poets who want to get better with me.

A night as quaint as this has no place for the bravest kids.

It teeter totters right on faith and sin
As a creature falters inside made of pins and needles eager to fray the wit.

A leader fathers the right to slay and bleed away at the sane and sick.
And there you are, tamed and whipped.

A night as quaint as this has no need to embrace these kids

Hello Baby Girl, welcome to this crazy situation.
This world of opportunity and lazy Lamentations.
Don't worry though my daughter, we will be alright.
Cause we're not to falter, we always see what's right.
Your family loves you, they won't leave you be.
But trust me at the end of the day it will be you and me.
Cause I'm your daddy and your my blessed beauty.
And the love I feel for you really says it truly.
Bringing you into this world of so much pressure,
Me and your mom decided to call you Esther.
Your middle is Marie, and your last takes after me.
But trust me you will always be my Georgia Peach.

i feel older now.
you can feel the stakes change.
aging, children, marriage, ... death.
bills become more worrisome.
money gets tight.
dreams diminish
thought stretched.
laziness...
depression.
... death.
Im sorry to the ones who didnt get to say goodbye.
the ones who couldnt go on.
for those who gave up.
im sorry.
I cant imagine suffocating like that.
except i can. and it hurts
I love you
Godspeed loved one.

I gave someone an inch, they dragged me for miles.
Called me "*******"; some laughed but no one smiled.
Now I'm suffering like this, this bastardized trial.
Lovers that hit while they kiss its the standard I've reviled
I'm tired. I admit I'm soured to the pit.
But this fire that's within is like the flowers to the kids.

Speak from the heart. The tip of the tongue.
Fly off the cuff, The hip of your gun.
Set scenes apart, a trip to the sun.
Getting High on the huff, the gifting of love.

Speak from the heart, easier said then done.
Treat it like art, Feeding the dread with glum.
Speak from the heart, easier said then done.
Freezing at start, leading the dead with guns.

Playing through the scratches and blemishes to reveal a time less complicated.

I'm about to have a baby at 36 weeks
My wife is the only person I have to talk to.
My only support structure needs my support.
My rock is my son but he can't speak words yet.
My family seems preoccupied. Even during times like this.
I have friends... Oh wait... Where?
The first time was so stressful because we weren't sure what would happen.
Now we are just unprepared...
There's emotional support but everyone stops short of actually helping. Sad but true.
Meeting my daughter was supposed to be different.
I'm just upset I couldn't make it perfect for her.

fine tuned frequencies lay at my palm
expanding mind eager to strain the song.
Notes undulating unearthing a setting tone.
expanse fraying its end to trembling hone.
Assembling home, to carefully move away.
ascending the dome we fully soothe;sway.
Playing with the darkness on doomsday.
the globe centers its interest to true phrase.

Imagine that, a peaceful protest is made using silly string and good intentions.
Not to mention, smiles instead of bandanas no silly screaming and sitting sessions.
They were protesting, trying to speak: a far cry from the left protesting free speech.
A populous training, maintaining, no resting, no peace.

phone in the drawer,  alone with my thoughts.
i drone on to a bore, a stone with no plot.
approaching soul rot, im thrown out of the door.
a moan so unsure, ive grown so distraught.

Marcuse! Marcuse! Where the **** are you?
He moved to California and all he could do was argue.
Instead of gratitude through platitudes and assimilation,
He sought to change the west with his social trepidation.
A change is coming, from West to East
As society embraces that Germans beast.
"You're a ****** if I say so, an idiot racist with a scapegoat."
The only fun he ever had was raging in his raincoat.
The man was ungrateful and stole our academia.
Now all schools teach is his prepackaged mass anemia.
Purging true thought, cursing the whole lot while he's at it.
Burning loose crops, as each kids churning an addict.
Marcuse! Marcuse! where the **** are you?
Marcuse! Marcuse! How the **** could you?

People should be a little bit brighter
A little bit happier, don't be a miser.

Why is everyone so quick to anger,
So scared of danger and sick on paper.
Get a life, learn to smile you fakers.
Nothing in this world is gonna make it safer.

Misery loves company trust me it's ugly.
They came to be lovely til their feelings need cuddling.
Coddling is more like it, insulating even.
They don't realize they're insinuating treason.

Inciting some violence by some violet snowflakes.
Protesting the silence with science and show dates.

Our heroes reborn, a new purpose and will.
All zeroes now scorned by the true service of skill.

I can't think,
Poems lack a certain tragedy.
My black ink
Blots while the person laughs at me.
The masks seize
As this gets worse and saddens me.
And lastly,
A Trance bleeds the curse so magically.

It's trapping me.

Be it legal or against the law do it responsibly.
I am peaceful but First things first this isn't a democracy.
Americans thirst for a social utopian ideology.
But they settle for copious amounts of frozen philosophy.
It isn't regal. Americans Constantly Insisting comradery.

In introspect,
hindsights stumbling over intuition.
Guts hard as a rock.
Minds eye coupling with superstition.
Feeling lost, without a paddle, up the stream facing tomorrow.
Trading calls, seizing, coughing out a scream. Laced with a sorrow.
Silence escapes the harrowed moment.
a siren: opaque.
Privately shamed, a borrowed atonement and a giant mistake.

I want to go back home.
we live in boxes.
We stare at boxes.
We exit boxes get into moving boxes that deliver us to a different box.
Where we ship boxes.
We look through windows as if they were paintings.
I've been in a box whose windows literally were paintings.
We **** ourselves over pieces of paper.
Even the precious metals are overlooked for this paper.
My body hurts,
I'm confused.
It's like I'm lost in my own box
And I want to go back home.

Keep it short, keep it sweet.
Count to four and leap in deep.
If unsure just keep at ease.
Dreaming thru the leaves and trees.
Keep it short, keep it sweet.
Breaching shores to sweet relief
Keep it short, keep it sweet.
A mean retort. A breeze to seize.

Dear Poem,

    We talk everyday, you know me by many names. But we are beyond names. You know me as a person. You understand me and when I am in need of guidance you are  quick to point out my flaws and lead me back to the straight and narrow. You never let me forget. Sometimes I may have turned a blind eye to you for this simple fact but in the end I realize the importance of remembering.

     You are intelligent, you grow with me. But always a few steps ahead. You drive me farther with every dialogue that's shared between us. As if to coach me along in life and say, "life is not a box of chocolates but the bond that the box of chocolates represents" you say things that bring revelations that change my life. I love hurt feel pain and happiness everyday and you are there to take in all the pressures I have built up.

     I have no doubt that the pen in my hand and the paper beneath my palm is only the effect, caused by our interaction. It's this interaction that I am eternally grateful for. And for as long as you are there for me, I will be there for you. And you will not fade away.

      With love,
      Me.

The sun in my arms so radiant and peaceful.
A bright shine in the way of a smile miles wide.
The sun in my stars has my reaffirming faith.
His kind eyes have a way of glimmering lightly.
Leaving one to wonder, just how can anything be so.

Does it **** to ****? Is it luck or love..
Such nonsense must be lust.
Like a mucky muck that ***** me up and leaves a blotch on the conscience.
Does it **** to ****? It's just about
The bunch of lovers and concepts.
A cunning ****, a blubbering bunch
Of chemicals covered in staunchness.

His cognitive botched it
And they watched as they lost him.

Once the trees are all dead and gone they will have nothing but rocks and bad attitudes

Fair weather.
It's one way to be.
Just not for me, In fact...
insane to be.
Share your pain,
I care about you.
But you refrain exclaiming "harrowing" truths.
Except in this instance
I wouldn't know.
Communication never continued to grow.
It's easy to forget in favor of life circumstance.
But not easy to be forgotten and feeling circumvent.
You could have just said "hello"
It wouldn't have hurt a bit.

But it's alright I realize your life is just "a bit more pertinent"

Passing the sheets over his eyes,
"Boo!" Met with laughter beyond reprise.
Passing the sheets over his eyes,
"Boo!" Gazing through the stars that shine at night.
Passing the sheets over his eyes,
"Boo!" Soaking up little moments That are gifted, with the boy.
Passing the sheets over his eyes,
"Boo!" Wondering how long I can keep this up,

you know?...
Passing the sheets over his eyes,

"Boo!"

Afraid to blink, afraid to miss time.

Have some standards poets!
Your audience beckons you.
If you talk about genitalia...
Then think of what that says of you.
A supple blossom, coupled with utter elation,
It is not grabbing her breast: your udder titillation.
Write what you will, poetry is of the heart.
But don't force yourself on her and call it art!

I used to write to a beat like I had a rap to repeat.
I'd laugh cause I'm weak and I lied through my teeth.

I was not that angry but still upset as I said "**** don't faze me, but I lose my breath." As I lose respect.

Still... I liked to think I had the right to peace,

To change my world or try at least.

Looking back my writtens were livid.
Simplistic, moody blips driven by visions.

Just wicked.

It was time for a change I took a sabbatical, no more syphoning rage now I'm living less radical.

I used to write to a beat like I had a rap to repeat.
But now I laugh and I weep. Live life til I collapse and that's me.

As I look at a screen I read up on Screen addiction.
Im hooked and I steep, what a mean affliction.

You don't lead sheep by teaching them how to read and write.
You lead sheep by making them feel insecure about themselves and their own decisions so they look to you for guidance.

The princess is dead, a tragic loss in mid air.
Our boy George has passed the torch along to his heir.
Major Tom blasted into space and ***** wonka was cast in haste.
But now we are drawn to the stage so sincere.

At a comedy show where a man got stabbed.
It wasn't funny, herded like cattle and expected to dance.
In the throes of Vegas, we had grown so blatant.
Today wasn't the day, we would not be caged in.
At a comedy show where an old man had to be dad.
Nepotism opens the show in the form of a jam kind of band.
Cackled like he's 80, shackled to the 80's with a tan
A man with few fans but still a brand that was most hated; sans man.
"A comedy show where we laugh with our friends." A tag attracts to no end.
Take a chance on the awfully droll. A trance with no chance.
Happening during happenstance

California is a *****.
She's rude and obnoxious and
She doesn't give a ****.
She doesn't care about me...
Or my family...
Every threat I face she blames MY anatomy.
California harbors resentment, look at the lot of coverage.
Except it's directed east of LA and at laws that govern it.
It's really despicable, dare I say "deplorable".
Don't put your eggs in this basket trust me it's horrible.