Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mark Apr 8
So, our hero of tha day waz DJ Herc  
He b driven’ lil Mizz Dazze ‘round, in a pimped out Merc  
Queensbridge waz tha birthplace of Hip-Hop  
Red alert, it just won’t stop  
It will hurt uz a bit  
No more than a **** wid a hit  
Wee all thank Merc 4 puttin’ on dat show  
Smokin’ sum **** n angel dust, wid sum real blow  
 
A bro named, Coke LA Rock, waz also a financier friend of mine  
Handin’ out goodies 2 tha children in-line, all tha time  
Nickel bag half n ounce, quarter pound pow, now wee poppin’  
Az long az tha music izn’t stoppin’ and tha rocks r still droppin’  
If champagne waz still a flowin’, then tha freaks wood b steppin’ in line  
Hotel, Motel, u don’t tell, wee don’t tell, one-time root 9  
There’s notta man dat can’t b thrown, a horse dat can’t b rode  
A bull dat can’t b stopped, a disco dat can’t b rocked, can u decode  
 
Were u @ dat famous house party, thee dope  
Spinnin’ tha holy crates of hip-hop, wee hope  
A1 B-boy from every known neighborhood, wid a scent  
From JC, Tony D’, Sweet n Sour, 2 super DJ ‘Fcukin’ Clark Kent  
Sellin’ nickel bags of cannabis, 2 miss layD hoes to mi crew  
Made mi coin roll into notes, helping outta few dat I knew  
Hip-Hop waz made 4 peace, love, unity n fun  
Still b countin’ mi riches, retired n still layin’ in tha hot sun
The First Christmas
by Michael R. Burch

’Twas in a land so long ago . . .
the lambs lay blanketed in snow
and little children everywhere
sat and watched warm embers glow
and dreamed (of what, we do not know).

And THEN—a star appeared on high,
The brightest man had ever seen!
It made the children whisper low
in puzzled awe (what did it mean?).
It made the wooly lambkins cry.

Not far away a new-born lay,
warm-blanketed in straw and hay,
a lowly manger for his crib.
The cattle mooed, distraught and low,
to see the child. They did not know

it now was Christmas day!

Keywords/Tags: Christmas, day, lambs, star, children, baby, Jesus, manger, crib, cattle, oxen, straw, hay, Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, Bethlehem
Priyam Jul 2019
Job seeking is a white chocolate circus
Gets one feeling harassed and nervous
You get one and you're happy one day
Then you crib and toil your life away
Francie Lynch Apr 2017
When yer high on a streak
And no doubt its a freak
Aint nothin can beat yah
Not luck bad ner good
Dont doubt its a bet
A streakers regret
Tho yah aint beaten yet
The times surely set
Not by fate or yer odds
Ner the whim of the gods
But by an incredible drive
To keep going
Then die.
Just ended a 30 game streak in Crib. Play my buddy, and my two daughters. Play each of them separately. Andrea stopped me at 31. However, I still have by bud at 15, and my other daughter at 11. I suppose I lost a third of a streak. :0
Kurt Carman Nov 2016
We've  been anticipating this moment for the last nine months,
As the Angels keep watch over this child that's about to take a bow.

Our eyes wide open as we see him for the very first time,
And Family spirits past fill the room to honor this special moment.

Thoughts of family ****** features start to become visible,
Pepaw's ears, Memaw's nose, Dads Chin, Moms cheeks and an exceptional heart.

Memaw and Pepaw love you Hunter!
Born: 11/4/ 2016
8.2 Lbs
20" tall
A special day for us all as little Hunter enters the world.
Erika Castaldo Dec 2015
In the small kitchen,
A toddler sits near the window,
Laughing at the older woman across
The pile of cards at the table’s center.

The girl is older now,
Pink hair and heavy makeup
Playing a game of rummy with her
Grandmother, who looks at her with only pride.

The older woman’s hair is streaked with gray,
The girl has traded her colored hair
For black and her makeup is simple.
She has moved on to playing Poker.

The table is a mess of wedding magazines and notebooks,
The girl holds one of the magazines in her left
Hand, diamond glistening as her grandmother
Smiles to herself from behind a notebook.

The grandmother wears a lavender dress
As she fixes the girls veil.
The girl is fussing with the bouquets
Of flowers that cover the table.

The old woman sits alone at the
Table in front of a computer,
The girl is chatting excitedly,
Palm trees visible in the background.

They both sit at the table
More serious than ever as the
Girl’s hand rests on her bulging stomach.

She wears a suit while she sits
By the window, a pink car seat
Rests on the table in front of her.

The grandmother is small and shaking
With every hand she puts down.
The girl has cut her hair shorter than ever,
The same color as that of the little girl
Sitting on her lap and toying with cards.

The girl sits alone at the table,
Her eyes red and puffy from crying,
Knuckles white from clutching her cell phone
And a crib rests next to the chair.

The table is covered in flowers and gifts.
It’s surrounded by sobbing people in black.
The girl does not cry as she fixes her daughter’s
Hair by the window.
Caught myself amidst the wilderness
Where I was neither born nor raised
It always appeared so, so strange a place
No place for a child

My heart resided in the certain and familiar
Now I wonder where it longs to take me
Desire's inbound with unflinching insistence
But perceived reasons stake me to the ground

Curious odors, pulsating flashes, prickling noises, voracious appetites
The atmosphere overwhelms me senseless
Am I here to enjoy or to observe?
My chains answer with invisible weight

Now comes the rainbow-colored mist
Is this a magician's home--a flourishing disguise?
Sparks and shadows scatter into the expanse
All I see is a vista like the blessing skybox

Desire will you take me?
Lead the boy out of his crib built by the safe
Who are one and the same
Sitting, allowing the box for forge us

A light of the mist careen's my way
Its pleasant sting spreads, boundaries finally disintegrate
Remains litter the ground, I'm finally free
I'm finally lost
Ronald J Chapman Dec 2014
sleeping mellowly
proudly, imprisonment squirms
sleepily, prey squirms


© 2013 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Francie Lynch Aug 2014
You play three.
Me, seven.
Fifteen for two.
This is where I lose you.
Your phone vibrates,
You leviate
Sitting across from me,
Making me an unwilling audience
To all the drama.
You vibrate. Your shoulders droop
Like the gape-toothed village idiot.
You gesticulate,
Fading in and out
In a semi-conscious awakening.
You're trembling under stones
Sitting on your chest.
It shows in your tembling hands.
Twenty, for two...
Twenty-five, for six...

I overhear your child is truant,
Another wants a ride,
Another a car, doctor or lawyer.
You're shuffling in your seat.
Not to worry.
Affter the stones are lifted,
And you're properly pegged
In the stink hole, the game's over.
Thirty, for twelve and a go. Game.
So deal with it.

— The End —