Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
ME
I’m a writer who can not write
a musician who can not play
a drunk who can not drink
I’m emotionless when I
express emotions
onto paper
I’m toneless when
I lie flat on the
keys & strings
I’m impotent when I paint
lustrous images of
graphic lewdness
I balk when I’m willful
I take action apathetically
my purpose subsists
of insignificance
my technique- nightmarish
my craftsmanship- negated
influenced by nothing
guerilla to everything
and dancing in the sunlight
during the nighttime
I have no plans for these hands
no rules, no laws, no bedtimes
just propagate uncontrollably
I’m a deterrent to myself
and the thoughts I project
are like disfigured children
terrorizing the corridors
of blood in my brain.
I don’t know how to create art
and that is the best art
to know how to make.
Your heart dances a
Funky little beat,
And your jazzy fingers
Strum right along
To the song.
A sugar sweet soul
Made of rock and roll.

Indie lips sing
With an alternative twist,
A little reggae in your step.
Behind your lips, a classical dance;
Oh love, give the world a chance.
A musical melting ***, mon chèri.
Darling, you’ll be legendary.
Sad songs hit sweet
Like cardiac butterfly kisses,
They’re a favorite because
Pain is the most creative emotion.

Give a musician heartbreak
And he’ll make the world fall in love with him.
Give him love and
He’ll make the world love you, too.

Heartbeat to the metronome,
Keep beat with the blood flowing through.
Lyrics float from your lips,
Balloons of symbols and metaphors.

Baby blue, change the
World with the strum of a chord;
Save the world by
Giving us your words.
Carl D'Souza Jul 21
I compose songs
which express how I live.
I compose melodies
which joyfully exercise the heart.
I compose rhythms
which move the heart to dance.
Star BG Jun 4
On cobble stone street
people move in haste
as street connoisseur of sound stands.

He’s the mighty busker
with instrument of choice
poised and ready.

He’s a special breed
whose stage is one
in every city and town.

He's there to share grand talent
and give one a taste
with hopes a coin gets tossed.

Buskers attire matters little
for his art is there to
benefit.

Many passerby’s move
inattentive, uncaring
stuck in their whirlwind of their life.

Many a bystander
will listen for less than a second
breezing by without proper
acknowledgement.

Oh to the street performer
I pay homage
to the one who gifts currents of air.

Oh to the side walk master
I bow as my coin gets tossed
with prayer...
That their talents get posted
and their You-tube goes viral.
inspired from a chat with Ben Noah Suri  Thanks
Star BG Jun 3
The street musician plays
from heart
becoming his instrument.
His sounds infusing
with air so passerby's
can be empowered.

The music performer plays
sharing his art
to become a portal of sound.
His music graces ears
with his undying passions.
And guitar case open
hoping to feed his art
and self.
I watched this You tube and I highly recommend you listen to this artist. He inspired this poem.
Mariusz Goli "Improwizacja" Katowice Stawowa
LylexRose Feb 3
Sometimes I can't remember
Used to chase it higher
All letters I used to send ya
That problem it's mine yeah
19th November
10.49
Dear diary...

Woke up this morning
Same thought in my head again
But a new day has dawned on me
Suit up and lockdown
I'm getting hungry what should I get to eat
As I get ready to leave
This feeling came over me
No idea what it was
Thought nothing of it
Distracted by hunger
So I don't give a ****
Pace it down the street
Thundering clouds
Soak through my feet
Wasn't thinking
Delivery would've been a feat
The lengths you go too
Too get a feed
Heart beats
Mind bleeds
Finally I see
A stand in the distance
So I make my way
On the darkest of days
Ketchup or mayonnaise
That'll 4.30 please
What a feat
Forgot my wallet
That's great
Empty handed
And home I head
Out the corner of my eye
Inconspicuously I spy
Lovely young women
By the way son
Introduce myself
Strike up conversation
Names aren't important
"Ashely" that's a great name ***
Missing person in the days to come
How bout a lift home
And a little bit of fun
Just the two of us
Should've seen it coming
Our 4.40 lust
She didn't even have the time
To start running...

I'm losing my memory
But I'm just guessing fine
15th November
10.49
Dear diary...

Police sirens arise
From every corner of the night
Thought a home cooked meal
Would be such a delight
But she spat in my face
Am I a disgrace?
or is she looking for a fight
Either way she grazed me so
I don't know but
She's in constant anticipation
How about a vacation?
Just for you Ashley
but you push me away ***
How can I escape this nation
After her exit from civilisation
Wanna take action
but I'm in contemplation
So take a pick from my selection
Gunshot wound or strangulation
Red gloves and I'm enraged ***
Nobody's gonna miss you when your gone
Bin bags and disposable income
How about a road trip
Florida seems good, right ***?
Piece by piece get in ****
Remember when I found you by the way son
I do
Plan changes? Nothing new
It's great when you help me to get through
Left or Right; Straight ahead will do...


Just hit the highway to hell
******* I can't stand that smell
What have I done
How do I get out of this mess
Assistance no I need help
I can hear her crying
I crossed the line
Dear diary...


A nation wide man search
Where to hide on earth
Maybe I should've gone to church
Instead I joined the purge
Lesson learned
I can't get this blood off my hands
Sanity ******* ******* elastic bands
Heads banging like pots and pans
Toyota Camrio cameo
What came over me
Registration recognised
Harder and harder to hide
Hear the sirens from the rear miles
All the time we spent I never saw you smile
We loved each other for a while
Travelled about a hundred miles
But you just remained silent
I see you look at me with those empty eyes
Chased that feeling
Upper cut and I've hit the ceiling
Now I'm a ******* heathen
How could I stop you breathing
Does my life even have meaning
It feel like my skin is peeling
OH ****!
Blue n' white in the rear view mirror
Doing 80 in a 50 wasn't the brightest idea
Is this where it ends
It's our greatest fear
Who I am talking too?
My time is yet so near ,
Back up plan is sorted
An Emotional bombardment
Here coming the police department
Secret Martha in the glove compartment
Closing in so I load the cartridge
This is to us Ashley
Fly away like partridge
Leave the peartree behind
Because the rest of you is my fridge
Just a face for company but this is it
I was just a regular guy
Covered in Teddy's garment
But before I go
I want to know
Did you get the letters I sent?
(Gunshot)
void Dec 2018
i layed forever just holding back dry tears and when i finally got the courage to move i went through the motions of going to bed
and i got upstairs and i grabbed my guitar and i held it and i tried to play but i couldn't it kept getting worse so i just stood there
guitar in my hands and i was shaking and i couldn't breathe
so i layed down and i waited to be told goodnight and i layed on my side choking on myself
and then i couldn't move and i couldn't do anything and i tried to write but it didn't feel good so i layed in my side choking on myself
and i tried to draw but it almost made me cry so i layed on my side choking on myself
and i grabbed my guitar again and put it down and layed down on my side choking on myself
and i just couldn't break away and
it was the most awful feeling on earth
and i could hear so many things being said and i could see
so many things happening inside my head and i couldn't shut them out so the tears started to seep but i couldn't cry and i could feel myself choking
on myself and i couldn't do anything about it
choking on myself and
i couldn't do anything about it
choking on myself
Next page