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Big Virge Aug 2021
Now When It Comes To Lyrics...
I'm A Rhyme Specialist...

Because I Flip Scripts...
With Lyrical Twists...

That Twist And Turn...
Through EXPANSIVE Verse...
That Speaks On The World...
In Ways That Work...
Like... Spock And Kirk... !!!

Combative Like Captains...
With Logic That’s Valid...
In Finding What’s Best...
To Express Through Poems...

Which Is Why I’m A THREAT...
To... IGNORANT Heads...
Whose Mindset Lends...
Itself To The DEATH...
of... Common Sense... !?!

I’m A Lyrical Vet...
Wordsmith And Poet...

Whose Use of Diction...
... REFUSES Fiction... !!!
Because It’s Descriptive...
of How We’re Living...

From Vibes of Racism...
To Limited Thinking...
That Keeps Heads Imprisoned...
And Restricts Their Vision...

It’s A Gift GOD GIVEN... !!!

But NOT The Type of God...
That Most Heads Think of... !!!

It’s The Gods of Verse...
Who Have Blessed Big Virge...

That’s Right I Mean ME... !!!
To... Lyrically Be...

A Wordsmith Who Deals...
In Poetic Straight Speech...
That’s REALER Than REAL... !!!

Because It’s Themes Are REALITY...
NOT Fantasies Or Fallacies...

But Wordplay Driven...
To Give Descriptions...
of Peoples Submissions...
To Political Villains...

And Soldiers Killing...
To Fuel Divisions...

So My Words Don’t Deal In...
... Vicious Missions... !!!

Or The Type of Pictures...
With Impossible Visions...

My Wordplay Delivers...
Rhythmic Scriptures...

Like Those In Egypt...
In Restricted Crypts... !!!

So Are VERY WELL Hidden...
By Those Who Are Smitten...

As Well As The Heads...
Who Are Now SUBJECTS...
of Her Royal Highness... !!!

Who Clearly Think LESS...
Than A Man Who Is VEX...
And Is Ready To Vent...
Through EXTREME Violence... !!!

While I Use Rhymes...
To Define What I Find...
To Be Truth And Lies...

By Using My Mind...
My Thoughts And Pen...
To Write Poems...

That Prove That I’m THIS...

A Lyrical KING...

..... “ Wordsmith “.....
It's what I now am.
Jordan LC Murphy Jan 2021
𝕮𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕻𝖔𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖞

⚠️ 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌..
𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖟𝖊𝖓 𝖛𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖘 𝖉𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓
𝕯𝖔 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓
𝕷𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖛𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖕𝖎𝖉 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖟 𝖔𝖋 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓
𝕲𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝖌𝖆𝖑𝖆𝖝𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖌𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖊𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖑𝖞 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌
𝕿𝖔 𝖚𝖓𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖎𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖘
𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖜𝖆𝖞 𝖇𝖊𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗
𝕰𝖝𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖉
𝕾𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖘 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖒 𝖔𝖓 𝖔𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖉𝖘
𝕽𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖙
𝕰𝖝𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖋𝖊𝖎𝖙
𝖀𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖚𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖔 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖉
𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖎𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖔𝖗𝖇𝖎𝖙
𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖔𝖕
𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖆 𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖘
𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖛𝖆𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖌𝖊𝖙
𝕬𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌
𝖂𝖆𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖙 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖉𝖘
𝖁𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖑𝖞 𝖊𝖗𝖚𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌  
𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌
𝕰𝖝𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖓𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖝𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖉
𝕮𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖕𝖔𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖞
𝕿𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖉
Flatfielder Nov 2020
Historical battles
In words and swords
Recognize and resemble
When you hear today's battles
Locally and on the world stage
Opposing groups deny the truth
Hired lawyers and dictators
Their combinations fool many
Question tactics and motives
When said forces
Actions of visible guilt
Written more than a year ago
Near_lane7 is flatfielder
Romano Sabastian Sep 2020
I wish I could have—
(Whispers to myself)
On days like this when light feels absent.
When even the grey begins to fade.
How easily the mind slips into descent—
(Deaf & Dumb these screams are silence)

Fickle imaginations and unkept dreams,
The empty spaces where sunlight gleams.
Forgotten places where darkness looms.
How often is there such clarity—
When self awareness is acknowledging the chaos.
Questioning sanity.
(The Quiet is Echoing)

Lost but still somehow following—
A break in thought that seems so endless.
How, suddenly, the mind can bend.
Taut and out of shape—bent toward reality,
The darkest shades of anxiety.
Absent of color and stuck in perpetuity—
How infinite a moment could be.
With every sound.
(Repeating silence)
Each touch that’s felt and every taste.
This pain that remembers—
This soul that has witnessed how seamlessly time is replaced.
(Still, I wish I could have...)
A wish away from where we all want to be.
Mark Toney Aug 2020
He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
Into the night

Swings his big word-hammer
Never minding lies and grammar
Cuz he's gotta, gotta, gotta
Fuel the fight

With his bellowslike ire
He stokes the fire
As it burns, burns, burns
To his delight

On his huge word-anvil
Pounds rumor and scandal
As they sizzle, sizzle, sizzle
Burning bright

Hones his words untoward
Like a two-edged sword
As they stab, stab, stab
Like a knife

As his words extrude
They can get really rude
As he pushes, pushes, pushes
Wrong as right

He's a stable smithy
Thinks his genius words are pithy
As he pounds, pounds, pounds
With all his might

© 2019 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
5/26/2019 - Poetry form: Rhyme - © 2019 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
“I woke up to chattering teeth like a serial coward,
Except the fear is not within here, it sits in the air

The year carries twenty figures in twice orientation,
The year carries blessings and curses in twin proportions

Dear Twenty, talk to me, what do you expect of us?

Men’s lives fade like starving candles,
My hope slips out of the palms like I’m trying to hold wet air

Empty man, I’m scared of dying too young
Dumpty head, my shell cracks – I’m scared of dying too young

Bad days have me freezing inside the skull,
I’m not friends with God anymore and I miss Him –

From "A POETIC POUND OF PAIN, The Anthology" by Yours Truly. Coming Soon.
“My mind carries a pain
My skin bears a voice
I’m mad and it shows

It’s black in my soul
I’m bad, I’m insane
I’m mad and it grows

Black man with some vocals –
Black man with no arms,
Black man yes, the pain is mine, and it eats me  

Black man and there’s black in my thoughts,
So I keep screaming
Black man with heavy dreams that haunt him:

An ambition in the winter,
Flower never grow, for my seed cannot afford
Friction in the air when I’m bitter

Pay fee for my visions to come into sight, capitalism
Terrors caged in my intuition, neo-colonialist inhibitions
Give men races, take away our faces, branding

Culture punctured or am I just Insaniod?
**** the stereotype?
I try, but the Earth is stereohyped

Blame my senses? I can’t.
Too many cents owed me –
Tales Of My Madness
“Walk right up to you,
To the root of your throne
And stare, expectant

Cup in hand, thirst in soul
Ready to drink, and just demand:
I yell and raise the cup to you –

‘Forgive me!’

I am a hypocrite child, a mockery to your blamelessness
Please grant me eyes true,
And a tongue that knows honesty unimpaired -

‘I’m Sorry, My God.’
From the unreleased anthology: A POETIC POUND OF PAIN by Yours Truly.
“The cousins leave, their laughter and cries do too
Upon that hour when sky’s flame
Is fell from up high

The water stops, the winds halt
Maybe even the blood stands too, still
For nothing moves, nothing’s awake at this hour

Minds and souls roam, free
Away from the heads plastered close to earth
Dreaming dreams, of planets, moons and else

Partaking, all in the blackness’s ritual
So dark, even the puppets of evil are tempted to lie still
All Men sleep, nothing’s awake at this hour –

Except me,
And the hand
From which this poem is borne.”
From 'PICNICS WITH THE PAIN: A Micro-Anthology Of Micro-Poetry.''
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